She gave him a worried look.
“The precinct’s general number?”
Still blank.
He grabbed a business card off the front of her desk and laid it down before her, pointing at it. “This number.”
“Oh!” She gave a laugh and placed her hands over her mouth. “It was right in front of me.”
“Yeah.”
“As my mama used to say, it would have bit me if it was a dog.”
“Yeah. Look, press the button, listen for the beep and then punch in the number. After that…”
He looked up as Tag and Holmes entered the precinct. They took in the scene, then they both gave him a frown. He straightened. “Well?”
Tag pushed open the half-door and leaned against the back of the counter, facing Carly’s desk. “Sherry Morris, Gavin Morris’ mother, says she hasn’t seen her ex-husband all day. She’s trying to get him on cell, but he won’t answer.”
Marco rubbed the back of his neck. “What about Cook?”
“He’s home. With his guns.”
“What?”
Holmes leaned on the counter next to her. “They left him with his guns. He made bail.”
“If Morris goes over there, he’ll shoot him.”
“I know. We explained that to Sherry Morris,” said Tag. “Can we put a BOLO out on Morris?”
“For what? He didn’t commit a crime.” Marco shook his head. “This just gets worse and worse. Two desperate fathers who feel they’ve somehow failed their children…” Marco’s voice trailed away as something clicked in his mind.
“Captain?”
Desperate fathers who failed their children? Desperate fathers?
“Put Bartlet and Smith on Cook’s house. They can split the shift. You keep looking for Morris. Bring him in so I can talk to him if necessary.”
“How?”
Marco started toward the back of the precinct. “I don’t know. Resisting arrest. Anything.”
“Okay.”
Marco turned the corner, limping toward Cho and Simon’s desks. “Ryder!” he shouted.
Jake popped out of his cubicle. “You bellowed?”
“Get over here.” Marco pointed at Simons. “Remember that other list we had.”
“We had three lists.”
“Yeah, one of current customers, one of customers who moved out of the area, and one of people who died.”
“Right.”
“We decided that the last list was a waste of time, remember?”
“I remember.”
“But you’d called the father of a kid on the list. The kid’s name was Calvin Delacruz.”
“He had AIDS,” offered Jake.
“Right, but he was killed in a robbery.” Marco turned back to Simons. “You were supposed to call the father and tell him not to come in, remember?”
“I did call him.”
“But he lost his cell phone and didn’t get the message. He came in and I interviewed him.”
“Where you going with this, Captain?” asked Cho.
“He was big, at least six feet, two hundred pounds, give or take and…” Marco pointed at Jake. “He was an air conditioner repairman.”
Cho let out a whistle.
“Look up his driver’s license record, Ryder. His first name was Al.”
Jake clicked on his tablet.
“What motive would he have for killing Greer?” asked Simons.
“He blamed pot for his son’s death. I called it medicine and he corrected me.”
“So he might have blamed Greer?”
Marco held out a hand.
“Alfonso Delacruz,” said Jake, looking up. “Six feet one and two hundred and fifty pounds.”
“All of this is circumstantial, Captain. We can’t even get a warrant to search his place, let alone bring him in.”
Marco rubbed a hand along his jaw. “We need that video from Stan.”
“We can’t get a warrant and we can’t bring him in, but we can go out and talk to him again, see how he reacts,” offered Simons.
“You do that, and Ryder, go light a fire under Stan’s ass.”
They moved off to do as he said.
Marco watched them go, feeling a rush of adrenalin that was almost as good as going after the perp himself.
* * *
Pacing his office wasn’t helping. It was almost 8:00PM. Cho and Simons were searching for Delacruz, Tag and Holmes were looking for Morris, and no one was where they should be. Sherry Morris had called twice worried about the father of her son, but Marco couldn’t tell her anything.
Then there was Stan. Stan Neumann, who’d always come through for Marco before, couldn’t seem to come through for him now. He couldn’t clean up the video. He couldn’t get a clear shot of the person in the hood, and without that, without Delacruz, they had nothing.
He turned and stared at his phone. Then there was Peyton. He’d agonized over the thought of Peyton with someone else almost obsessively. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her, sharing the intimacy they shared. It made his skin itch, it made his stomach sour. She was his, she was supposed to be his wife, his partner, forever.
He grabbed the phone and dialed her number before he could count off all the reasons why this was a bad idea. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hey?”
“Hey,” he said, then just held the phone to his ear. The sound of her voice gave him a gut-check.
“Marco?”
“Hey,” he gasped out. “How are you?”
“Okay. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” He wanted to tell her about Dr. Chamberlain, about the TENS and the surgery, but something stopped him. “I just wanted to see how you were.”
She fell silent. He waited, gripping the phone so tight it dug into his fingers. “I’m fine. Busy.”
“Yeah?”
“I had dinner with Cho and Maria the other night.”
“Oh.”
“They’re getting married.”
He sank into his chair, absently rubbing his leg. “Really? Cho didn’t say anything.”
“Really? He wants you to stand up with him. I mean, Simons is his best man, but he wants you to be there too.”
“Wow. Uh, no, he didn’t say anything.”
“Maria asked me to be a bridesmaid. Abe’s helping her plan the wedding. You don’t think they’re going to dress me in bows, do you? Pink bows?”
Marco laughed. God, he missed her so damn much. “I don’t know. It’s Abe. He was wearing hot air balloon pants the other day.”
“Now that I would’ve liked to see. This wedding’s in two months.”
“Really? They sure aren’t waiting.”
“No.”
They both fell silent. Marco realized this was a bad idea. It made the wanting of her come back in full force. This wasn’t a woman he would ever get over, ever stop loving. She was his. “Who’s Mike?”
The moment it left his lips, he wanted to bite it back, but it was too late.
“What?”
“Who’s Mike, Peyton?”
He felt the tension in the line. “What the hell did Abe tell you?”
“Not much. Who is he?”
“He’s none of your business.”
“Are you seeing him?”
“What?”
“This Mike. Are you dating?”
He wanted to stop himself, but the jealousy, the fear was pushing him relentlessly.
“That’s none of your business.”
“How isn’t it?”
“You left me, Marco. You walked out on me.”
“I didn’t have a choice. I left to get well.”
“You left.” That and nothing more. “You left.”
He drew a deep breath and held it. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this conversation to go. “Peyton, I just thought…”
“You thought what? That I’d wait forever. That I’d just sit on a shelf hoping you’d realize you love me.”
/> “I do love you.”
“Funny way you have of showing it, bucko. What was the real reason, Marco?”
“What?”
“The reason you left. Was it too real? Did you feel suffocated because we had something special?”
“It wasn’t any of that, Peyton and you know it.”
“Then what was it? What was so terrible that you couldn’t let me work through it with you?”
“I wanted you to quit your job!” There, he said it. He wished he hadn’t, but there it was. “I wanted you to quit and I wanted you to stay home where I knew you were safe.”
She didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure if she was still on the line.
“Peyton?”
Still no answer.
“Peyton, please.”
“I thought we were equals.”
“We are.”
“Are we? How so? You know firsthand what sort of cop I am, and yet you don’t trust me enough to be who I am.”
“It’s not that. I saw you hurt and I couldn’t stand it.”
“You always stood it before.”
“It’s different now. Then I was there with you. I put myself on the line with you. I thought that if something happened…”
“What?”
He couldn’t say it.
“Marco?”
He forced himself to continue. “I thought it would happen to both of us. Like the explosion in Berkeley that time. I figured if it was our time to go, we’d go together. But now, now I’m not there. I can’t be there. In fact, I’d be a liability if I was there.” He braced his forehead in his hand. “I’m not the same man I was, Peyton, and sometimes, lately, I saw that in you.”
“What?”
“Sometimes, sweetheart, the way you looked at me wasn’t with love or lust or anything else. Sometimes you looked at me with pity.”
She let out a sigh. “Marco, I never pitied you. What you saw was frustration, worry, pain that I couldn’t do more to help you. What you saw was a woman who felt afraid for her man.”
He didn’t know how to respond.
“Where does this leave us?”
“I don’t know.” He raked his hand back through his hair. “I sure as hell know I don’t want you seeing other people.”
“Marco.”
“No, Peyton, listen to me. Whoever this guy is, it’s just wrong. It’s too soon. I know you hate being alone, but come on, sweetheart, it’s only been a few weeks and…”
“You think I’d jump into bed with someone new just so I wouldn’t be alone.”
Marco closed his eyes. They’d been so close to a real connection, a real understanding, and he’d ruined it. “Peyton…”
“No, now you listen to me, buster. I’m not some two-bit whore sniffing around for my next score…”
“I didn’t say…”
“But if I did decide I was going to move on, that would be my business and my business alone.”
“Peyton…”
“Because what I can’t forget, what I’ll never forget, is that you walked out on me, Marco. Not the other way around. I never left you. I never gave up on you, but you gave up on me!”
Marco tried to answer, but she gave a furious, “Good bye!” and the phone went dead. He sat and stared at the display. He could call her back, but he knew she’d never pick up now. Shit. He’d screwed up and there was no way to go back and fix it. She wasn’t going to let it go. She wasn’t going to forgive him for leaving her.
Because what I can’t forget, what I’ll never forget, is that you walked out on me, Marco. What I’ll never forget, what I’ll never forgive. She would never forgive him.
Jake poked his head inside the door. “You gotta see this,” he said, stepping over the threshold with Stan in tow. He set the tablet down on Marco’s desk and pointed at the screen. “Is this the guy who came into the precinct the other day?”
Marco stared at the blurry image on the tablet. Stan had done a good job, but the image was still pixelated, still grainy. He leaned closer and tried to remember the features of the man he’d interviewed two days before. Then his gaze focused in on the scar smack in the middle of the man’s chin.
He looked up at Jake and Stan. “Yep, that’s Alfonso Delacruz all right. I’ll never forget him.”
CHAPTER 20
Wednesday
Radar gripped the Suburban’s steering wheel in both hands, staring at the wooden gate blocking the road. Two young boys stood on the other side of it, holding rifles. No Trespassing signs were plastered on trees, the gate, and the wooden box built beside the dirt track leading back into redwood trees.
Peyton glanced at him. “You okay?”
He didn’t respond, just stared. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but his posture was tense, alert.
She glanced over her shoulder at Tank and Bambi. They both looked worried, but Bambi gave her a nod of reassurance.
“Radar?” She touched his arm. “You okay?”
“I should go alone.”
“No, we already discussed this. We go as a team. We’re wired. If things get hinky, this place will be swarming with agents.”
“And shots start flying.”
“It’s gonna be okay, Radar.” She looked back at the gate, uncertain. The boys didn’t look more than fifteen or sixteen, still in that invincible stage of youth, certain they could survive anything, and without the ability to count costs.
Radar touched the headset in his ear. “We’re going in,” he said.
Rosa’s voice echoed in Peyton’s own headset. “Tell Brooks not to surrender her gun.”
Radar glanced over at her. “We’re going to have to discuss this at some point. Why does she keep saying that?”
“No idea,” said Peyton, shifting away from him.
“Right,” came his guarded response. “Let’s go.”
They pushed open the Suburban’s doors and exited. The boys came together. Peyton could see they wore the same brown baggy clothes the two women at the farmer’s market had worn. One of them still had acne across his nose and forehead. The other had a badly cut head of curling brown hair.
As they got closer, Tank leaned in to whisper in Radar and Peyton’s ear. “The kid on the left has a cleft lip.”
Peyton marked the defect.
Radar reached for his badge. “Special Agent Carlos Moreno of the FBI. We’d like to speak with Thatcher.”
“Why?” said the boy with the curly brown hair.
“We’ll take that up with Thatcher.”
The boy went to the box and opened it, pulling out an old fashioned walky talky. Peyton hadn’t seen one of those in years. He pressed the button. “FBI here to see Thatcher,” he said into it, then released the button. Static fed back to him, but a moment later, another voice answered.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“What do they want?”
“Don’t know. They want to see Thatcher.”
They waited, listening to the static crackling through the walky talky. Radar shifted weight, casting a look into the trees. Peyton couldn’t deny her skin was crawling. She had the sensation that someone was watching them.
“Send them up,” came the response.
The boy replaced the walky talky, then he and the other boy dragged the wooden gate back to let them pass. The brown haired boy pointed up the dirt road.
“About a quarter mile in.”
Radar shot a look back at the Suburban, but clearly they weren’t going to be allowed to take the SUV. The boys had only pulled the gate back far enough for foot traffic. Radar’s jaw clenched, then he started walking. His team followed.
The dirt path cut through a densely growing grove of redwood trees. Peyton could see tire marks where rain had turned the road into mud and hardened again. It must be difficult getting in and out during the winter.
Just as the boy had said, they came upon the farm about a quarter mile up the road. The trees had been cleared to create a circular sp
ace. One-room shacks circled the periphery of the clearing with a larger house dead center before them. In the middle of the circle was a large steel barbecue and two clotheslines with more of the brown fabric items flapping in the breeze. A fire-pit sat on the other side of the circle, surrounded by redwood stumps, and a horseshoe tossing pit lay beyond it.
Behind the circle of shacks was a large area cleared for a garden and a number of very young children worked the garden under the supervision of an older boy. A quick count revealed seven adult women and five teenage girls, setting two picnic tables under a brown canvas awning to the left of the barbecue. Two other women were hanging sheets on the clotheslines.
All motion stopped at their appearance, but no one approached them. Radar exchanged a look with his team. Instinctively they spread out, searching the perimeter for any other young men that weren’t readily visible.
A screen door on the main house opened and a tall man with brown hair stepped out, followed by a teen with a rifle. They jogged down the steps and approached Radar, the man holding out his hand.
“FBI?” he said, coming to a halt before them.
Radar extended his own hand and shook it. “Special Agent Carlos Moreno. Are you Thatcher?”
He wore the same brown, rough-spun clothes of everyone else on the property. He was in his mid to late forties, spare of frame, long, narrow face, wide chin and a scar where his cleft lip had been surgically repaired.
“I am.”
“Franklin Thatcher?”
He smiled, drawing his scar tight. “Franklin Thatcher’s dead to me. I’m just Thatcher now, a humble servant of the Lord.”
Radar tilted up his chin. “Convenient.”
“How may I help you, Agent Moreno?” He glanced at the rest of Radar’s team.
“We’re looking for a young man named Finn Getter.”
At the mention of that name, one of the women stepped away from the picnic tables, her hands clasped in her apron.
“Finn Getter has gone into the world to find his fortune. He left here about three weeks ago.”
“Where did he go?”
“I believe he planned to go to San Francisco. I do hope he isn’t in some trouble.”
Radar shrugged. “You didn’t seem much concerned about throwing him out on his own before this.”
Thatcher clasped his hands in front of him and gave Radar a beatific smile. “It is our philosophy, Agent Moreno, that young men need to learn to survive. They are well equipped for it, since, unfortunately, in your civilization, it is still primarily a man’s world.” He cast that smile on Peyton and Bambi. “Finn was well prepared.”
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 29