“I need you to go to Peyton’s house and get them for me.”
Jake glared back at him. “No.”
“No?”
“Look, Adonis, this is stupid. Just go talk to Peyton. Don’t keep this up.”
“I can’t. Not now. Now would be worse than before.”
Jake sank into the chair. “The two of you can work it out. You’ve just got to talk to her.”
“Stay out of it, Ryder.”
“You’re bringing me into it.”
“No, I’m asking you to use the key you still have and get me a couple of damn suits. That’s all.”
“I’m not going in that house without telling Peyton.”
“Then tell her. Just…” He forced himself to calm, curling his hand into a fist. “Just please do this one thing for me and don’t make me beg.”
Jake didn’t answer for a moment, then he pushed himself upright. “Pride goeth before a fall, Adonis. This is just plain stupid. You’re gonna lose her for good if you don’t stop this.”
Marco didn’t answer.
“I’ll bring the damn suits whenever I get them.” He gave Marco a final glare, then left the room.
Marco waited for a bit, then he pushed the intercom button again. “Carly?”
No answer.
Muttering a curse and grabbing his cane, he climbed to his feet and limped to the door. Carly’s desk was empty. What the hell! Who needed an assistant that couldn’t stay put? He might as well do everything himself if this was how flighty she was going to be.
Wandering toward Cho and Simons’ desks, he saw no signs of her. Cho and Simons were easy to spot, however, sitting in their chairs and reviewing the case. Marco stopped before them.
“Have you seen Carly?”
“Nope,” said Simons.
“I sent her to get you.”
“We ain’t seen her.”
Marco shook his head, then let it go. “Where are we with the case?”
“Completely stalled,” said Cho.
“You didn’t find any complaints about the business?”
“Not really and most of them are old.”
Marco leaned on his cane. “If I’ve got a business selling something people want badly, I’m gonna have security cameras all over everything.”
“The night before Greer was torched, someone smashed the outside security camera with a bat,” said Cho.
“Huh? That seems like premeditation to me.”
“Yeah.”
“Did Greer report it to the police?”
“He did.”
“What about security cameras inside the store?”
“There aren’t any,” said Simons. He rose and grabbed Marco a chair.
Marco sank into it, grateful that Simons didn’t make a fuss. “Why aren’t there any?”
“According to Byrony, his clerk, a lot of the clientele didn’t want to be on surveillance when they picked up their medicine. That way there wouldn’t be video evidence of what they bought.”
“Then how do you know the outside security camera was destroyed by a bat?”
“The tea shop next door caught the guy on their camera.”
“Do you have that video?”
Cho nodded, then began clicking on his computer. Marco eased the chair closer to him, so he could see the monitor.
“You can’t see anything. The guy wore a hoodie and never looked up.” He found the file and opened it.
Marco watched the grainy video.
Sure enough, a hooded figure came into the screen and exited almost immediately. A moment later, the sound of breaking glass was heard and something flew across the camera lens.
“You’re right. That does us less than no good.” Marco leaned back and thought for a moment. “Okay, you’re going to have to go through all of the clients.”
Cho closed his eyes, but Simons gave a grim nod. “That’s what I figured.”
“Get Jake to help you.”
“Ryder?” said Cho, making a face. “Why?”
“Because he picks up things that we miss.”
“He’s right,” said Simons.
“I know he’s right, but I hate working with the preacher. He’s freakin’ annoying.”
“He’s also smart and observant,” said Marco.
“Yeah, he’s that too.”
“There you are,” came Carly’s voice behind him.
Marco glanced over his shoulder at her. He knew he should reprimand her for her poor performance, but the last time he did, she burst into tears.
“There’s an older woman and a man here to see you.”
“What?”
“The man says he’s your brother.”
Oh shit!
Simons let out a whistle.
Cho gave a laugh.
Marco shot a glare at them, then levered himself to his feet. “Let me know if you find anything.”
“We’ll do,” said Cho with a smirk.
“Hey, Captain, good luck,” said Simons.
“Ask your mom if she has anymore chicken parm. I’ve been dying for some.”
Marco ignored him and followed Carly to the front of the precinct.
Vinnie and his mother were waiting inside the half-door, just outside his office. When he appeared, his mother hurried to him and threw her arms around his waist, nearly knocking him over. He looked up at his brother.
“You broke off your engagement to Peyton?” Vinnie said in that accusatory tone of an older brother.
“I asked you and asked you to go to church. This wouldn’t happen if you went to church and asked God for help,” said his mother, her face pressed against his chest.
Carly gave him a wide eyed look.
He motioned to his office. “Can we talk about this in private?”
Vinnie strode into the office, while Marco detached himself from his mother and led her after him. Vinnie helped his mother into a chair as Marco closed the door and leaned against it.
“You shouldn’t have come down here. This is my work,” he said.
Vinnie rose to his full height. “I told you not to mess around with this relationship, Marco. Peyton isn’t like the other girls you’ve dated. I was afraid you were going to blow it.”
“That isn’t any of your business.”
“How can it not be?” said their mother, whipping around in the chair. “Peyton was good for you. I was so happy when you and Peyton finally got together. She’s a good girl for you. Why would you do this?”
“I had to.”
Vinnie narrowed his eyes on him. “You had to?”
“I wasn’t good for her. I was jealous all the time and I wanted her to quit her job.”
“So, talk it out. Aren’t you seeing a shrink or something?” Vinnie made a vague motion with his hand.
Marco drew a breath for patience. “There’s nothing to talk out. It’s my problem and I have to fix it.” A thought occurred to him. “How did you find out anyway?”
“We called Peyton,” said his mother.
Marco closed his eyes.
“What did you want us to do? You wouldn’t come to Sunday dinners, and you wouldn’t go to church. What did you want us to do?”
“Every time I called, you sent me a text saying you were busy.” Vinnie leveled a look at him. “Peyton said you left a week ago. Where’ve you been staying?”
“With Abe.”
Vinnie jutted out his chin. “You’re coming home with me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What?”
“He’ll come home with me and your father. He belongs home with us.”
“No, I’m not doing that either. I’m staying where I am.”
“That’s stupid. We’re family,” protested Vinnie. “You come to family when you have a problem.”
Marco knew they weren’t going to stop unless he told them exactly what was going on. “I’m struggling with alcoholism, Vinnie. You don’t want that around your children.”
His mother gasped and
made the sign of the cross.
“What?”
“That’s part of why I had to leave Peyton. When the pain gets bad, I drink.”
“How often does the pain get bad?”
“All the time.”
Vinnie clamped his mouth closed.
His mother made another sign of the cross.
“I’m getting help and I’m working on it, but I need you both to give me a little space.”
“You need to turn to family,” said Vinnie.
His mother reached up and curled her fingers around Vinnie’s wrist. “Abe’s a doctor. He’s good. He’ll help Marco.”
Vinnie glanced at her.
“He’ll help,” she repeated and rose to her feet.
Marco felt like an ass as she crossed around the chairs and came to him, placing her hand against his cheek. “Seek help from God, my son. Please, seek help from God.” He leaned down so she could kiss him, then he moved away from the door and watched her walk out into the precinct.
Vinnie stopped in front of him. “Peyton was the best thing you had going.”
Marco nodded. “I know.”
“You wait too long and she’s gonna move on.”
“If I stayed, Vinnie, she would have come to hate me. I couldn’t chance that.”
Vinnie grabbed him behind the neck and planted a kiss on his forehead. “If you need anything, you know where we are.”
Marco nodded.
Vinnie released him and then was gone.
* * *
Marco stood in front of the medical marijuana dispensary and stared at it. It was housed in a well-maintained white building with a wooden door. A small window in the middle of the door allowed him to look inside and see a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. To the left was a wall papered in Victorian era style, a bold black fleur de lis design on a pale pink background. This certainly didn’t look like what he expected from a pot house.
He could see a young woman moving around behind the counter. He could just go in and ask questions. No one would even know he was here. Then he could make his decision. His doctor had offered to get him a medical marijuana card, but he’d declined. He just couldn’t see how he could do his job if he was stoned all the time. And if the media found out…
Still, he wasn’t really doing his job now, was he? Albie Brighton’s words kept rolling around in his head, disrupting his thought process. It lets me think. When I got pain, I can’t even think straight. I can’t do nothing. I can’t even be still. Maybe if he got rid of the pain, maybe everything would be clear. Maybe he could figure out how to tamp down on his possessiveness with Peyton, maybe he could stop being angry about her job. And maybe rainbows and unicorns would explode from the top of his freakin’ head.
He turned away and walked down the street. He wandered around for hours, watching people. He wanted a drink. He passed a few bars and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to go inside.
Finally, he went to Abe’s. The moment he walked through the door, Abe confronted him, hands on hips.
“I get you an appointment with the best orthopedic surgeon in the state and you blow him off!”
Marco leaned against the door. His leg throbbed from knee to groin and his temper was frayed. He had a moment’s thought of just going back out the door and finding the first drug store that sold liquor.
“Not now, Abe.”
“Not now? Why did you miss your appointment? Greyson Chamberlain is the most sought after orthopedic surgeon in Northern California and he doesn’t have room in his schedule for the patients he has. He made a special appointment for you!”
Marco tightened his fingers on the cane. He could feel the edge of panic starting to rise inside of him. He’d taken almost fifteen aspirin today, but all it did was take the edge off.
Abe’s gaze raked over him, then his expression changed, softened. He reached out and grabbed Marco’s elbow. “Sit down. You’re hyperventilating again.”
Marco hadn’t realized how fast his breathing was until Abe did. He limped to the couch and threw himself down, then braced his elbow on the arm and covered his eyes with his hand. Black spots were starting to appear in his peripheral vision and he felt a cold sweat sliding over him.
Abe left and Marco could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen.
The pain raged in his leg, creeping up into his hip. He ground his teeth, trying to control it, but it was winning. A moment later Abe took a seat on the coffee table in front of him and placed a glass of water in his hand.
“Take this.”
Marco didn’t even protest as he took the pill and swallowed it, following it with a gulp of water. Abe took the glass and placed it on the table, folding his hands before him.
“We’ve got to get more help, Angel,” he said. “Why didn’t you go to the appointment?”
Marco opened his eyes, lowering his hand. “I just couldn’t hear another doctor say there wasn’t anything more that can be done.”
“I don’t think that’s what Grey would have said.”
Marco clenched his fist. “What about medical marijuana, Abe? You could write me a prescription.”
Abe leaned back. “What?”
“I went to a dispensary today. What if it would let me work? Let me get back some sort of normalcy? Maybe it would let me calm down enough that Peyton and I…”
Abe shook his head.
Marco slumped in defeat.
“Don’t get me wrong, Angel. I think it’s an answer for a lot of people. I’m not against it, but for you, for a man in your line of work, I can’t recommend it. You carry a gun, Marco. You can’t be compromised, you can’t have your reflexes dulled. You have to think and react in an instant. If you were smoking pot, it would make you vulnerable.”
“Then there’s no hope.” Marco had never felt so bleak, so alone in his life. There just didn’t seem to be anyway out of this nightmare.
“You’ve got to trust me, Angel. Trust Dr. Chamberlain. There’s something that can be done.”
Marco looked down, then he pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth as his leg nearly buckled. “I’m going to bed.”
“Angel, please.”
“I just need to sleep, Abe. I just want to sleep.” He couldn’t face another round of disappointment right now.
* * *
Jeff glanced out the door of his office. No one was around. He pulled up the search engine on his computer and typed in mermaid found off coast of California. A number of stories popped up on his screen. He clicked on the first one that looked like it was from a reputable news source. Something about the coincidence between his mother’s letters and this finding were too significant to ignore. His knowledge of Santa Cruz was limited. He thought of it mostly as a surf hangout and a college town. Now, in the span of a week, he’d heard about it twice.
Scanning the news article, he found only sketchy information. Not much more than what the television news source had reported the previous night. The baby had been found by surfers, it had severe birth defects, in particular both legs had been fused into a sort of mermaid tail, and the coroner believed it had been stillborn.
The police and now the FBI had no idea who disposed of the body or why, but they were asking the public for help. Special Agent Carlos Moreno of the FBI requested that anyone with information contact his office. According to Agent Moreno, “This may be a young woman who was trying to hide her pregnancy. She may be afraid to come forward, but we need to identify the baby’s mother and give the mother any help she may need. Please contact us.”
Jeff leaned back. He had a daughter. Josephine had turned twenty-one two months ago. How could any parent not know his daughter was pregnant? Not offer to help her? There was nothing either of his children could do that would make him turn away from them. Nothing.
So why hadn’t this young woman gotten the help she so desperately needed?
Oh, the things people did to each other. The neglect, the disinterest – even he was guilty
of it. Before he judged anyone else, maybe he needed to atone for his own failings.
* * *
Dear Aster,
Things only seem to be getting worse. I had my 19th birthday the other day, but we didn’t celebrate. Mama is vomiting blood. We don’t have the money to take her to the doctor and Thatcher said it wouldn’t do any good anyway. He said he’s seen this before and it’s probably stomach cancer.
I snuck off the farm and went to see Mrs. Elder. She helped me look up medical stuff on the computer. I know I’m not supposed to do that, but I don’t have any other choice. If we can’t take Mama to the doctor, I have to do something.
But I’m afraid Thatcher may be right. It sounds like cancer. Mrs. Elder said she wanted to call the authorities and send them to get Mama, but I wouldn’t let her. It would cause so much trouble. You have no idea, Aster.
The older boys guard the farm and there would be problems if the cops show up. Once a hiker got lost on our land. He asked us for help. Thatcher had some of the boys drive him into Santa Cruz, we were trying to help him, but he told the cops something weird was going on at the farm.
A cop showed up at the gate. Some of the boys wanted to get their weapons and show him that we weren’t going to be intimidated by the government, but Thatcher talked them out of it. He met the cop and let him come on the farm.
The cop couldn’t find anything wrong, but he still talked to a lot of us. Thatcher didn’t try stop him, but it didn’t matter, no one had anything bad to say anyway. Mostly the cop wanted to know if we went to school. We showed him our school books and our work, and he didn’t find anything wrong with that. Sure, we don’t have a lot of money, or fancy clothes, or computers and stuff, but we do fine for ourselves and we don’t have to answer to anyone.
The cop went away, and we haven’t had anyone else come out. I know Thatcher would let the cops take Mama to the hospital, but Mama already said she wouldn’t go and I don’t want trouble. I mean, Thatcher wouldn’t want trouble either, but some of the older boys, well, they say things, scary things.
I probably shouldn’t have told you that, but I trust you, Aster, just like I trust Mrs. Elder. We really do fine for the most part, and really, there’s nothing that could be done to save Mama now. She’s in the hands of the savior and that’s all there is.
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 8