“I’m not asking for your real name. Just give me something beside the Janitor.”
“Call me Ambrose.”
“Ambrose?”
“Like Ambrose Bierce. Do you know who he was?”
“No.”
“That’s your homework. Look him up. When I call again, you’d better be able to tell me who he was.”
“Okay. I’ll look him up. You didn’t answer my question though. Did Missy die from cancer?”
“No, she did not.”
Then the line went dead.
CHAPTER 7
Peyton took a page out of Marco’s book and had a bagel with cream cheese, a cup of coffee, and a bottle of aspirin waiting on Tag’s desk the following morning. Once she set everything up, though, she fretted. What if Tag thought she was overstepping her boundaries? What if Tag was insulted that she presumed she was hung-over?
Although when Peyton had taken her home the previous night, she’d been pretty damn wasted, babbling on about this cop she’d worked with or this guy who went to her high school. Peyton had nodded politely, not having any idea who any of these people were.
She’d been more preoccupied with Marco following behind her. She would much rather have ridden with him. However, once she got Tag into her apartment building, she’d gone back to the Charger and told him he didn’t need to keep tabs on her anymore. Even so, she had to admit that she liked knowing he was still watching over her. It made her feel secure.
Waking up in a panic and having him wake up with her was becoming routine. She felt guilty about it, and yet, so damn grateful that she wasn’t going through this alone. He never criticized, never seemed annoyed, even when it took her awhile to calm down and go back to sleep. Good thing she wasn’t analyzing their relationship right now, because she might get really freaked out over how easily they were adjusting to this new lifestyle.
She glanced up apprehensively as Tag walked around her to her desk. She stood looking at the arrangement a moment without saying anything. Peyton couldn’t read her expression behind her mirrored sunglasses.
Slowly she reached up and took the sunglasses off. “You do this, Fluffy?” she asked.
Peyton nodded, afraid to speak.
Tag reached for the aspirin bottle and twisted the cap off. “You’re all right, you know that?”
Peyton let out her breath and relaxed her shoulders.
Popping three pills in her mouth, Tag picked up the coffee and washed it down. “It’s my own damn fault. You tried to warn me.”
“I should have been clearer.”
Tag waved her off, sinking into her chair and breaking the bagel in half. She placed a piece in her mouth. “You got good control. You didn’t even finish that first beer we started. Impressive.”
Peyton swiveled in her chair uncomfortably. Tag’s praise was making her feel guilty and she had plenty of guilt on her plate right now.
“Okay, listen. You need to know something.”
Tag squinted at her.
“I’m pretty sure I have PTSD.”
“I already know that.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t admitted it...until now. Dr. Ferguson, my psychologist, and Abe have me so scared about becoming an alcoholic that I’m afraid to drink. I wake up every single night in a panic and at the bar the other day, I lost it.”
Tag dropped the bagel on the plate, nodding.
“I completely understand if you don’t want to be my partner, and if you go to Defino asking for someone else, I’ll back you 100%.”
“You wake up every night?”
“Yeah, every freakin’ night.”
“That must be hell on Lieutenant G.Q., eh?”
Peyton wasn’t touching that.
Leaning back in her chair, Tag gave her a speculative look. “Okay, full disclosure.”
Peyton waited.
“My first day here, Defino told me that you were my last hope.”
“Your what?”
“My last hope. She said that if I couldn’t get along with you, they were going to recommend I quit the force.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I probably just gave you too much leverage, but there it is. If you can deal with my anti-social tendencies, I’ll deal with your PTSD. Agreed?”
Peyton smiled. “Agreed.”
“Hey, Peyton,” came Stan’s voice behind her.
Peyton swiveled her chair to look up at him. “Hey, Stan.”
He gave her a beaming smile, then shot a sidelong look at Tag. “How was your weekend?”
“We worked most of it.”
“Yeah.”
“How was yours, Stan?”
“I went to a convention at the Cow Palace.”
“Really? What sort of convention?”
He shot the same look at Tag again. “Sci/Fi.”
“Cool. Did you get any more collectibles?”
“No, but I got an autograph from a costume designer who worked on the original Star Trek.”
“Neat. Hey, I put your animation cel up in my room. I really like it.”
Stan shuffled his feet awkwardly. “That’s great, Peyton. Hey, I already know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”
“Oh, Stan, I…”
He waved her off. “No worries. I like picking out stuff for you.”
Great, more guilt. “Did you happen to get the airline manifests?”
“Yeah, that’s why I came over. I just finished the search. I went back two months, but there wasn’t a Lawrence Lowell on any flight out of SFO to Vegas. Sorry.”
Peyton looked down, shaking her head. “Thank you, Stan. I appreciate it.”
“Do you want me to go back farther?”
“No, that’s good.”
“Well, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks again, Stan.”
After he walked away, Tag braced her elbows on her desk. “How can Lowell not be on a manifest?”
Peyton wrote down Lowell’s address on a sticky note. “Unfortunately, I think I know how. We need to take another trip down the coast.” She pushed back her chair and grabbed her coat, slipping it on, then picked up the note.
Tag rose as well. “So, what is it about you?”
“Huh?”
Tag fell into step beside her. “Lieutenant G.Q., the CSI, the receptionist, and now the tech geek?”
“What about him?”
“He gives you gifts?”
“That’s just because we went on a date two weeks ago.”
“A date?” Tag stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You and the tech geek?”
“Yeah.”
“What about Lieutenant G.Q.?”
Peyton shrugged, walking toward Maria’s desk. “He was there.”
Tag didn’t immediately catch up with her. Peyton paused by Maria’s desk and glanced at Defino’s door. The captain and Marco had been going over files for the last few hours. He’d be unhappy that she left without telling him.
“Hey, Maria, can you get on the line to the sheriff’s department in Pacifica and ask for a squad car to meet us at this address?” She held out the sticky note to her. Maria took it. “Then can you call Holmes and Bartlet and send them our way?”
“Got it,” said Maria.
“Thanks.”
Tag pushed open the half-door. “What do you mean Lieutenant G.Q. went on the date with you and Stan?”
Peyton shrugged and passed through herself. “That’s just how we roll.”
She couldn’t help but smile as Tag gave Maria a shocked look.
* * *
A sheriff’s patrol car was waiting outside the trailer when Peyton pulled up. As she and Tag stepped out, Holmes and Bartlett pulled up behind them. Peyton reached for her badge and approached the male deputy waiting before the gate. Another female deputy was standing on the stairs.
“Inspector Brooks and Shotwell,” Peyton said, showing him her badge and reaching out to shake his hand.
“Deputy Sims,” he said, t
ouching the center of his chest, “and Deputy Brown.” He motioned to the female officer.
Peyton marked that the German shepherd was still tied up near the porch. Deputy Brown was stroking his ears. Peyton nodded at her and she nodded back. “Is anyone home?”
Deputy Sims put his hands on his gun belt. “Oh, we’ve already been inside. Think I got a contact high.”
Peyton laugh. “I thought the same thing when I was out here yesterday. Mind if we take a look around?”
“Be my guest.” He held out the warrant to her.
Peyton passed it to Holmes. “Search the house for any signs of Lawrence Lowell.”
“Anything specific?” asked Holmes.
“Plane tickets, credit card statements, prescriptions.”
“Got it.” He motioned to Bartlett and they started up the walk.
Peyton glanced at Tag. “Do you remember me telling him to unchain the dog?”
“I’m pretty sure you did.”
The door opened as Bartlett and Holmes climbed up on the porch. Benny stepped out, glaring at her.
“Where’s the girl?” Peyton asked Deputy Sims.
“Stoned out of her mind on the couch.”
“That’s where she was yesterday.” She moved to the gate and unlatched it, holding it open for Tag and the deputy to enter. Then she started toward the stairs. The dog began wagging his tail when he saw her and Peyton reached out to rub his ears. “I thought I told you to unchain the dog.”
Benny leaned on the porch support post. “He runs off if we don’t keep him chained.”
“Unchain him now.”
“I’m telling you he’ll run off. Why the hell you think we chain him? Stupid shit’s always wanting to go to the beach.”
Peyton braced her foot on the bottom stair. “Unchain him or we arrest you for animal cruelty.”
He gave a huff of exasperation. “Fine. But when he runs off, it’s your problem.” He stomped down the stairs and went to the dog, reaching for his collar.
The dog cowered, lowering his ears and tucking his tail between his legs, but the minute Benny removed the chain, he bolted. Benny swore and glared at Peyton, but she was more interested in where the dog ran.
He sprinted around the side of the trailer, headed toward the beach just as Benny had said, but Peyton suspected there was another reason.
“Come on,” she said, motioning for Benny to lead the way.
“I’m not going after him.”
Tag grabbed his shoulder and shoved him forward. “My partner told you to march and march you will.”
“Stay here with the girl,” Deputy Sims said to his partner.
“On it,” she answered.
The four of them angled around the side of the trailer, following the dog. Climbing over stripped down bicycles, worn-out tires, and a rusted bed frame, they came to a back fence that was rotted through in a number of places. Tag pushed Benny before her and he led them to another gate that was hardly hanging on by a hinge.
Moving through the gate, they came out on the beach. The waves crashed in the distance and Peyton could see seagulls wheeling over the surf, searching for food. Dark, angry storm clouds were rolling in again, but this time she thought she could almost see rain falling far out near the horizon.
She searched the surf for the dog, but she couldn’t see him. “What’s his name?”
“Larry Junior, or some stupid shit like that,” said Benny.
“What does Lawrence call him?”
Benny clamped his mouth shut.
“Answer her,” said Deputy Sims.
Tag gave him a shake for good measure.
“Larry.”
Peyton cupped her hands around her mouth and gave a sharp whistle. “Larry!” she shouted.
They all searched the beach, but he didn’t appear. Peyton cupped her hands over her mouth and called again.
Suddenly he came bounding around the side of a sand dune a dozen yards away from them.
Peyton motioned for Benny to lead the way, but he balked. Tag shoved him in the back to get him moving.
“What are you thinking?” asked the deputy.
“Nothing good.”
They found the dog lying in the sand at the base of the dune, his head on his paws, but before they even approached him, the smell assaulted them.
“Oh, God,” said Tag, turning away.
Peyton swallowed hard and then patted her leg for Larry to come to her. He hurried over, his tail between his legs. Just as he reached them, Benny tried to break for it, but Tag was quicker and tripped him before he could get much beyond her. He landed, sprawling in the sand.
Reaching for the handcuffs on her belt, Tag snapped them on his wrists and hauled him to his feet. While she subdued him, Deputy Sims reached for his radio.
“We need the coroner out here and an excavation team,” he said.
Peyton couldn’t hear the response, but she hunkered down in front of the dog and scratched behind his ears, trying to soothe him. He butted her in the middle of her chest with his head. “I’m sorry, bud,” she said.
* * *
Peyton sat on the porch steps with Larry Junior’s head in her lap, stroking the spot between the dog’s upright ears. He’d fallen asleep, his eyelids twitching with his dreams. Peyton couldn’t deny she felt horrible for the poor fella. What was going to happen to him now?
Tag came around the side of the trailer, giving her an annoyed look. “They found a body.”
Peyton sighed.
“You wanna come look?”
“No. Any identification?”
Tag held up an evidence bag with a medical alert bracelet inside. “For glaucoma.”
“The M.E. have any ideas about cause of death?” She looked out at the patrol cars parked across the front of the trailer. Benny and Helen had been cuffed and placed in the backseat, both in separate vehicles. Behind the patrol car was the van for animal control. Peyton had been staring at that one for a long time.
“No obvious signs of trauma, but that doesn’t mean much until he performs an autopsy. Deputy Sims wants to know if we wanna go along for the interrogation.”
“Might as well. Finish this one out and we can put it away.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The heavy-set animal control agent wandered over to the gate and lifted the latch, letting herself into the yard. She carried a braided leash in her hands. Larry Junior lifted his head, his tail making a lazy thump on the porch.
“It’s time for this big fella to go,” she told Peyton.
Peyton tightened her fingers in the dog’s ruff. “What’s gonna happen to him?”
“We’ll house him at the shelter until we get confirmation from the Coroner that his owner’s dead, then we’ll put him up for adoption.”
“How long will that take?”
“Could be weeks, a month or so.”
“And he’ll be in a cage all that time?”
“Yeah.”
“And if no one adopts him?”
The animal control officer exchanged a look with Tag. Peyton knew the answer even before she asked the question.
She glanced down at the dog. He gave her a sad look from his liquid brown eyes as if he knew what they were saying. “Is there any other way?”
“Well, we’d prefer to foster him out to a private home until his adoption date is cleared, but not many people volunteer for that, especially with dogs. Too much work.”
“Can I foster him?”
Tag rolled her eyes.
“Sure. There’s a butt load of paperwork to fill out, but if you’re willing, I’ll pull it all together.”
Peyton rose to her feet and dusted off the back of her pants. “Let’s do this.”
“You’re a piece of work, Fluffy,” said Tag, shaking her head. “I’ll let Sims know we’ll come for interrogation as soon as you adopt a damn dog.”
Peyton ignored the first comment. “Thanks,” she said, jogging down the stairs with Larry Junio
r on her heels. She reached down and rubbed his ears playfully. She’d just thought of a brilliant plan.
* * *
Peyton motioned for Larry Junior to lay down at her feet. The dog immediately obeyed. Peyton smiled. This was going to be even better than she’d thought.
They were in the interrogation room at the sheriff’s department, looking in at Helen. She had her arms crossed on the table, her head resting on them. They couldn’t see her face.
“You want a crack at her or the other idiot?” said Deputy Sims.
“Let’s go for her,” said Peyton.
“You want me to come in with you?”
Peyton shook her head. “I’ve got it.” Looking down at Larry Junior, she made a motion with her hand. “Stay,” she told him. He lowered his head on his paws and let out a sigh.
Walking to the door, she pulled it open. Tag gave her a speculative look, but didn’t try to interfere. As she opened the interview room door, the deputy standing guard gave her a nod. Peyton nodded back.
Moving to the table, she pulled out the chair, deliberately letting it scrape across the concrete floor. Helen lifted her head, shaking back her tangle of hair. Her eyes were bloodshot, her pupils dilated.
“I thought maybe you and me could have a talk,” Peyton told her.
“Benny said to tell you nothing. That I should ask for a lawyer.”
Peyton drummed her fingers on the table. “That Benny’s a regular Boy Scout, ain’t he?”
“What?”
Peyton leaned forward. “You know what I’m supposed to be doing right now, Helen?”
“No.”
“I’m supposed to be tracking down a serial killer. He’s killed nine people and while I’m pissing around here, trying to find out who off’d your dad, he might be killing again.”
She gave a stricken look. “Off’d my dad?”
“Yeah. So if you want a lawyer, fine, I’ll get you one, but if you want to deal, I’m more than happy to do that too. See, I think you’d be better off in a rehab facility rather than prison, but if you don’t cooperate with me, I got no reason to cooperate with you.”
Helen considered that for a moment. She pushed a hand into her hair at the temple. “Benny said to ask for a lawyer.”
Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7) Page 11