Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

  The Ghost Squad didn’t find hordes of butterflies on the beach, but they did find people, lots and lots of people, and then there were the news vans, so many news vans – both local and out of area.

  Radar drove the Suburban through the crowds, honking his horn and showing his badge outside the driver’s window. People parted for him, but a number of reporters shoved microphones in his face. When he swiveled his head and glared at them from behind his mirrored sunglasses, they backed off quickly.

  They finally made it into the parking lot that jutted up along the beach. A patrol officer blocked it off with a wooden barricade. Radar flashed his badge at him and leaned out the window. “We’re looking for Lieutenant Brannon?”

  The officer turned and pointed at the beach. “She’s over there, talking to the surfer dudes who found the body.”

  Radar nodded and waited while the officer pulled the barricade away, then he drove into the parking lot and parked closest to the beach. A few other cars occupied the spaces, along with four patrol cars. A handful of people stood leaning on the cars and two women stood by a large passenger van that had the word Horizon painted on the side of it.

  Peyton climbed out of the passenger seat and followed Radar as he stepped over the roped fence separating the parking lot from beach. The waves gently brushed against the shore, sliding in and out with a calm, almost serene quality. Natural Bridges could be a challenging place to surf when the conditions were right, but most often, it was a great place to paddle out and enjoy the motion of the waves without fighting an undertow.

  Peyton had never tried surfing herself, but she could see the attraction if this was where you surfed. With the sun shining on the water, it made a pleasant, picturesque location, if you didn’t remember a baby had been tossed into the ocean like so much flotsam.

  Lieutenant Brannon had her back to them, talking to the three surfers. They each wore wetsuits, but had the tops pulled down to their waists, exposing their naked, toned chests. Peyton figured they had to be late teens, early twenties, with the rugged sun-kissed looks of a California surfer.

  One of them nodded over Brannon’s shoulder at the Ghost Squad and she turned, giving Radar a severe look. The look immediately shifted to welcome when Radar held out his badge.

  “Lieutenant Brannon?”

  “Yes.” She shook Radar’s hand. “FBI, right?” She stood about 5’6” or 5’7” with dirty blond hair cut into a short bob and brown eyes. Lines around her eyes fanned out into her temples, marking her in her late thirties. She was trim and fit, attractive in a plain, wholesome way.

  “Right. I’m Special Agent Carlos Moreno and these are my team members, Agents Thomas Campbell, Emma Redford and Peyton Brooks.” He pointed at each of them in turn. “Are these the gentlemen who found the body?”

  “Yep. They were surfing when they saw something tangled in the kelp. They paddled over and discovered it was a body. Rather than disturbing it, they paddled to shore and called 911.” She nodded at a spot out in the surf, sheltered by an outcrop of rocks. “Before we could secure the place, media started appearing. Someone tweeted about it as soon as the boys got to shore.”

  Radar tilted his head in understanding.

  “We knew what a media frenzy this would become. You know? Mermaid, a discarded baby? God, it’s gonna be all over. We figured we better get out ahead of it and call you in sooner rather than later.”

  “Good,” said Radar. “Where’s the body now?”

  “On its way to San Francisco and your M.E. Our CSI’s also a part-time M.E., and based on his initial examination, he feels the baby was stillborn, but that isn’t going to be enough for the media. They’re going to sensationalize it.”

  Radar nodded, glancing back at the parking lot and the scrum of people jockeying for a view of the beach from the road. “Anyone see anything?”

  “You mean like who threw a baby into the drink? No.”

  “We saw the pictures. The baby clearly had sireno...uh…” He turned to Tank.

  “Sirenomelia,” offered Tank. When Brannon gave him a confused look, he amended, “Mermaid syndrome.”

  “Right. I’ve never seen anything like it. Bruce, our CSI, said the baby appeared to be no more than a few hours old. He estimated she’d been in the water about 24 to 36 hours. Someone really wanted to get rid of her and fast.”

  Radar nodded at the three boys. “How often do you surf out here?”

  “Every day,” said the tallest of the three. He looked to be a mix of Pacific Islander and Caucasian, but his hair was so bleached by the sun and surf it was almost blond.

  “High school not a priority?”

  “We get out here as soon as school gets out.”

  “You ever see anyone on those cliffs?” Radar pointed to the rise of rocks and brambles to the right of them.

  “All the time. It’s a popular hiking trail,” said Surfer Dude #1.

  Brannon nodded. “We get people up there all the time. We’re always pulling someone off those rocks.”

  Peyton looked back at the parking lot, surveying the cars and the smattering of people who had been here before the police barricaded the beach. Finding the mother of this baby was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. The baby could belong to anyone. Clearly, the mother had given birth and then panicked when the baby was stillborn, or maybe panicked when she saw the degree of deformity. Rather than toss her in a dumpster as so many new mothers did, she tossed her in the ocean, hiding her shame.

  “Sparky?” said Radar. “Any thoughts?”

  Peyton glanced back at him. His dark brows were lifted over his mirrored sunglasses. She looked at Bambi and Tank, but they didn’t offer anything. “We need to check the local hospitals for patients who recently had babies, but came in without them.”

  “I already placed a call. My partner’s tracking that down,” said Brannon.

  “Then we need to check the high schools,” said Peyton.

  “The high schools?” questioned Radar.

  “Who else would keep a pregnancy hidden, give birth, and then dispose of the evidence?”

  Radar swung back around to look at the surfers. “High school kids,” he said. “Can you get us a list of all the high schools in the area?”

  Brannon nodded. “Sure can. I’ll have that for you by the end of the day.”

  “Great. I just can’t wait to go out and tell the principals we think one of their students gave birth to a mermaid,” Radar groused.

  * * *

  Jeff couldn’t help but think about the letters. It was almost 11:00PM. Ruth would be headed to bed in a few minutes, then he could get them out. He’d started keeping them in a box in the bottom drawer of his desk because she’d begun suggesting he throw them away. She didn’t like how obsessed he was with them.

  He didn’t think he was obsessed. He just wanted to keep the connection to his mother. They kept her alive for him, at least for a while. He imagined her response, he imagined what questions she asked. He could even imagine her sitting in her favorite armchair in front of the window where the morning sunlight shone through, reading them, smiling as she realized someone in the world was thinking of her.

  “Huh, that’s so strange,” came Ruth’s voice.

  Jeff blinked and stared at the television. A police officer with dirty blond hair and brown eyes was talking into a microphone. Behind her stood a man in a black suit with mirrored sunglasses and a much smaller woman of mixed ethnicity, also wearing a black suit.

  “What?”

  Ruth pointed at the television. “The mermaid?”

  “What mermaid?” Jeff frowned.

  “They found a mermaid in the Pacific ocean. Off Santa Cruz…” Her voice trailed away. “Isn’t that where the boy lived who wrote your mother? Phil or something?”

  “Finn. Yeah, he lived in the mountains above Santa Cruz. What are you talking about? A mermaid?”

  “Weren’t you listening? They just gave a report.”

  Jeff looked
at the television. The camera had moved back to the anchors in the studio. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Ruth gave him a searching look. “You’re doing that more and more. It’s those letters. Until you get rid of them, you aren’t going to get over your mother’s death.”

  Jeff wasn’t sure you ever got over your mother’s death, but Ruth had a point. The letters were a distraction. They kept him from facing the truth – that his mother was gone forever.

  “Tell me about the mermaid,” he said to change the topic.

  “Some surfers found a body in the ocean. It looked like a mermaid.”

  “I don’t know what that means?”

  “I don’t know either. That’s all they said. It was a baby.”

  “A baby? That’s horrible.”

  “I know. Tell me about it.” She tilted her head at him. “Isn’t it weird that it happened in Santa Cruz?”

  “Yeah, but life’s funny that way.”

  “I guess so.”

  Life sure was funny. Mermaids and isolated farms. And mothers you realized you hardly knew. Life was a damn comedian sometimes.

  * * *

  Dear Aster,

  Janice lost the baby. She was almost five months along when she went into labor. We got her to the hospital, but it was already too late. The baby was completely formed, but he had the same problem as Little Gina and Ezekiel.

  I mean the doctors don’t think that’s what killed the baby because he had other things wrong. His lungs weren’t completely developed and he never even cried.

  Janice won’t get out of bed. Thatcher said she had to get up and get to work again, but I told her to ignore him. Boy, did he get angry. He threatened to send me away early. I said I wouldn’t go. Nothing he could do would make me leave Janice now.

  I was trembling so bad when I faced him. Even my voice was trembling. I sure wish it hadn’t, but I was afraid he was going to hit me. He’s never hit anyone on the farm, but he looked so angry, I wasn’t sure that I wasn’t going to be the first one.

  Mrs. Elder says I need to think about leaving. When she says that she means me and Mama, Janice and Gina. There’s no way all of us would be able to leave and if we left, where would we go? Mrs. Elder says she knows of places that might help us, but when I mentioned it to Mama, she got really upset.

  Mama is getting worse and now we can’t take her to the doctor because we used the money on Janice and the baby. Even worse, Thatcher took the gardening away from me. I don’t get to work with the boys like Ezekiel anymore. He says I’m a bad influence.

  The only thing I get to do now is stay in the house with Janice. I did sneak away last week and went to the library for a few hours, but Mama and Janice were so scared when I got back that I haven’t tried it again. They’re really afraid Thatcher is going to send me away early.

  What do you think I should do, Aster? Do you think I should talk Mama into leaving? Even as I write this, it scares me. No one has ever left before it was time. It just isn’t done. I wish I could talk to you in person. I wish we could see each other. I would like to hear your voice, have you reassure me in person.

  Mrs. Elder tries, but she doesn’t understand the way you do. She is in control of her life. She isn’t dependent on anyone for anything. She understands the world, but you and me, Aster, we’re left out. The world has moved past us and I’m not sure if we can ever adapt.

  I just don’t know what to do. Please give me any advice you have.

  Your friend,

  Finn Getter

  CHAPTER 7

  Wednesday

  Marco always felt so empty and frustrated after his meetings with Dr. Ferguson. The two of them went over and over the same things, but didn’t seem to gain any ground. He didn’t have any more idea what to do about his life, how to put it back together again, than he had a week ago, and the group meeting was looming the very next night. Added to that was the doctor’s appointment today at 2:00 that Abe had scheduled for him. He had no illusions. There was nothing any doctor could do for him. The leg was as good as it was going to get and it was stupid to hope for anything more.

  He took his phone out of his pocket and sat at his desk in his office, staring at the display. It had been more than a week since he’d left Peyton and she hadn’t tried to contact him once. He didn’t blame her, but he wanted something, anything from her. If she called him, he knew he’d go back even though the logical part of his mind told him it would be a mistake for both of them. He wasn’t better. In fact, he was worse than when he’d left her and staying sober was becoming the most difficult part of his day.

  “Captain?”

  Marco set down the phone and glanced up. Tag stood in the doorway, holding a case file.

  “Yeah?”

  “They were dating.”

  It took Marco a moment to process what she said. “The shooting victim and the girl?”

  “Yeah. Even the vice principal knew about it. They’d been dating for six months. They just went to prom together.”

  “So odds are the father also knew.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  Marco considered for a moment. “Give me the names of the parties involved.”

  Tag came forward and took a seat across from him. “Father’s name is Will Cook, daughter is Amy and the boy’s name is Gavin Morris.”

  “Racial differences?”

  “Nope. All white.”

  “Huh, and the girl actually said she didn’t know the boy?”

  “Yep.” Tag dropped the file on his desk. “Here’s Abe’s autopsy.”

  Marco took the file and opened it, glancing over Abe’s report. As usual, it was thorough and neatly done. “He was shot four times?”

  “Yeah, close range. One severed his spinal cord. Would have paralyzed him instantly. One wound up in his kidney and the other two in both lungs.”

  “All through the back?” Marco looked at the picture of a skinny, ghostly pale kid, not more than sixteen, with four holes in his back. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Have you talked with Morris’ parents?”

  “Yesterday. The mother couldn’t talk to us. She was a basket case. She and the father are divorced, but the father was at the house trying to comfort her. Right now he’s in shock too, but once that wears off…”

  “They’re gonna want something done.”

  “Yep.”

  “What about the girl’s mother? Where’s she?”

  “She lives in Vermont. The last time she saw her daughter was at Christmas. She met the boyfriend then herself.”

  Marco looked at the photo again. “Bring in the father. Let’s question him.”

  “He’s got a lawyer.”

  “He can come. We have a right to question his client.”

  “You know what the father’s gonna say, right?”

  “He was standing his ground.”

  “And you know the NRA’s gonna be crawling up our asses the minute we question him.”

  Marco closed the file. “Bring it on.”

  Tag gave him a wicked smile, then reached for the folder and rose to her feet. “You got it, Captain.”

  As she went to the door, Marco called to her, “Tag?”

  “Yep?”

  “You might call the ADA and warn him though.”

  Tag chuckled. “Done.”

  Marco pushed the button on the intercom. “Carly?” When he’d come in a while ago, she wasn’t at her desk. In fact, Carly spent less time at her desk than he did. He released the button and waited for an answer. Nothing. He depressed the button again. “Carly?”

  She popped her head inside the office. “Yes, Captain?”

  “You know you can answer me the same way, right?”

  “This just seemed easier.”

  It was easier to get up and come to his office?

  “You know which is the intercom button, right?”

  She hesitated.

  “The one that says intercom?”

  She gave a laugh
and shook her head as if to say, Silly me! “Of course.”

  “Are Cho and Simons in yet?”

  “Cho and Simons?”

  Marco bit his inner lip for patience. “The detectives?”

  She tilted up her head, but he could see no recognition in her eyes.

  “The big guy whose partner is the little guy?”

  “Oh, yes, I think they’re here. Do you want me to get them?”

  “Yes, and can you call Jake Ryder and tell him I want to talk to him?”

  “Right.” She dragged the word out. “Jake Ryder.”

  “The CSI?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Jake Ryder. The nice guy?”

  “Right.”

  She started to go, but hesitated.

  “Button number 3,” he offered.

  She pointed an index finger at him. “Button number 3.”

  Marco buried his head in his hands and tried his breathing exercises. The constant throbbing in his leg put him on edge, made his temper short. Carly was trying hard at this job, but she was so not the right assistant for him.

  Giving up, he reached for his desk drawer and yanked it open, grabbing the bottle of aspirin. He dumped four in his hand and dry swallowed them, then picked up the phone and thumbed it on. A picture of Peyton and Pickles dominated his background. He stared at it and fought with himself. Now was definitely not the time to call her.

  “You wanted something?”

  Marco dropped the phone and motioned Jake inside. Jake moved to the armchairs, but didn’t sit.

  “I need you to do me a favor and I need you not to give me shit about it.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “No conversation has ever gone well that began this way.”

  “Just listen. I need more suits. I can’t keep wearing the same one.”

  “You are beginning to look homeless. Oh, yeah, right, you are. Homeless, that is.”

  Marco glared at him. “Ryder…”

  “What do you want me to do about it? This is Abe’s area of expertise.”