"The Barnett murders. If this man is in the house, and won't talk to us we'll fall back until we get that warrant. But if he bolts, we're on him. Is that understood?" Everyone nodded including Finn. "Okay. Lang and Williams, I want you invisible one on either side of the house. Let's do it."
They moved their cars: the detective's in front of 4241 and the black and white just out of sight line. Lang and Williams took up their stations, Finn and Cori walked up to the front door.
"I start the conversation, O'Brien."
"Sure," Finn answered.
"If you say anything, then you follow my lead," she warned. "I'm not kidding."
"I wouldn't cross you," he said.
"Never lie to a woman with a gun tucked in her britches, O'Brien."
Cori pulled out a step ahead and Finn let her go, but when they stood in front of the door he was by her side. She knocked. When no one answered, Finn pushed the bell and that's when Georgia Peyton presented herself. She gave Finn a smile that was stretched tight like her yellow T-shirt.
"Mrs. Peyton?" Cori said.
"Yeah."
Her black-rimmed eyes narrowed as she looked at Cori and her smile contracted faster than a cheap girdle.
"I'm Detective Anderson, this is Detective O'Brien of the Los Angeles Police Department."
"Yeah." Georgia said again, not particularly impressed by Cori. She was, however, curious about the big, handsome cop. He smiled at her and reached into his pocket. He showed her the postcard.
"Are these your lovely children, Mrs. Peyton?" Finn asked, his brogue like a dollop of honey atop his sweet question.
Georgia's eyes went to the photo. She shifted her weight. A wrinkle of worry snaked between her eyes.
"Is there a law against havin' cute kids?"
"No ma'am. Beautiful, they are," Finn said and when he kept smiling that wrinkle between Georgia Peyton's eyes almost disappeared.
"Have they done something?"
"No. Absolutely not," Cori assured her. "We just wanted to make sure we had the right family. Is your husband home?"
"Yeah." The woman chomped on that word like it was a piece of gristle. She shifted her weight again.
"Can we talk to him?" Cori asked. "It won't take a minute."
"He's been out all day so he's kinda tired. I take care of the kids anyway, so you can just talk to me about them, except not now 'cause I was just getting dinner. So, I have to go 'cause Mort doesn't like his dinner to be late."
Georgia stepped back and put her hand on the door sure that these people spelled bad news for Mort. Finn, though, needing to see good old Mort, stepped forward and turned the Irish charm up a notch.
"We know it's late, missus. We appreciate that you're a busy mum," he said, his blue eyes tight with hers. " 'Tis amazing how well you look considering you have two little ones to look after, but we only need to ask your husband one wee question about his work. Please, missus, if you would be so kind."
Finn edged ever closer, keeping his hand high on the door to hold it open. Georgia's huge breasts quivered, her eyelashes fluttered, and she licked her lips.
"I guess it's okay," she breathed. "We don't want no trouble. I mean, that's what we're going to get if he don't talk to you, right?"
"Oh, no, missus, no trouble," Finn assured her. "Just a question. A wee minute of his time."
"Yeah. I guess a minute is okay." Georgia thought a second, took one more good, long look at Finn and said: "You wait here, okay?"
Georgia closed the door. Cori and Finn stood at ease, their hands clasped behind their back. They counted off the seconds. Finn had counted to three when he heard Cori say:
"Oh, no, missus. No trouble missus."
Cori mimicked him, brogue and all, and Finn smirked. He counted off one more second and heard her say:
"You are friggin' brilliant."
Georgia leaned against the door and took a minute. She put a hand to her heart that was near beating a hole through her chest. Part of it was because the cop on the stoop was so damn gorgeous, but most of it was because she was so damn dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. How dumb could she be? Not much more than she already was. Mort wasn't going to be happy that she told them he was home, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She would have to take her lumps 'cause it was a sure bet that they weren't going away until they saw him.
"Jesus Christ All Mighty, Mort," she muttered as she hurried toward the bathroom. "What have you done?"
Georgia threw herself against the door and whisper-hollered at her husband, her hands cupped on the sides of her mouth like a mini-megaphone.
"Mort! Mort, you shit! Mort, get off the can. There's cops at the door and they want to talk to you now."
"What kind?" Mort's voice was muffled and sounded kind of sexy coming through the door.
Georgia breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't sound like he was falling-off-the-john-mad-as-a- hornet so she whisper-hollered back.
"How the hell do I know what kind? Cop cops." She wondered if she sounded sexier talking through the cheap door, too.
"Do they have uniforms?"
The toilette flushed, Georgia opened the door a smidgen, and stuck her head in. Mort was zipping his pants and she could see his face in the mirror over the sink. His pale skin was almost green and his eyes shined bright like he had a fever.
"Baby, you okay? You sick?"
Georgia squeezed in behind him. She reached for the side of his face, her long nails held at an angle so they wouldn't scratch him while she checked for a temperature. He knocked her hand aside, twirled around, and grabbed her by the shoulders. Mort danced her out of the bathroom and around the corner to the bedroom.
"What kind of cops, Georgia?" Mort demanded.
"A guy cop with an accent and a broad in regular clothes. I think there's a guy in a uniform near the neighbor's, but I couldn't be sure," Georgia whispered.
"What did they say? Exactly."
"The ones at the door had that picture of the girls. Remember? I told you I took 'em to have their picture taken at the department store. And, well, they put it on the thing they mail out to people. Sort of like, advertising. It's a real cute picture."
"What picture, Georgia?" Mort pushed her back up against the wall.
"Ow, Mort!" she yelped. He looked at the dresser and then pushed her toward it. The top of it was covered with pictures of the girls. "Which one Georgia?"
She plucked a frame off the top. "This one. This picture."
Mort grabbed it and held it up to the light. His hand fell to his side. He hung his head. He swore, and swore, and swore some more in a really low voice that Georgia had never heard before. Suddenly, he whirled away from her and smashed the frame onto the edge of the dresser. Georgia squealed, glass flew, and Mort seemed to grow ten inches taller before he threw himself on the bed, buried his face in his hands and tried to contain his fury.
"You had their pictures taken with those lockets on? Shit, Georgia. You are the stupidest broad on earth. You had their picture taken!"
"So what?"
She was done with this. Georgia tried to get close to the bed. The broken glass crunched under her feet and shards poked through the thin soles of her slippers, but she moved in on him anyway.
"Did you steal them Mort? If you did, just give them back and the cops'll go away. They're only a couple of necklaces. I mean it, Mort. Just give 'em back."
He sat up straight and pushed her away as he scrambled off the bed. Georgia fell back, almost losing her balance. Mort went to the bedroom window even though he knew he couldn't get out that way. It was barred like every other one in the house. That left the front door or the back. In the back he would have to scale the fence and the wall behind that.
He could try the front, but he wouldn't get very far if there were more cops around that Georgia didn't see. He could try to talk to them. Yeah, he could fake it. He could pretend he didn't know nothing about nothing. What did they have on him? Just a picture. Yeah, that's what he'd say.
And they didn't have a warrant or they would have showed Georgia. They would have him in cuffs by now if they had a warrant. They'd be tearing up the place if they had a warrant. And what were they going to find? Nothing. No lockets that was for sure. He could say that they borrowed them from someone. He could say he found them. Yeah, borrowed 'em from Hussein's Pawn 'cause good old Hussein hardly ever knew what he had in stock. It was the cops who were at the disadvantage. Not him. Naw, this was his turf.
But there was the gun. If they got that he was screwed for sure. He threw himself on the bed, grabbed his piece, got up and stuck it in his pants and straight-armed his wife.
"Get out of my way, Georgia."
"What are you doing? I gotta tell them something."
Georgia prattled while Mort rummaged through the bureau drawer coming up with fifty bucks. If he worked this right he would be out of the neighborhood before they knew he was gone. He dragged Georgia to the bedroom door, twisted her arm, and yanked her into him.
"Shut up, Georgia, and listen."
He spoke softly, which was scarier than when he talked loud. Georgia turned her head away. She didn't like the way Mort smelled when he sweated.
"I want you to go out there and…" Mort yanked harder to make sure he had her attention. "Listen to me talking."
Georgia's eyes rattled and she nodded hard.
"Good. Go tell them I'll be out in a minute. Go out onto the step and close the door behind you, but not hard so they think something's up. Just kind of natural, so they can't see inside the house. I'm going out the back, but I don't want them to see me. Got that?"
"Yeah, Mort. Sure," Georgia whimpered, positive that he didn't know how hard he was holding onto her. "But, baby, where are you going? When will you be back? What will happen to me?"
"Just do what I say, and do it now." He flung her toward the door. Georgia stumbled, one foot sliding off her high-heeled slippers. She blinked hard and mascara flaked her cheeks. Behind her, Mort was still giving directions. "Do it casual, Georgia. Give me some time."
She nodded, pulled herself up as straight as she could, and then walked back through the house a lot slower than she had walked through it the first time. She looked back once, but Mort waved her on with an upraised fist. Georgia took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, opened the door and stepped out.
"It seems I was mistaken," she began as sweetly as she knew how, holding the door half closed behind her the way Mort said she should. "I thought my husband was home, but he must have left without telling me, and–"
While Georgia talked, Finn kept his eye on the ever-diminishing view of the interior of the house. Cori made girl noises, trying to keep the woman's attention as Finn moved to his left. Georgia countered, pulling the door just a little tighter against her rump, her eyes darting between Cori and Finn. It was too little too late. She had blown it.
"Out the back! Blue shirt. Red hair," Finn bellowed.
Finn threw Georgia aside. Cori caught her and put her against the wall, ignoring the woman's screams of outrage as Finn sprinted through the living room and into the kitchen, seconds behind Mort Peyton.
Finn got a bead on everything as he went on: the dishes in the sink, the nail polish bottle on the table, the pictures of kids held to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like food. On the television, Vanna White clapped her hands while someone spun the wheel looking for fortune. The back door was still bouncing.
Finn exploded through it, into a backyard of scrub and trash. To his right, a Rottweiler paced and snapped. To Finn's left, Mort Peyton hung on the chain link fence, legs pumping as he tried to get a toehold and make his escape.
"Stop."
Finn pulled up short at the sound of a voice he didn't recognize. Mort looked over his shoulder, Finn looked toward the dark corridor between the Peyton house and the neighbor's. Williams, the young buck who was still wet behind the ears, appeared with gun in hand.
"Stop. Police."
His voice shook and Finn's heart beat double time but then he saw Cori coming up behind. Williams was in hand, so Finn attended to the man on the fence.
"Mr. Peyton, drop now. To the ground, hands in sight."
Finn advanced with a measured step, stopping when he was close enough to see the bugger in all his glory. He was an insignificant little man, worried about his own worthless rear end, so fearful of what may happen to him. All that would happen would be that he would enjoy the due process of law. Coward. Coward who killed women and children.
"Drop you little turd!" Finn demanded.
The dog was barking like a hound from hell. The red haired man's fingers were slipping and when he saw Finn O'Brien he looked sick. Then Mort Peyton looked away and his skinny butt started gyrating again.
"Damn," Finn muttered, and started for the man on the fence.
Before he took more than one step, Mort Peyton lost his grip and fell to the ground hard, landing with his legs splayed and his arms akimbo. Blood poured down the right side of his face where he scraped it against the rusted chain link. Only his eyes still worked the way he wanted them to. Quick and bright, he checked out the opposition, assessed his chances, got a second wind and went flying for the fence again. That was when everything went to hell.
Finn started to move.
Williams raised his gun.
Cori screamed, "Stop."
And a little girl burst out of the shed on the corner of the property.
"Daddy! Daddy!" she cried as she flew across the yard.
The dog went nuts.
Mort Peyton scrambled on the ground.
Officer Williams panicked and called: "Stop or I'll shoot."
Sadly, Williams forgot the sequence and shot first, pulling the trigger at the exact moment that the little red haired girl threw herself into her father's arms and took the bullet.
Cori took down Williams. Lang rushed around the other side of the house as Finn swooped down and put his hands on the girl. Mort Peyton pulled back, clasping her to him, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.
"My little girl is shot," he wailed. "He shot Bobbi. He shot her."
"Give her up. Give her up," Finn demanded as he pried the wounded child from him.
The little girl's blood had soaked Mort Peyton's sleeve and, as Finn carried her, it bled into him. He laid her little body on the ground. She was wide-eyed and silent with shock. Georgia Peyton threw herself toward the girl, keening and whimpering and gnashing her teeth. From the shed on the side of the property, another red haired girl peered out at the mayhem, accepting of the bad things happening in her own backyard. Cori slid to a halt next to Finn and put pressure on the girl's wound.
"She's good," Cori said. "The bullet went straight through her shoulder. I've got the paramedics on the way."
"Keep it to yourself," Finn hissed.
Finn stood up and turned on Mort Peyton, towering over the little man, unmoved by his teary eyes, disgusted by his red-splotched face, unsympathetic to the trail of blood from where the fence cut him. Finn O'Brien took the man's shirt collar in his big hands and pulled him up close so that he would not only hear every word Finn O'Brien muttered, but also feel Finn's hot breath and see the deep, cold fury in his eyes.
"You little shit. Look at me! Look at me! I swear, I will let your child die if you don't tell me what I want to know."
"No! No! You can't let my kid die. You're a cop!" Mort dangled and twitched, trying to throw himself to the side to see his daughter. Finn held tighter, near choking the man to get his attention.
"Look at me. Look at me or I'll stuff your tongue down your throat and no one will care if you choke on it. Do you understand me?" Finn threw him against the fence face first, yanking one arm behind him.
"Hey, you can't do this. You gotta read me my rights."
Finn stuffed his hands into the man's pockets. He came up with the money.
"Mort Peyton, I am arresting you for the murder or Alexis and Alana Barnett–"
; Finn dug down the front of Mort's pants and came up with the gun.
"Lang!" he called and the cop was on it. Finn handed off the weapon. "Mort Peyton, I am arresting you for the murder of Rachel Gerber."
"I didn't kill no one! I swear–"
"You have the right to remain silent," Finn growled. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
"Bobbi! Is she dead? Oh, God. Oh, God."
The man screamed and cried and Finn pushed him hard into the chain link, talking loud enough for God to hear so there would be no mistaking that he had done everything by the book. He cuffed the man's other hand, perhaps a little more tightly than he should. When that was done, Finn put his lips to Mort's ear.
"That little girl of yours?" Finn whispered. "She is God's payback, man. You take someone's child, God reaches down for yours."
Mort jerked away, but Finn held him tight. He twirled him around and pushed him back up against the fence so it cut into his hands and his back and his head. Finn could only hope that he was pushing hard enough so that the man would be branded by the chain link.
"Ah! Ow! It's cutting me," Mort cried.
"Tell me about the nanny," Finn ordered.
"I want a lawyer."
"I'll let your kid bleed out." Finn's eyes went icy cold as he looked at Mort Peyton and promised: "I will let her die like those poor wee ones you killed. Now, what about the nanny and those children?"
"It was my partner. The kids were a mistake," Mort howled.
"O'Brien," Cori called, but Finn didn't hear her. All he heard was Mort Peyton's voice; all he saw was the killer of Elizabeth Barnett's children.
"Who did the woman?"
"My partner. My partner did it! All of it!" Mort screamed. "I just make sure it goes down."
In the distance, Finn could hear the sirens. He needed to work fast before Mort Peyton's daughter was no longer a bargaining chip.
"Your partner's dead and your kid is fading fast, my man."
Finn took Mort by the scruff of the neck and let him see the child lying on the ground covered in blood. He let him see just long enough to frighten some truth into him. Finn pulled Mort Peyton back and up. They were nose to nose when he said:
Severed Relations Page 27
