She looked pale and her eyes were swollen and red. Any makeup she’d worn had been wiped away. Even her usually perfect ponytail was mussed. Stryker watched her with a concerned look on his face. Yep, definitely something going on there, Peyton thought.
Tank leaned forward and studied the paper.
Rosa glanced at it, then up into Igor’s face. They’d all known what he’d found the minute he walked into the room, but Rosa seemed to need to hear the words. “Is it Miller’s heart?”
Igor gave her a sad nod. “I’m afraid it is, Sarge. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure?” she said, her voice devoid of all inflection. Peyton shot a worried look up at Stryker.
Igor pointed to his paper. “Using PCR to amplify the DNA sample taken from the heart, we were able to compare it to Joseph Miller’s DNA sample he provided to the DEA a number of years ago. The STR bands on the two samples, along with a control sample that Agent Campbell provided, indicates that Joe Miller and the heart are genetically linked.”
“How accurate is this, Igor?” asked Radar.
“I don’t like to deal in absolutes, but nearly 100%, Radar.”
Rosa shivered, but she made no other sound.
“How long ago was the heart taken from his body?” she asked.
“I need to do more tests, but I would estimate at least three days. Internal organs begin to decompose between 24 to 72 hours after death. There was evidence of necrotic tissue on the heart, so it had to be more than 24 hours.”
Rosa swallowed hard, then she nodded. “Good work, Igor.”
He picked up the DNA evidence and clasped his hands before him, staring at Rosa through his thick glasses. “I’m sorry, Sarge. I wish I could have brought you better news.”
She blinked. “You brought me the truth. Thank you for that.”
He nodded and left the room.
“Did you call Hanson?” asked Radar.
“I did, but I couldn’t get him. I left a message for him to call me as soon as he can.” She stared at the table. “I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. What else were we researching?”
“I was finding out who Dorothea Clark is in Miami,” offered Tank.
Rosa glanced up at him, frowning. “Dorothea Clark? What?”
“The return address said it came from Dorothea Clark,” reminded Tank.
“Right. What did you find out?”
“Dorothea’s an 83 year old widow. Her wallet was stolen and her identity as well. Her credit cards and now apparently her address have been used by thieves.”
Rosa filed that away. “What else?”
“I went down to see who signed for the package last night,” offered Bambi. “It came in the regular way with a courier who signed in at the desk. I have the courier’s name, but I don’t think he had any idea what was in the box.”
“Who signed for it at the desk and brought it up here?” asked Rosa.
“Mike Edwards,” said Bambi, shooting an uncomfortable look at Peyton.
Peyton frowned at that. What the hell? He wasn’t her responsibility. Besides that, signing for packages was sort of in his job description, wasn’t it?
“I want to see the courier on the surveillance tape. Call back to Express Shipping and ask them to send us a photograph of the guy who was supposed to deliver here. I want to compare the two and make sure they’re the same guy,” said Radar. “Bambi, you call Express Shipping for the photo, and Sparky, you go over the surveillance tape. Get us a copy of the video.”
She didn’t know why he was making her do that part of it, but she knew with Radar, he had something up his sleeve.
“Sarge?” said Darren, sticking his head into the conference room. “Chief Inspector Justin Hanson is on the line for you.”
Tank rose and retrieved the heavy black phone from a sideboard, setting it before Rosa. She stared at it a moment without moving. Stryker shifted weight, staring down at his feet. Lifting her hand, Rosa reached for the receiver, then stopped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I can take the call,” offered Radar.
Rosa shook her head, then drew a deep breath and picked it up. “Chief Inspector Hanson, thank you for returning my call. I have my team assembled. I’d like to put you on speakerphone, so they can be in on the conversation. Is that all right with you, sir?” She listened for a moment, then said, “Yes, I understand.” She nodded at the door. “Close it, will you, Tank?”
Tank moved to comply.
Rosa pushed a button. “Chief Inspector, you’re now on speakerphone,” she said clearly.
“SAC Alvarez, based on your message, you said you had concerning news for me. Is it about Agent Miller?”
Rosa glanced around the table, then drew a deep breath. Tank came back and took his seat again. “I do, Chief. Today someone delivered a package to my office.”
“A package?”
“From a woman in Miami who had her identity stolen.”
“I’m not following you, SAC Alvarez. Since we spoke, there have been some developments here that require my full attention. I have an undercover agent, who has expressed grave concern for his partner. That partner has been missing for more than a week. My undercover agent has asked for more agents to search for his partner. In the meantime, I get an esoteric call from you. I don’t like secretive dealings, SAC Alvarez. If you remember, I asked you to call me if you’d heard from Joe Miller. Have you heard from Joe Miller?”
“Esoteric,” Peyton whispered to her team, nodding her head. “See, I got it right.”
“Is the missing agent Joe Miller, Chief?” Rosa asked, her voice leaden.
“As a matter of fact, it is, SAC Alvarez. Now what do you have for me?”
“We have his heart, Chief.”
There was a pause on the line, then Hanson cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you right. Come again. What do you have?”
“His heart, Chief Inspector. Someone sent his heart to me in an Express Shipping Box.” Rosa continued to outline everything they knew about the case.
Hanson was silent for a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was weary. “God, I was hoping for a different outcome. I suppose the FBI will now be getting involved in this case?”
“I’d like to work with you on it, Chief, yes.”
Hanson was quiet again. Finally he cleared his throat. “I hate losing a man,” he said.
“I know,” answered Rosa, woodenly. “He was my partner for many years.”
Hanson made a grunt of agreement. “We’ll be happy to share the case with you, SAC Alvarez,” he finally said and Bambi clapped her hands. No one else made a move. “His partner will want to work with you as well. I’m sure of it. I’ll appoint him as the liaison between our departments.”
“Is his partner still in Mexico?”
“Yes, but I’ll have him fly up as soon as he can to debrief you and give you the information you need.”
“Who is it?” asked Rosa.
“Kazander Bass,” said Hanson. “He and Miller were partners on a drug cartel case in Cancun, Mexico. In fact, you might know Kaz Bass yourself.”
“I do,” said Rosa, nodding. “I remember him very well. In fact, I called him about Joe, but he never returned my call.”
“Bass has been undercover for a while now, trying to break up a drug ring, but I’ll let him fill you in when he gets there. I’ll have my assistant get to work on bringing him home.” He hesitated. “He’s going to be devastated, Agent Alvarez, so…”
“We all are,” Rosa answered. “We all are.” She flattened her hand on the table. “What about Miller’s wife, Celeste? Someone needs to tell her about Joe.”
“We’ll take care of finding her. Concentrate on bringing Joe Miller’s killer to justice, SAC Alvarez. He was a good man.”
Rosa didn’t respond for a moment, closing her eyes for composure. Peyton reached over and touched her hand. Rosa didn’t remove herself from Peyton’s touch, but she tilted up her chin and nodded. “He was
a good man, Chief, that he was, and we will find out who did this to him. I promise.”
* * *
“We’re going to Mexico,” whispered Bambi to Peyton as they left the conference room. The other woman bounced around, wringing her hands in excitement. “I just know it. We’re going to Mexico.”
Tank came out after them, giving Peyton a commiserate smile.
Bambi grabbed Peyton’s arm. “Aren’t you excited?”
“I guess, but this whole heart things gives me the willies.” She shuddered.
“The Mayans did blood sacrifices,” said Tank, “to honor the gods. During the postclassical period, around 900 to 1524AD, the most common type of human sacrifice was heart extraction. It’s believed they learned it from the Aztec, but they would perform it most often in a temple at the top of a pyramid. After the heart was removed, the priests, usually four of them, representative of the cardinal directions, would throw the body down the steps of the pyramid where priest would skin…”
“Okay!” said Radar, coming out of the conference room. “That’s enough of that.”
Tank ducked his head. Peyton felt a little sorry for him, but she was getting a bit queasy. Bambi touched Tank’s arm. “You can tell me the rest later.”
“No,” said Radar, wagging a finger in front of her face. “We’re not going all ghoulish on this one. Joe Miller was a fellow agent and we’re going to show some respect.”
“They know that, Radar,” said Peyton, defending her teammates. “It’s just hard not to get caught up in the sensationalism of it.”
“Yeah, well, today I got to see a heart in a box.”
Peyton shrugged. “I’ve seen a head in a box, so once you’ve seen that…”
Radar glared at her. “Not you too.”
Bambi clasped his hands. “This is really exciting, though, Radar. It’s not like it’s a made up monster this time.”
“A made up monster?” asked Radar.
“Like zombies in the Delta,” said Bambi.
“Or mermaids in the Pacific,” said Tank.
“Or werewolves in London,” offered Peyton with a shrug. “That was a little cliché, don’t you think?”
“No, vampires in Hollywood took top billing,” said Bambi.
Peyton laughed. “I see what you did there.”
“That was clever,” said Tank, smiling.
Radar crossed his arms over his chest. “And just what the hell do you think this one is?”
The three of them thought for a moment, then Peyton got a glint in her eye. “Chupacabra in Mexico.”
“No,” said Tank, holding up a finger. “Chupacabra in the Yucatan. See the Yucatan peninsula separates the Caribbean Sea from the Gulf of Mexico…”
“Enough.” Radar pushed through them, pointing back over his shoulder. “Surveillance video, now, Sparky.”
“You’re welcome, Radar!” she called after him.
* * *
Bambi walked with Peyton to the elevator. “I’ll call Express Shipping and get a photo of the guy who delivered the package, but they might demand a warrant.”
“No problem. I really don’t think the shipping company had anything to do with it. They were just the couriers.”
“Literally,” said Bambi.
Peyton smiled at her. “Did you have a good break, Emma? You seem rested.”
“It was nice. I love spending time with the folks, but I’m glad to be back here again. I like work.” She grabbed Peyton’s arm. “Oh, goodness, how’s Marco? You said on the phone that the surgery went well, but how’s the rehab going?”
“He’s home now, so that’s a lot better and physical therapy seems to be going well. They’re letting him swim.” Peyton pressed the button for the elevator.
“When you say he’s home, do you mean home with you?”
Peyton nodded. “Yep. He’s back where he belongs.”
“How’s it going?”
Peyton considered that. How was it going? Well. Really well. “It’s good, Emma. Actually, it’s really good. Things between us seemed to have sorted themselves.”
“Is the wedding back on?”
“No, we’re not there yet, but you know what, I’m okay. I like where we’re at and I’m sleeping better at night, I can tell you that.”
Bambi rubbed her arm. “I’m glad for you, Peyton.” She dropped her hand and gave Peyton a serious look. “How’s Jake?”
That question took Peyton by surprise. Bambi and Jake had gone on a dinner date, but Peyton had prevented anything else from happening between them. She knew Bambi’s track record with men and she didn’t want Jake to be another notch on Bambi’s headboard. Jake hadn’t been very happy about that and they’d fought. It had never occurred to Peyton that Bambi might actually be interested in the goofy CSI.
“He’s good,” she said, but she didn’t really know. He hadn’t come to Sunday night dinner and he’d spent most of his time barbecuing outside at dinner on Saturday night. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”
The elevator arrived and Peyton stepped inside.
“Talk to you soon,” said Bambi, waving as the elevator closed.
“Talk to you soon,” Peyton called through the crack in the door.
She got out in the lobby. Mike Edwards, the craggy faced blond security guard, beamed a smile at her as she approached the counter.
“Hey, Peyton, how are you?”
She laid her arm on the counter. “I’m good, Mike. How are you?”
“Just dandy. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I need the surveillance footage from last night. You accepted a package from Express Shipping around 5:30, right?”
“I did. I do almost every night.”
“Right, but I need the surveillance video from last night. Can you pull it up for me?”
“Sure. You wanna come behind the counter.” He lifted the section to his right and Peyton moved through into the tight back space where security kept watch over the front entry hall. “Take a seat.” He pulled a stool over and indicated she should sit.
She had to squeeze past him, the space was so tight.
“Your hair smells like flowers,” he said, his face too close to her wild mane.
She looked up at him, spearing him with a warning glare. He held out his hands in a motion of surrender.
“You can’t blame a man for noticing,” he pleaded.
Peyton propped herself on the stool. “Control it,” she grumbled.
He gave a laugh and turned to the computer. She watched while he used the mouse to click on the computer screen. “Tank was down here earlier. What’s going on? Was something broken in the package?”
“You could say that,” she replied. For some reason, she didn’t want to give him too much information.
As he looked for the video, Peyton studied him. He had a pleasant face, weathered but that added to his appeal. His eyes were kind, his expression always upbeat and happy to see her, but she sensed something in him, some undercurrent of worry or sadness, she wasn’t sure what.
“Mike?” she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Hm.”
“Your mother lives in the Bay Area, right?”
“Right.”
“What about your father?”
“Dead.”
“Any siblings?”
“Nope.” He clicked some more.
“After you left the army, what did you do for work?”
He turned, bracing his arm on the counter. “What do you mean?”
“Employment? What did you do?”
“I worked for an NGO.”
“An NGO?”
“Yeah, we dug wells and taught farming techniques to Iraqis devastated by the war. We did good work.”
“Who ran the NGO?” she asked, feeling a prickling of suspicion.
“Some multimillionaire, I forget his name…um, Arlo Granger, I think.”
She filed that away. “What was it called? The NGO?”
�
�Um, we always called it ICA, but it was the Iraqi Conservation Association.” He gave her a serious look. “What’s with the interrogation?”
She shrugged. “I just realized we haven’t ever had a conversation about our past before.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
She felt warnings go off inside of her, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to deny him his turn. He’d answered her questions without hesitation. “Okay?”
“Is Marco living with you again?”
She bristled at that. “Mike,” she began in a warning tone.
“Just hear me out, okay, Peyton?”
“Fine.”
He leaned on the counter, bringing himself closer to her. “I saw guys all the time in Iraq and Afghanistan. They were good guys, had families they loved, women they would have died for, but they got PTSD and they changed. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t responsible for what happened to them, but it changed them.”
She looked away.
“I’m talking about guys who would have killed themselves rather than hurt a woman, but they suddenly found themselves in blackout rages where they beat their wives and didn’t even know it. I can’t tell you how many marriages I saw break up because of that.”
Peyton clenched her jaw, curling her hand into a fist. She should never have tried to open up a conversation with him. It was a mistake. “Just leave it alone, Mike, okay?”
“I’m worried about you. You keep trying to make this relationship work, but he isn’t the same man he used to be. Why can’t you see what the rest of us see? He clearly has PTSD from his gunshot, Peyton. He could really hurt you.”
“The video, Mike!” she said through gritted teeth.
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” He clicked some more and pulled up the video.
Peyton leaned forward, studying it. The courier walked through the doors at 5:27 and crossed the entrance hall, coming to a halt at the security desk. He held up a hand in greeting, a large bag slung over his shoulder. Mike appeared from the back, moving to the counter and setting a clipboard on it. The Express Shipping driver signed the clipboard, then reached into his bag. He pulled out a number of red, white, and blue envelopes, placing them on the counter, then drew out the box and set it beside the envelopes. Mike grabbed the box and waved goodbye to the driver. The driver turned and walked back to the doors as Mike disappeared into the back.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 17