He’d ordered her to stay at the hotel while they wrapped up the loose ends and bid their London counterpart goodbye, but she wasn’t going to sit there by herself brooding. She was going to be with her team.
“How are you doing, Peyton?” asked Caleb with a kind smile.
She nodded. It hurt to talk and she had a bruise around her throat. Marco was going to have a fit. Not to mention the thirty stitches it had taken to close the wound in her upper arm. The blood vessels in her eyes had burst and she had a garish ring of red around her iris. Then, as they always did, the hospital staff had given her pain killers, pumped her full of them. This morning Bambi had forced her to take a pill before she’d leave. It made everything feel fussy and distant.
Tank got a glass of water and set it before her and Bambi put her sweater over Peyton’s shoulders. Her leather jacket had gone into the rubbish bin as the Brits would say.
“How’s Neil?” she asked, her voice scratchy.
“He has a nasty lump on his noggin, but they did a CT scan and everything looks normal. However, because he lost consciousness, they’re keeping him in hospital another day for observation.”
“Which is where you should be,” growled Radar.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Caleb smiled. “I am going to miss you Americans and your spirit.”
Peyton wasn’t sure what to do with that. “Did you notify Charlie’s parents of his death?”
“I did. I drove out there last night. Bea was devastated, but in some way, I also think relieved. Now her son has peace for the first time.”
Peyton looked down, fighting the sudden tears. Bambi put her arm around her shoulder and rested her head against Peyton’s. Usually the gesture would annoy her, but not today. Today she let Bambi comfort her.
“You were just telling us about Niles,” prompted Radar.
“Right. Actually, Jerome Pearson. He was originally from Camberley in Surrey. He has a colorful record to be sure – larceny, assault, sexual misconduct. We feel there’s a good chance he’s responsible for eight other murders that we haven’t be able to solve outside of London proper.”
“How did he meet Charlie?” asked Tank.
“We believe they met at St. Mungo’s. Jerome was an alpha personality to Charlie’s beta one. He latched onto Charlie and took on the persona of Niles. Where Charlie went, so did Niles. It got so the two were inseparable, they even began dressing like each other, down to the hair and beard. They were nearly impossible to tell apart. Truly, they functioned as halves of one person.”
Peyton’s eyes lifted and met Tank’s. He gave a short nod, but she knew that he’d sensed all along something wasn’t right with focusing exclusively on Charlie. Maybe if they’d listened to him, Charlie would still be alive. When Tank had talked about split personality, it might have led them to the reality sooner if he hadn’t been dismissed so completely by Caleb and his adherence to Charlie’s diagnosis.
“Does Niles...Jerome Pearson have family?”
“We’re trying to locate them, but we can do that ourselves. We’ve released Gordon Bell, the American exchange student, to go home and Rianna Cooper will be flown back to her family in California this week.” Caleb gave them all his beaming smile. “Personally, it has been a pleasure to work with each of you and I cannot thank you enough. You are truly our allies in all things and this case wouldn’t have been solved without you.”
* * *
Marco stared at the picture of Peyton he’d taken in the Virgin Islands. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, falling nearly to her shoulder blades, she’d placed a lily at her temple, and she wore a sundress with spaghetti straps. She was looking up at the camera, her dark eyes exotic, beckoning, drawing him in. For that single moment in time, everything was good, everything was happy, everything had been so easy.
A knock sounded on the door and Lee poked his head inside his office.
Marco set the picture frame down on the corner of his desk and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah?”
“ADA Adams and a Mr. Greene would like to talk to you.”
Marco frowned at that. What the hell did the Petersons’ lawyer want with him? “Send them in.”
Devan entered, looking tired, but polished and stiff in his dark business suit. Greene followed him, dressed impeccably, but his wavy hair curled over his forehead, and his blue eyes were watery and set too close together.
“Captain D’Angelo, this is Jefferson Greene,” said Devan, introducing him.
Marco didn’t bother to rise, just held his hand out and shook the other man’s. “Take a seat.”
Devan sank into his favorite napping chair and Greene sat down beside him. Marco leaned back in his own chair and regarded them. He knew how to play the waiting game better than anyone after all of his sessions with Dr. Ferguson.
“Cho has been interrogating Carol Peterson for hours, but she won’t talk to him,” began Devan.
Marco shrugged. “Sometimes it takes a while to break someone down.”
Devan gave him a warning look, while Greene shifted uncomfortably.
“She’s not your common street thug,” Greene said.
“She killed two people in cold blood. She’s worse than a common street thug.”
Greene held out his hands, offering Devan a disbelieving stare.
“Captain D’Angelo has a tendency to see things as black or white. It’s a hazard of the job,” explained Devan with a fake smile.
“I don’t need you making excuses for me, Adams. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I have things to do.”
Devan gave Greene a nod.
Greene scooted forward in his chair. “Carol’s ready to explain everything.”
“Great. My inspectors are waiting to hear it.”
“On two conditions.”
Marco leaned forward in his seat. “She’s not in a position to offer conditions.”
“Listen to him, D’Angelo. Just listen, damn it,” warned Devan.
Marco glared at him, but he held up a hand for Greene to continue.
“She wants the death penalty taken off the table.”
“She murdered two people,” said Marco.
“The death penalty with women is a hard sell, D’Angelo. And the minute the jury gets a look at Carol Peterson, we’re dead in the water.”
“Fine.” Marco sank back in his chair. “But she tells my people everything.”
“That’s the other condition.”
Marco frowned.
“She wants to talk to you. She’ll only talk to you. She says she has to explain it...to you.”
Marco’s gaze shifted to Devan.
Devan shrugged. “We’ll record the confession, but it makes my job a whole lot easier if they just tell us what the hell happened, D’Angelo. You and I both know she’s not a street thug. This case was a bitch from the offing and we need to be done with it. You need to be done with it. This isn’t one of your crusades.”
Greene gave him a funny look, but Marco knew what he meant.
He didn’t want to question Carol. He didn’t want to see Carol ever again. He felt betrayed by her, betrayed by his memory of her, and he couldn’t reconcile that conflict. Still, this was Carol, the girl who’d been his first – a memory from high school, a memory from a time before he knew the hearts of people could be so false.
His gaze shifted to Peyton’s picture, and he could almost imagine what she’d tell him. Man up, D’Angelo, it’s not like it’s brain surgery. Use that pretty head of yours for something besides growing hair.
“Fine,” he said.
Devan gave him a nod and Greene held out his hand to shake. Rising, they made their way to the interrogation room where Cho was still trying to get Carol to talk. Marco watched her through the two-way glass. Her blond hair was mussed, her mascara streaked beneath her eyes, her eyelids rimmed in red. She twisted a tissue around in her hands, staring at the two-way glass without moving, her shoulders curled inward
.
Cho paced behind her, trying everything he could to get her to break, while Simons lounged in the chair next to her, idly tapping his fingers on the metal table. Marco could see Cho was tiring. He himself had been in interrogations like this and they usually didn’t result in any actual information. Finally the person broke and spewed whatever you wanted them to say. It always left a bad taste in your mouth when it was over.
“She wants to talk to you alone,” said Greene.
Marco nodded, then he turned and limped to the interrogation door, knocking. Bartlet opened it and Marco motioned him out into the hallway. “Wait out here,” he told the kid.
Cho turned at his entrance and Carol looked up, her mouth parting. Marco jerked his chin toward the door and Simons rose to his feet, following his partner from the room. They didn’t question him, which made him wonder if Greene or Adams hadn’t filled them in on Carol’s conditions.
“Marco,” she whispered, holding out her hand to him.
He ignored it, taking a seat perpendicular to hers. Cho had left the file for him and he laid his hand on it.
“Marco, I’m so glad you’re here.” She pressed her hands to her breast. “I wouldn’t talk to them. They don’t understand the way you do.”
He stared at her, wondering if she comprehended how serious this was. “You killed your husband, Carol.”
“I had no choice.”
Marco tilted back his head. “You had no choice?”
“Brad was sick, Marco. He couldn’t take care of himself.”
“So what? You made the decision to put him down, like a pet dog?”
She lowered her head, her hands dropping into her lap. “No, you don’t understand either.”
“Then tell me. What was it, Carol? Did he cheat on you?”
She gave a grim laugh. “Cheat? We both cheated. He was gone so much of the time, on the road. We both had lovers, but it didn’t matter. We knew about them. We never lied to each other.”
Marco gave her a bewildered look. “You told each other about your lovers?”
Her eyes rose and pinned him. “It didn’t matter. We always came back to each other. We always knew who mattered.”
Marco shook his head in disbelief. “Was it the gambling then? We know you tried to curb it. You tried to save some of what you had.”
She nodded. “I tried, but I didn’t understand how badly he was addicted. I didn’t know about the bookie until that day that…” She swiped at her nose with her tissue. “...that day I shot Zonov’s nephew.”
“So you did shoot him?”
She nodded again, staring at a spot on the table. “We were doing exactly what we said. We were looking at swatches in the guest bedroom. We really did plan to sell the house.”
“And then what?”
“The doorbell rang. Brad went to get it, but I stayed upstairs. He didn’t come back right away, but I didn’t think anything of it, until I heard them arguing. I came out on the landing. Brad was standing by the stairs, telling the nephew to leave and pointing at the door. I couldn’t see the nephew, but I could hear him, threatening Brad that he was going to smash up the house, take some of our art, our trinkets. Brad was getting more and more agitated.” She stopped and wiped her nose again. “Can I have some water?”
Marco motioned to the two-way glass and a moment later Bartlet appeared with a plastic water bottle, setting it before Carol. She unscrewed the top and took a sip.
“I’m so tired. I feel like my head’s full of cotton.”
“What happened after you heard the arguing, Carol?”
She pushed the water away. “I ran into our room and got the Smith & Wesson out of the gun locker. Brad always kept the guns loaded, so I carried it back to the top of the stairs. I could see the nephew now, standing in the archway of the living room. He and Brad were still arguing. It was getting heated and the nephew…”
“The nephew?”
“He reached into his jacket. I thought he had a gun.”
Marco straightened, curling his hand into a fist on the file. “He didn’t have a gun, Carol.”
“I know that now!” she cried. “I know that now, but then I was just protecting my husband.”
“He took thirty minutes to die. What did you do while he was drowning in his own blood?”
“I panicked. Brad panicked. We didn’t know what to do. I had to get rid of the gun, so I ran outside and put it in my neighbor’s SUV, in the spare tire well.”
“How’d you get into the car?”
“It’s Nob Hill, Marco. No one locks their cars.” She reached for the water, but didn’t take a sip. “I came back in and Brad was sitting on the stairs. He was just rocking back and forth, so terrified. Like a child, Marco. Just like a little boy.”
“So you decided he’d take the fall?”
She swallowed hard and her chin lifted. “It was the only logical thing to do.”
Marco lifted his hand and rubbed his forehead. “How? How is any of this logical?”
“I figured the case would just be written off as self-defense. Brad might serve a few months, get probation, but he was a big football star, a local hero. Who’d convict him for killing someone who broke into his house? The cops from Central, they told us the same thing. They said it probably wouldn’t even go to trial. They were certain.” She hesitated and her expression hardened. “But then you walked in and you wouldn’t let it go.”
“This isn’t my fault, Carol.”
“Well, it isn’t mine.”
Marco stared at her in disbelief. “You put a bullet in Brad’s skull, Carol.”
“I had no other choice.”
Marco shook his head, holding out his hand. “How? How the hell can you justify this? How can you sit here and say this?”
“Because it’s true. Brad was sick, Marco.”
“You keep saying that, but that doesn’t give you the right to take his life.”
“When I am the only thing keeping him alive it does!” she shouted, slamming her hand down on the table.
He reared back from her, stunned.
She grabbed another tissue out of the box and twisted it in her hands. “You don’t understand anything, Marco. It’s all so clear to you. The law is the law and that’s all it is.” She gave him a watery smile. “You always confused Brad, you know that?”
“What?”
She laughed. “He had you moved to defense because you were so damn pretty, he thought he was turning gay.” The laugh became sobs. “God, I loved him so much, but he was so damn stupid sometimes. He always came home to me though. No matter what. He was always my guy. He’d bring me these stupid little presents, cheap crap from some hotel he’d been in. A shot glass, or a horrible t-shirt with some stupid saying on it. Once he brought me a taxidermied frog with a sombrero on its head. Racist damn thing I ever saw, but I loved him for it.”
She reached over and took Marco’s hand. “I loved my husband, Marco, and I couldn’t let him become a joke.”
“I’m just not getting this, Carol.”
“He couldn’t take care of himself any more, Marco. He couldn’t be alone. I couldn’t even go to the store and leave him or he’d burn down the house. He was so damaged, his brain just didn’t work. Half the time he didn’t know what the hell year it was.”
Marco leaned back. He was beginning to see how she’d put this all together.
“It would have been fine if they’d even locked Brad up for a few years. He would have done fine in prison. They would have taken care of him, told him when to get up, when to eat, sleep, bathe. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop investigating, and I knew you were going to figure it out. You were going to know I shot Zonov.”
She released his hand and let her own fall against her thigh. “If I went to prison, Brad would be alone and he wouldn’t make it.”
“You could have gotten nursing help, Carol. He still had some money left. You had the house on Nob Hill and the one in Woodside.”
�
�And how much do you think 24 hour care costs, Marco? Brad was 34. How long do you think he might have lived?”
“What about family?”
“His parents are dead and his sister wants nothing to do with him. There was no one, Marco. Just me.”
Marco hadn’t really considered that.
“And after the uncle blew up the truck, I knew I didn’t have any choice. I knew that if I went to prison, Zonov would keep coming after Brad until he killed him. And I knew he wouldn’t worry about what pain he caused him.” She stared at the two-way glass. “I made the only decision I could. I protected Brad the only way I knew how.”
“At the cost of your freedom, Carol.”
She shrugged, giving him a sad, weary smile. “That’s what you do for love, Marco. And honestly, I hope you find that someday. I hope you find someone who you’d do anything to protect. Even this. Even the worst thing you can imagine doing. If you’re willing to give everything you have for another person, then you know it’s real. You know it’s true.”
* * *
Heathrow Airport was like a small city. It had restaurants and clothing stores, coffee shops, and salons. It even had showers and beds you could rent by the hour. Had someone been so inclined and had enough money, he would never have to leave the airport. Every amenity could be found right here.
Peyton sat in a chair across from a perfume shop, watching people passing back and forth, some talking on cell phones, others rushing to find a kiosk that would list their flights and time.
Radar brought her a cup of coffee, taking a seat beside her. For a long while, he sipped at his own cup and watched the people with her, then he gave a heavy sigh, shifting in the chair. “I know I’m going to regret saying this, but I don’t like it when you get quiet.”
Peyton smiled at him from behind her sunglasses. The glasses and a scarf were the only ways she’d thought to conceal the attack from passersby. The workers at the hotel had been alarmed when she checked out that morning, seeing the broken blood vessels in her eyes and the distinct fingerprints visible even on her mocha colored skin.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3) Page 36