The first thing he saw was Carol Peterson, sitting hunched over in an armchair in the corner of the room, Cho beside her. She looked up at him as he stepped through the doorway, her face streaked with mascara, her eyes rimmed in red. She curled her arms around herself and lowered her head.
He turned then and saw the bed, the blood, the body lying on its back.
Jake eased around the bed, snapping pictures, but he stopped as Marco moved toward him. Walking to the end of the bed, Marco stared down into Brad Peterson’s pale face, the round black hole in his forehead, the halo of blood spreading on his pillow.
Moving to the side of the bed, he started to touch his out-flung hand, but stopped himself. He looked up at the paramedics hovering close, but he knew what they knew. There was no saving this man.
He felt Jake’s hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t know what to do, what to feel, what to say. He shifted toward Carol and she flinched. Cho held up an evidence bag and inside he could see a Smith & Wesson.
He wanted to say something. He wanted to ask questions, but nothing would come to him. He could smell blood and gunpowder and death. Already...already he could smell the distinct tang of death in the room.
“It’s the missing gun,” said Cho, breaking the terrible pall.
Marco blinked. Then he drew a ragged breath. His eyes met Carol’s and hers swam with tears.
“Marco.” She held out her hand.
His attention zeroed in on it. She wanted him to comfort her, tell her it was all right. She wanted him to what? Sweep it all away.
Marco’s gaze rose and pinned Cho. “Dust her hands for powder.”
Then he left the room.
* * *
They gathered in the lobby of Scotland Yard, standing in partners, waiting for instructions. Caleb Abbott grabbed a megaphone off the front counter and called for attention. A tense silence fell in the lobby.
“You’ve each been given a partner and an area of the tube lines to search. In addition to that, you’ve been issued firearms and a photograph of our suspect. The suspect’s name is Charles Howsham. Our goal is to take him alive; however, you must consider him armed and dangerous. Approach with caution. He may be suffering from a psychological break and unable to comprehend what he’s doing. He’s attacked in public before, so understand he may do so again.”
Peyton glanced over the more than forty officers listening to Caleb.
“Each partnership has been issued a radio for ease of communications. Relay any sightings or attempts to apprehend the suspect directly to me. I will be running point.”
He paused and looked over the gathering. “I cannot stress enough how dangerous Charles Howsham is. We believe he is responsible for six attacks, five resulting in fatalities; however, we are eyeing him for involvement in other murders outside of London. Do not become separated from your partner and take all precautions possible to protect yourselves and the public at large. Unless there are questions, we depart in five.”
No one indicated any concerns.
Caleb set the megaphone on the counter, his gaze sweeping over the Ghost Squad. “Neil’s going to return your weapons to you; however, we have one requirement.”
Radar frowned at that. “We’re not going out there unarmed.”
“Understood. However, each of you will have to be teamed with someone from Scotland Yard, otherwise, you will have to stand down.”
They exchanged looks with each other. Radar acted like he was about to protest, but Peyton held up a hand. “I’m not standing down, Radar. We came out here to find Rianna’s killer and we need to see this through.”
“Agreed,” said Tank.
“Fine. Give us our weapons.”
Caleb nodded to Neil, who ducked under the counter to retrieve the lock-box. While he began to open it, Caleb motioned between him and Radar. “You’ll be with me at point. We’ll coordinate the teams together.”
“Fine.” Peyton could see he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue with the logic.
“Tank, you’ll be with Inspector Cooley.” He gave Bambi a fond smile. “And you’ll work with Inspector Greenwood. I’ll introduce you to them as soon as you receive your weapons.” His attention shifted to Peyton. “Peyton, you and Neil will partner.”
Neil flashed a smile at her and passed her her gun. Peyton took it and checked it over, surprisingly glad to feel the weight of it in her hands. “Sounds good to me,” she said, smiling at Neil herself.
While Caleb went to gather the two inspectors, Radar pulled his team around him.
“I don’t like this, but we don’t have any other choice. Trust your training. Trust yourself. Do not engage with Charlie. If you find him, wait for another team to arrive before you approach.” Tank and Bambi nodded, but Peyton fussed with her holster. Radar reached over and tugged on her ponytail. “Sparky?”
She looked up at him. “Don’t engage with Charlie. Wait for another team to arrive. I heard you, Radar.”
“Hearing me is one thing. Listening is where we always have problems.”
“I listen too,” she said testily.
Bambi winked at her, but Radar just shook his head.
Caleb brought the two inspectors over to meet Bambi and Tank, then it was time to leave Scotland Yard. Neil fell into step beside her, carrying a neatly folded map of the tube stations. Teams of cops left the building, heading in different directions. Neil pointed to the street and they hailed a cab.
“We’ve got Edgware Road to Notting Hill Gate,” he told her.
“Sounds good.”
“Radar and Caleb have Queensway to Bond and Bambi has High Street to Gloucester. We’ll all be close together.”
“Let’s hope this works,” she said brightly as the cab pulled up by the curb and Neil reached for the door handle.
They took the taxis to the Edgware Road station and got off. Inside the station, they began showing the photo to everyone who would spare a moment to look at it. Most people were hurrying off to work and didn’t have time to talk. The radio crackled on Peyton’s jacket collar as various teams reported in.
Wandering around the station, then moving down to the platform, Peyton had an eerie sense that someone was watching her. She stepped off the stairs onto the Circle Line platform and tried to peer over the heads of the people meandering around. She asked a group of young girls if they’d seen Charlie and they shook their heads.
Neil moved to her side, pressing his radio to contact Caleb. “We’re moving on to Bayswater in under a minute,” he said.
“Copy,” came Caleb’s response.
Moving up the platform, Peyton continued to show the photo of Charlie, but she got no confirmation. Still the feeling of being watched persisted. She started to climb up on one of the metal benches to get a better look, but the train pulled into the station.
“Edgware Road to Notting Hill Station. Mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Neil jerked his chin at the car in front of them and Peyton followed him onto it, but rather than taking a seat, they split in either direction, asking the people on the train if they’d seen Charlie. Grabbing a handrail, Peyton steadied herself as the train pulled away from the platform and entered the tunnel. Moving from one pole to the next, she continued to question people until the train pulled into Bayswater where she and Neil disembarked.
Once again they scoured the station, covering each platform and into the station itself, receiving no response. More reports came in through the radio, but no one had gotten even the vaguest response to their search.
Walking down the narrow stairs in Bayswater back to the Circle Line platform, Peyton felt the hair on the nape of her neck rise. Neil was just before her, but she touched his shoulder and turned, looking back up the stairs.
“What is it?”
No one was behind her. “I don’t know. It’s just a strange feeling I have.”
“Like what?”
“Like being watched.”
A young couple turned
the corner and started down the stairs, chatting to each other, the young woman holding the young man’s arm. Peyton stopped them.
“Did you pass anyone up there?”
They frowned at her. “Pass anyone?”
“A man?”
They glanced at each other. “A man? We passed a number of men,” said the young woman.
Peyton held out Gordon Bell’s picture of Charlie. “This man?”
They both looked at it, then shook their head. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. Maybe.”
Neil chewed on his inner lip as Peyton took back the photo with a sigh. The couple passed them and continued onto the platform.
“Bayswater Station to Notting Hill Station,” came the announcement below them.
Neil pressed the button on his radio. “Brooks and McCabe moving to Notting Hill Station,” he said.
“Copy,” answered Caleb.
Peyton followed Neil back to the platform and once the train arrived, they kept to the same routine, moving up and down the cars, showing Charlie’s picture and asking if anyone had seen him. Before they’d covered the entire train, they arrived in Notting Hill.
Notting Hill was more crowded than the others had been and Peyton got separated from Neil as they tried to shove their way out of the crowd streaming onto the platform. She waited, searching the faces for him.
Just as she found Neil, her radio crackled.
“Sparky,” came Radar’s voice.
She pressed the button. “Radar?”
“Where are you now?”
“Notting Hill Station.”
The radio crackled as Neil moved to her side.
“Stay there. We’re coming to you.”
“Why?”
“We’re at Queensway and Bambi’s at High Street. Tank’s coming in from Holland Park.”
“Wait. Why do you want us to stay here?”
More crackle. She gave Neil a shrug. “Radar?”
“...back to Scotland Yard.”
“Wait, what? What about Scotland Yard?”
“...the results of the hair…”
“Radar!” she fussed with the radio. “Radar, what are you saying?”
“The hair in the cap you found. Charlie’s cap.”
“Yeah, what about Charlie’s cap?”
Static cut him off.
“Radar, what about Charlie’s cap?”
Nothing.
She looked at Neil. “Did you get any of that?”
He shook his head. “All I got was for us to wait for them here. Let’s go up into the station.”
She sighed and folded the photo, tucking it in her jeans pocket, then she and Neil pushed their way through the people toward the metal stairs leading up.
Her foot had just touched the bottom step when Neil grabbed her arm. She turned and found him pointing to a spot behind them, on the far edge of the platform. Peyton could just make out the shaggy head of hair over the heads of the people waiting on the platform.
Charlie.
She stepped off the stair. This was her chance to talk him down. To get him to go with them. She had to try. As she started toward him, Neil caught her elbow.
“That’s Charlie.”
He nodded. “Remember what Caleb said. He’s probably armed and there are a lot of people on this platform.”
Peyton drew a breath. He had a point. She had to do this slowly and carefully.
“Peyton?”
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry. Just have my back.”
“Your phone’s ringing.”
Peyton realized it was, but she hadn’t heard it over the cacophony of voices on the echoing tube platform. She fished it out of her pocket, her fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the perfume bottle, but just as she went to thumb it on, the call ended. Radar’s name flashed briefly on the screen.
She shrugged, then started to put it away, but it buzzed in her hand. Peyton lifted it and a text message flashed on the screen.
The hair in Tamsin’s hand and the hair in the cap does not match. Repeat, the hair does NOT match.
Peyton frowned at that. What the hell did that mean? The hair didn’t match. It was too soon to get a DNA match. What did Radar mean that the two hairs didn’t…
Her thoughts came into focus and she looked up toward where Charlie still stood. “Neil, the hair doesn’t match,” she said, absently slipping the phone into her pocket.
His head turned toward her, but before he could say anything, something slammed into the two of them, throwing Peyton back against the wall beside the staircase. Too late Peyton realized someone had leaped on Neil’s back, taking him down onto the platform where he landed hard.
Screams filled the station and people began bolting, slamming Peyton back against the wall as she tried to draw her weapon. Shoving people away, she scrambled to get around them and help Neil. Her fingers closed on the handle of her gun and she drew it, creating more screams, but before she could get around the end of the stairs, a shaggy figure rushed her, throwing her back into the plastic display covering posters that lined the platform’s walls.
Fingers closed on her wrist, slamming the gun back into the Plexiglas frame, and her fingers opened involuntarily, dropping the gun. She heard it clatter onto the metal grating at the bottom of the stairs.
Instinct saved her a moment later as her attacker’s right hand rose, glinting in the light from the overhead bulbs. She struck out with her left arm and felt a slash of pain radiate from her shoulder to her elbow, then she was lifted and thrown out onto the platform, landing on her back, the breath knocked out of her.
She couldn’t move for a moment, gasping for air, as a howl echoed through the tunnel. She was vaguely aware that people bolted around her, screaming, and she started to roll to her side, trying to get her knees under her.
Before she could move, a massive weight landed on her, pinning her. Then fingers reached down and closed on her throat, squeezing. She bucked, trying to throw him off, staring into the twisted features of a man with wild hair and a bushy beard. Her brain registered the avocado colored coat as his fingers tightened, cutting off her breath. Pain exploded in her head and she scrambled with her right hand in her coat pocket, trying to find anything she could use as a weapon.
Radar’s words echoed in her ears. You’re too small to do that. What else can you do? Always be unpredictable! Always do the unexpected! Think, Brooks! Think!
Her fingers closed on the perfume bottle and somehow she managed to flip the cap off, covering the opening with her thumb. She could feel unconsciousness begin to flit at the edge of her vision, black spots starting to appear. And then she saw him raise the knife.
She pulled her hand out of her pocket and threw the contents of the bottle at him. Her aim was true and she caught him full in the right eye. He roared and released her throat, scrubbing at the eye, but he was still seated over her hips. She gulped in air and started to reach for the arm that held the knife, but something slammed into him, dragging him off her.
Charlie.
Choking and coughing, she rolled to her side and got her knees under her, then she scrambled toward the stairs and her gun. A hand closed over her ankle, dragging her back, but she kicked with all her might and the hand released her. Lunging the rest of the way, her fingers closed on the gun and she rolled to her back, bringing it up, her gaze clashing with Niles’ as he rose above her.
Before she could pull the trigger, shots echoed in the tunnel and Niles convulsed in mid-air, then he slowly crumpled to his knees and pitched over backward.
Footsteps pounded down the metal stairs, moving past her and going to check Niles, then moving to Neil. Peyton lowered her gun and scrambled back against the stairs as Bambi dropped beside her, holstering her own weapon.
“Are you all right?” she said worriedly, grabbing Peyton’s elbow.
Peyton just stared at her, unable to process her thoughts.
“Come on, let’s get you up.” Bambi rose and helped her to
her feet.
Finally Peyton’s thoughts coalesced. “Charlie!”
She shoved away from Bambi and skirted the huddle of people around the two bodies. Then she ran to Charlie’s side and dropped to her knees next to him.
He was lying on his back, staring up, the hilt of Niles’ knife sticking out of the center of his chest. As she leaned over him, his eyes shifted and found hers.
“Help’s coming. Hold on, Charlie,” she told him, taking his hand.
He shook his head, his fingers tightening on hers. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered.
“Hold on, please, Charlie. Hold on!” She looked up frantically.
Radar stood in front of her with Tank and Bambi behind him.
“Help him, Radar! Please help him!” she begged.
Radar walked around them and knelt on Charlie’s other side.
“It’s okay,” said Charlie softly. “It’s okay. It’s quiet.” His eyes drifted away from hers and he stared at the ceiling of the station. “Finally, it’s quiet,” he whispered.
Peyton pressed his hand to her breast. “Charlie, please stay with me! Please, Charlie!”
But his fingers loosened their hold and his eyes grew unfocused.
“Radar! Do something! Help him!”
Tank knelt beside her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “It’s too late, Peyton. By the position of the knife, it severed his coronary artery.”
“No! He saved my life! He saved my life! Do something, Radar! Do something!”
Radar turned and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her to him. “It’s too late, Sparky. It’s too late.”
She buried her face in his neck and clung to him. “No! You have to do something! You have to help him!”
She felt Radar’s hand leave her arm, then he reached for her jacket. “Get a medic over here now!” he shouted.
CHAPTER 18
Caleb Abbott rose to his feet as Peyton entered the conference room in Scotland Yard. He pulled out a chair and helped her into it. She sat down gingerly, ignoring the disapproving look Radar shot at her.
Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3) Page 35