Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Brad?”

  He looked over, confusion on his face, then it cleared. “Hey, Sweet Cheeks, want a bourbon?”

  “No, I need to talk to you about Eduard Zonov.”

  Brad’s gaze lifted, then flitted away. “Did you see what he did to my truck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I got that truck when I first signed with the Bills and he blew it all to hell and gone.”

  “You think Zonov did that?”

  “He was always making these threats, you know? Telling me if I didn’t pay, it’d be like the freakin’ fourth of July.”

  “How much money do you owe Zonov?”

  Brad shrugged and sipped at his drink. “Who knows? I lost track of it, but I’ll pay him back after next season.”

  Marco frowned. “Next season?”

  “Yeah, I got a rider in my contract. If I bring us a winning season, just over 500, I get a bonus. I’ll get Zonov off my back and…” His voice trailed away, his expression turning inward. “I’ll...um…” He pressed a hand to his temple.

  Carol rose from the couch and came over to him, slipping under his arm. “Come sit down, Brad.”

  He looked down at her in confusion for a moment, then he smiled and squeezed her against him. “Look at this, just like old times, the three of us together. Hey, Sweet Cheeks, remember when we played that game against St. Ignatius and I won in the last seconds on that quarterback sneak. You opened the hole for me, remember?” He reached up and cupped Marco’s cheek. “You were only a freshman, but damn you were a brute.”

  Marco nodded, his gaze shifting to Carol. Her eyes pleaded with him. “Brad, can you tell me what happened today?” he asked.

  “Today.” His hand lowered and he gave Marco a smile. “Today?” The smile faded. “I’m kinda tired, Sweet Cheeks, you know? It’s been a long day.”

  “Do you remember the explosion a little while ago?”

  He grew alarmed. “Explosion? What explosion? Where was there an explosion? In New York?”

  “New York…” Marco caught himself. 9/11. “No, in front of your house. Your truck?”

  “My truck? My truck was in an explosion?” He gave Carol a panicked look. “Not the red one, not the one I bought with my signing bonus. I love that truck.”

  Marco became aware of the number of people in the room. The paramedic, Donaldson, Cho, and the deputy from the driveway. They all stared at Peterson as if he were insane and Marco suddenly felt sorry for him. The great Brad Peterson, the All-American quarterback whose sense of time was now as fluid as water.

  “Help him to bed, Carol,” he told her.

  She reached out and squeezed Marco’s hand, then she urged her husband with her. He let her lead him like a five year old toward the other end of the house.

  Marco’s gaze shifted to Donaldson as they left the room.

  “Poor damn bastard,” whispered the ATF agent. “Poor damn fool.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Charlie huddled in the covered doorway of the building across from St. Mungo’s. Another homeless man down by the Thames had told him to come here, that he could get a meal and maybe a place to stay for the night. He watched people come and go from the brown brick building across the street. He studied the pleasant potted flowers hanging from the wall, and he wanted to go inside, but he was afraid. What if they turned him away? What if they didn’t have room? Night was falling and he had to make a decision soon. He couldn’t stay in this doorway until morning. The bobbies would chase him off.

  He’d learned a few things since he’d been sacked. On the streets, you either learned quickly or you died. Still, his stomach ached with hunger. Water was an easy problem to solve. He could find half-empty bottles in the trash, or a lot of public places had water fountains. Once in a while, he could sneak into a public toilet and fill the plastic water bottles he collected.

  Food was harder. He hated eating scraps out of the bins and he wasn’t very good at begging. In fact, he was terrible at it. It embarrassed him and then sometimes he said something out loud to Niles and people heard, shying away from him.

  “You should go inside.”

  Charlie hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, wrapping his arms around himself. Cold was another problem he hadn’t yet figured out. All he had was the thin nylon running jacket that his parents had given him last Christmas.

  “I can’t go inside.”

  “Why not? They’ll feed you.”

  “What if they don’t? What if they turn me out?”

  “We can go somewhere else. We can go look for women.”

  Charlie glanced over at the shadowed figure next to him in surprise. Then he shivered in apprehension. He hadn’t heard the guy approach, but he was a little worried that he might be feverish. Still the guy certainly seemed solid. He wore a green army coat, which looked a lot warmer than Charlie’s running jacket. He had a bushy beard and wild hair. Growing a beard wasn’t a bad idea. It would keep his face warm.

  The man leaned close to him. “I see you wandering around by the river, by the tubes. I see you a lot.”

  Charlie nodded, shivering harder.

  “They’ll give you a coat in there, mate. That’s where I got mine. Go ask for one.”

  “I just want to watch for a bit.”

  “Suit yourself. It’s daft, it is, to stay out here when there’s food inside.”

  “Why don’t you go in?”

  He laughed. “They banned me, they did, but I get mates to bring me stuff. You go in, you can help a gent out.” He tapped Charlie on the shoulder. “What’s got the collywobbles up in you, boy?”

  Charlie shook his head, looking down at his torn cuticles.

  “Is it the talking? I see you wandering about, talking to yourself.” He pointed at St. Mungo’s. “Don’t fret about that. They won’t fuss about it. Half of them talk to themselves too.”

  Charlie looked over at him. “You’ve seen…”

  “And heard, mate. Half the time you don’t even know you’re doing it. You carry on a right good conversation with yourself too.” He gave another laugh.

  Charlie ducked his head, hugging his arms around himself more. He hated that people heard him. His cheeks burned and he didn’t know if it was from fever or humiliation.

  “So, what do they call you, mate?” The man nudged him again.

  “What?”

  “Your name? What do you go by?”

  “Charlie.”

  “Charlie.” The guy held out a hand. He had gloves with holes in the fingers. “I’m Niles.”

  Charlie jerked back from the man, staring at him. “What did you say?”

  “I’m Niles.” The smile he gave Charlie didn’t reach his eyes.

  Charlie felt his heart pick up speed and he scrubbed his hands over his own eyes. “No, that’s not right. That can’t be.”

  “What?”

  Charlie pressed his fists to his ears and buried his face against his knees, screwing his eyes shut tight. No, that can’t be. That can’t be right.

  “Are you okay?”

  He felt a gentle touch on the back of his head. The voice was feminine, gentle. “Sir, are you all right?”

  Charlie rocked himself. “Please go away. Please leave me alone.”

  “Do you need help?” The hand transferred to his elbow and she exerted a slight pressure for him to rise. “I can help you. Come inside.”

  Charlie jerked away from her, lifting his head. “Please don’t.”

  She gave him a worried look, her hand outstretched. Charlie glanced frantically around, but besides the two of them, there was no one else on the street.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Who?”

  “The man? The man who was sitting right here in the army jacket?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The man!” Charlie rose to his feet and pointed to the spot next to him. “He was sitting right here. He didn’t have time to get away.”

  She looked up and down t
he street. Charlie looked too. “I think you have a fever, sir.”

  “I was just talking to him. He said his name was Niles.”

  “Niles?”

  “He was sitting right here.” He gave her a closer look. She wore an apron that read St. Mungo’s on it. He reached out and gripped her arm, making sure she was real – that she was standing in front of him. “There was a man here.”

  “You’re the only one I saw, sir. Some of our patrons told us you’d been out here awhile. I wanted to offer you a hot meal and…” She eyed his thin running jacket. “Maybe something a bit more appropriate for the weather.”

  “What?”

  “I have a nice coat for you. The army donates these wonderful coats to us. They’re quite warm, actually, and will turn out the rain.”

  Charlie stared at her, trying to process what she said.

  “We can also help you get to hospital, get you an examination, medication.” She turned her hand and gripped his elbow again. “Please come, sir. We’ll start with a hot meal. You’ll see, everything will look much brighter after you’ve got a hot meal in your belly.”

  Charlie let her lead him into the road, but he looked back over his shoulder at the covered doorway and the empty streets. “Are you sure you didn’t see him?”

  “I’d be telling you if I saw anyone else, now wouldn’t I, sir? But don’t worry yourself about it. I promise we’ll make you right as rain in no time.”

  * * *

  Leaning back in his desk chair, Marco clicked on the computer, finding another link about traumatic brain injury. He knew he could just ask Abe, but he wanted to learn as much as he could on his own.

  Lee poked his head inside the open office door. “Simons just called. They found Zonov and they’re bringing him in for questioning. They want to know if you want to watch the interrogation. They’ll be here in about 15 minutes.”

  “Yeah, let me know when they get here.”

  The big man nodded and ducked back out of the room. Marco looked at the spot he’d just occupied. A few years ago he would not have been comfortable with a male administrative assistant, but Lee was better suited to it than Carly had certainly been. Abe would say he was evolving. Maybe he was.

  As a final test, he reached for his phone and pressed the button for Lee’s desk.

  “Yes, Captain,” he said, answering on the first ring.

  Marco wanted to give him a raise.

  “Can you get ADA Adams on the line for me?”

  “Done.”

  Marco went back to reading his websites, until Lee’s call came through. Picking up the phone, Marco clicked on another link.

  “What do you want, D’Angelo? My patience is rice-paper thin right now.”

  “Eduard Zonov exploded Brad Peterson’s F-150.”

  “You know it was Zonov?”

  “No, not yet. ATF’s investigating that part of it, but Rosa Alvarez at the FBI warned me Zonov had an explosive personality. Cho and Simons located him and they’re bringing him in. I wanted you here for the interrogation.”

  “On my way.” He paused. “D’Angelo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Zonov’s on a lot of radars, but no one’s ever been able to make anything stick. I don’t like this. You might put a call into your FBI source and see if you can get any intel on this bastard.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “See you in 10.”

  Marco disconnected that call and picked up his cell phone, dialing Rosa’s number. She picked up on the third ring. “You know, D’Angelo, people might frown about you having my personal number.”

  Marco smiled. “They might.”

  “A person in my employ might frown about it.”

  “She knows.”

  “Right. What’s up?”

  “We think Zonov torched Peterson’s truck last night.”

  “I figured as much. I saw the explosion on the news.”

  “My guys are bringing him in right now.”

  “Hold on. You’re bringing Zonov into the precinct?”

  “Right.”

  “I want to be there.”

  “Fine. In exchange I want whatever you have on him.”

  “It fits on one page. We know he emigrated from Chechnya when he was a teenager. Graduated high school in New York and moved out west four years ago to open a food truck. He’s been married three times, has no kids, and pays his taxes on time.”

  “He got popped for selling cigarettes on the street, racketeering, and assault, but the assault charge was dropped.”

  Rosa laughed. “Yeah, ‘cause Renchenko suddenly decided to pull a Jesus and walk across the Hudson.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Do you know if Zonov has connections to organized crime?”

  “That’s the thing. We think Zonov’s an entrepreneur. Mostly he brings in family, like the unfortunate Demetri. Still, he’s a nasty piece of work. I wanna say at last check, we had about seven or eight suspicious murders we like him for, yet nothing sticks to the bastard. He’s teflon coated.”

  “Suspicious murders like walking on water?”

  “Walking on water, trying to fly, becoming a human shish kabob. The last is his personal favorite.”

  “Awesome. He’s a one-man circus act.”

  “And charming. Just wait ‘til you see him in action. This is where Brooks would be good to have in your pocket. She’d get him to roll on his dog.”

  “Yeah, but you went and sent her to London.”

  “She’s gotta see the sights, D’Angelo. Besides, we still owe England for that whole Revolutionary War thingy.”

  “So you sent them Brooks. They used to be our allies, Rosa.”

  She laughed. “I’ll bring the information on Zonov when I come over. I should be there in 15 or so. Wait for me.”

  “He’s not going anywhere.”

  “Thanks, D’Angelo. Look, you might want to have your ADA in on this.”

  “He’s in route too.”

  “Well, look at you, playing captain and all. It’s kinda sexy.”

  “Don’t tell anyone. If they look close enough, they’ll see the man behind the curtain.”

  She laughed again and hung up.

  * * *

  Peyton leaned against the chair in the conference room, stretching her lower back. She missed running and working out. In London, they hadn’t had much time for exercise beyond walking and Radar didn’t want her going anywhere on her own since she refused to wear the taser.

  Caleb and Neil entered the room and Neil took up his post at the clear board. Caleb beamed his customary smile at them, but Peyton was beginning to see dark circles under his eyes. This case was taking a toll on him, or else Bambi was.

  “Amelia MacDonnell is improving steadily. They believe she’ll survive the attack,” he said.

  “That’s wonderful news, Caleb,” said Peyton.

  “It is at that, but the fact remains that we’ve still not gotten a solid lead on Charlie and it’s been more than six days since the last attack. He’s going to kill again and soon. We’re running out of time.”

  “Sparky’s right,” said Radar. “We need to cover the tube lines.”

  “The tube lines?” asked Caleb.

  Radar continued, “Everything we’ve heard points to the tube stations as the place Charlie goes most often.”

  “Well, in particular the area around the first zone,” corrected Caleb.

  “Right, so I propose we ride the tube all day in groups of two, getting off at each station and passing around Charlie’s picture. We might get lucky and stumble on something.”

  “Not a bad idea, Agent Moreno,” said Caleb. “You and Agent Brooks spoke with the gents at Charing Cross yesterday, why don’t you start there? Bambi and I can start from Farringdon, and Neil and Tank can begin with Blackfriars.”

  Radar nodded his agreement.

  “Approach with caution. Charlie’s hold on sanity may be tenuous at be
st and when cornered, he’s liable to attack without provocation.” Caleb’s eyes focused on Peyton. “Agent Brooks, I’d feel better if you’d allow Neil to outfit you with a taser.”

  “And I’d feel better with my gun.”

  Caleb held out his empty hands. “I wouldn’t be able to get clearance at this stage in the investigation. We’d need to have clear evidence we’ve got Charlie cornered.”

  “And there’s the rub, isn’t it? In order to use our guns, we have to corner Charlie, but once we corner Charlie, there won’t be time to get our guns.”

  Caleb started to answer, then stopped.

  “Something needs to be done about this, Abbott,” said Radar. “She’s right and you know it. You’re putting the horse before the cart.”

  Peyton frowned at that, but Caleb gave a nod.

  “I’ll discuss it with my superiors,” he said. “You’ve definitely got a point, haven’t you now? All right, let’s head out and we’ll meet back here this evening for a debriefing.”

  Everyone headed for the door and into the hallway beyond. Peyton eased up beside Radar. “It’s cart before the horse, by the way.”

  “What?” he grumbled at her.

  “The saying. Putting the horse before the cart is sort of what you’re supposed to do, you know?”

  Radar gave her a baffled look, but Tank and Bambi shot amused smiles over their shoulders.

  “You said put the horse before the cart, but the saying is put the cart before the horse, meaning everything is ass-backwards.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Come on, old man, you should know about horses and carts. Wasn’t that your mode of transportation when you started with the FBI?”

  Bambi and Tank snickered, but Radar glared at her. “You know I could dump you on someone else and they could try to protect that wise mouth of yours.”

  “You could, but you won’t because I make you smile.”

  “You don’t make me smile.”

  “I do. You get that twitch at the corners of your mouth that you fight so hard to hide. I’ll bet it’s the same twitch you give Gazpacho and Jambalaya when you see them.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Kitty Wiggums and Bootsybuttons?”