She gave a shrug, then started walking away down the street. “Take care of yourself, Charlie,” she called over her shoulder. “And keep an eye out for the aliens, now won’t you?”
* * *
Neil brought Peyton a bottle of water. She screwed off the cap and swallowed it with a couple of aspirin. Funny how quickly you lost your tolerance for drinking when you didn’t do it as often as you once did.
“Hangover?” asked Radar smugly as he took a seat at the table.
“Shut up.”
“Sparky, Sparky, Sparky, don’t you know they don’t have our weak-ass 12% beer here?”
“Does Mrs. Radar appreciate your sage advice, old man?”
“She listens. This is also what you get for flirting with foreign men.”
“Flirting? That wasn’t flirting. What are you, my father?”
“Perish the thought,” he said, rubbing his temples.
Throughout their whole exchange, Neil smiled. Peyton looked over at him.
“Are you married, Neil?”
“No’m, I have a girlfriend, but we haven’t decided if marriage is something we find necessary.”
“Have you always lived in London?”
“Born and bred, mahm.”
Caleb, trailed by Bambi and Tank, entered the room. He clapped his hands brightly, making Peyton wince. “Good morning, all.” His attention focused on Peyton. “Are you not well, Agent Brooks?”
“I’m fine,” she said, gritting her teeth and shooting a death glare at Radar when he gave a snort of laughter.
“So, another night without a murder and I’m chuffed.”
“Chuffed?” asked Peyton, frowning.
“Delighted,” said Tank, taking a seat next to her. He looked about as good as she felt.
She slid the water bottle over to him and pulled her aspirin out of her jacket pocket. As she did so, her hand touched on something cool with sharp angles. She gave the aspirin to Tank, who muttered thank you, then reached back in her pocket and took out the perfume bottle she and Bambi had gotten the other day, turning it over in her hand.
“Forgot to bathe this morning?” asked Radar wryly.
She shoved the bottle back in her pocket. “You’re sure full of piss and vinegar this morning, old man. What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m not hung-over.”
Peyton stuck her tongue out at him and Caleb laughed, nudging Neil with his arm. The gesture annoyed Peyton, but she kept her mouth shut. She wondered if the two Brits were, as they would say, having a laugh at them after they left them at the hotel each night. Of course, they’d say laugh like lawf, which this morning only added to her annoyance.
“Can we get back to the case?” she grumbled.
“Certainly.” Caleb clapped his hands again. “I’m wide open to suggestions on how to proceed. Clearly someone needs to visit Charing Cross Station and find out why Charlie was sacked.”
“Sparky and I will go,” said Radar.
“Joy,” she muttered, then she focused her attention on Neil. “Can you show me the video of the first attack on the train?”
“Certainly,” said Neil. He reached for the remote and booted up their glass board.
“I was also thinking the rest of us might go talk to the couple who saved Amelia MacDonnell,” said Caleb.
“Going to see Amelia herself in the hospital might not be such a bad idea,” said Tank.
“Why don’t the three of us handle that chore then?” offered Caleb.
“Here’s the video,” said Neil, pressing a button on the remote.
Peyton watched as Angela Evans stepped onto the train. She moved to the opposite side of the car and sat, clutching her purse in her lap. She was staring at the opposite window, but the camera angle didn’t show anything beyond the car she was in. Suddenly she rose to her feet and held the purse before her as if it offered a barrier. She was still looking toward the other side of the car, staring at something, then she started moving toward her right, easing down the car.
“What’s she looking at?” asked Peyton.
Nobody answered.
The train lurched forward and Angela staggered to keep her feet, then a shadowy figure came into the camera view, forcing Angela to face him, holding up her hands. He moved rapidly toward her and she turned to run, but he caught her around the waist, pulling her back against his chest, then the knife rose again and again and again. A moment later he dropped her, discarded her, the knife dangling from his hand. Finally, he tilted back his head and howled. Even though Neil hadn’t engaged the audio, Peyton shivered at the image.
Radar and Tank looked down, but Bambi stared with rapt attention at the screen.
“Your point, Sparky?”
Peyton shook her head, trying to process the violence they’d just witnessed. “I don’t know. He never turns his face toward the camera, so we can’t get an image. What did he do after this?”
“He walked down the cars and got off at the next station,” said Neil. “We don’t have him on video before this.”
“Where’s the video of Angela in the station?”
“They erase it every morning unless a problem is reported. Since the murder took place on the train, no one knew to keep the video at the station.”
“What’s she looking at when she first gets on the train and why does she suddenly stand up before the attacker appears?” asked Bambi.
Peyton nodded at her. That’s what bothered her too.
“We think the attacker tried to get in at the door to her car, then ran down to the car in front of hers and used that door instead,” said Caleb.
A female police officer entered the room. “Good morning,” she said to all of them before handing a piece of paper to Caleb.
Caleb thanked her and read the paper silently to himself, then he looked up. “This is the diagnosis from Broadmoor that we’ve been waiting for. Charles Howsham was being treated for paranoid schizophrenia. Of note is the fact that Charlie seemed to have early onset of symptoms, but everything else is consistent with that diagnosis.” He held up a hand and let it fall. “So there we have it.”
Tank looked down, his hands tightening into fists.
“Tank?”
He gave Peyton a quick look and shook his head.
Caleb clapped his hands again. “So we now have a plan for our day. Let’s meet in five minutes and head out. I need to go to the loo and get a travel mug of coffee. Bambi, would you like one?”
“Sure.” Bambi rose to her feet, her eyes still on the video, but she followed Caleb from the room.
Radar rose. “Five minutes, Sparky, so down that water, pee, and hustle.”
Peyton waved him off, but she waited until he left the room before she turned to Tank. “You don’t believe that diagnosis, do you?”
“No, I believe it. His parents told you he had schizophrenia and now the doctors at Broadmoor confirm it.”
“What’s bothering you then?”
“The Jekyll and Hyde nature of his personality. I’m not saying schizophrenics don’t break and have violent outbursts at times, but when Charlie is Niles, he’s calculating, predatory. He knows what he’s doing. It’s not the rash, sudden violence we hear of where someone pushes an innocent bystander onto the subway tracks. He plots out these murders, he selects his victims, he stalks them.”
“I know. Something’s not fitting for me either.”
“I’m well aware of the debate among psychiatric circles regarding split personality. I’m well aware it’s a controversial topic, but…” He pointed at the screen. “...this just doesn’t fit schizophrenia either.”
Peyton closed her hand over his. “Be careful, Tank. I don’t like where this case is leading us.”
He squeezed her hand with his free one. “You too. Stay close to Radar, okay?”
“I will.”
Tank gave her a forced smile, then rose to his feet and walked out the door. Peyton rose as well and pulled the perfume bottle out of her pocket again.
She unwound the protective tape and uncorked the bottle, thinking to throw it away, but when she lifted it to her nose for a sniff, she found she actually liked it. Lilacs, her favorite scent.
* * *
Marco woke to the sound of loud voices and hammering. He rolled to his back and lay listening for a moment, trying to clear the sleep from his brain, then he pushed himself to a sitting position. Pickles’ bed was empty and the door to the bedroom was slightly ajar. He threw back the covers and reached for his gym shorts in the armchair by the bed, sliding them on. His leg screamed in protest when he rose to his feet and pulled the shorts over his hips.
Grabbing the cane, he raked his free hand through his hair and limped to the door, yanking it open. Immediately he recognized Abe’s voice, but the other voice was unfamiliar. Frowning, he went down the small hallway and paused in the opening to the living room. A man around Marco’s age stood on a short step ladder in Peyton’s open doorway, banging away with a hammer, while Abe stood below him supervising. The man had a tool belt strapped around his waist and he wore a wife beater tank top with low-slung jeans and work boots. A red bandana held back a head of wavy blond hair.
“What the hell is going on?” Marco grumbled.
Abe and the man turned and looked at him. The man’s eyes widened and the hammer dropped from his hand, but he caught it at the last minute.
“Hey, Adonis!” said Jake, sticking his head through the opening over Peyton’s breakfast bar. “Uh, you might want to put some clothes on.”
“Don’t get dressed on my account,” said the blond man.
Marco glanced down at his bare chest, then turned and went back into Peyton’s room. He could hear Abe chuckling behind him.
“You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he’s a bit prudish,” said Abe. “Catholic upbringing and all.”
“I get it. Just, that’s one fine man.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Abe.
Marco pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. His leg was paining him too much to think of socks, so he gave up on that and went back into the living room. The banging was getting louder and he was concerned they were dismantling Peyton’s house.
Abe was still in his same spot, but Jake had disappeared into Peyton’s kitchen. Marco limped over to the medical examiner and gave him a frown. Today Abe wore a jumpsuit that was covered in dogs of every size and variety.
“What’s this?” He motioned at Abe’s jumpsuit, then the doorway. “All of this.” Worry suddenly replaced confusion. “Where’s Pickles?”
“He’s in here with me,” said Jake, banging away under the counter. “He wanted his breakfast.”
Marco turned back to Abe. “What are you wearing?”
“My working clothes.”
“Why the dogs?”
“I’m in my animal period.”
“And what are you working on?” He motioned to the guy on the step ladder.
“Parker Stockwell,” said the man, holding out his hand.
Marco shook it. “Abe?”
“Parker’s installing the security system you wanted. He’s a handyman extraordinaire and today, I’m his assistant.”
Marco looked over his shoulder. “And what’s Jake doing here?”
Jake’s head popped up from below the counter. “I’m making flapjacks.”
Marco sighed and raked his hair into some semblance of order, then he caned his way to the kitchen. He didn’t know why he persisted in questioning things that made no sense. This was Peyton’s world and he was just an inhabitant. “Is there coffee?”
“Of course there’s coffee. Why wouldn’t there be coffee?”
“I don’t know I figured we’d be having camel’s milk or something.”
Jake looked up at him from the floor and frowned. “Camel’s milk? Where would I get camel’s milk?”
Marco ignored him and grabbed the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug. Pickles was busy eating what looked like eggs and bacon from his bowl. Marco decided he didn’t want to question that either, so he took a seat at the bar and watched Parker bang away at Peyton’s door jamb.
His phone suddenly rang on the sofa table. Abe snatched it up and brought it to him, smiling from ear to ear.
“Where the hell do you find these crazy outfits?”
“Only the finest fashion establishments, Angel. Not everyone can wear what I wear.”
“Now that’s the truth.” He took the phone from Abe, glancing down to see Cho’s number on the display. He slid his finger across the screen. “Hey?”
“Hey, Captain.”
“You got something for me?”
“Huh?”
“About the case we’re working?”
“Oh, no, um, Maria wants to know if you’re coming for dinner tonight.”
“Wait, what?”
“Oh, by the way,” said Abe, holding up a long finger. “We’re going to Maria and Nathan’s for dinner tonight.”
Marco glared at him.
Jake popped his head up over the counter. “We’re making wedding favors.”
“We’re doing what?”
“We’re all helping her make wedding favors, since Peyton’s out of town and that would apparently be her and Marta’s job,” said Cho.
“What the hell are wedding favors?”
Abe and Jake started to explain it to him, but he waved them off.
“I’m not exactly sure, but apparently it takes a village,” said Cho.
“Could you tell Maria I’m working tonight, Nate?” he said, lowering his voice so no one else would hear, but Abe whipped around giving him a wounded look.
“I don’t think that’s gonna work, Captain. She promised Peyton she’d look out for you.”
Damn it all. Marco tightened his hand on the phone. He could tell them he had dinner at his parents’ house tonight. They usually had dinner on Sundays, but they’d spent the whole day together yesterday.
“I’m free, if you want to do something low key, maybe stay in,” said Parker, giving him a suggestive wink.
Marco paused, holding the phone against his ear and studying the man. What? “Tell Maria I’ll be there,” he grumbled. “But you owe me.”
“You’re right. I owe you,” said Cho. “Name your price.”
“I’ll think of it later.” He disconnected and laid the phone on the counter.
“Ah ha!” shouted Jake, popping up from the floor. “I knew she had one and I found it.” He turned the pan around so Marco could see. “We’re having panda shaped pancakes today!”
* * *
Radar hailed a taxi outside of Scotland Yard and they climbed into the little black vehicle, taking a seat along the back. The driver slid open the plastic partition and peered at them through his rearview mirror.
“Where to, mate?”
“Charing Cross Station.”
The man gave a quick nod and slid the partition back in place, then he whipped the little taxi out into the traffic again, making Peyton scramble to grab the armrest and keep from being pitched into the open luggage area of the car.
“What’s bothering you about this case?” asked Radar, putting on his mirrored glasses and facing forward.
“What?”
“Something’s bothering you about it.”
“Tank’s what’s bothering me. Why aren’t we listening to him about Charlie’s mental illness?”
“All of the experts have said the same thing. Besides that, what difference does it really make?”
“What?”
“If it’s schizophrenia or split personality, what difference does it make? We catch the killer, we stop the murders.”
“And you’re sure Charlie’s our guy?”
“It’s looking like that more and more. Do you have any other ideas?”
“No, but I still don’t like it. It should fit together neater.”
He gave her a frown. She could only tell because his brows drew down below the glasses. “When does a case ever fit neatly together, Sparky? Ne
ver, that’s when.”
“Then it seems too easy.”
“How? How has any of this been easy?”
“We identified Charlie based on a guy who worked with him at Charing Cross for what? Two months or so? And that’s the only suspect we’ve focused on.” She gasped as the taxi threw her into the side of the vehicle. “And why are we taking a taxi? If Charlie hangs out in the tube stations, shouldn’t we be searching them ourselves?”
Radar considered that. “You have a point. Okay, tomorrow we ride the tube lines all day. We’ll go in partners and question people at the stations with the two pictures we have.”
Peyton felt a bit mollified and leaned back in her seat, watching London speed past outside the window. When they arrived at Charing Cross, Radar paid the taxi driver and pulled open the door. Climbing out, she enjoyed the spill of sunlight over her. She couldn’t really complain about the weather in London. It had been pleasant for the most part. Certainly there were times each day where it rained, but mostly the fog burned off by noon and it never got hotter than 80 degrees or so.
They walked into the tube station and Radar reached for his badge, going up to the booth and showing it through the glass. Peyton studied the booth, imagining Charlie working in it, enjoying his first real job, his first time doing something on his own, being productive. It made her sad. Of course, Charlie was likely a mass murderer, but before this, he’d tried to live an upstanding life, he’d tried to be a working member of society.
What had gone wrong? Who had failed him? Had there been something someone could have done differently?
Radar spoke with the middle aged man inside the box. The man picked up a phone and called someone, then he placed the phone back on its cradle and opened the box, stepping out.
“Come with me,” he said, motioning them to follow him.
He led them across the station to a door with a glass window in it. The window was covered by a shade. He knocked on the door and then reached for the handle, opening it and poking his head inside. “FBI here, sir,” he said.
“Send fem in,” came the response.
The man waved them to the opening and Peyton followed Radar inside a small, spare office. A metal desk and desk chair sat in the middle of the room with a heavy-set man behind it. He rose to his feet and extended his hand. He had large fleshy lips, crooked teeth, and broken capillaries in his cheeks. He did, however, have a full head of brown hair that was parted on the side.
Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3) Page 30