The Peyton Brooks' Mysteries Box Set, page 162
The first time I heard Missy talk was in the principal’s office. I got sent there because I punched Tyler Harris in the throat when he took our ball at recess. I had a tendency to get into scrapes. The principal, an older woman named Mrs. Nancy, figured it was because I didn’t have a father figure in my life. Actually, it was because Tyler Harris was a giant tool, but I digress.
The secretary told me to take a seat and shut up. She knew me by name and I guess, reputation. I always sat in the same blue plastic chair closest to the window so I could watch the kids at recess, but this time Missy occupied it.
I sat down next to her. Her cheeks had tear streaks and her nose was running. I told her to wipe her nose on her sweater and asked her what happened.
The secretary snapped at me to shut up, but the phone rang, so she had to answer it. While she was occupied, I urged Missy to tell me what was wrong.
Apparently, her teacher (one of these New Method broads) was having them group colored blocks into as many different sets as they could and then guess how many they thought there were based on the number of sets. Missy dared to question why they couldn’t just break everything into sets of equal number, then count the sets and multiply it by the number in the set.
The teacher wasn’t happy that Missy knew basic multiplication at 9. That was supposed to be what she covered during that year and Missy was showing her up. When she tried to explain why Missy needed to do the grouping and guessing crap, Missy rebelled, saying she wasn’t going to do unnecessary work. This did not fly, so the teacher sent her to the principal’s office to reflect on the error of her ways.
For me, it was a pivotal moment. First of all, I was stunned Missy could actually speak, but more than that, I was amazed that you could actually get in trouble for something other than fighting.
I didn’t understand it then, but I did years later. Missy was fighting for justice, for truth, and ultimately for logic. She was fighting for her rights, Me – all I ever fought for was a red, bouncing ball on the playground.
Missy’s mother and mine became friends. Missy’s mother was a dental hygienist, so she was home the same time as my mom. They sometimes had a glass of wine together in the evenings. Missy’s dad worked for the phone company as a lineman, so he worked odd times and was often on-call.
He agreed to become the assistant coach of our Little League team, so I spent much more time with him and Clayton. Gradually, Clayton and I became friends. Whenever Clayton’s father drove us to practice, he often had Missy with him. Most of the time when I saw Missy, she had a book in her hand, but even though she hardly ever talked to me, I discovered she had a devilish sense of humor. She loved to pull pranks on her brother, like fill his jockstrap with pudding or replace the shoelaces in his cleats with pink ones. While I verbally agreed with Clayton that she was the worst sister ever, I secretly admired her devious side.
That summer everything changed, though. Her father fell off a phone pole and died on impact. In one instant, Missy and Clayton’s life was altered forever, but I’ll save that part of it for another time.
Jake finished the last page in bewilderment. It just ended. He turned it over, searching the back, but the back was blank. Dropping the papers on his blotter, he scrubbed his hands across his face. What the hell was this? He expected a confession, a testimonial, or even a manifesto like Ted Kaczynski had written, not some nostalgic account of meeting a nine year old girl.
He gathered the papers and folded them, stuffing them back in the envelope. Good thing he had detectives sitting close at hand. He rose to his feet and moved toward the front of the precinct. His instinct was to bring it to Peyton, but he was worried he’d be missing some protocol that he should probably know.
“Hey, Maria,” he said, pausing by her desk.
She gave him a lift of her brows. “You need something?”
“I need to see the captain.” He realized his nervous energy had dissipated as he read the letter. Now he was simply confused.
Maria picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. “Yeah, Capitan, Ryder’s here to see you.” Jake could hear Defino’s voice through the door, telling her to send him in.
He walked to the door and pushed it open. Defino glanced up from her laptop. “This better be as important as a call from God, Ryder. I’m ass-deep in political bull shit right now.”
Jake held up the envelope. “Does a letter from the Janitor qualify?”
CHAPTER 7
Marco and Jake already had a booth when Defino and Peyton slid into it. Jake leaned forward, looking around the diner, while Defino shifted uncomfortably and reached for a napkin, wiping the table. She hadn’t been thrilled with taking this little circus on the road, but she’d agreed when Peyton suggested they might want to update Marco.
Peyton’s attention shifted to Jake. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if you were followed.”
“We weren’t followed.”
Defino rolled her eyes. “This is so stupid. Why can’t we meet in my office?”
“You didn’t want the Janitor knowing Marco’s back on duty,” reasoned Peyton. “We’re trying to keep our theory under wraps.”
“But the two of you have been going around telling everyone your theory anyway, so what the hell difference does it make?”
“We just told Cho, Captain.”
Defino gave her an annoyed look. “And Abe and Maria and this clown.” She held her hand out indicating Jake. “And you really believe Cho hasn’t mentioned it to Simons? This was their case to start with.” Her voice trailed off as she became distracted by Jake as well. “What the hell are you doing?”
He’d turned completely around in his seat and was peering back toward the front entrance. Swinging around again, he leaned forward, dropping his voice. “See the blond, the blond to make a man forget he has a wife. The blond to make a man forget to die. She asked us what we wanted.”
“She’s a waitress,” said Peyton.
Defino waved him off. “So I read the letter you found. Why do you think it came from the Janitor?”
Jake narrowed his eyes dramatically. “The red envelope. Red is his color. Red is the color of the blood he spills. Red like the last beat of his victims’ hearts.”
Marco stared hard at the table, trying to hide a smile.
“What?” said Defino angrily.
“I entered the office this morning. Sure, I was feeling a little run-down, but I knew the public needed me to show up, to process the evidence like only I can process it.”
Defino’s mouth opened.
Peyton covered her eyes, biting her inner lip to keep from bursting into laughter.
“Did I have a headache? Yeah, but what man doesn’t when faced with the dregs of society, the very sewer that is mankind.”
Peyton and Marco began to snicker.
“I didn’t want to give in to my weakness, but I’m only a man, so I took three aspirin.”
“Oh, for God’s sakes, Ryder, knock it off,” snapped Defino, but as Peyton glanced at her, she noticed the corners of her mouth were tilting up. “I feel stupid enough as it is. Tell me how you know it’s the Janitor and…” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare go all Sam Spade on me again.”
Jake sighed in disappointment. “Seriously, it was the red envelope. It’s the same red as the font on the Clean-up Crew cards.”
“But it was some rambling story about a nine year old girl?”
“I know. I don’t get it.”
“And it was in your desk?”
“Yeah, slipped between two files. I wouldn’t have noticed it until I was sitting down.”
Defino looked between Peyton and Marco. “What do you make of it?”
Marco had his arms resting on the table, his hands clasped. He wore a baseball cap and a baggy sweatshirt. “I think it’s another piece of evidence to confirm he has access to the inner workings of the precinct, that he’s one of us.”
The blond waitress came over. “Are you ready to order?”
“Uh.” Defino reached for her menu.
“We need a few more minutes, please,” said Peyton and the waitress moved away.
“If that’s the case, and I’m beginning to think it is, I feel pretty certain Peyton should be on leave, so she isn’t an easy target for him.”
“How would I be a target at the precinct, Captain? It’s filled with cops.”
“And one of them might be a serial killer,” Defino reasoned.
“He hasn’t tried anything at the precinct. He isn’t going to deviate from pattern.”
“No, but maybe going on dates with him is a bad idea,” said Marco.
Peyton wanted to kick him, but Jake shifted and raised his brows, causing Marco to look down at the table.
“Wait. What are you talking about?” asked Defino.
“Nothing. I’m not going on a date with a serial killer.”
“Are you going on a date with someone in our department?”
“Stan Neumann.”
Defino’s eyes swung to Marco and fixed there.
Marco held out his hands as if to say, You see?
“Have you somehow ruled out Stan?” demanded Defino.
“Stan, Captain? Do you really think he could be a cold blooded murderer?”
“I think I have a bunch of dead guys in the morgue who would probably like us to figure this out sooner rather than later.”
“Well, technically, if they’re dead…” began Jake.
Peyton kicked him.
“Okay, smartass,” said Defino, “I have an entire city of people who would probably like us to figure this out.”
Jake rubbed his shin and glared at Peyton.
Peyton glared back at him, then she gave them both a quizzical look. “Wait. Why are the two of you sitting on the same side of the booth?”
Marco let out a heavy sigh. “Sam Spade here felt it would be better to have me on the inside, facing away from the door, so I’m more inconspicuous.”
She eyed the Giants’ baseball cap. “Is that his hat?”
“Yeah, I was just grateful it wasn’t a freakin’ fedora.”
“I have a London Fog raincoat at home. I used to wear it when I worked at the bank.” Jake’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“You mean a flasher coat,” said Peyton wryly.
Defino shook her head in disbelief. “You do know we’re meeting in this stupid diner to talk about a serial killer, right?” She braced her head with a hand. “God, I really need to retire.”
The blond waitress appeared again. “Are you ready?”
“Oh shit,” said Defino.
Peyton grabbed the menu and flipped it open. “I’ll have…uh, the tuna melt.”
“On sour dough?”
“What else?” she answered with a smile.
The waitress turned to Jake, dismissing Peyton. “What do you want?”
“I’ll take your classic hamburger with fries.”
Peyton glanced down at the menu and saw a tall, frothy confection at the bottom. “Oh, and I’ll take a chocolate milkshake.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Jake.
Defino shook her head in disbelief.
“And I’m the one you suspended,” said Marco.
“What about you, blue eyes?” the waitress asked with a simper.
Jake gave Peyton an I told you so look.
“Just a coffee, black.”
Peyton glanced over the menu again. Yep, didn’t seem to be anything vegetarian there.
She waited for Defino.
“Just give me a bowl of your soup du jour.”
“Soup du what?”
“I can feel my blood pressure rising just sitting here.”
“Soup of the day,” said Peyton quickly.
“Oh, okay.” She wandered off again.
“Oh, yeah, she’s a woman to make you forget to grow old,” Defino said to Jake.
Peyton fought her smile.
“I’ve been thinking about the letter a lot, Captain,” he said, shifting the subject. “And I think the serial killer wants to make a connection. He wants to be caught. When I’ve researched other serial killers, they all have the same modus operandi.”
“M.O. would have been fine.”
“But less fun to say. Anyway, that letter is his way of connecting with someone.”
“But what does it have to do with the people he kills?”
“I don’t think we’ve gotten there yet. He’s trying to prolong the inevitable, so he’s gonna feed me the story a little at a time to keep us guessing.”
“Then maybe I’m not the recipient of this sick, little infatuation,” said Peyton. “Maybe you are.” Although that made her almost as uneasy. She’d be responsible too if Jake was his target.
“No, it’s you,” said Jake.
Marco nodded as well.
“He’s just connecting with me because I’m safe. I’m the only one of us not packing heat.”
“Carrying a gun would have been fine,” said Defino. “Is there anyone in the department who’s made strange overtures of friendship toward you, Jake?”
“Peyton, but…”
She tried to kick him, but he moved his leg away.
“Anyone else?”
“No. Cho barely tolerates me, Simons treats me like his personal service dog. Maria thinks I’m a douf.”
“She’s not the only one,” grumbled Marco.
“Except Stan. He does seem friendlier than the others.”
“We’re getting hung up on Stan,” answered Defino. “What about the street cops? Any of them try to talk to you? Make friends?”
Jake shook his head. “They’re worse than Cho. It’s like they can’t even see me.”
Shifting in the booth, Defino squinted at Peyton. “Look, Brooks, it’s Friday. Why don’t you take the weekend off?”
“What? I can’t do that, Captain. We need to go over that letter with a fine tooth comb.”
“We’ll have the lab do the combing, but here’s my thought. If you don’t come in, maybe he gets nervous and leaves us more evidence. Maybe he’ll try to make contact with Ryder again.”
“I’m working the weekend too?” Jake whined.
“No.” Defino was surprisingly good at talking through clenched teeth. “Let’s set up a surveillance camera on Jake’s desk. Maybe we’ll catch him.”
“He’s too smart to be caught by that, Captain. We have surveillance cameras on all the entrances and we don’t have any idea who it is.”
“If it’s someone in the precinct, how would we be able to tell? We’re all on surveillance when we enter and leave,” said Jake.
“If someone’s messing around your desk, that might be a start,” reasoned Defino.
“I think we need something bigger to flush him out,” said Peyton. “He’s gonna see us setting up the camera.”
“I’m listening then.”
“I don’t have it right now, but…”
“Well, take the weekend to figure it out. You can report to me on Monday with a list of ideas. I still want a camera on Jake’s desk, and maybe we’ll have something back on the letter by then. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he left a fingerprint or DNA.”
“I tell you he’s too careful for that,” said Peyton. “I’ll bet he wrote it in gloves.”
“What about a handwriting expert?” offered Jake.
“Good idea, Ryder. I’ll call one in for Monday.”
“Do I have to stay undercover?” complained Marco.
“At least through the weekend. He made contact while you were gone.” She gave him a critical look. “But can’t Abe help you find some better clothes?”
“Abe, Captain? He’ll have me wearing a speedo in hot pink.”
For the first time, Defino laughed.
* * *
Peyton slumped down on the couch across from Marco. “I don’t know what to do with a day off.”
“Let’s go for a run.”
She sighed. “I guess that’s a good idea.”
After she changed, they took her normal path and for the second time in the same week, they made it all the way to Golden Gate Park. It was later than the previous day and the sun was peeking through the fog, but it was still pleasant jogging beneath the trees, along the lush avenues that wound their way through the one and a half miles of greenery.
They stopped at Peasant Pies for a single serving fruit pie and ate it with a cup of coffee, sitting in the window seat so they could watch people walking past. Once they finished, neither of them seemed anxious to leave, so Peyton sipped at her coffee and let the traffic mesmerize her.
“I can’t imagine living in another city,” she said.
He nodded. “I’d like to see New York, but it’s the west coast for me.”
“New York would be fun. I’d like to go to D.C. too.” She braced her chin on her hand. “I can’t believe how few places I’ve been. This job is so all consuming, I don’t even know what to do with myself when I get a day off.”
“Well, New York is out, but is there anything in this city you haven’t done?”
She thought for a moment. “You’re gonna think this is crazy, but I’ve never been to the deYoung Museum.”
“Never?”
She shook her head.
He rose to his feet at once. “Let’s go home, grab a couple of showers, and go.”
“Really? You wouldn’t want to go someplace more exciting?”
“What’s more exciting than doing something you’ve never done before?”
“Okay,” said Peyton, pushing out her chair.
An hour later they were wandering the brightly lit halls of the museum, looking at the exhibits and studying the works of art. Peyton enjoyed reading the placards that explained about the art, since her experience with art was limited to what she’d learned in a mandatory art class in high school.
She liked the Renoirs and Cézannes, and she was particularly fond of the van Gogh they exhibited, but some of the more modern pieces escaped her. A swatch of red color splashed over a sea of black didn’t seem very hard to accomplish. She figured Pickles could knock over a bucket of paint about as well as this fellow did.
