Zombies in the Delta (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 1) Page 13

  “Send him in.”

  Carly stepped into the doorway. “He left.”

  “What do you mean he left?”

  “I told him you were on the phone and he wandered away.”

  “Where did he go?”

  Carly held out her hands. “I’ll probably be able to find him. He’s a little hard to miss.”

  Marco laughed. That was certainly true. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll probably wander back this way again.”

  A few minutes later, Carly appeared in the doorway. “He’s back.”

  Marco looked up from his computer. She seemed so damn happy to have found Abe. “Just send him in, Carly.”

  “Right.”

  Abe strolled through the door and shut it behind him, then he draped himself over Marco’s arm chair and took a look around. Marco’s brow rose as he studied Abe’s attire. No one else he knew could get away with a blood-red shirt covered in black ravens, black leather pants and wing-tipped red shoes.

  “Nice leather,” he said.

  Abe dusted off the slacks. “It’s fake in honor of my deep abiding love for you, Angel. I don’t want to offend your animal rights sensibilities.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now, this is an office.” He held out his long arms. “Warm and inviting. Made me want to come right inside. You need to give your fiancée some lessons. She’s going for the penitentiary look and that’s so last year. Well, it probably wasn’t a fashion trend any year, but you get my meaning.”

  “Did you want something, Abe?”

  “I wanted to gaze on your pretty face and then have a heart to heart, but first, were you on the phone for a case you’re working?”

  “Yep. Nineteen year old girl committed suicide because her boyfriend posted an intimate moment on-line for all to see. Revenge porn.”

  “Oh, that’s becoming a nasty problem.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “If she committed suicide, why is it your case?”

  “Parents want the boy prosecuted for manslaughter.”

  “That’s gonna be hard to prove, Angel.”

  “Devan made me very aware of that. Look, Abe, if I get her medical records, can you take a look at them?”

  “Of course. Not sure what it’ll prove, but I’ll give it a peek.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Still, why are you working the case? Isn’t that what you’ve got detectives for? You’re the captain now, Angel.”

  Marco rubbed his thigh. “The parents asked me personally and I want to do it.”

  Abe studied him a moment, then his eyes went beyond him to the bottle of Scotch. “Nice label, there.”

  Marco didn’t answer.

  “Not much for drinking Scotch myself, but I recognize a good bottle when I see it.”

  “Abe, why are you here?”

  “Had lunch with our favorite FBI agent yesterday. We tried some new dishes, but we didn’t find anything for the wedding.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Don’t mock, Angel. I take my duty very seriously. Anyway, in the course of our time together, she mentioned that she’s worried about you.”

  Marco frowned. “What?”

  “Now before you get all angry hot male on me, hear me out.”

  “She talked to you about me? What did she say?”

  “Just that she’s worried about you. She says you’re in a lot of pain and you’re unhappy with the new job. She said you told her you didn’t want to be one of her projects.”

  Marco couldn’t believe how angry he suddenly was. Why the hell hadn’t Peyton talked to him about this? Why was she going behind his back?

  “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “When my best friend can’t keep the tears a bay, it has something to do with me. When my other best friend is drowning his pain in a bottle of Scotch, it has something to do with me.” He jerked his chin toward the Scotch. “Just when did you buy that bottle?”

  “That’s none of your business, Abe.”

  “Don’t shut me out, Angel. I’ve been a loyal friend for a long time and I deserve better than this.”

  Marco ground his jaw. “And so do I. I deserve not to have the two people closest to me talking about me behind my back. If you have something to say, come out and say it, Abe.”

  “Fine.” He sat forward in his chair. “I think you’re masking the pain with alcohol because you know the pain killers are a quick road to addiction. I think every day you fight to get out of bed because you struggle just walking across the room and it’s making you depressed. I think you hate the new job because you can’t think of anything else but the pain, and it just reminds you of what you can’t do anymore. I think you’re taking your anger out on the woman who loves you because you’re afraid you’re never going to adjust to this new normal and you have some overwhelming macho hang-up that you have to be stronger than she is.”

  Marco closed his hand into a fist. “You’re right. We’ve been friends a long time, which is why I’m asking you to leave now before I say something I’ll regret.”

  “Marco, sometimes you need to ask for help. You can’t keep pushing everyone away.”

  “I’m not pushing anyone away.”

  “When you tell Peyton you feel like you’re a project for her, you’re pushing her away.”

  “I am a God damn project for her, Abe!” he shouted. He caught himself, realizing he hadn’t meant to say that. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you and I don’t want to talk about this. I’ll work through this, okay? I just need time and I need everyone to stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”

  “I think I was treating you exactly the opposite of that. I was confronting the problem head on, but you don’t seem to want that either.” He laid a hand on Marco’s desk. “Do you love Peyton?”

  “You know I do. I love her more than anything.”

  “You’re hurting her. You’re scaring her right now and you need to talk to her. If you don’t want to talk to me, I get that, but you’ve got to talk to her. She doesn’t cry easily, Angel, but she was a mess yesterday. Talk to her.”

  “Okay.” He held up a hand. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Good.” He reached for the pen on Marco’s blotter and grabbed a sticky note, then he took his phone out of his pocket. “I have a friend. He’s an orthopedic surgeon at Stanford Hospital, best in the business. Board certified and everything. I’ve already called him and told him you’d be calling. He can help you. There are things they can do for pain, nerve blocks, other things. Call him, Angel. Get some help.” He glanced at his phone, wrote down a name and number. “I think if we control the pain, everything else will work itself out.”

  Marco took the sticky note. He was having a hard time looking Abe in the eyes. Damn it, he hated when people started messing around in his life, trying to figure him out. He didn’t want people talking about him, prodding him, getting all freakin’ emotional on him.

  Abe pushed himself to his feet and leaned on the desk. “I know you’re angry at me, Angel, and I can handle that, but don’t take it out on Peyton. She doesn’t even know I planned to come here. She told me that stuff in confidence.”

  Marco’s eyes snapped to his face. Confidence? What about his confidence? How were he and Peyton supposed to build trust if she was going to talk about him behind his back?

  “Don’t be angry at her. She loves you.”

  “Fine.” He looked pointedly at the door. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Abe hesitated a moment more, then he strode to the door and pulled it open. “The brooding male thing is sexy, Angel, I’ll give you that, but it really is a pisser if you’ve got an emotional attachment to the brooding male. Way too much work.” Then he was gone.

  Marco stared at the number on the sticky note, then he grabbed the top drawer on his desk and shoved the note inside, slamming it closed again. Reaching for his cane, he rose to his feet and walked to the
door.

  Carly looked up as he passed her desk. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be out.”

  “Okay. Where should I tell them you’ve gone?”

  “Don’t. Just have them call me.” And he sent the half door slamming back into the wall as he left.

  * * *

  Li Wang met them in a coffee house in Walnut Grove. Although he wasn’t much taller than Peyton, he was muscular and trim. His shaggy black hair fell over his eyes and he had leathery skin from spending so much time in the sun.

  Bob Sharpe introduced her and Radar, and Li offered his hand. Peyton noted his nails were dirty, the palms of his hands callused and dry. This was a man who worked hard for a living. She tried to see if he was missing a nail, but he took a seat again, tucking his hands under the table.

  “Deputy Sharpe said you wanted to know about the bodies on the Harwood Farm?” he said.

  Peyton took the seat opposite him, Radar sitting next to her. Sharpe grabbed the chair at the head of the table, waving a waitress over. She came, reaching for a pad of paper. “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee,” said Sharpe.

  “Same,” said Radar.

  She smiled at Peyton. “What about you, honey?”

  “Iced tea.”

  The waitress hurried off.

  Radar shifted in his chair and gave Peyton a look.

  Peyton took a breath and clasped her hands on the sticky tabletop. “Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Wang.”

  “No problem, but I gotta get back out there. I got four farms I gotta inspect before tomorrow.”

  “Deputy Sharpe told us you were out of town this weekend. Did you go someplace fun?”

  Radar gave her a bewildered look, but she ignored him.

  “I went to visit my mother. She lives in Stockton. It was her birthday.”

  “Really? Did you have a party for her?”

  “Yeah.” Li Wang seemed to relax. “All of the grandkids and nieces and nephews. Nearly fifty people showed up. She liked it. She doesn’t get a lot of visitors anymore.”

  Peyton smiled. “Do you have a big family? I like big families. Mine’s small, but my fiancé has a huge family.”

  Wang laughed. “Yeah, there’s a lot of us. You know, extended family. We’re all around the area. Stockton, Sacramento, the Delta.”

  Radar cleared his throat.

  Peyton glanced at him, but the waitress returned with their drinks. Peyton reached for the sugar packets and tore the top off two, dumping it in the glass. Before Radar could say anything, she reached for a third and added it, then grabbed a spoon and began stirring.

  “Mr. Wang,” she said.

  “You can call me Li.”

  She smiled. “Li, how long have you been the overseer for the Harwood Farm?”

  “Fifteen years now.”

  “Did you know Roy Harwood, Senior?”

  “He hired me. He couldn’t keep up with everything, so he needed help.”

  Peyton settled the spoon in the saucer beneath her tea. She noticed that neither Sharpe nor Radar added anything to their coffee. “He had 100 acres at one point, right?”

  “Yeah, he sold off 40 toward the end there. He hated doing that. He felt it was a legacy for his son.”

  “Did anyone complain about him hiring you to help him?”

  Li glanced at the two men. “Some folks around here aren’t happy with my crew, but I don’t think they exactly complained.”

  Peyton took a sip of the tea. It wasn’t sweet enough, but she was afraid to add more sugar in front of Radar. “We found a complaint registered with the Agriculture Labor Relations Board that you use illegal immigrants as part of your crew.”

  Li Wang’s expression shuttered and he eyed the door.

  “We’re not here about that,” Peyton assured him. “We need to track every lead and a complaint like that could be significant.”

  “Significant how?”

  “If someone wanted to stop Harwood from using your crew, they might…”

  “Kill someone? Eat their brains?”

  Peyton thought it sounded far-fetched too. “We really hope not. Did anyone ever say anything to you personally? Confront you? Did you ever hear problems between Harwood and anyone else?”

  Wang thought for a moment. “There was a developer here a few years back. This is after Harwood died. He started pressuring Mrs. Harwood to sell the rest of the property. She refused, but he was aggressive.”

  Peyton glanced at Radar. “Do you have his name?”

  “Sullivan Ballor. He bought up a lot of land around Courtland,” answered Deputy Sharpe. “He’s a right bastard. Had a number of complaints about him.”

  Radar reached for his pad and wrote something on it.

  “Is there anything else you remember, Li?”

  “The only other problem I remember was just before Mr. Harwood died. He sold about five acres to these two women. They had a party or something and some people wandered onto Harwood’s property, back in the river-bottoms. They were dancing naked through the trees, high or something. Harwood got pissed and chased them off with a gun. Apparently, he even took a few shots at them.”

  Radar and Peyton both looked to Sharpe.

  He shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Those women were pissed. They came over the next day and confronted him. He was a sick old man by then. He could hardly stand, let alone fight back, but they pissed him off. He started yelling at them and got his gun. I came running, trying to stop it, but they hightailed it out of there.” Wang gave a snort of laughter, shaking his head. “Cussed up a blue streak, that old man. I couldn’t understand half of what he was saying. He just kept cussing and cussing and cussing.”

  “Do the women still live there?”

  “Yeah.” Wang glanced around the room, then leaned forward, his eyes boring into Peyton’s. “If you ask me, they’d be the ones to do this.”

  “Why?”

  Wang swallowed hard. “They’re witches.”

  Radar tipped back his head with a frustrated exhalation.

  Peyton nodded at Wang as she hit Radar’s shoulder. “Give him your card.”

  “What?”

  “Give him your card. I don’t have any or I’d do it.”

  Radar grabbed a card out of his pants pocket and passed it across the table.

  “If you think of anything else, will you call us?”

  “Sure.”

  “I just have to ask one last thing. I’m sorry about this, Li.”

  “Ask.”

  “Can you account for your whereabouts last Wednesday night around 9:00PM?”

  “I was home with my wife and kids. I made a call to my mother at that time to confirm her birthday party. You can check my phone records, right?”

  “Yes, we can. Thank you.”

  “No problem. I want you to catch this guy, Agent Brooks. I don’t like losing men. They’re like family to me.”

  “I understand.”

  Radar took a final sip of his coffee and tossed a ten on the table, then he and Peyton rose to their feet and headed toward the door. Sharpe followed them.

  The sun was shining as they stepped onto the quiet street and Peyton could hear the sound of a boat zooming up the river. Radar grabbed his sunglasses and put them on, then looked over at Sharpe.

  “You know these witches?”

  Sharpe gave a chuckle. “Yeah, lesbian couple. Dora Deuces and Lucy Moonstar Dawn.”

  Peyton’s brows rose. “Wow! Groovy, man.”

  Sharpe laughed, but Radar glared at her.

  “What? Dora Deuces and Lucy Moonstar Dawn? Come on, Radar. Even you’ve got to find that amusing.”

  “We’re working a triple homicide, Sparky.”

  “Yeah, but you guys love ridiculous names. This is so up your alley.”

  Sharpe continued to laugh.

  Peyton felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and she pulled it out, thumbing it on. A text message from Doug, the waiter, flashed at her. Just thought of
something. You need to check out the witches. They bought part of the Harwood farm.

  Peyton showed the message to Radar. “Seems like serendipity to me. I guess we better check out the witches.”

  Radar made a groan of annoyance, but he turned to Sharpe. “Can you get us a meeting with the…”

  “Witches,” offered Peyton.

  Radar clenched his jaw. “With the witches,” he said, forcing a tight smile.

  Sharpe chuckled and stepped off the sidewalk, moving toward his cruiser. “I’ll set it up for tomorrow around 1:00.”

  “Great.” Radar reached for his keys. “And I need to talk to Sullivan Ballor. Can you arrange that as well? Be nice to do it after the trip to the….”

  “Witches,” said Peyton.

  “Witches,” echoed Radar.

  “Done,” said Sharpe, opening his driver’s door. “Later, Agent Brooks.”

  Peyton waved to him.

  “Stop it,” hissed Radar.

  “Why? I’m being polite.”

  “He’s got a crush on you.”

  “So? I’m delightful. You heard Old Lady Harwood. I’m a perfect delight.”

  Radar snorted. “Tell that to your fiancé. Let’s go. I want to beat the traffic back to the City.”

  * * *

  Peyton entered the house, tossing her keys on the sofa table and removing her gun to hang on the pegs by the door. Pickles scampered over to her and she scooped him up, then walked to the kitchen. Marco was dishing up take-out onto two plates. He glanced at her as she stepped into the entry, then he looked away.

  “Hey.” She moved toward him, but he turned and went to a drawer, yanking it open and taking out two forks.

  “Hey, I hope Italian’s okay. I picked it up on the way home.”

  “It’s fine.” There was an edge to his voice and he hadn’t given her his usual kiss. She moved toward Pickle’s food bowl, glancing into the garbage as she did so. A bottle of Jack Daniels lay on the top of the recycle bin.

  “I poured it down the sink.”

  She turned toward him. “What?”

  “If that’s what you were wondering. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  She pressed Pickles closer to her. “Is something wrong?”

  “Why would something be wrong, Peyton?”