Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Jake nodded and rose to follow him out.

  Marco gave Lee only a passing look before he headed to interrogation. Cho and Simons were waiting for him in the viewing room, while Carol and her lawyer, Jefferson Greene, sat at the table, talking quietly to each other.

  Marco studied Carol. She didn’t seem worried or anxious. Her make-up was impeccable, her hair styled, and her clothes of the latest fashion.

  “Adams can’t be here for another hour or so,” said Simons. “He’s in court. You want us to wait.”

  “No, same thing as always. Cho, you interrogate, Simons, you intimidate.”

  “Got it,” said Simons.

  Cho chewed on his inner lip, then he grabbed the file off the metal table and walked to the door, crossing to interrogation. Carol sat up at his appearance and watched as he took a seat at the table and Simons moved behind her. She shifted and tried to keep Simons in view.

  “Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Peterson. I’m Inspector Nathan Cho,” said Cho, opening the file. “We just have a few questions for you.”

  “When will my husband be released? We paid bail first thing this morning.”

  “Soon.”

  “What’s this about? Brad already confessed to shooting the intruder in self-defense. Why aren’t you bouncing this?” asked Greene.

  “We have a few discrepancies in the story as I’m sure you are aware from Brad’s interview.”

  Carol leaned forward. “Inspector Cho, Brad has brain damage, which doctors feel increased his chances for Parkinson’s disease.”

  “And how is this pertinent to our case?”

  “He needs to be released. He needs to be home. He needs me.”

  “We’ll get him out as soon as we’re done here, Mrs. Peterson.”

  “This is ridiculous. I’m going to file a motion to have this case dismissed,” said Greene.

  “That’s your job, not mine,” said Cho, clearly not intimidated. “Now, Mrs. Peterson, can you tell me what happened at your house last Thursday?”

  “My husband was questioned by Captain D’Angelo. He’s a family friend. Where is he?”

  “Mrs. Peterson, you know he can’t question you…”

  “He questioned Brad. I want to speak to Captain D’Angelo.”

  Cho shifted uncomfortably and looked up at Simons. Simons gave him a chin nod. “He has a more intimate history with you, Mrs. Peterson. If you’ll just answer my questions, we can get this over with and you can get your husband.”

  She glanced at Greene. He held up an open hand.

  “Fine, what do you want to know?”

  “Tell me what happened in your house last Thursday.”

  “Brad and I were looking at paint swatches in the guest bedroom, when we heard a noise downstairs. We went to the master bedroom so Brad could get one of the guns out of his safe.”

  “Which gun?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know guns, Inspector Cho.”

  “All right. Then what?”

  “Brad told me to wait in the room. I didn’t think it was anything, but I did what he said.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? He’s my husband.”

  “But you told me he has brain damage, Mrs. Peterson. Weren’t you worried for his safety?”

  “He has trouble remembering things. He forgets to turn off the stove, forgets to eat if I don’t remind him, but he was just checking out a noise downstairs. I didn’t really believe it was anything.” Her expression sobered and she clasped her hands over her handbag. “Until I heard the gunshot.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I ran downstairs and called 911.”

  Cho nodded a few times, then he opened the file. “You don’t know guns.”

  “No, I’ve never liked them.”

  Cho pulled out a picture of a gun lying on the wooden floor. “Is this the gun your husband got out of the gun safe?”

  “It might be. It looks familiar.”

  “This is a Webley Vickers, Mrs. Peterson.”

  “Okay.”

  “It wasn’t shot.”

  She looked at Greene. He gave Cho a bored look. “She said she doesn’t know guns. What are you doing? Brad confessed to the shooting.”

  “Right.” Cho pulled out another paper and set it on the table before Carol. “According to the autopsy, the John Doe had to be shot from the second story based on the trajectory of the bullet. We’ve run a program that recreates crime scenes and the shooter had to be under six feet tall.”

  The lawyer grabbed the paper and studied it. “You think this is going to hold up in court? Really? An experimental program?”

  “The autopsy will. Dr. Jefferson is the best in the business.”

  Carol looked afraid. Marco felt for her. Usually he could remain detached, but this bothered him. Obviously this was why he shouldn’t be involved in this case. She shifted and glanced back at Simons, but Simons stood expressionless.

  “What happened on Thursday, Mrs. Peterson?”

  “The same thing Brad and I have been telling you for days now. He surprised an intruder.”

  “How’d the man get into the house?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Not through a window, not through a door.”

  “He was an intruder. They have ways of doing things.”

  Cho looked up at Simons. “Did you hear that? They have ways of doing things.”

  “Magic. He poofed in.”

  Marco gritted his teeth. He knew Cho and Simons were just using the same bag of tricks he and Peyton had used millions of times, but Carol looked so vulnerable, so fragile.

  “I didn’t say that,” she protested.

  “Is this the way you treat all willing witnesses, Inspector Cho?” said Greene angrily.

  “Only ones who lie.”

  Greene rose to his feet. “This interview’s over. Come on, Carol. Let’s go get Brad.”

  “We have enough probable cause to arrest your client, Greene.”

  Greene leaned on the table. “The hell you do.” He took Carol’s arm and helped her to her feet.

  “You said this would go away,” she murmured to him.

  “It will when I file a motion tomorrow.”

  Cho leaned back in his chair. “Where’s the real gun, Mrs. Peterson? We went over that house, but we didn’t find it. Your lawyer thinks he can get your husband off with a motion, but no judge is going to listen when he sees our evidence. How did your husband know the John Doe? Was he a friend? An associate?”

  “He didn’t know him!”

  “Don’t say anything more, Carol.” Greene tried to push her to the door. “We’re leaving.”

  “The John Doe was killed with a .357, not a .45. How? Where’s the gun that shot the .357, Mrs. Peterson? How come so much time passed between the shooting and when you called 911? What were you and Brad doing? Watching the guy drown in his own blood?”

  Carol gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. Greene pushed her toward the door. Smith waited on the other side and motioned in the direction they should go. As Carol passed the viewing room, she looked in at Marco. Marco met her frightened gaze, then looked away.

  * * *

  Peyton and Bambi found the perfume vendor exactly where Gordon Bell had told them. He’d set up his small table right at the north end of the bridge, in front of the windows to an investment company. He smiled cheekily when Peyton and Bambi stopped in front of him.

  “Good afternoon,” said Bambi. “What a lovely display you have here.”

  “Thank you, luv.”

  “I’m Emma.”

  “Brian O’Shea, entrepreneur.” Grabbing a bottle off the table, he held it out to Bambi. “Here’s a perfume sample for the beautiful American woman. Oscar de la Rent One.”

  Bambi took it and looked at the label. “You mean Oscar de la Renta?”

  He smiled cheekily. “This is better now, isn’t it?”

  Bambi passed it back to Peyton. Peyton turned it over in her ha
nd, but didn’t know what to do with it. In the end, she shoved it in her jacket pocket.

  Reaching for a business card he had on the table, Bambi studied it. “We wanted to ask you some questions.” Stuffing the card in her pocket, she pulled out her badge.

  The street vendor held up his hands. “I have a license to sell here, luv.”

  “I don’t care about your cheap-ass perfumes. I want to ask you about the murder.”

  He looked toward the bridge, then he started packing up. “I didn’t see anything, luv, and you can’t make me talk, so go away. You’re interfering with my entrepreneurial spirit. Like I said, I saw nothing.”

  “You called for an ambulance,” said Peyton.

  “Did I now? Do you have proof of that?” He leaned toward them. “No, I didn’t think so.” He started packing again.

  “As a matter of fact, we have a record of the call.”

  “So I called a phone number. That’s all I did. I didn’t see it, now did I?”

  Bambi grabbed his arm to stop his packing. “A young girl was murdered right there and you saw nothing?”

  “I saw nothing.” He tried to pull his arm away. “Let me go. You Americans don’t have jurisdiction here.”

  “Actually we do. We’re sanctioned through Scotland Yard, so start talking, jackass.”

  He shook his head. “So like an American, arrogant and crass.”

  Bambi stepped closer to him. “You want crass, I’ll give you crass when I shove my boot up your ass.”

  “Oh, that was nice,” said Peyton. “I saw what you did there – the rhyming and all, very Shakespearean.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been working on making my threats more colorful.”

  “Well, I think you nailed it, girl. That one had real flare.”

  “Fuck off, are you joking?” said the vendor.

  Peyton held out a hand to him. “Now here’s something different about the British.”

  “The fuck off?”

  “Yeah, in America that would be an insult.”

  Bambi glared at the man. “Well, I’m gonna say I’m not loving it in London either.” Reaching for her cuffs, she grabbed his wrist and yanked it behind his back.

  “Okay, okay!” he shouted. “Let me go.”

  Bambi released him.

  He rubbed his shoulder and glared at her. “So I called for the ambulance. Doesn’t mean I saw anything. I heard the kid screaming, that’s all.”

  Peyton looked toward the bridge. Quite a few people were crossing. It might be reasonable that he couldn’t see the middle, but Gordon had said there weren’t many people on the bridge at that time. “Do you know of any homeless men who hang out at the end, wearing a green army jacket, bushy black hair, beard?”

  “You just described about half the homeless population, luv.”

  “What about howling? Do you remember hearing a howl?”

  He swallowed and his expression grew grim. “I remember the howling. Made my skin crawl.”

  “Did you see who did the howling?” asked Bambi.

  “I saw someone standing there, then he ran toward Bankside.” He pointed over the bridge. “The girl was already dead when I got there. He tore her throat out.”

  “Her boyfriend said two other vendors responded. A painter and a peanut seller. Have you seen them?”

  “The peanut guy hasn’t been back since the murder. The painter’s only here once in a while. I think he’s a student or something and just does it for extra money when he can. I haven’t seen him today.”

  Bambi pulled out one of Caleb Abbott’s cards and passed it to the vendor. “If you remember anything else, call this number, okay?”

  “Sure thing, luv. So, now that we’ve got the unpleasantness over, how’s about I buy you a pint?”

  “I’m married,” said Bambi, glaring at him.

  He gave Peyton a slow once-over. “What about you, cutie?”

  Peyton shook her head and turned away. She and Bambi started walking for the bridge.

  “Hey!” he called after them.

  They turned and looked back.

  “There was nothing I could do. It happened so fast, then the guy was gone.” He shrugged. “There was nothing I could do, but I keep seeing it. I keep remembering that howl and her lying there, her throat…” He shuddered and looked away. “I keep seeing it.”

  Peyton nodded. “I know,” she said and then followed Bambi toward the other end of the bridge. Before they’d gotten halfway, her phone rang. She fished it out, but didn’t recognize the number. “Hold up,” she told Bambi as she pressed the screen.

  Bambi paused and looked over the side, watching a passenger boat cross under the bridge on a tour of the Thames. Peyton held the phone to her ear.

  “Special Agent Brooks?” she said.

  “Agent Brooks, this is Paul Richmond from Senator Lange’s office.”

  “Yes, Mr. Richmond.”

  “You called about a week ago, asking me to search the senator’s records for a visit from a Lance-Corporal Daws.”

  “Yes, Mr. Richmond, I remember.”

  “I went through the records like you asked, but there’s no record of the Lance-Corporal ever being in this office, Agent Brooks. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  Peyton clenched her fist and banged it softly on the rail. “Thanks, Mr. Richmond. I appreciate your time and effort.”

  “Again sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Agent Brooks. Senator Lange wanted me to express his deepest condolences at the Lance-Corporal’s death, even though he’d never met him. Senator Lange is a great supporter of our military, you know?”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Well, if there’s anything else I can do for you, Agent Brooks, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Richmond. I appreciate it.” The call disconnected and Bambi looked over.

  “Bad news.”

  “No news and with the way this day is going, yeah, it’s bad news.”

  Bambi put an arm around her shoulders. “Well, let’s go try to find some homeless people, then how about I buy you that pint?”

  “Won’t your husband be upset about that?”

  Bambi laughed, tugging Peyton forward. “Don’t worry about it. We have an agreement that we can see other people.”

  Peyton stumbled, giving Bambi a shocked look, but the other woman just laughed harder and pulled her along.

  * * *

  Marco left the precinct at 6:00. He’d gotten a text message from Peyton, but she hadn’t had time to video chat. He couldn’t hide his disappointment. He’d gotten used to their nightly video chats. It somehow made the day seem less long.

  Reaching into his pocket for the key to the Charger, he came to a halt when Carol got out of a Beamer and started walking toward him.

  “Carol, I can’t talk to you.”

  “Just for a minute.”

  “No, this isn’t a good idea.”

  She stopped walking and he could see the disappointment on her face. “Brad’s not well, Marco.”

  “I know that.”

  “Why can’t you just make this go away? It was self-defense.”

  “The law doesn’t work like that, Carol.” He continued walking to the Charger, pressing the button to unlock her.

  “We’ve been in financial trouble for the last few years. I’ll sign a waiver or whatever for you to subpoena our records. We can’t really afford this lawyer.”

  Marco hesitated and she rounded the Charger, stopping in front of him. “Please Marco, you’ve got to help us.”

  “I’m doing my job, Carol. That’s all I can do for you, but I can tell you this is a really bad idea. If anyone sees us talking, it could be bad for both of us.”

  “It was self-defense, Marco.” She laid her hand on his arm.

  “How did the John Doe get in the house, Carol? He didn’t break in. Do you know who he is?”

  She removed her hand. “We’ve been in financial trouble for years, Marco. We’re late
on the payment for the house on Nob Hill. That’s why we were looking at paint swatches. We need to put it on the market.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “He’s not well. He forgets things, he loses things. He forgot a grilled cheese sandwich on the stove once. Damn near burnt the whole house down. Might have been a blessing. Please look into the financials, Marco. You’ll see what I mean.”

  “What does this have to do with the shooting?”

  She took a step away from him. “Just look into the financials, please. For me, for old time’s sake.”

  Then she turned and hurried across the parking lot to her car and got inside. Marco watched after her until she drove away, then he pulled out his phone and dialed Devan.

  “What is it now, D’Angelo?” Devan snarled at him. “I’m elbow deep in poo.”

  “Lovely image,” said Marco, sliding behind the wheel of the Charger and dragging his leg inside. “You know how happy it makes me to think of you in your thousand dollar suits, changing diapers, right?”

  “My suits cost more than your monthly salary, D’Angelo, so yuck it up.”

  “Carol Peterson ambushed me in the precinct parking lot.” He placed the key in the ignition and turned it. The Charger roared to life.

  “You didn’t talk to her, did you?”

  “Nothing more than to tell her I couldn’t talk to her. She said they were in money trouble and to pull their financial records. She said she’d agree to the subpoena.”

  “Really? You think this’ll tell us who the John Doe is?”

  “I think it’s a start. This case has more going on than we know, Adams. So will you get me the subpoena?”

  “Yeah, I’ll get it. Did you get a hit on CODIS yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, I’ll have the subpoena for you by morning. You want me to send it to Ryder or Cho?”

  “Send it to both of them. Ryder’s the one who’ll look through it.”

  “Got it. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got to put more fuel into my bundle of joy so I can spend the rest of my time cleaning up what comes out the other end.”

  “Bon appetit,” said Marco with a laugh.

  “Ugh, D’Angelo, I just threw up in my mouth a little.”