“Thanks, Doc,” said Mike, offering Abe his winning smile. “See, I told you I was fine.”
Peyton gave a grateful nod. “I’m glad.” She motioned to the door. “We should go and let you rest.”
Abe snapped the bag closed and rose to his feet, moving toward the door. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” Mike sat up, groaning as he did so. “Peyton?”
Peyton turned and looked back at him. He waved her over. Reluctantly she eased past Abe and went to his side.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I do. I have a dog to get home to and you need your rest.”
He caught her hand. “Can I have your card?”
“Mike.”
“Please?” He gave her such a pleading look with the dried blood along his scalp and his scrapes and bruises. “I promise I won’t abuse the privilege. I’ll just call to let you know how I am.”
Peyton glanced over at Abe, who was frowning at her, but she reached into her pocket and pulled out her card, passing it to him. “Only to tell me how you are.”
“Right.” He smiled at her, then he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for rescuing me tonight.”
She disengaged gently and walked back to the door. “Get some rest, Mike,” she said, then motioned Abe through in front of her and closed the door at her back. Abe didn’t say anything until they were out in front of the flat, standing by her Prius.
“Who the hell is he?”
“A guy that got hit in front of the grocery store.”
“Seemed like he knew you from more than that.”
“I met him the other night.”
“Where?”
“What are you, my father?”
“No, I’m your best friend and I came all the way over here tonight to examine a strange man that you rescued.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“All judgy.”
Abe placed a hand on his hip. “Look here, little sister, it’s my job to judge. Where did you meet this guy?”
“A nightclub.”
“A nightclub?”
“Abe.”
“Why were you in a nightclub? Especially without me.”
“I went there with Bambi.”
“To do what?”
“To do what?”
“Stop answering me with my own questions. Why were you in a nightclub?”
“To have fun.”
“You’re engaged.”
Peyton gave a violent shake of her head. “No, I’m not. Not anymore.”
“Peyton.”
“No, Abe. He broke it off. He left me.”
“He’s struggling with some life altering changes, sweets. You gotta give him time, not pick up the very next stray to cross your path.”
“I didn’t pick him up.”
“Excuse me.” Abe took a step away from her. “I came over here to give some stranger a physical based on your telephone call.”
“I ran into him at the grocery store. He wanted my number, but I told him I wasn’t over Marco yet. That’s all.”
“Then how did you wind up taking him home?”
“He got hit by a pickup in the parking lot.”
Abe gave her a skeptical look.
“On his bike.”
His frown deepened.
“Look, nothing happened. Nothing’s going to happen. I just…”
“You just?”
“I hate being alone.”
Abe cupped her chin and lifted her face, so she had to meet his gaze. “I know that, sweets, but this guy isn’t right for you. You’ve got a guy who loves you.”
Tears filled Peyton’s eyes. “Does he, Abe? Does he really? If he does, how can he do this to me?” She pressed her fist between her breasts. “How can he hurt me like this?”
“He’s doing it because he loves you. He’s trying to protect you from himself.”
Peyton tore her face out of his hold.
Abe tugged her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’m working on him, sweets. I’m working on him. Just give me a little time, okay? Just give me time.”
Peyton clung to Abe and nodded, but inside it felt like she was suffocating.
CHAPTER 17
Tuesday
Marco pressed the button on the automatic doors and stepped into Abe’s laboratory. Abe was bent over the burnt corpse of Quentin Greer, but he glanced up and flashed a toothy smile for Marco, returning immediately to his work.
“Hey, there, Angel.”
“Hey. You left early this morning.”
“The hunky captain of the precinct I work for demanded a second autopsy. Clever fellow found something I missed.” He gave Marco a wink. “Let me tell you, if he wasn’t so gorgeous, I just might be offended that he doubted me.”
“What do you have?”
“There appears to be particles in the wound. I’m trying to get a sample and see what the weapon was.”
“Is that what killed him?”
“The fire didn’t help.”
Marco looked down at the charcoal face of the victim, the white of his teeth showing stark through the gaping hole that remained of his lips. “Jesus.”
“Yep. Pretty horrifying.”
“Did he die from the stab wound, Abe?”
Abe gave him a grim look. “I can’t be sure. It certainly immobilized him and he would have bled out, but whether he was dead before he was torched is hard to prove. The contractions of the hands, the grimace all lead me to believe he was partially aware when he was set on fire.”
“So, someone stabbed him, then figured that wasn’t enough. They burnt him alive for good measure.”
“Actually, they were probably trying to get rid of the evidence with the fire, but didn’t realize it can take awhile to bleed out.”
Marco shook his head, looking away. Sometimes he thought he just couldn’t face one more dead body, smell anymore rotting flesh, agonize over one more victim. What the hell was wrong with him that he’d made homicide his life?
Deliberately changing the subject – mostly because it was the one he wanted to discuss anyway – he drummed his fingers on the metal table. “So, where did you go last night when Peyton called?”
Abe shrugged, continuing to prod the body with his tools. “She asked me to come over, so I did.”
“It was late. You seemed intent to stay home, until she called.”
Abe glanced up at him. “If there’s something you want to know, Angel, just come out and ask it. You and I don’t need games…well, games like this. There are other games that I’d personally like to play.”
“Okay.” Marco held up a hand to stop him.
“With whipped cream.”
“Okay!”
Abe chuckled.
“Why did Peyton call you last night?”
“To ask me for help.”
“With what?”
“Someone who needed medical assistance.”
“Who?”
“Mike.”
“Mike?”
Abe set down his tools and pulled off his gloves. “Do you want this autopsy report today?”
“Yeah. I also want to know who Mike is.”
“Well, then you’re going to have to ask Peyton.”
“I’m asking you.”
Abe picked up a petri dish and carried it to the microscope, lowering his head to look. “I think you should trust Peyton.”
“Trust her? Why wouldn’t I trust her?”
“I hate it when you go all investigator on me, Angel. It’s so anal retentive.” He fiddled with the lens.
“If you’d tell me what I want to know, I wouldn’t have to go investigator on you. Who the hell is Mike?”
“A guy she met…well, hello!”
Marco huffed in frustration. “Abe?”
“There’s an oil based lubricant in the wound.”
“What?”
“I’m going t
o have to run more tests, but it looks like a machine oil of some kind.”
“Abe, I want to know about Mike.”
Abe glanced over at him, straightening from his crouch over the microscope. “Angel…”
Marco’s phone went off. He dug it out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear. “D’Angelo.”
“I got an arraignment hearing at 10:00AM this morning. How bad do you want this Cook clown?” came Devan’s voice on the other line.
“Bad.”
“Then you need to get down to the courthouse. Amy Cook says she can’t testify against her father unless you’re there.”
Marco met Abe’s eyes. “I’ll be there.”
“Great,” said Devan. “Don’t be late.” Then he disconnected.
“I’ve gotta go.”
Abe gave a relieved nod.
“We’re not done.”
Clapping his hands excitedly, Abe turned toward him. “So you are considering the whipped cream?”
Marco stated to protest, then stopped himself. It did absolutely no good where Abe was concerned. “Hold on. What do you mean there’s lubricant in the wound?”
“Like I said, it appears to be some sort of machine oil.”
“And the wound is round?”
“Yep.”
“So, definitely not a knife?”
“Not a knife.”
“How much force would it take to shove something round into him and through his sternum?”
“A lot. And more so to pull it back out again. There’s fragmenting along the hole where it was yanked out, but it didn’t have to go in very far and it couldn’t have or the xiphoid process would show more damage. If the superior epigastric artery was severed, there’s your cause of death. The puncture of the xiphoid process is secondary.”
“But it could give us the murder weapon.”
“That it could.”
“I want to know if there are any other injuries.”
“That’s what I plan to do, Angel, take this poor sucker apart.”
“Call me if you get anything.”
“I will.”
Marco gave him a last searching look, then turned and limped out of the lab.
* * *
Amy Cook and a woman, who could only be her mother, sat outside the courtroom. Devan was nowhere to be seen. Amy’s brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a skirt and a button up blouse in pink. She looked all of her seventeen years. Her eyes rose to his and she gave him a pleading look.
He offered her a comforting smile and then extended his hand to the other woman. She was the spitting image of Amy, same brown hair, same brown eyes, if just a little older. “Captain Marco D’Angelo,” he said to her.
She gave his hand a quick grasp. “Angela Cook, Amy’s mother. Look, does she have to do this?”
Marco took a seat next to Amy. “How you holding up?”
“I feel like I’m going to be sick.” She nodded at a knot of men in business suits on the other side of the courtroom door, standing in a circle, talking and glancing over their shoulders at her. “Why are they here?”
Marco studied them.
“It’s the NRA,” whispered Angela, leaning close to him.
“They’re just here to protect their interest. Have they said anything to you?” he asked Amy.
“No, they just stare at me.”
“It’s okay. Where’s Ms. Crawford?”
Amy wrung her hands in her lap, shaking her head.
“The lawyers were all called in to talk with the judge,” said Angela. “Does she have to do this? I don’t want her on the news.”
“I’m sure the ADA is working to keep her out of it. After the hearing, I’ll take you out the back and drive you home myself, okay?”
Amy gave a tense nod, then offered him those pleading eyes again. “How can I testify against my father? How can I say things about him?”
Marco shifted toward her. “You aren’t testifying against your father, Amy. You’re just telling what happened. That’s all.”
“But he’s going to prison.”
“You don’t know that.”
She hunched over, curling her arms around her stomach. “I can’t do this. I can’t put my father in prison.”
Angela rubbed her back. “We need to leave. This is too hard.”
Marco felt panic edge to the surface. Amy Cook was their only chance at making Will Cook pay for Gavin Morris’ death. His eyes shifted to the courtroom door and he wondered if he should tell Devan what was happening.
Angela got her daughter to her feet and Marco rose beside them. As he did so, his eyes fell on Ryan Morris, sitting with a woman in chairs across from the courtroom door. Morris was watching him intently.
“Amy, just listen to me a minute,” he said, putting a hand on her arm.
She stopped and looked up at him, still clutching her stomach, but she slowly sank into the seat again, her mother beside her.
He sat down and drew a deep breath. “I know what I’m asking you to do is the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life, in anyone’s life.”
“You’re asking me to send my father to prison.”
“No, I’m asking you to tell the truth. That’s all. Go in that courtroom, face those lawyers and the judge, and tell the truth.”
“He’s my father.”
“I know, and I know how hard this is, but right now, you’ve got to think about Gavin.”
“Over my father?”
“Yes, Amy, over your father.” He drew a deep breath. God, he hated what he was about to do. “Hear me out, okay?”
Amy nodded.
“During Greek times, there weren’t hotels for people to stay in, so when someone came to your house, it was expected they would be welcomed, given food, shelter, and most of all, protection.”
Amy and Angela frowned at him. Marco bit his lip. It had sounded so much more reasonable when Jake told him this. Why couldn’t he say it just the way he had? Pushing through, Marco glanced at Ryan Morris. His eyes were empty, his expression bleak. The woman beside him cried into a tissue.
“We still hold to those ideals, Amy. When people come into our homes, they expect to be treated well. They expect us to shelter them, feed them…protect them.” Angela glared at him, but he ignored her. “You invited Gavin into your house. He thought he’d be safe there.”
“Are you blaming her for what happened?”
“No.” Marco shook his head, focusing on Amy. “I know you tried to save him. We have your fingerprints, your skin on the barrel of that gun. You tried to stop the shot even at risk to yourself.” He leaned toward her. “That took courage, Amy. That took guts. You stood up to your father and you tried to protect Gavin.”
She stared at him.
“I need you to do that again. I need you to walk into that courtroom and answer the lawyer’s questions and tell the truth.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m scared.”
“I know. Brave people always are, Amy.”
“He’s my father.”
“I know, but this isn’t about him. This is about Gavin.”
The door open. Devan and Laura Crawford walked out. Devan glanced at the huddle of men in suits, then walked over to the Morrises, while Laura came to Amy.
She gave Marco a nod, but focused on the girl. “They’re ready for you.”
Amy frantically clasped his hand.
“I’ll be right there with you,” he said, squeezing her fingers lightly.
She gave a jerky nod and rose to her feet, her mother and Laura supporting her as she walked down that hallway to the courtroom door. Marco rose to follow, but came to a stop as Devan turned toward him.
“You sure about this?” Devan asked, watching as Amy, followed by the Morrises, entered the courtroom.
Marco glanced at the huddle of men in suits. “Yeah.”
Devan glanced at them as well. “You’re asking a girl to testify against her father.”
“I’m ask
ing her to tell the truth.”
Devan considered him a moment. “I liked you better before you got all deep.”
“You never liked me and you know it.”
“True, but this new D’Angelo is a pain in my backside.”
Marco smiled.
“Come on.” He grasped Marco’s elbow and started for the courtroom, but as Marco moved to follow, one of the men in suits stepped between them. Devan stopped immediately and gave Marco an anxious look.
“How can you do this?” said the man, pushing his face as close to Marco’s as he could. He wasn’t as tall, but they weren’t off by much.
“How can I do my job?”
“Arrest a man who was protecting his home. His daughter.”
“Move out of my way before I arrest you.”
“For what?”
“Obstruction.” Marco stared him down.
“You carry a gun yourself.”
“And I know when to use it. Now move.”
The man glared at him a moment more, then he stepped away, allowing Marco to pass.
Devan held the courtroom door open, breathing out a sigh. “Nothing like that would happen if I was in the legislature.”
Marco moved through the door. “You’d just have a whole new set of sharks to swim through, that’s all.”
* * *
Marco sank into the seat behind his desk, folded his arms on its surface, and dropped his head on them. He was exhausted, the pain raged from his hip to his foot, and he couldn’t get Amy Cook off his mind. She done exactly what he’d asked her to do. She’d answered the lawyers’ questions, even the ones that directly pointed guilt at her father, but what had it cost her? What were the permanent scars left on a child who not only witnessed her father kill, but then had to testify against him?
“Let’s go, Adonis.”
Marco looked up from his arms. Jake stood in the doorway. Shit, he didn’t need this right now.
“What?”
“Let’s go.” Jake pointed into the precinct.
“Where?”
“Out.”
“I’m gonna need more than that.”
“Out of the building.”
“Ryder, I’m hanging by a thread here.”
“I know. Please, just get up and come with me.”
“Where?” he growled.
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 25
