After their meal, Marco ordered Marquise Au Chocolat, a dark chocolate mousse with a burnt orange sauce. He and Peyton shared it, placing it in the center of the table. She gave a little shiver at the sight of it, and Marco couldn’t deny he loved these little things about her, her delight in the simplest of experiences.
Jonathan returned one last time, asking them if they’d like coffee. They both declined. Then it was just the two of them, the moment Marco had been anticipating the entire night...hell, for more than a week now.
He felt again for the ring, then reached over and took Peyton’s hand. “You know, I realized something the other day.”
“What?” she asked, running her thumb across the back of his hand.
“I realized that I haven’t really dated anyone.”
“What?” She laughed. “Of course you have.”
“No. I’ve been with women, I’ve met them in bars, but I’ve never done the whole dinner and a movie thing.”
Her brows lifted.
“So when I wanted to plan this, I had to ask Jake and Abe.”
“That must have been painful.”
“You’ve no idea,” he said, rolling his eyes.
She laughed.
“But it got me thinking, you know? I got to wondering why I didn’t date.”
“What did you find out?”
“It’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. For the last eight years, some part of me was waiting for you. I don’t think it was on a conscious level. I don’t think I even realized what I was doing, but I think that’s the reason. The other women I saw were a diversion. You were always the woman I wanted.”
Her eyes searched his face and her fingers tightened in his.
“You said this morning that you wished we hadn’t waited all these years, but when I think back over those years, Peyton, I realize that the best times, the times when I was happiest...well, they were all spent with you.”
She licked her lips, her eyes shimmering in the candle light.
“And I know it’s been hard lately. I know this PTSD is exhausting and the threat hanging over us is wearing you down, but I’m so damn happy right now. I’m glad I’m there when you wake up in the night, and knowing you’ll be there in the morning gives me such a feeling of security. Every day I look forward to coming home, knowing you’ll be there. And I don’t even care that my apartment is overrun with lilac scented soap or a Yorkshire terrier dog.”
She gave him her most brilliant smile.
He leaned closer to her. “I don’t know how many people ever find what we have. All I know is I love having you in my life. I love sharing every part of it with you – the good, the bad, the completely insane.”
She laughed.
“I love you, Peyton, and it just seems that something as good as this deserves…”
His phone went off in his pocket.
He caught himself and reached for it. “I’m sorry. I thought I turned it off at the cottage.”
“It’s okay.”
He pulled it out, thinking to refuse the call, but the display caught his attention.
“What is it?”
He frowned. Shit. Why hadn’t he been quicker about this? Why hadn’t he asked her back at the cottage? Why hadn’t it been the first thing he did when they sat down to dinner?
“Marco, who is it?”
“Bartlet,” he said, looking up at her.
Peyton’s expression hardened. “You’d better answer it,” she said.
Marco felt deflated. He felt such gut wrenching disappointment. This was supposed to be their night. This was supposed to be the start of their future together, but the damn job was dragging them back in again.
“Marco, he wouldn’t call unless it was very important,” she reasoned.
Marco gave a slow nod, then he pressed his thumb to the display and lifted it to his ear. “D’Angelo?” he said.
CHAPTER 19
At a little past midnight, Marco and Peyton entered Genevieve Lake’s apartment. The entire precinct was there, except Defino and Maria. Jake was canvassing the crime scene, Cho and Simons were talking on their phones, Smith manned the door, and Stan had set up his computer on the coffee table, tapping into Genevieve’s phone line. He had another pink laptop open next to him and he was typing on it. Bartlet sat in a little oval shaped chair before the windows, his head in his hands, and Holmes was standing next to him.
Cho hung up and gave Marco a sympathetic look. “Sorry about this.”
Marco shook his head, moving around the discarded clothing and dishes to Bartlet. “Jimmy, tell me everything that’s been going on. Leave nothing out.”
Bartlet looked up at him, dark circles under his eyes, his brown hair mussed by his own fingers. “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant. I know how this looks.”
“Forget that now. Tell me everything.”
Jimmy launched into his story. Peyton crept forward and took a seat on the couch next to Stan, listening. Marco put his hands on his hips, feeling his anger rise. If they had known about this weeks ago, they might have stopped this bastard before another person died. They could have staked out Free Lance’s apartment, tapped her cell phone calls. Shit!
Jimmy finished and tried to meet his eyes, but he couldn’t. “I didn’t know she was communicating with him, until today, but I was here when she got strange calls a couple of times. She always acted so weird after them. I should have known something was wrong.”
Marco turned to Stan. “Is that her laptop?”
Stan gave him a narrow eyed look, but didn’t answer.
“Stan? Is that Genevieve’s laptop?”
Still he wouldn’t answer, just sat glaring at Marco.
“Yeah, it is,” said Simons, moving to his shoulder and giving Stan a questioning look.
“Stan,” said Peyton, “have you found anything on it?”
He tore his eyes from Marco and his look softened, but he still didn’t speak.
“Stan?” she asked, reaching out to touch his arm.
He stared at her hand, then he pushed himself to his feet, sliding past her and heading for the door. Peyton rose to follow him, but Marco caught her.
“I think I know what this is about. Let me talk to him,” he said.
She nodded.
He walked to the door and motioned Smith inside, then he stepped into the hallway and closed the door at his back, so he and Stan would have privacy. Stan was pacing to the other end of the corridor, his fists clenched.
“Stan.”
He whirled and paced back, his shoulder raised and the cords in his neck standing out. “I don’t want to fight you, Marco, but I will if I have to.”
Marco fought a smile. He made two of Stan. Holding up his hands, he shook his head. “No one’s fighting anyone.”
“I told you I wanted to start seeing her again. I told you that in confidence and what did you do!” He stopped in front of Marco, glaring up at him. Marco had to give him credit for courage.
“It was already too late when you told me that, Stan.”
Stan took a step back. “What?”
“It was too late.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? You let me look like a fool.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I was wrong. I should have told you, but she wanted to keep it a secret. She asked me not to say anything.”
Stan pointed a finger at him. “She’s too good for you.”
“You’re right.”
“You don’t know how to treat women right. You use them. You’re just going to use her and then throw her away like all the other women you sleep with.”
Marco shook his head. “She’s not like that.”
“I know she’s not like that!” Stan yelled.
Marco held up a hand. “What I mean is I don’t look at her like that.”
Stan made a scoffing sound. “You expect me to believe that. I’ve watched you, Marco. I know how you are. I went to college with men like you. Yo
u don’t change your stripes. Besides that, I love her.”
Marco drew a deep breath and released it. “I love her too, Stan.”
He made the same noise.
Marco reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the ring case, opening it with his thumb. “I was going to ask her to marry me tonight.”
Stan’s eyes riveted on the ring.
“We got interrupted by Bartlet’s call, but that’s what I planned to do. That’s what this whole weekend was about.”
Stan deflated. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped. “Wow.”
Marco gave a laugh of agreement and put the ring back in his pocket. “Listen to me, Stan. The Janitor almost killed the woman we both love. He terrorized her to the point where she can’t sleep at night. He left her to die, Stan, alone in the back of a van.”
Stan swallowed hard.
“He’s got to be stopped. He’s got to pay for what he did, but I can’t do it without you. I can’t solve this case without your help.”
Stan rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Stan glanced up at him. “I suppose you want me to keep your secret.” He motioned at the ring.
“I’d appreciate it.”
Stan nodded, staring at the carpet.
Suddenly the elevator doors opened and Tag appeared, carrying a tray of coffee. She stopped when she saw them.
Stan puffed up his chest again. “I’m just glad we didn’t have to duke it out or anything,” he said, casting a sideways look at Tag.
Marco blinked in surprise. “Uh, yeah, I’m glad too.”
Moving around him, Stan went back to the apartment and opened the door.
Tag’s brows rose. “You poor damn bastard,” she said, then she burst into laughter.
* * *
Peyton handed Stan a cup of coffee. He took it, giving her a half-smile. She sat down next to him on the couch and looked at Genevieve’s computer. “Have you found anything?”
Stan pointed at a document. “She took notes after every phone call. I guess she was planning on writing a book or something.”
“How long has she been communicating with him?”
Stan shot a look at Marco. He was standing on the deck with Cho, discussing something. Simons was slumped at the kitchen table, his head on his arms, while Bartlet and Jake tried to recreate a time-line from what Bartlet could remember of his and Genevieve’s contact. Holmes and Tag were taking turns guarding the floor.
Stan sighed. “She started communicating with him right after you were rescued.”
Peyton shifted on the couch.
“I’m sorry, Peyton.”
“No, it’s fine.”
Stan turned toward her. “I think you should know that he talked about you a lot. She made note of it. He was obsessed, Peyton. He thought you reminded him of his wife.”
Peyton looked over her shoulder at Jake. “What do we know about Chuck Wilson’s wife?”
“She died shortly after he retired. She had cancer.”
“Was she the Missy he mentioned in his letters?”
“I don’t know. When I read his employment file, it said her name was Opal. I remember him telling me that once.”
“I can try to find a picture of her,” said Stan, shifting to his computer and typing on the keypad.
“She was African American,” said Jake. “Lots of hair.”
Peyton closed her eyes. The thought of Chuck Wilson being the Janitor, of Chuck Wilson leaving her to die in that van, made her feel physically sick. They’d been co-workers, they’d been part of the Blue Shield. He’d violated everything they were supposed to believe in.
“Here she is,” said Stan, turning the laptop so Peyton could see. “This is her obituary.”
Peyton stared at the face of an older woman, thin with soul piercing black eyes. The obituary was brief, simple, elegant. It read: Beloved wife of Ambrose Charles Wilson. Survived by her husband. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. Psalms. You were my saint, Miss Opal, my darling.
Peyton rose to her feet and walked over to the window, placing her hands in her back pockets. How could a man who loved that deeply become a serial killer, a man who murdered without conscience, without hesitation?
Marco glanced over at her. Suddenly Cho’s phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and held it to his ear, then he turned moving toward the balcony door and pulling it open.
“They got a possible sighting at the toll booth on the Golden Gate Bridge. They have surveillance they want to send us,” he said, handing the phone to Stan.
Stan took it and pressed it to his ear. “Go ahead.”
Peyton watched as Stan’s fingers flew over the keyboard. Cho took a seat beside him, staring over his shoulder. Glancing into the kitchen at the clock on the wall, Peyton marked that it was almost 6:00AM. The sky was beginning to lighten outside Genevieve’s windows, but they still weren’t any closer to finding Chuck Wilson than they’d been at midnight.
“Got it,” said Stan.
Peyton turned back to him and watched as Jake and Bartlet left the kitchen, moving behind the couch so they could see too. Simons lifted his head from the table and stared bleary eyed at them.
“Wait. Play it again. That went too fast,” said Cho.
Stan clicked some more, then they leaned closer, trying to get a better look.
“Can you slow it down?”
“Yeah,” said Stan, moving the mouse.
“Well,” growled Simons. “Is it him?”
Jake shook his head. “I don’t think so. That guy’s too heavy. Besides Chuck Wilson has a full head of hair.”
Peyton exhaled, rolling her shoulders to ease tension. This wasn’t doing them a damn bit of good. She looked out at the balcony, realizing that Marco hadn’t come in with Cho. He was leaning on the rail, staring into his hands.
Peyton felt her stomach contract as she watched him.
Walking to the glass door, she yanked it open. He didn’t even turn as she stepped out onto the balcony and crossed to his side. He held his phone cradled in his hands and he was staring at the display.
“What is it?” she asked, dread making her voice tremble.
He closed his eyes.
“Marco, what’s going on?”
He looked at her, then held the phone out. She took it, pressing her thumb to the display. A text message appeared.
It isn’t often one gets a second chance. In fact, second chances are as rare as pirate’s gold. This is yours, Handsome.
“What?” asked Cho, standing in the doorway.
Peyton carried the phone to him.
Cho read the message, then he passed it to Simons. “What the hell does that mean?”
Marco turned. “It means he’s going to give me one more chance to end it. I’ve just got to figure out where that is.”
Peyton looked over at him. “You’re not seriously thinking of going?”
“What choice do I have, Peyton? This has to end. This has to stop. If this is the only way…”
“No,” said Simons. “When we go after this bastard, we’re all going. He’s gonna do things our way this time.”
“But how will we know where he is? How do we figure it out?” asked Cho.
Peyton took the phone back. “It’s a clue. The text message is a clue.”
“What?”
“When he attacked Irving Jones, he gave us a clue in the letter he wrote. Remember, Jake, remember what it said? You quoted it to me over the phone.”
Jake hurried into the kitchen and came back with the letters encased in plastic. He rifled through them, scanning them quickly. “Uh, he wrote: It’s always good to get some fresh air, especially at noon. Something about San Franciscan architecture has always fascinated me. So eclectic, so unique. In one spot you have the beauty of an old Victorian mansion and in another Greco-Roman colonnades – such diversity in one city.”
“Greco-Roman colonnades was the Palace of Fi
ne Arts,” said Peyton, holding out her hand to Jake. “So this...this…” She read the text message again. “Second chance...second chance?”
“Is there some place in the City called Second Chance?” asked Simons, turning to Stan.
Stan typed on his computer. “There’s a Second Chance Foundation that specializes in social services.”
“Where is it?” demanded Cho.
“It’s on Sacramento.”
“Let’s get out there.” They moved toward the doors.
“Wait!” said Peyton, staring at the phone. “That’s not it. The second chance refers to Marco and the chance he gave him to end it. No, the clue is the pirate’s gold.” She lifted her head, pinning Marco with her eyes. “Treasure Island,” she said and felt the breath leave her lungs.
* * *
Treasure Island was a manmade island in the San Francisco bay, joining two halves of the Bay Bridge. During the 40’s, it served as a naval base, but in the early 2000’s, it was sold back to the City of San Francisco. Due to its history as a military base, large parts of the island were contaminated with radioactive material and the adjacent houses and apartment complexes were condemned. Whole sections of the island had been fenced off, keeping people at bay with radioactive signs and warnings. Plans were underway to redevelop it, but as of yet, they were still mostly in the beginning stage.
Now police swarmed onto the island, using the Visitor’s Center at the bottom of the hill as their command center. Marco called in SWAT and as many available officers as they could. Commander Rick Walters took over, organizing bodies into search squads.
He had a map spread open on a display cabinet in the Visitor’s Center. Cho, Simons, Marco and Peyton crowded around it, surveying the area. Tag stood to one side with a fidgeting Bartlet.
Commander Walters pointed to an area just northwest of their location. “This is where I’d start. There are dozens of abandoned homes and apartment buildings here. He could be in any one of them.”
Marco nodded. “We’re going to have to spread out.”
“I’ll station men along this road and this one. Once you get into this part of the island, you can only go one way. There are traffic spikes embedded in the road to keep people from wandering around.”
Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7) Page 31
