Murder on Potrero Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 1)

by Hamilton, M. L.

  Jake realized he was standing in the hall. He dug the heels of both hands into his eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn tired and I don’t remember when I ate last.”

  “Come in and I’ll get you a beer. The pizza should be here any minute.”

  Jake nodded and followed him into the apartment. While Sam disappeared into the hallway to their right, Jake wandered toward the windows. Sam’s apartment was toward the front of the building, overlooking the street at an angle. Jake unlocked the sliding glass door and stepped onto the tiny cement balcony. If he leaned over the edge, he could see the front of the building and the street.

  The Crown Victoria was parked in front of a small grocery across from Sam’s building.

  “Here.”

  Jake felt his heart kick against his ribs and he jumped. Sam held out a beer to him. Jake reached for it and realized his hand was shaking.

  Sam noticed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone need a drink as bad.”

  “Thanks.” Jake lifted the beer and drained half the bottle.

  Sam motioned toward the apartment. “Let’s watch the game.”

  Jake walked to the couch, a low slung, modern piece in green leather, and sank down. Sam turned on the television set and settled the remote on the glass coffee table. Jake was only half aware of the game as he finished off his beer.

  At some point, Sam replenished the beer and answered the door. A few minutes later, he plopped a pizza on the coffee table and motioned for Jake to help himself. Jake settled his beer on the table and took a piece. The first bite nearly made him sick. He felt his throat contract, but he forced himself to eat it and take another piece.

  Sam brought him another beer. Within minutes, they finished off the rest of the pizza and a line of empty bottles ringed the table. Jake didn’t remember drinking that much, but a familiar buzz filled his head.

  Sam rose and went into the other room. Jake watched the batter knock the bat against each shoe, then the corners of home plate, not really seeing it. What the hell was he going to do? The cops were outside. He had no money. His job was gone. He didn’t even have the last thing connecting him to Zoë – her journal.

  “Here.”

  A wad of bills appeared in his line of sight and he blinked up at Sam. “What’s that?”

  “Two hundred dollars. I want you to have it.”

  Jake pushed the money away. “I can’t take your money.”

  “Consider it a loan.” Sam’s words were slurred.

  “You’ve had too much to drink. I’m not taking your money.”

  Sam grabbed his hand and shoved the wad into it. “I’m fine and you need some cash to help you get through until this whole thing blows over.”

  Jake extended the money to him. “I’m gonna go talk to Claire tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, but you need money for cabs and food. Take it, Jake. You can pay me back later.” He slumped on the couch and reached for another beer. “Trust me. It isn’t much.”

  Jake put the money in his jacket pocket. “Thank you, Sam.”

  “Ain’t no thing.”

  “Actually it is. Just having you believe me is a lot.”

  Sam lifted his beer and drank. “Ain’t no thing,” he repeated.

  Jake pushed himself to his feet and swayed. He’d had a little too much to drink as well. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “You know where it is,” Sam said, pointing with the neck of his bottle.

  Jake weaved his way to the back of the apartment and found the bathroom. He relieved himself, then washed his hands, splashing water on his face to clear away some of the buzz. On his way back to the living room, he halted. Sam’s dresser occupied the space beside the bedroom door and on the top of it were the things any man carried in his pockets – wallet, comb, receipts and…keys.

  Jake’s gaze whipped to the doorway. He could hear Sam talking to the TV, complaining about a call. Before he knew what he was doing, Jake snagged the bank keys and tucked them into his jeans’ pocket. He felt a cold sweat break out across his shoulders and down his spine, but he didn’t put them back.

  Hurrying into the living room, he grabbed his beer and downed the rest of it in one swallow. “I think I’m gonna head out,” he said, praying the tremor in his voice didn’t give him away.

  Sam leaned forward. “I’ll drive you.”

  “No, you’ve had too much to drink. I’ll take a cab.”

  Sam slumped back on the couch. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Thank you for the pizza and beer, especially the money.”

  Sam waved him off. “You want me to call a cab.”

  “No, I’ll walk until I find one. I need to clear my head. I drank too much too.”

  Sam climbed to his feet and walked him to the door. “You take care of yourself, okay? I’ll give you a call in a few days.”

  Jake stepped into the hallway, trying not to appear too anxious to get away. “I mean it, Sam, thank you.”

  Sam shook his head. “Stop saying that. Talk to you soon.”

  “Sure,” answered Jake, then he started toward the elevator before Sam closed the door. Once inside, he leaned on the rail and closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. He couldn’t believe he’d taken Sam’s keys and he didn’t know what he planned to do with them, but what was done was done.

  The elevator opened and he crossed the entry hall, pushing open the outer door. A breeze blew over him, cooling the sweat on his body, and his eyes immediately fell on the Crown Victoria. He stumbled to a halt and stared at it. He had to be drunker than he thought because he couldn’t believe what he was thinking. Still, he wanted to know exactly what the police had on him before he made another move. There was only one way he could think of to find out.

  * * *

  The City spread out below them, glistening brilliantly in the night. The Top of the Mark was on the 19th floor of the Mark Hopkins hotel and it commanded a panoramic view. The maître-d’ held the chair for Peyton as she slipped into it and Devan took the seat across from her. Looking out, she could see lights blinking on Alcatraz and the red-orange of the Golden Gate Bridge awash in a fluorescent glow. Fog was seeping into the city from the ocean, cutting the bridge in half and flowing into the bay.

  “This takes your breath away,” she said.

  “It does,” answered Devan.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. This is a sight no one should miss.”

  He smiled in return. “Do you like martinis?”

  She glanced up at the maître-d’, waiting patiently by their table. “I’m not sure.”

  “May I recommend the Cosmopolitan? It has a touch of cranberry and lime juice,” suggested the maître-d’.

  “That sounds wonderful,” answered Peyton.

  “Two, please,” said Devan.

  The maître-d’ inclined his head and left the table.

  Peyton looked back out at the view, but she could feel Devan’s eyes on her.

  “You are stunning tonight,” he said.

  She laughed, reaching up to touch a wild curl. She’d let her hair free of its ponytail and put on makeup. Her black dress and high heels made her figure look trim. The dress had no sleeves, so she’d worried her toned arms might seem less than feminine, but a lace shawl had helped to soften the look. She’d even added a small, beaded handbag and she hated handbags. She preferred to keep her keys and credit card in her pocket, but little black dresses didn’t come with pockets. She figured Devan was lucky she hadn’t worn her shoulder harness and gun.

  “Why do you laugh?” he asked.

  “I don’t often hear that.”

  “You should. You are a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  He braced an arm on the table. “After the third date, don’t you think we should talk about our families. Isn’t it odd that we’ve avoided that until now?”

  She glanced at the table and reached for her napkin, spreading it in her lap. “Mine is comp
licated.”

  “Why do you think I haven’t talked about mine?”

  She smiled at him. He was so unlike anyone else she’d ever dated. So sophisticated and worldly. “You go first.”

  “Serves me right, I guess.” His teeth flashed white against his dark skin. “Both of my parents are corporate attorneys. Dad’s thinking of running for office. He even has a fact-finding team in place, but my mother is not happy about becoming a candidate’s wife.”

  “Why?”

  “She doesn’t want to give up her career.”

  “I can understand that,” said Peyton. “Are you an only child?”

  “Yes, you?”

  “Yep, Dad said they couldn’t do any better than me, so I’m it.” She held up a hand.

  Devan laughed, then fingered the rim of his water glass. “Mom said it took too much time away from work.”

  “Child rearing?”

  “Child birth.”

  Peyton couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged, his shoulders pulling the lines of his suit jacket. He wasn’t as muscular as Marco, but he was fit. “They gave me the best of educations and I’ve never wanted for anything. They were always actively involved in anything I did. I shouldn’t complain.” He leaned forward. “Now it’s your turn. I know your father was a cop.”

  A waiter arrived with their drinks. “Do you know what you’d like to order?” he asked as he set them down. He tucked the tray behind his back and leaned forward.

  Peyton used the interruption to grab her menu. Devan watched her for a moment more, then picked up his own. Her eyes widened when she saw the price, but she couldn’t back out now. The Top of the Mark offered a three course meal with two main entrée choices. She wanted to laugh. She was used to being able to select ten different types of hamburgers at her favorite burger joint.

  She realized both the waiter and Devan were waiting for her. She looked up. “I’d like the Chateaubriand, please.”

  “Excellent choice,” said the waiter, leaning toward Devan.

  “I’ll have the same,” he answered and the waiter left.

  Picking up her drink, Peyton took a sip. The astringent mix of vodka and cranberry flooded her mouth. A moment later she tasted the lime. She sucked in a breath. “Wow.”

  Devan took a sip of his own drink. “Good, huh?”

  “Very.” She didn’t want to tell him she was more of a beer kind of girl. “Marco would give me a bad time for ordering the Chateaubriand. He became a vegetarian two years ago.”

  Devan gave a nod. “You and Marco are very close, aren’t you?”

  Peyton heard the deeper question in his voice. She wasn’t about to lie. “I would take a bullet for him.”

  Devan picked up his drink and took another sip as if to pretend he wasn’t bothered. Peyton could tell by the tight angle of his shoulders that he was.

  “He’s my best friend and honestly, after all these years, he’s family, like the brother I never had. There’s nothing else there.”

  Devan lifted his dark eyes. “I’m glad. Not sure I can compete with a man that pretty.”

  Peyton laughed. “He’s one of those men that make women swoon and men wonder if they’re gay.”

  Devan laughed with her. “You’re avoiding my question, you know?”

  “I know. I don’t mean to avoid it. It’s just hard to talk about my dad. I still miss him. And when he died, I didn’t just lose him. I lost my mother in a way.”

  “How?”

  “It’s complicated and unfortunately, it’s gotten more complicated in the last few years.” She ran her finger along the stem of her martini glass. “Dad was a beat cop, as you know. He was happy with that. Didn’t want to climb the ranks or anything. He made me want the same thing. Then he was shot and killed in a routine traffic stop.” She braced her elbow on the table and sank her fingers into her hair at the temple. “They said it was drug related. The perp had so many priors.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Luis Garza. They believe he had Mexican cartel connections.”

  “I remember reading about that now. He’s in San Quentin?”

  “Two consecutive life sentences.”

  Devan reached over and touched the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Peyton.”

  She turned her hand over and clasped his. “Thank you.” She released him and picked up her drink, taking another sip. “Anyway, after he died, my mom moved in with her sister and started working in a tourist trap of a store down by the Wharf. I don’t see her much.”

  “Why not?”

  “She doesn’t approve of my job. And now she has this boyfriend. He’s a piece of work.”

  “How so?”

  She glanced at Devan from the corner of her eyes. “He doesn’t exactly approve of mixed couples or their offspring.”

  Devan opened his mouth to respond, then simply nodded.

  “Closet red-neck, but Mom doesn’t see it.”

  “I can see why you didn’t want to talk about it.”

  Peyton shrugged. “We all have our baggage.”

  The waiter brought the first course and set in in front of them. Peyton picked up her fork and moved the lettuce around on the plate, then took a bite. Now this she liked. The creamy smoothness of the cheese with the tart vinegar in the dressing exploded in her mouth.

  Devan finished his martini. The waiter appeared as if by magic and reached for the empty glass.

  “Can I get you another?” he asked.

  Devan shook his head. “No, I’m driving, but bring one for the lady.”

  Peyton started to protest, then thought better of it. Why not? She needed something to take the edge off. This Ryder case was driving her crazy.

  As if he read her thoughts, Devan cleared his throat. “I need to talk with you about your case.”

  Peyton paused with her fork midway to her mouth. “All right.”

  “I hate to bring it up here, but I want to get it out of the way, so we can just focus on us.”

  She studied him in the light from the candles. What could be so serious? “Go on.”

  “This Ryder case,” he began.

  “Yeah?”

  “Watch yourself, Peyton. These Harpers are some powerful people. My boss has gotten a call from Dwight Boyd about it.”

  “The Chief M.E.?”

  “That’s the one. Claire Harper wants her daughter’s body released for burial and she’s pretty connected. At one time Blake Harper had his hands in about everything in San Francisco. Claire Harper is just as ubiquitous.”

  “The only evidence we have is the body, Devan. We really don’t have anything else.”

  Devan picked up his fork. “You may not have that, if you don’t get a break on this.”

  “Would you charge the husband with what we’ve got?”

  Devan considered it for a moment, then he shook his head. “No.” He leaned forward again. “But we both know ninety percent of the time it’s the husband. What motive do you have?”

  Peyton shrugged. “They both had life insurance policies.”

  “Pretty weak. I’ll bet they got them when they got married.”

  “They did.”

  “What else?”

  “He didn’t know she was pregnant and Marco found a recent prescription for birth control pills when he searched the flat.”

  Devan frowned. “But she was pregnant?”

  “Abe has a fetus in his lab.”

  Devan lowered his fork. “Why was she on birth control?”

  “She didn’t want him to know she was pregnant?”

  “That might be something. I’d follow that lead.”

  The waiter set another martini down in front of her and Peyton reached for the old one, draining it. The waiter swept it away. She didn’t really like Devan telling her how to do her job, but he was trying to do her a solid by warning her about the Harpers.

  “I appreciate the heads up,” she said. “Now, let’s try not to
talk about work.”

  He flashed that brilliant smile of his and gave her a smoky look. “As the lady wishes.”

  The rest of the meal passed amicably. They talked about their childhood. He told her about the expensive boarding school he attended on the East coast. She told him about cutting classes, so she could try surfing in the frigid waters of the Pacific.

  The Chateaubriand melted in her mouth and then dessert was the most decadent chocolate cake with pomegranate sauce she’d ever tasted. She ate every morsel of it. Devan seemed to delight in her enjoyment.

  When they left the restaurant, she was full and slightly tipsy. She watched the City speed past out of the windows of his silver Lexus, and when they pulled up in front of her house, she waited while he came around the car to open her door. She could get used to being pampered like this.

  He walked her to the door and reached out, fingering a curl that lay on her shoulder. “I really enjoy being with you, Peyton.” He bent down and gave her a soft kiss. His lips were warm and gentle on hers.

  Peyton stared up at him and realized she was tired of being alone. Marco might be right and cops shouldn’t marry, but it didn’t mean they had to live a life of solitude and celibacy. She reached for the lapels on his jacket and pulled him down to her, giving him a real kiss.

  He made a little gasp of surprise, then his arms went around her, pulling her tight against him. Peyton deepened the kiss, sliding her hands up around his neck. Then she eased back a bit and stared into his eyes.

  “Do you want to come in?” she said.

  “Hell yes,” he answered and reached behind her for the doorknob.

  CHAPTER 7

  Marco watched the cars go by at the end of Baker on Fell Street. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to go on stake-out. He hated the boredom, but something about this case was driving him crazy. He liked his murders simple. Someone gets pissed, pulls out a gun, bang, there’s a body. This…this just felt so damn sneaky and he hated sneaky.

  You could understand why someone would pop someone with a gun in a moment of passion. Not that you liked it or got used to it, but it made sense. Humans were creatures of passion and they snapped sometimes. But premeditation? Who schemes and plans and designs a method to off another human being? For that you have to think about it constantly, meticulously research what you’re going to do, and then execute it with full awareness of the consequence of your actions.