Peyton let out a watery laugh, easing away to look in her face. “That’s why?”
“Yeah, I love you. I’m your best friend.” She kissed Peyton on the forehead. “Come on, honey, you gotta pull yourself together.”
Peyton pressed the napkin under her eyes and forced a smile. “You’re right.”
“You know I’m right.” She picked up Peyton’s wine glass and put it in her hand. “Now drink up. I’m gonna hit the little girl’s room, then we’re gonna have some fun.”
Peyton nodded and took a sip as Maria grabbed her purse and flounced away to the bathroom. Settling the glass on the table, Peyton met Cho’s look. “How are things at the precinct?”
Cho shrugged. “We’ve got two cases, both are a bitch. One has the NRA breathing down our backs.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep.”
“And the other?”
“Somebody toasted the owner of a marijuana dispensary. We don’t have a viable suspect and it’s one of those slippery ones where the evidence isn’t adding up.”
“Sorry. How’s Marco handling it?”
“When he focuses, he’s good, Brooks. Real good. Problem is getting him to focus.”
“Jake says he’s better than Defino.”
“He knows his shit. He knows how to work people and he’s different than her.”
“How so?”
“He isn’t afraid. Take this NRA case. It’s got us all jumpy, but he’s determined to prosecute it. He’s got Adams in fits.”
Peyton smiled.
“Adams wanders around the precinct grumbling that he’s never going to see the inside of the governor’s mansion.”
“And that just makes me all sorts of sad.”
Cho laughed with her, then he sobered. “He’ll be a good captain, if he ever pulls his shit together.”
Peyton looked down at the table. She didn’t know what to say. Marco clearly didn’t want her help in doing that.
Maria bounced back to the table, settling her napkin on her lap. “So, what are we talking about?”
Peyton and Cho exchanged a look. Peyton didn’t want to get another scolding from Maria.
“Um, whether we should get a dog or not,” said Cho quickly. “And what kind. Peyton thought we should get a…what was that again?”
“Lab.”
“Lab, right.”
Maria frowned at them.
“They’re the most popular dogs in America,” said Peyton, holding out her hand.
“And I thought we’d name him Relish, in honor of Pickles.”
“Relish?”
Peyton gave her a bright smile. “I think it’s perfect.”
“Relish.” Maria rolled her eyes and reached for her wine. “Honestly.”
Cho nudged her with his arm. Maria settled the glass on the table again and gave him a simpering look, then she faced Peyton. “We actually asked you to dinner for a reason.”
Peyton frowned. “Okay?”
Maria held out her left hand. On it winked a massive diamond with a circle of smaller diamonds. “Nathan asked me to marry him.”
Peyton’s mouth fell open as she looked at the ring. Then she gave a startled laugh and grabbed Maria’s hand, tilting the ring into the candlelight on the table. “Oh, my God, that’s gorgeous, Maria.”
Maria squeezed her fingers. “Isn’t it?”
Peyton smiled at them, then rose and leaned over the table, kissing Maria’s cheek and hugging Cho. “I’m so happy for both of you.”
Maria kept hold of Peyton’s hand. “Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Of course I am.” Peyton sank into her seat. “I can’t imagine anything better than two people I care about as much as you getting married.”
“I want you to be a bridesmaid.”
“A bridesmaid?”
“Actually I want you to be maid of honor, but my stupid sister insisted it be her.”
“Bridesmaid? Wow. Uh…”
“Please say you will,” said Maria, tightening her grip.
“Of course, I will. I’d be honored.”
Maria glanced at Cho.
“Simons is my best man, but I planned to ask Marco to stand up with me too,” said Cho, wincing.
Peyton forced her smile to remain bright. “Of course. Yeah.”
“Are you okay with that?” asked Maria.
“I’m great. Really, Maria. I’m so happy for the two of you. Everything else is unimportant. So, when’s the wedding?”
“July 10th.”
“July 10th of this year?”
“Yep. We want to keep it small. Just immediate family and friends.”
“July 10th’s just two months away.”
“I know. Abe’s offered to help me.”
Peyton knew her mouth hung open and nothing came out. Abe? If Abe was helping and she was a bridesmaid, oh God, what the hell sort of dress would the two of them pick out for her? She could see herself lost in a froth of pink taffeta with capped sleeves and a hoop skirt with bows. Bows. Oh, so many bows. Dear God.
“Peyton?”
Peyton blinked and reached for her wine, draining it. Then she looked around for the waiter. “We need champagne,” she said.
CHAPTER 19
Wednesday
“I saw the orthopedic surgeon Abe recommended.”
Dr. Ferguson lowered his hands. “And?”
“He gave me this device called a TENS.”
“I’m familiar with it. Is it working?”
Marco rubbed a hand on his thigh. “It seems to be doing something. The pain’s there, but it doesn’t feel like I’m on a razor’s edge anymore.”
“That’s good.”
“He wants me to have another surgery. Bone graft and nerve block. More rehabilitation.”
“Are you going to do it?”
Marco nodded. “I have to. I have to try anything.” He shifted in the chair and scratched the back of his neck. “I think Peyton’s seeing someone,” he blurted out.
“Okay?”
Marco tried to maintain a neutral expression, but he hadn’t really thought he was going to bring this up. Still, it had been on his mind constantly for days now. “She called Abe the other night to help her with something. Abe won’t come out and tell me what it was, just that some guy named Mike got hurt.”
“How does this make you feel?”
“How does it make me feel?” Marco bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep control, but his hand curled into a fist. “It doesn’t make me feel good.”
“Does it make you want to drink?”
“Everything makes me want to drink. My job, my leg, Peyton.” Marco cleared his throat. “I can’t stand the thought of her with anyone else.”
“Did you think this wouldn’t happen?”
“I didn’t think it would happen this fast.”
“Are you sure it’s what you think it is?”
Marco hesitated. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think she would start dating again this quickly. They had something special. Or he’d thought they did, but he knew Peyton. “She hates being alone. She hates it.”
“And you think she’d enter a relationship so soon just to get away from being alone?”
“I don’t know.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do? I left her. She has every right to replace me.” He realized his fingers were aching where he clenched them so tightly. Deliberately, he forced himself to open them, flatten them on his thigh. “I don’t know.”
“Are you going to group tomorrow?”
“What?”
“Group is tomorrow. Are you going?”
“You told me I had to go.”
“I did. I want to make sure you carry through with it.”
Marco started to respond, but his phone rang in his pocket. Dr. Ferguson gave him an aggravated look, but he reach
ed for it anyway. “D’Angelo?”
“Hey, there, Angel, hope I’m not interrupting anything important?” came Abe’s voice.
“Not a thing,” said Marco, giving Ferguson a wry look.
“The residue I found in the wound on Quentin Greer?”
“Yeah?”
“I thought it was a machine oil?”
“Right.”
“It’s an ester oil.”
“An ester oil?”
“Yep. A synthetic oil used in industrial applications.”
“Like what?”
“Refrigeration, car air conditioning units, usually used in extreme temperatures.”
“Can you email me your report?”
“On it.”
“Thanks, Abe.”
“Anytime, Angel.”
Marco disconnected the call and reached for his cane. “I’m sorry. I’m gonna have to cut this short.”
“We’ve just begun, Captain D’Angelo.”
“I know, but there’s a murderer out there and we just got our first lead.”
Dr. Ferguson’s expression twisted into a frown. “Group tomorrow night, Captain D’Angelo. No excuses and I’ll see you again on Friday. Clear your calendar because we’re using the entire hour.”
Marco ignored the warnings as he headed for the door.
* * *
Cho had Abe’s autopsy printed by the time Marco made it back to the precinct. He and Simons were at their desks reading it over. Jake sat on a chair between them, searching for something on his computer tablet.
“Well?” Marco demanded.
“Good morning to you too, Captain Adonis. I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“Then make it two. I’d like one myself.”
Jake grumbled, but he settled the tablet on the desk and rose to his feet, wandering toward the break-room.
“We’re going over the autopsy. I just checked with Stan on the partial from the video and he’s still working on it. He thinks he might have something by the end of the day,” offered Cho.
“Good.”
“Ryder’s going through the current customers to see if any work in a blue collar job with heavy machinery or automotives,” said Simons.
“That’s a lot of files, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna start hitting them myself.”
Marco looked over Cho’s shoulder at the picture Abe had taken of the wound in Greer’s sternum. “What would make that hole?”
“Screwdriver?” said Jake, returning with the coffee. He passed a mug to Marco.
“Maybe, but that’s a lot of force. How much force would be necessary to create that wound and yet not fracture the bone?” asked Marco, taking a sip.
Cho turned pages. “Abe estimates the assailant had to be at least six feet, 200 to 225lb.”
“Cross reference the customer list with driver’s license records,” Marco said to Jake. “That’ll be a quicker way to eliminate possibilities. We’re looking for a big man.”
“Good thinking. I’m on it.”
Marco looked around. “Anyone seen Carly today?”
“Who’s Carly?” asked Simons.
“My secretary.”
“Administrative Assistant,” said Jake, fussing with the tablet.
“Whatever.”
“Haven’t seen her,” said Cho. “Didn’t think she worked here anymore.”
“She wasn’t in the break-room?” he asked Jake.
“Nope.”
Marco shifted back toward the front of the precinct. “Let me know if you get a hit.”
“We’ll do,” said Jake, waving him away.
Marco wandered toward his office, carrying his coffee. Something was bothering him about Abe’s autopsy, but he couldn’t place what it was. As he reached the front of the precinct, Carly rushed through the outer door, skidding on the tiles in her ridiculously high heels.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find my car keys.”
Settling his coffee mug on her desk, he glanced at the clock over the conference room. 9:30AM. “You’re an hour and a half late.”
She pushed through the half door and brushed back her blond hair. “Whew! That’s good news. I thought it was closer to two. I left you a message.”
“Where?”
“On your voicemail.”
“What voicemail?”
“Here at the precinct.”
“I don’t have voicemail at the precinct.”
She chewed on her inner lip. “Then who did I leave a message for?”
Marco shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, God, you’re going to fire me, aren’t you?”
“Carly…”
“Oh, you are. Oh, you should. I’m terrible at this job.” The tears fell, running her mascara.
Marco started to say something, but Devan appeared on the other side of the glass door. He pulled it open and stepped into the precinct.
“D’Angelo.”
“D.A.”
He gave Carly a concerned look. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m an hour and a half late and I called voicemail, but we don’t have voicemail.”
“No, the precinct has voicemail, but it’s your job to get the messages each day. I don’t check it.”
“Oh!” She threw up her hands. “I can’t even call in late the right way. You should so fire me.”
Marco gave Devan a helpless look. Devan didn’t offer any solutions.
“Did you need me?”
“Uh, yeah. You gotta minute?”
“I’ll just pack up my desk.” She went over to it and began reaching for her things.
“You’re not fired,” Marco said. “Just don’t be late again.”
She clasped her hands to her mouth and gave him a watery smile. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. I’ll do better. I promise.”
“Sure.” Marco motioned Devan into his office, then beat a hasty retreat himself, closing the door at his back. He leaned against it, watching Devan take a seat.
“You have to fire her.”
“I know.”
“So why aren’t you?”
“Because every time I try, she cries.”
“She’s manipulating you.”
“I know.”
“Then stop letting her do it.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Do you want me to fire her?”
“No, I’ll do it.”
Devan gave him a disbelieving look. “She’s gonna wind up retiring from here, isn’t she?”
“Probably.” He pushed away from the door and crossed around the desk, sinking into his chair. “Why do I feel like you’re not going to make my day any better?”
“Because I’m not. The NRA posted bail for Will Cook.”
“He’s out?”
“As of this morning.”
Marco shrugged. “We knew that would probably happen. He’s still going to stand trial for murder.”
Devan reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone, turning it so Marco could see the display. Taking the device from him, Marco pressed the video play button. A crowd had gathered outside the courthouse. Some held signs demanding gun control and others held signs supporting the Second Amendment. The camera panned over to a pretty female reporter standing on the courthouse steps. She explained to her audience about Cook’s release, his bail, and who had put up the bond.
Then she turned to a man in a business suit. Marco recognized him from the courtroom. He’d been standing in the group on the other side of the door. The reporter asked him what he thought of the case.
“Our thoughts go out to the family of Gavin Morris. We feel the same sense of loss they must feel, the same pain and sorrow at the death of such a promising young man, but this isn’t an issue for the courts. Mr. Cook was protecting his home and his daughter. He was exercising his Second Amendment rights provided by the U.S. Constitution. We understand any loss of life is a tragedy, but y
ou can’t blame the gun for the fact that Gavin Morris entered a home without the homeowner’s permission, and you can’t blame Mr. Cook for protecting what was his.”
Marco sighed.
“Oh, there’s more,” said Devan.
The reporter shifted suddenly and hurried down the steps of the courthouse, picking out a man watching from the sidewalk. Marco leaned forward. It was Ryan Morris. “Mr. Morris,” she called. “Mr. Morris, wait!”
Morris had started to turn away, but he stopped and allowed her to come alongside him.
“What do you think about William Cook making bail, sir?” asked the reporter, shoving the microphone in his face.
“What do I think?” snarled Morris. “I think he’s a filthy murderer and he deserves the same thing my son got!”
“What do you mean, sir?” she asked, shoving the microphone in his face.
He shoved it back violently, making the reporter gasp, then he slipped into the crowd and disappeared.
Marco lowered the phone.
“You’re going to have to put someone on Cook.”
“Morris is just upset, Adams. He didn’t mean it.”
“You sure about that? Seemed to me that’s a man who doesn’t give a damn about anything anymore, except justice for his son.”
“Look, I’ll call him. I’ll talk to him. If necessary, I’ll go out to the house and sit down with him, explain how things work.”
“All right, D’Angelo, but I still think we need to put a body on Cook.”
“I’m working two cases right now. I can’t spare the manpower. Besides, I don’t really believe Morris meant what he said.”
Devan took back his phone, giving Marco a skeptical look. “I sure as shit hope you’re right.”
So did Marco because looking at Ryan Morris on that screen, he didn’t see much but hatred simmering in his eyes.
* * *
Marco braced his hand on the desk by Carly and pointed to the buttons on the phone. “No, this one connects you to voicemail. Then you have to enter our code.”
“What’s our code?” She blinked up at him, giving him doe eyes.
“Didn’t Maria train you on any of this?”
“She tried, but she was so anxious to get out of here.”
“Our code is our phone number.”
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 28