No one offered anything.
A knock sounded at the door and Maria poked her head inside. “Brooks?” she said, nodding toward the lobby.
Peyton rose to her feet and moved around the table. She felt everyone’s eyes on her. Maria held the door open for her as she passed through, then she motioned to the front counter. A woman was standing on the other side, holding a paper bag in her hands. Her face was ashen and she looked like she might topple over at the slightest breath of air.
“I’m Inspector Peyton Brooks. You asked to see me?”
The woman made a strange motion with her mouth, then she held out the bag. “I think my son killed someone,” she said.
Peyton moved to the half-door, pushing it open. She accepted the bag and placed it on the counter, carefully unfolding the top of it. A Superman t-shirt lay inside, the entire front of it splattered with blood and pieces of brain.
Peyton’s eyes lifted to the conference room door where everyone was standing, looking out at her. “I need an evidence bag,” she said as calmly as she could.
* * *
Peyton handed the woman a paper cup filled with coffee. Her hands shook as she accepted it. Glancing around the room, she focused on Peyton as she took a seat across from her at the table.
“Is this an interrogation room?”
“We use it to question all sorts of people.”
The woman nodded at the mirror. “Are they watching?”
“Yeah.”
She curled her hands around the cup. “I probably shouldn’t be here.”
Peyton removed a business card and passed it across the table to her. “We’re just gonna talk, okay?”
She nodded.
“Do you mind if I take notes?”
“No.”
Peyton reached for her notebook and flipped it open. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Susan. Susan Harding.”
“And your son?”
“Robert.”
Peyton scribbled their names in the book. “Can I ask you why you came in here?”
“Robert came home late last night, then he left before I could talk to him this morning. I had the news on and I saw a report that someone was killed at the BART station. I didn’t know he was gone yet, so I went in his room to get him up for school and found that bag stuffed in his garbage can.”
“So you opened it?”
She nodded, staring blankly at the coffee. “I felt like I was going to be sick.”
“What makes you think your son was involved with the murder at the BART station, Mrs. Harding?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a BART pass, sliding it across the table to Peyton. “I found this on his desk.”
Peyton picked it up and looked at it. Today’s date was printed across the top, along with a time stamp. 12:36AM.
“That’s human blood on the shirt, isn’t it?”
“We’re having it tested.” Peyton settled the ticket on the table. “Do you recognize the shirt, Mrs. Harding? Is it your son’s?”
She nodded, staring fixedly at the ticket.
“Do you have any idea where he is?”
“No.”
“Did he go to school today?”
“I called the school. They said he never showed up.”
“What about his friends? Did you contact any of them? Have they heard from him?”
“He doesn’t have many friends. He plays video games with a younger kid sometimes.”
“Do you know the kid’s name?”
“Jeremy. He’s a freshman.”
“And your son?”
“A sophomore.”
Peyton shifted and glanced at the mirror. “Do you have a picture of your son, Mrs. Harding?”
The woman reached for the purse she had on the floor by her chair and unzipped it, searching for her wallet. She removed a school picture and slid it across the table to Peyton. Peyton lifted it, looking at a thin boy with bad acne and mousey brown hair.
“Do you know Jeremy’s last name?”
“No. I never thought to ask.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Somewhere close by us, but I don’t know exactly.”
Peyton placed the picture beside the ticket. “Has your son ever been in trouble before?”
“Never.”
“Where’s his father?”
Mrs. Harding’s eyes lifted and pinned Peyton. “He left us about six months ago. He said he was tired of this domestic crap. His words, not mine.”
“How did Robert take that?”
“Not well. His grades suffered and he’s been missing a lot of school. He tells me he doesn’t feel well and I just don’t have the heart to force him to go.”
Peyton made some notes, then she crossed her arms on the table. “Do you have guns at your house, Mrs. Harding?”
Susan Harding closed her eyes. Peyton waited patiently. As patiently as she could. If this kid was out there, he probably still had the gun.
“I know this is hard, but I really need to know what we’re facing when we find your son. Did he have access to a gun?”
She nodded, a quick, forceful jerk of her head.
“What kind of gun?”
“Winchester 8 gauge. His father gave it to him. They used to go hunting.”
Peyton slid the notebook over to her. “Write down your address, Mrs. Harding, and anywhere else you think he might have gone.”
She gave Peyton a panicked look. “Promise me you won’t hurt him. Promise me.”
Peyton reached over and covered her hand with her own. “We’ll do our best. I promise you that.”
* * *
Peyton sat listening to the police scanner, but nothing had come across the line for hours. Cho and Simons were staking out the Harding house, Smith was trying to track down Jeremy Somebody, but the school had been less than helpful. Holmes and Bartlet were canvassing the Glen Park BART Station with Robert Harding’s picture, trying to find witnesses.
Midnight had come and gone.
She glanced up as Marco stopped by her desk. “You should go home and get some sleep,” he said.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not? I’ll drive you, then I’ll come back here.”
She lowered her eyes. “I can’t sleep without you.”
“How ‘bout I set up a cot in the break room?”
She nodded. “Did Vinnie let Pickles out and feed him?”
“He did one better. He took Pickles home to Cristina and Tonio.”
She smiled. “We may never get our dog back.”
Marco returned the smile. “Has Jake found anything on the videos?”
“No, he and Stan are still going through them. Tag went down there to see if they’ve made any progress, but I think it’s a lost cause. They should probably go home.”
“What’d Jake do about Tater?”
“Abe went over.”
“Did he finish the autopsy?”
“Yeah, he’s just waiting for some test results. He thinks he got some DNA from the vic’s hands.” Peyton hugged her arms around herself. “He can’t identify her, not even if he got dental records. And she had no ID on her. She was probably homeless.”
Marco hunkered down in front of her, taking her hand in his. “We’ll figure it out. We’ve got fingerprints. If she was homeless, she might have been picked up for vagrancy and then we can ID her.”
Peyton nodded, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. “I can hardly think. I’m so tired.”
He nodded toward the break room. “I’ll go set up the cot. You need to get a few hours of sleep.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take my turn after you.”
She squeezed his hand. She wished she could crawl into his arms like she did at home, but people were still roaming the precinct. Her head felt so full, she couldn’t concentrate. He was right. She just needed to close her eyes for a few minutes. That is if she could sleep without him lying
beside her. Maybe just knowing he was in the same area would be enough.
* * *
Genevieve sat on the floor of her living room, her back pressed to the couch, staring at the cell phone on the coffee table. She wore a baggy pair of sweats, her hair tied up in a bun, and no makeup. The shades were drawn over every single window and the lights had been dimmed with scarves draped over the lampshades.
Four days had passed since she talked with Ambrose. He hadn’t called since the night Jimmy came over. Now she was too terrified to leave her apartment, too terrified to go to the store or work, and too terrified even to go into the lobby and get her mail. Whenever anyone called her, she told them she had to go, afraid she’d miss his call.
If only he’d call, then she’d know he was still out there, still regarding her as something more than a target. Eventually she was going to have to leave. Food was running low and she was risking her job. She’d told them she was sick for the past few days, but they were only going to accept that so long. Tomorrow she was going to have to make a decision.
The buzzer sounded beside her door. She whipped around and stared at it, too paranoid to answer it.
It buzzed again.
She tunneled her hands into her hair at the temples, trying to reason with herself. If the Janitor was coming after her, he wouldn’t ask to be let in. He’d find a way to circumvent the security system.
She forced herself to her feet and walked to the door, leaning against it as she pressed the button.
“What?” she said, surprised her voice came out so clipped and angry.
“Genevieve, is that you?”
Jimmy. She closed her eyes and slumped against the door. She wanted to let him inside, but she was afraid for him. “Yes, Jimmy. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
The way he said it, she knew he was concerned. “Fine.”
“You sure? I went by your work and they said you were home sick still.”
“I just had a bad case of the stomach flu. I’m getting better now. I just needed some rest.”
“Let me come up and I can make you tea or something.”
“No!” She said it forcefully. She couldn’t chance him coming into her apartment, becoming a target for the Janitor. She drew a deep breath and clenched her fists, trying to soften her tone. “I don’t want you seeing me like this.”
“Are you sure I can’t bring you anything?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be back at work in a few days.”
“Okay.” He sounded skeptical. “If you do need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay? I’m worried about you.”
“I know, but don’t worry. I’ll be better before you know it.”
“Talk to you soon, Genevieve.”
“Talk to you, Jimmy. Bye.”
She released the button, then surveyed her apartment. Cast off clothing, dirty plates, empty soda cans lay strewn about the floor. God, what was she doing? She was going to have to do something about reclaiming her life. She couldn’t go on like this, letting him turn her into a hermit.
CHAPTER 15
Marco lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He let his eyes close just for a moment, just long enough to shake the weight of exhaustion pressing on him. The time on his cell phone read 3:00AM. Once he could pull all-nighters without a problem, but he hadn’t slept through a night in the last two weeks without waking at least once.
As if on cue, he heard Peyton’s cry – that raw sound of terror that tore out of her involuntarily. He bolted to his feet and raced across the precinct to the break room. He was half aware that Tag swiveled in her chair, her eyes wide with alarm.
The break room was dark, but he felt his way around the tables until he came to the cot and sank down on it. She was sitting up, her arms flailing. He caught her hands in his and pulled her into his arms. She struggled against him, but he whispered in her ear as he did every night.
“Shh, sweetheart, you’re okay. You’re okay now!”
Gradually she sank against him, her hands curling into fists in his shirt. He pulled her tighter into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. Her breathing came in a rapid pant and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest, but as he ran his hands down her back, her shaking decreased.
He became aware of people gathered in the doorway. He glanced up. Defino and Tag blocked the entrance, their faces bathed in light from the precinct. He tightened his hold on Peyton and waited until her breathing slowed, then he gently laid her back on the cot and kissed her forehead. Exhaustion drew her back down into sleep and he pulled a blanket over her.
Rubbing his hands across his jeans, he realized that his long overdue talk with the captain had come. She would want an explanation and he wasn’t going to lie, even if it meant she sent him as far away as she could.
He rose to his feet and headed for the door. She was waiting for him at his old desk, but Tag was nowhere to be seen.
“Does that happen every night?” Defino asked, her arms crossed over her chest.
He moved to stand in front of her, unable to look her in the eye. “Yeah.”
“Every night?”
Marco nodded.
“Should I put her on leave?”
“She solved the case today...or yesterday...or whenever. Anyway, she’s the one who figured out the vic was a woman. She’s the one who got Susan Harding talking.”
Defino nodded. “You’re right.”
Marco shoved his hands in his pockets. “If you’re going to send anyone away, Captain, it should be me.”
“Why?”
Marco met her gaze. “Obviously, you know what’s going on now.”
“Now?” She gave a scoffing laugh. “I think I won the betting pool. I’m just surprised she kept it from me for this long.”
“She wanted to tell you. She felt guilty about it, but she was afraid you’d send me to another precinct.”
Defino didn’t say anything for a long time. Marco tried to be patient, but he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin.
“Relax, D’Angelo. I’m not losing my two best cops. Now that she’s worked things out with Tag, I don’t need to send either of you away. And it’s not like I didn’t know this was going to happen eventually. Besides, you’ve always had a stabilizing effect on her.”
Marco gave her a fleeting smile.
“I’m just not sure she’s ready to be back here.”
“It’ll be worse if you send her home. This gives her a chance to feel productive and it’s better when she’s surrounded by people. She doesn’t do so well when she’s alone. Besides, Tag’s learning how to back her up and honestly, I think it’s making Tag a better cop.”
Defino considered that. “We’ve got to get this Janitor bastard, D’Angelo.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He starts messing with my people, screwing with them like that…” She didn’t finish, but Marco could guess what she was thinking.
“There’s something that might help, Captain.”
“What?”
He shifted weight. “I’d like to take her away Friday night. We’ll just go to Napa, and it’d only be for the one day, but I think she needs a change of scenery.”
Defino didn’t respond right away.
“We won’t go as long as this other case is hanging out there, but if we could just have a day…”
“Take your day, D’Angelo. You’ve both earned it. We’ve got everyone working this case and I can call in backup if necessary. Get her out of the City and let her have a night without fear.”
Marco drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Thank you, Captain,” he said.
She waved him off and headed back toward her office. “Definitely need to collect on that pool though,” she muttered.
* * *
Peyton walked back to her desk, scrunching a hand through her damp curls. Maria had brought her a change of clothes and she’d showered in the precinct’s locker room. A few hours of sleep
and a shower helped, but she still felt like her head was full of cotton.
Tag appeared from the front of the precinct, two paper cups in hand, and held one out to her.
She took it, lifting it to her lips. She could smell the rich aroma of chocolate. “Mocha?”
“With extra whip cream.”
Peyton felt touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Tag said, moving to her desk and taking a seat.
Peyton reached for her chair, but suddenly voices could be heard coming from the front of the precinct. Carrying her coffee, she wandered toward them. Smith had arrived, drawing Defino and Rosa Alvarez out of the captain’s office, followed a moment later by Devan. Marco stepped from the conference room, while Maria sat at her desk, swiveling in her chair.
“I found Jeremy,” said Smith.
“How?” asked Defino.
“I asked around the neighborhood. Finally this morning, a teenage girl on her way to school told me his name was Jeremy Middleton and pointed out his house to me.”
“Was he there?” asked Marco.
Smith gave a weary shake of his head. “Apparently, Jeremy’s parents admitted him to the hospital on Monday morning or that’s what his grandmother said. She was staying at the house with a couple of younger kids. When I got to the hospital, I found out he’d been moved to the psych ward and they wouldn’t let me talk to him.”
“What time did they admit him on Monday, Frank?” asked Peyton.
“Around 2:00...2:30.”
“Not long after the shooting at the BART station,” Peyton said to Defino. “We need to talk to Jeremy, Captain. He might be able to tell us where Robert Harding is.”
Rosa leaned against the counter. “You’re gonna have a hard time making a case for that. How old is this kid?”
“Fourteen,” said Smith.
Rosa shook her head.
Peyton turned her attention to Devan. “Can’t we compel him? He participated in a murder.”
“What evidence do you have, Peyton? You don’t even know that he was there. It would be damn near impossible to get to him even if you had physical proof he participated. He’s a minor and his parents admitted him to a psych ward. A half-assed defense attorney would be able to get Al Capone off with that set-up.”
Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7) Page 24