The Peyton Brooks' Mysteries Box Set, page 161
“How can you say that? I saw him sniff your hair once.”
“I saw that too,” said Jake, then he laughed again. “It wuz creepy.”
“Shut up,” she hissed at him. “You’re drunk.”
“We’re all drunk.”
She ignored him and turned back to Marco. “It’s not Stan. He has a crush on me, but that’s all. He’d never do something like this.” She gave a shudder.
“If he thought it was the only way to win you over?”
“Really, Marco? Become a serial killer? It’s just a crush.”
“The hell it is,” he grumbled.
Jake tilted his head at him. “Be careful,” he said.
Marco visibly checked himself.
Peyton narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
Jake opened his mouth, but his brain was too clouded by Jack Daniels to think quickly.
“He’s drunk,” said Marco.
“We’re all drunk,” repeated Jake.
Peyton studied both of them, but Jake refused to meet her eyes. “Fine,” she said, climbing to her feet. “I’m going to bed.”
She started for the hallway, but the slamming of a car door outside the house brought her back around. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Marco was across the room and reaching for the gun in his jacket, while Peyton hurried to the peg by the front door and drew hers.
Jake gathered Pickles and shifted on the couch, watching the entryway.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs filtered through the locked door. Peyton backed up, putting the couch between her and the door and Marco stepped away from the windows. Jake felt like his heart was going to pound out of his throat.
A moment later a key went into the lock.
“It’z Maria,” said Jake, his voice breaking with tension.
Peyton and Marco lowered their weapons, both of them exhaling in relief. Maria appeared in the doorway and reached in to turn on the light. Behind her was Nathan Cho. The two of them took in the scene, then Cho pulled Maria back beside him, blocking her with his body.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
Peyton shook her head, going to the door and closing it behind them, then she put her gun back in the holster. “I didn’t think you were coming home,” she told Maria.
Maria gave her a critical look. “Are you drunk?”
“No.”
She shifted and surveyed the scene, taking in the Jack Daniel’s bottle and the shot glasses. “Are you all drunk?”
Marco moved then to put his gun away.
“Were you going to shoot us?” An edge of panic crept into Maria’s voice.
Cho put a hand on her shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
Marco and Peyton exchanged a look. “It’s late and you startled us.”
“The hell,” said Cho. “What the hell did you think was coming through that door? Obviously you weren’t expecting us.”
Peyton looked at Marco again. He shrugged and settled into Peyton’s recliner.
“Sit down, Nate,” she said, pointing to the couch. “We need to talk.”
He did as she asked, and Maria perched on the arm beside him. “Give me a shot,” Maria told Jake. “I need something after that craziness.”
He released Pickles and grabbed a shot glass, filling it and passing it to her. She downed it in one swallow. Cho gave her an appreciative look, then focused on Peyton. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“If I do, it can’t leave this room.”
“Does this have to do with work?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want me to tell Bill?”
Cho and Simons had been partners longer than Peyton and Marco. Jake figured they probably told each other everything. There were few relationships as close as two long-time partners, especially when your very life depended on that other person.
“You can’t say anything to Bill until we clear it with Defino,” said Marco.
“Are you reinstated now?” he asked.
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
“He’s undercover, sort of. That’s why he’s staying here.”
Cho shook his head. “This isn’t making sense.”
“Want some Jack Daniels?” asked Jake.
Cho glared at him. Actually, Marco glared at him too, but that happened all the time.
Peyton hit him in the shoulder. “Why don’t you go to bed?”
“Because people are sitting on my bed.”
She dismissed him. He realized she did that a lot. “Nate, we think the Janitor is someone in the precinct.”
He went still. Jake had always been a little afraid of Cho. There was something quick and deadly about the man, but Jake especially hated it when he went still. Sure, Marco made two of him, physically, but he was mostly bluster. Nate Cho was not a cop anyone should tangle with.
“Come again.”
Peyton drew a deep breath, then launched into their theory, giving Cho all of the circumstantial evidence they had, until she came to the coup de grace – the Clean-up Crew card in Junior Walker’s mailbox.
Cho slumped back against the couch. “I can’t believe that.”
“That’s what I keep saying.”
Maria poured him a shot and handed it to him. He took it without looking and tossed it back.
“How can this be?”
Peyton rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. Do you have any idea who it might be?”
Cho shook his head, staring at nothing. “I don’t. I can’t even get my head around it.”
“Then do you think we’re wrong?” she asked.
He looked over at Marco. “No, it makes sense, but then again, it just doesn’t. How could it be someone in our precinct? Who would do something like this?”
Jake started to answer, but Peyton kicked him in the calf. He clamped his mouth shut again. Fine, but it’s always the quiet ones, he thought to himself.
“I think we should get some sleep,” said Marco. “None of us is going to be any good tomorrow. We need to come at it with fresh minds.”
Sober wouldn’t hurt either.
“So, you moving in?” Jake asked Cho.
“What?”
“You’re staying tonight, right?”
He glanced at Maria and she nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Good, ‘cause we got a bathtub just going wanting.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Preacher?”
“Bathtub, you know? To sleep in? Abe’z got dibs on the counter.”
Cho gave Peyton a bewildered look. She shook her head as if to say Jake ought to be ignored.
“Idiot,” hissed Marco.
“Cop,” Jake hissed back, sticking out his tongue. Good lord, was he ever drunk.
* * *
Peyton came around the corner of the kitchen and found Jake at the stove making pancakes. Jake always made pancakes when they went on a bender. She grabbed the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, then held the aspirin over his shoulder.
He took it without speaking and popped it open, swallowing two and placing it back on the counter, then he went back to flipping. Peyton noticed he had a mountain of pancakes already prepared. She guessed that made sense because she seemed to be running a bed and breakfast now.
Marco appeared at the counter, climbing onto the stool, and Pickles came into the kitchen giving Peyton a sad look, then he looked at his food bowl. Peyton poured Marco a cup of coffee and passed it to him with the bottle of aspirin. He was showered and shaved, but his eyes were a bit blood-shot. Still he made a pleasant sight in the morning with his Patrician good looks. She could get used to having him here.
Forcing that thought away, she went to the cabinet and pulled out Pickles’ food, filling his bowl.
“Any reason he has to come into the bathroom with me?” asked Marco, taking a sip.
“He’s alone in the house most of the day,” she answered.
“Must be nice,” grumbled Jake.
“He just wants company,” Peyton finished.
Jake glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t have free roaming chicken eggs or anything, Adonis, but there’s no animal flesh in these.” He motioned for Peyton to grab the dish of pancakes.
“It’s fine,” Marco said, opening the aspirin and popping three in his mouth.
Peyton gathered everything they needed for the pancakes and placed it on the counter, then took a seat by Marco. She passed out the plates and offered him a fork. He gave her a tired smile as he took it.
Jake turned off the stove, then poured himself more coffee, coming to take a seat on her other side. As they fixed their plates, he sipped his coffee and braced his head on his hand. “I’m a little unclear about last night. Did I accuse Stan Neumann of being a serial killer?”
Peyton took a bite of pancake and chewed, nodding her head. Yep, syrup was the thing to fix a hangover.
“Repeatedly,” said Marco, pouring syrup.
“You know I don’t think that, right?”
Marco used the side of his fork to cut the pancake. “I think everyone needs to be looked at, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Peyton gave him a frown. “Stan, Marco?”
Marco met her look. “If the serial killer is killing to impress you, Stan rides right to the top of my list. I wish you’d break your date with him.”
Jake sputtered on his coffee and began coughing.
Peyton patted his back. “Are you okay?”
He blinked his watering eyes. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Tried to swallow and breathe. You have a date with Stan?” He looked so bewildered.
“It’s just dinner.”
“When?”
“The Friday before my birthday.”
Jake leaned forward so he could see Marco. Marco returned the look.
Peyton sat back. Okay, this was odd. “What’s going on?”
“Do you have to go on this date right now? With everything that’s happening?” asked Marco.
“How do I say no? I told him I’d go with him. He’d be crushed.”
“So you admit he’s obsessed with you?”
Peyton shook her head, her damp curls brushing against the sides of her face. “He’s not obsessed.”
Marco leaned back with a sigh of frustration.
“I think he’s right, Peyton. I wish you’d cancel too.”
“You just said you didn’t think he was the serial killer.”
“I know, but with the serial killer running around, it might not be a good idea to do something as public as a date.”
“Abe is planning to go out the next night for my birthday. Are you saying I should just stay indoors and go nowhere? For how long, Jake?”
“When you go out with Abe, Adonis will be there too.”
“I’ll be there if she goes out with Stan,” Marco growled, grabbing his coffee cup and going around the counter to refill it.
“Yeah, that won’t be awkward at all,” said Jake wryly.
Peyton reached for her fork again. “You’re both pissing me off right now. Let’s drop it. I’m hung-over and I don’t need to start the day in a bitchy mood.”
“Oh my God, Brooks,” came Maria’s voice behind her. “You aren’t really wearing that shirt today. It looks like something you borrowed off a homeless woman.”
Peyton bit her lip and closed her eyes.
* * *
Jake settled his evidence case beside his desk, closing one eye as the motion made his temple throb. Sinking into his desk chair, he braced his head with his hands and tried to still the nausea rising inside him. God almighty, he had to stop doing the ritual with Marco and Peyton.
She hadn’t fared much better, but Marco didn’t seem to be as hung-over as the two of them. Jake tried to remember if he’d seen Marco take as many shots as they had, but his head was too fuzzy to formulate a coherent thought.
Peyton came around the side of his cubicle. “Defino wants to know if you sent the business card in to be processed for DNA.”
“I sent it off yesterday afternoon as soon as we came back.” He squinted up at her. “Do you have any more aspirin?”
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle, tossing it at him. Of course, he wasn’t ready for it and it hit him in the chest, landing on his desk.
“Thanks,” he said, giving her an aggravated look.
“Sorry. I’m just pissed at both of you.” She leaned closer to him. “Don’t go saying anything to anyone about Stan, all right?”
“Fine. That can be Adonis’ problem. So what’s he do all day while you’re here?”
“He’s going back to our place and sleep. I’m to call him if I leave the precinct and give him time to get here.” She shook herself in annoyance. “This is so not working for me.”
“Really? ‘Cause I figured we could probably put up a tent in the driveway if you want to have Simons or Holmes join us.”
“Take more aspirin,” she said, glaring at him. “You’re bitchy too.”
She turned away and started to walk back to her desk.
“Peyton?”
She stopped and turned slowly around.
“That blouse is a much better choice with those jeans.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and walked away.
Jake leaned across his desk to grab a water bottle he’d left there, groaning in misery, then he reached for the aspirin. His hand hovered over the top of bottle, his eyes catching on the red envelope sticking out of a cubby in his desk hutch.
He swiveled his chair around, glancing behind him, but no one was in sight. He started to reach for the envelope, but something stopped him. Bending over, he grabbed the evidence case, pulling it to him and reaching into the front slot for a pair of latex gloves.
He realized his hands were trembling as he pulled them on, but whether it was detox tremors from too much alcohol or nerves, he wasn’t sure. As soon as he had them on, he carefully pulled the envelope free. It had been stuffed between some files he kept on his desk of past cases.
The red of the envelope was exactly the same as the red lettering on the Clean-up Crew cards. Across the front was Jake in scrawling black ink. He turned the envelope over and looked at the back. It was a regular letter sized envelope, but it had been stuffed full with paper, the closing flap not quite meeting where it should.
Using the edge of a pen, he tore the envelope open. White, lined binder paper peeked out of the opening. Jake glanced around again, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise. Picking up the envelope, he shook the paper onto his desk blotter, then searched the inside of the envelope for any shred of evidence – hair, flecks of blood, fingerprints – anything that might be used for identification. Nothing met the naked eye.
Drawing a deep breath, he reached for the aspirin and shook three into his palm, swallowing them with a sip of water, then he picked up the papers. He half expected something to fall out of the thick pile, but as he unfolded it, he spread them out and counted – ten pages full of handwritten, scrawling script.
His mouth was dry, so he took another sip of water. A cold sweat peppered along his forehead and he pressed his hand against it to ease the pounding in his temples. He knew he should get up right away and take this to Peyton or Defino, but he was captivated by the opening line.
I met her the winter she turned nine.
Dropping the papers, Jake searched through his desk, opening every drawer, rifling through every piece of paper. How had he missed this envelope? Were there more? Maybe he had an entire collection of them and he’d never known it. And how had it gotten here? Someone had placed it on his desk, someone had carried it in here and made sure it was out of sight, but right where Jake would have to see it.
When his search turned up nothing, he drew a deep breath and picked up the pile of paper again, covering his mouth with his hand. As soon as he read it, he’d take it to Defino, but she’d probably want to know why he hadn’t investigated it before bringing it to her, right? Secure in his justification, he leaned back in his chair and started reading again.
I met her the winter she turned nine. She and her parents moved into the house next door, right around Thanksgiving. My mother was big on being neighborly, so we had to take them a cake, chocolate with a cherry in the middle of it.
Her parents called her Missy. Actually, it started as Lil’ Miss, then just became Missy. It would be decades before I knew her given name. She had an older brother. He was more my age, 11 in the fall like me. In fact, our birthdays were about two weeks apart.
While my mother made coffee with Missy’s mother, I was told to go play video games with her brother. His name was Clayton and he wasn’t thrilled with meeting me. Later on I found out he was resentful of the move. They left L.A., hoping to give their kids a better life in suburbia, but suburbia was just not Clayton’s style.
Missy snuck into the family room where we were playing some racing game. Even at nine there was something about her. She had an inner light, a spark that you couldn’t deny. Sure, she was all knobby knees and elbows then, but her eyes, Lord, already she had the wisdom of the world in her eyes.
Our mothers cut us pieces of cake. You should have seen the way Missy could devour chocolate, as if there was nothing more wonderful. That was the second thing I admired about her – she could eat us boys under the table, but she was thin as a whip. She never said a word to me that first day. In fact, as my mother and I walked home, I was worried she couldn’t speak. Lord, was I wrong!
I didn’t see Missy through Christmas and winter break, but I’d sometimes see her brother out kicking a soccer ball in their front yard. My mother encouraged me to go and play with him, but whenever I ventured onto our porch, he’d glare at me, so I gave up on ever making him a friend.
When school started again, I saw Missy and Clayton in the cafeteria for lunch. They always ate together and no one else sat with them. I just assumed it was because they were new. When you go to school with the same people all your life, anyone new is grounds for ostracism.
