Shoving open the courtroom door, he came to a halt. The Phelps were waiting for him. He felt his breath leave him in a pant. Oh shit! His brain wouldn’t cooperate. He didn’t know what to say to these people. He’d failed them. He’d just brought them more pain.
April moved forward and reached for his hand, pressing it to her cheek. “Thank you, Captain D’Angelo,” she said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Marco opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
April stepped back, leaving him facing Carissa’s father. He took Marco’s hand and clasped it between his own. His eyes were bloodshot, the lower lids rimmed in red.
“Thank you for listening, for taking us seriously. We knew we wouldn’t win this one, but at least it’s in the books, at least someone’s made the first attempt. That’s all we really wanted – the first strike.”
Marco didn’t know how to respond to this either. His logical mind told him that their words made sense, but his heart told him they’d failed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Phelps, I don’t even know what to say.”
Matt Phelps gripped his hand tighter and released him. “You don’t have to say anything. You honored our daughter and that’s enough.” Then he stepped back and slipped his arm around his wife. Together they walked down the hallway, turned toward each other for support.
Marco limped across the hall and slumped down on the bench. Holding the cane in his hands, he twirled it, staring at the courtroom door. Devan moved closer to him, watching him.
“Come on, D’Angelo, let me buy you a drink. We both need it.”
Marco laid his palm on the bench, splaying his fingers. “You go,” he said softly. “I’m just going to sit here for a while.”
Devan gave him a bewildered look. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just go, Adams. Please.”
Devan shook his head, but he turned and wandered down the hallway, disappearing around the corner…
…while Marco continued to sit.
* * *
Peyton pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the time. 10:00AM. Still no sign of Randall Harwood. They sat in the house, in the kitchen, watching out the back windows to see if he returned to his shed.
Sharpe had released some of his patrol and the rest they’d pulled back to the driveway, surrounding the perimeter of the farm. They even had people stationed on the witches’ farm in case Randall fled that way.
She wanted to call Marco, but she knew he was in a hearing on the Phelps case. She wasn’t sure how long the hearing would take, but she figured he’d call when it was over. Still, she didn’t like the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in over twenty-four hours, and she’d missed dinner at his parents. That wasn’t a way to earn points with the in-laws.
Sharpe entered the kitchen, striding over to Radar and pitching his voice low.
Radar listened, then nodded.
Peyton glanced over at him. “What?”
“Agnes died this morning.”
Peyton curled her hand into a fist and banged it on the table a couple of times.
Bambi lifted her head from her folded arms. “How long are we going to sit here?” she asked.
“Until Harwood turns up,” said Radar.
Peyton considered the situation. “I really thought he’d return to the shed when it got cold out. It’s the only thing he’s known for years. Why wouldn’t he go home?”
“Maybe he’s more self-aware than we think he is. Maybe he knows we’re waiting for him.”
Peyton shook her head. “They tied him up. They tranquilized him. Agnes had to know what he was capable of doing. She tried to stop him the best way she could.”
“Seems to me Agnes had a lot on her plate. Randall may have been the worst, but don’t forget both her husband and oldest son also ate brains,” said Sharpe. “She didn’t do anything to stop them.”
“She couldn’t. They may have hidden it from her.” Peyton shifted in her seat. “What if she didn’t know? What if she just knew something was wrong with her youngest son? What if Harwood did a good job of hiding his anthropo-whatevers for years?”
“Where are you going with this, Sparky?” asked Radar.
“We know prion disease has a long incubation period. We know Old Man Harwood died three years ago. We know Junior became too sick to function about a year ago.”
“Right.”
“Where are the bodies from those attacks?”
Radar leaned away from the counter, setting his coffee cup down.
“The first sign any of us had that there was something wrong was when the first body was discovered on this property six months ago, past the window of opportunity for either Old Man Harwood or Junior. The last body was two weeks ago in Locke and there was no attempt to conceal that murder.”
“Because Randall doesn’t have the mental capacity to conceal his crime like the other Harwoods did.”
“Exactly.”
“So where would he go now? Locke?”
“No, back to where he left the first two bodies. He must have a hide-out or something there.” She motioned to Sharpe. “Where did you say that was?”
“The river-bottoms.”
“We searched the entire property,” said Bambi.
“We didn’t search well enough,” answered Peyton, rising to her feet. “We need to search the river-bottoms, specifically where the first two bodies were found.”
“Let’s go then,” said Radar, reaching for his keys.
The four Ghost squad members and Deputy Sharpe filed from the house and piled into the Suburban. Sharpe took shotgun and directed Radar back onto the levee, then to a dirt utility road that ran along the edge of the Harwood property.
The Suburban bounced over the uneven roadway and Peyton braced her hands on the door frame to keep from being thrown into Bambi. Bambi beamed a smile at her. “This is so exciting. I love this part of it!”
Peyton gave her a smile and held tighter. She hated this part of it. She liked figuring out the puzzle, but she hated the moment when it was time to draw guns. They arrived at the juncture of two roads and Sharpe told Radar to pull over.
“We need to go on foot from here. It can get a bit swampy this far in this time of year.”
They exited the Suburban, pulling on flak jackets and checking their weapons. Sharpe radioed an update to his people and Radar gathered his team around him.
“We’ll each take a row and follow it to the end, but we’ll be only one row away from each other. If you see something, a structure or a hole or anything that might hide a person, you are not to approach until you have backup. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir!” said Bambi and Tank.
Radar gave Peyton a severe look.
“Yes, sir!” Then for good measure, she saluted him. “You run point.”
He reached out and pulled the brim of her ball cap down over her eyes. “At least try to act the part, Sparky.”
“Yes, sir!” she said again with another salute.
He gave her a half-smile, shaking his head, then he drew his gun. “One row apart.”
“One row apart.”
They started down the rows.
Peyton could see Bambi on her right and on her left was Radar. At least this was better than last night. At least the light wasn’t failing and the fog wasn’t creeping into the river bottoms.
Today she heard bird song and the hum of insects. Today the cherry blossoms looked welcoming and festive.
However, the ground was not. The river bottoms were aptly named. Water seeped up through the mud, sticking to the bottom of her boots and making it difficult to lift her feet. The deeper in she went, the stickier the mud got.
And now the insects were beginning to bite as well as buzz. A few lodged in between her black FBI-issue t-shirt and her skin. She scratched at them, trying to dislodge them from their feast, but they quickly returned, becoming more demanding.
The sun wasn’t fully overhead, but it created a humid a
tmosphere beneath the tightly growing trees as it warmed up the water and made it evaporate. She could feel the ground gradually dipping downward, creating bogs where trapped water lay between the rows. Here the bugs buzzed fiercely, forcing her to swat them away from her face as she walked.
Looking ahead, she tried to judge the distance, but she stumbled over a rock and nearly fell, catching herself on the trunk of a cherry tree. She gave a startled gasp and braced herself, straightening her flak jacket.
“You okay, Sparky?” called Radar.
“Yeah. Just, the bugs are becoming a problem. Do you really think he’d stay out here all night with them biting the way they are?”
“You have a point. We’ll go to the end of the row then head back.”
“And then what, Radar? This is becoming a wild goose chase.”
“We’ll figure it out. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”
Peyton swatted at a fly that buzzed near her ear, then felt something biting her ankle beneath the upper part of her boot. Bending over, she struggled to find the culprit, digging her fingers between the laces and tongue, but she couldn’t reach the nasty critter.
“Damn it!” she swore, lowering her gun to her side and grabbing for the laces. “Hold on, Radar,” she called to him. “I’ve got something…”
Before she could finish, she caught a blur of motion from the corner of her eye, then something landed on her, knocking her to her back. A twisted face rose over her – wild brown eyes, wild hair standing on end, sharp teeth snapping in her face.
Peyton fought for air, instinctively throwing up her arm. She connected with the underside of her assailant’s chin, slamming his jaws together, then she kicked and scratched, trying to get out from under his pinning weight.
Panic took over and she curled her hands into fists, hammering at her attacker, striking anywhere she could. Somewhere during the assault she realized she’d lost her gun. After his initial surprise, he came back at her, reaching for handfuls of her hair and snapping his teeth in her face again.
Ramming up with her knee, Peyton caught him between his splayed legs. He gave a howl and rolled off her, giving her room to scramble to her feet. She tripped and nearly fell, fighting to remain upright.
She didn’t have time to look for her gun, but stumbled forward, trying to turn back down the row with the mud clinging to her shoes and slowing her pace. She saw her attacker roll to his feet and she instinctively knew he was quicker and stronger than she was, knew he’d be on her before she could get away.
Her only chance was to face him. If he brought her down from behind, he could throttle her or bite her and she’d be defenseless. She whipped around as he raced at her, bracing herself for impact.
When he was a few feet away, he launched himself into the air, arms outstretched to bring her down. Peyton threw up her own arms to block him, but as she did so, a sharp report echoed through the orchard, followed by another and another. Her attacker crumpled in mid-flight, his eyes opening wide as he was thrown sideways into a heap.
Pain raged through Peyton and she doubled over, clutching her side. The attacker had landed on her ribs when he dropped on her from the trees and now that the immediate threat was over, the pain came rushing to the foreground.
Radar stepped into the row beside her, lowering his gun as he took in the scene. The smell of gunpowder lay over everything.
“Thank you,” she said, grimacing.
“You hurt?”
“I think he cracked some ribs. He dropped down on me when I was tying my shoe.”
“He was in the trees?”
Peyton nodded, watching as Bambi kicked her way through the brambles, then eased over to Randall and knelt beside him, her gun held ready at her side.
This was the third time Peyton had watched someone die right in front of her and it never got easier. Poor Randall. He never had a chance. “His eyes were empty, Radar. Completely empty. He kept trying to bite me.”
Radar put his gun in his holster and hooked a hand under her elbow. Suddenly Tank and Sharpe appeared, their guns drawn.
“The area’s secure,” said Radar.
“You got him!” said Sharpe, giving Peyton a concerned look.
She pointed at Radar, then curled her hand around her ribs again.
“Clean shot through the heart,” said Bambi in admiration. “He probably didn’t feel a thing.”
Tank stood looking at the body, a grim expression on his face. “Ironic, isn’t it? Old Man Harwood wanted a superior breed.” He held out his hand, indicating Randall. “This is what he got.”
“Come on, Sparky. Let’s get you to a doctor.”
Peyton let him turned her around, his hand firm beneath her elbow. They went a few feet, Peyton watching the ground, but suddenly she hesitated.
“What? Do you need me to get transport?”
She lifted her eyes to Radar’s face. “Radar, you’re gonna have to dig up this whole orchard,” she said softly.
He looked about them – at the rows of trees, at the acres and acres of land. “Oh, shit!” he whispered.
CHAPTER 15
Peyton opened the door to her house and tossed everything onto the sofa table. Pickles danced around her feet as she shrugged painfully out of her jacket and hung it on the peg. Stripping off her gun made her whimper, but she finally discarded it too.
“Sorry, little man,” she told the dog, “I don’t think I can pick you up right now.”
The emergency room doctor who x-rayed her ribs said nothing was broken, but she was likely to be sore for at least a week. She’d declined the pain pills the doctor had offered her, thinking she could make do with aspirin, but a two hour car ride had made her realize aspirin probably wasn’t going to cover it this time.
Walking into the bedroom, she turned toward the bathroom and pulled open the medicine cabinet, searching for Marco’s pain pills. He’d stopped taking them shortly after the surgery, so he had a nearly full bottle left.
She searched behind the other bottles and boxes, but she didn’t see his pills. Frowning, she went through everything again, then searched the drawers in the vanity, but that turned up nothing as well.
Maybe he’d moved them? After he got slammed into the counter at the precinct, he’d taken a pain pill to get through that first night. He probably placed them in his nightstand for convenience.
Walking into the bedroom, she moved to his side of the bed. Pickles had jumped up on the bed, so she could pet him. She rubbed his ears and reached for Marco’s drawer. Sucking in a breath as she moved her arm, she pulled it open.
A bottle of Jack Daniels lay in the drawer.
She reached for it, sitting down hard on the bed and staring at the label. He’d told her he poured everything out, but here was a bottle, three-quarters gone, in his nightstand. A sick feeling roiled in her gut. He was hiding it from her.
She heard the key in the outer door and Pickles took off, racing for the living room. She jammed the bottle back in the drawer and shoved it closed, then rose to her feet, facing the entrance. Marco loomed suddenly at the opening, his blue eyes searching over her from head to toe. She realized she was unconsciously holding her ribs again.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
She didn’t know how to answer. She was still so shocked at finding the bottle.
“Peyton?” He took a step into the room.
She could see herself in the mirror over the dresser. Her face was smudged and her clothing was dirty. She had a bruise on her cheekbone starting to show, and her hair was escaping her bun in loose curls.
“I’m all right.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why are you holding your ribs? What the hell happened?”
She shook her head, still unable to gather her thoughts. “I...um, the case, but I’m fine. The ER doctor said I’m just banged up.”
“ER? What the hell happened?”
“Marco, I can’t tell you. The case is technically still open.”
His h
and clenched around the head of his cane. “You can’t tell me? You come in here after being gone for twenty-four hours, looking like someone beat the shit out of you and you can’t tell me.”
“Marco, please. Let me take a shower, then we’ll talk. We need to talk.” She needed to confront him about the drinking.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I told you I can’t.”
“You can’t?” He lifted his hand and let it fall against his side. “You can’t! This is no way to build a marriage, Peyton. I never know where the hell you are, what time you’re coming home…”
“Marco, I…”
“How the hell are we ever going to start a family!”
That took her aback. “What? You’ve never said anything about wanting a family. In fact, you’ve always told me you didn’t want kids.”
“That’s part of the reason people get married, Peyton, but how the hell is that supposed to work? I’m supposed to just sit here by myself, hoping to hell you’re all right, because you can’t tell me what the hell you’re doing!”
“Marco, please, this is my job. You knew this when we decided to get married.”
“No!” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “I didn’t know it would be like this. I sat here last night imaging horrible things happening to you. I can’t stand it, Peyton! I can’t stand being sidelined while you go out there and put your life at risk. Then you come in here hurt and tell me it’s none of my business!”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You might as well have!” He raked a hand through his hair. “I thought I could do this. I thought I could compartmentalize it, but I can’t. I can’t.” He looked her directly in the eye. “I don’t think I can do this, Peyton.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t think I can marry you.”
She felt the air leave her lungs and she sank onto the bed. For some reason, her brain wouldn’t process what he said.
He stood silent for a moment as if he didn’t believe he’d said it himself. Then he turned and walked out.
Zombies in the Delta (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 1) Page 24