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

by Hamilton, M. L.

  What did the officer say when they printed him? They were holding him for…for…breaking and entering. That was it. Not murder. Breaking and entering. He exhaled and tried to lower his shoulders. His back hurt, he was holding himself so tight. Not murder…not yet.

  He lay back on the cot, pressing his heels into the thin mattress and tenting his knees. He dropped an arm over his eyes and clenched his other hand into a fist. He tightened the fist as hard as he could until his nails dug into his palm, then he released each finger, forcing them to stretch out until his palm was flat on the blanket.

  He could get through this if he just didn’t lose control or look at the bars, or watch those eyes across the corridor watch him. He could do this. He only had to get through the night. He didn’t think they could hold him longer than that.

  He tried to remember what else they said to him, but all he could hear was Peyton’s voice, the way she looked at him as if she could see into his skull and read the thoughts parading through his head. She had manipulated him and led him down a path, pretending to understand, yet trying to get him to confess. That’s all it was. She didn’t care if he killed anyone. She just wanted the collar, she wanted the credit for solving this case, whether it was solved or not.

  It must have felt so horrible to know she was cheating on you, using you that way. God, what man can stand the thought of his wife carrying another man’s child. His hand curled into a fist again and he pounded the mattress.

  A growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of rage and fury that he couldn’t contain. Horrible? It felt like someone had ripped out his intestines and shown them to him. What the hell did she think it felt like? She was toying with him, trying to make him lose his temper and admit something too awful to think. She wanted him to say he’d killed his wife because she cheated on him.

  He rolled to his side and curled his knees into his chest. Oh, God, Zoë, why? Why would she have done something like that? He opened his eyes and stared at the bars. How could she? When would she have had time to carry on an affair?

  I can understand that, Jake. I can understand wanting to get rid of the baby. It was tearing your relationship apart, destroying your life. But it wasn’t. He and Zoë were happy together. They loved each other. She never gave him a moment to doubt her love.

  Even as the thought entered his mind, Jake realized he was lying to himself. She had been distant the last few months, refusing to let him touch her. Pulling away when he tried to hug her. He’d felt it, he’d recognized it, but he’d tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. He stuffed the hurt inside and ignored it. Just as he’d done when his parents died.

  His sisters had mourned openly, but he had just stuffed it away and retreated back to San Francisco, telling himself he never wanted to see Nebraska again. That was how he handled loss, that was his way of coping – pretending the thing hurting him was gone.

  Just pretend it was gone.

  * * *

  Morning light was filtering into the jail as Jake collected his things and was led to the door. The cop guiding him motioned him outside, then left him on the sidewalk looking around. A long, sleepless night had brought him to a few conclusions. One, he wasn’t going to let them control the situation any more. Two, he wasn’t going back in that cell. Three, he was going to have to figure out what happened to Zoë.

  He’d been left alone last night, but if they succeeded in pinning this on him, he wouldn’t be granted that luxury. Jake knew what happened to men in prison and he wasn’t going to passively accept victimization.

  He slung the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder and started walking down 7th toward Townsend. He needed to get to the flat and pray Zoë’s journal was where he hid it. Then he was packing a few things, finding any money they’d stashed around the place, and finally he was sneaking out again.

  He would stop by Claire’s and ask her for help. He dreaded that, especially knowing what he did now, but he could think of no one else who had the capital to get him a lawyer, and after what he’d been through, he knew he needed one. Then he was going to find some place quiet and figure this thing out.

  Whenever his thoughts touched on Zoë, he shied away from them. He didn’t want to think about her betrayal. He didn’t want to accept it, but he knew that eventually he’d have to face it, confront it. He dreaded that. It made everything about their life seem a lie.

  He didn’t have the energy to walk back to Potrero Hill, but he didn’t want to waste money on a cab. As he looked around for a bus stop, he marked the Crown Victoria following him. He sighed. They might not have enough to hold him, but they weren’t giving up on convicting him.

  Pulling out his tablet, he turned it on and punched in Muni bus stop. There was one a couple of blocks away. As he turned off his tablet, he realized he probably should be careful how he used it. He was certain the police knew exactly what he searched. He turned on Townsend and headed east.

  The bus stop was crowded and he stood to the side of the enclosure with the other people on their way to work. How did someone go from being a working stiff to a suspect in a murder case within a few weeks? If he thought about it too much, he knew he would give up and they would have him. He’d never understood why people confessed to crimes they didn’t commit, but he was getting a better idea of it now. The way they hounded you, took away your life, made you think you’d do just about anything to end it. Not a few times last night he thought suicide was the only way out. Of course, it wasn’t real planning, just a random thought that popped into his mind, but he could see how people might feel that desperate.

  The bus pulled up to the curb. Jake had a moment of panic. He had no bus pass and he knew Muni no longer took cash. The back door opened and people began climbing off as others began climbing on at the front door. As Jake looked through the windows, he could see it was standing room only.

  Clutching his briefcase tightly against him, he reacted on instinct. He shoved into the people climbing off. A few muttered curses at him, but they were too concerned with getting off the bus to do anything else. He wedged himself against the stairwell and waited until everyone climbed down, then he moved up into the bus and grabbed a handhold as if he’d been there all along. An older black woman glared at him, but she didn’t say anything. Jake breathed a sigh of relief when the bus began moving again.

  He couldn’t see out the back window to know if the Crown Victoria followed him, but he was sure they’d show up at his flat shortly after he arrived. Once he was wedged onto the bus, he found himself thinking about Zoë, despite his determination not to do so. She had lied to him. Not only had she kept the baby a secret, but the baby wasn’t his. When had she started an affair? Where had she met this man? Did she sleep with him in their bed?

  He closed his eyes and tried to block the thought. He was so tired, the sway of the bus lulled him into a semi-sleeping state. Each time the bus lurched to a halt, he opened his eyes and checked the location, not wanting to miss his stop.

  The sun was shining on Potrero Hill when he arrived. He hurried to his flat and slipped into the entrance hall without anyone seeing him. When he opened the door to his apartment, he was relieved to see the police hadn’t trashed it. He dumped the briefcase on the couch and dropped to his knees, reaching under the coffee table for Zoë’s journal. Pulling it out, he sat back on his heels and held it, staring at its red surface.

  Had Zoë written about the affair in here? He felt such a conflict of emotions. Wanting to know warred with a sick anxiety that it might actually be in there. Forcing himself to set the journal on the briefcase, he went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, then he walked into the living room and looked out at the street. No Crown Victoria.

  Returning to the kitchen, he pulled out the pot and poured whatever was brewed into a mug, then replaced it. Carrying the mug with him, he went into the bedroom and climbed over the strewn bedclothes and pillows to the bathroom.

  He took a long hot shower, letting the water soothe away the anx
iety, then he dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans and his hiking boots. Sipping the coffee, he moved into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed, pulling a pillow up with him. He fell into a deep sleep.

  When he woke, the shadows across the ceiling told him it was early afternoon. A headache throbbed in his temples, so he went into the bathroom and took some aspirin. Returning to the bedroom, he riffled through the closet and found an empty backpack. He shoved the aspirin, his toothbrush and some toothpaste into it, then grabbed a change of clothes.

  He went back into the living room, carrying the backpack and mug. He set the mug on a table, then reached for his briefcase, shoving both Zoë’s journal and the tablet into it. Then he searched the flat for money, but besides a jar of loose change, he found nothing. He shoved the jar into the backpack and zipped it up. Carrying it and the mug into the kitchen, he poured another cup of coffee and drank it standing by the sink. He wasn’t completely sure what he intended to do, but the first thing was to head over to Claire’s and ask her for help.

  Turning off the pot and setting the mug in the sink, he walked into the living room and looked out the window. The Crown Victoria was in its customary place. He didn’t recognize the cops, but that didn’t matter. They would follow him wherever he went.

  He grabbed his keys and left the flat. Hesitating, he tried to decide what to do next. Prince was barking at the other end of the corridor, so he knew Mrs. Parker would be coming out to take him for his walk. He didn’t want to see her and he didn’t want to go out the back door again. He was bound to be caught cutting through someone’s backyard.

  When Prince’s barking grew louder, Jake made his decision, hurrying down the stairs and onto the street. He looked pointedly at the cops and they looked back, then he shouldered his backpack and began walking north.

  He was tempted to ride the bus again, but he wanted to lose the police, so he passed his usual bus stops and continued on. After catching some sleep, he didn’t mind the walk and the sun shone down, bathing him with warmth. He turned east on 18th and glanced back to see the Crown Victoria following him. They would pull over in an open parking spot, allowing him to get a little ahead of them, then they’d pull out into traffic and catch up. He had to lose them, but he wasn’t sure how.

  He knew there were a lot of businesses along 18th, so he waited until he was in the middle of them before he turned into an Italian restaurant. A hostess smiled at him as he entered and he could smell a mixture of garlic and oregano. His stomach growled and he realized he didn’t remember when he’d eaten last. The food served at the jail didn’t qualify.

  “Just one?” she asked.

  He glanced around the restaurant, wishing he could afford to eat here, but he only had about half-an-hour to put distance between himself and the police before they decided to look for him. “Sure,” he said, and she led him to a table by the window. He could see the Crown Victoria in the red zone in front of the restaurant.

  “Do you have anything that isn’t by the window?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, leading him deeper into the restaurant. She held out his chair, but he hesitated before slipping into it.

  “Actually, can you point me to the restroom?”

  She smiled again as she set his menu down. “Right in back.” She pointed to an arched doorway beside a window that looked into the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” said Jake, forcing himself to walk as normally as he could to the back, winding through all of the tables. The bathrooms were located about halfway down the hallway, but Jake moved past them to the back door. It had been propped open with a brick. That was just as well because he could see it was usually armed with an alarm.

  He shoved it open a little, then peered into the alleyway behind the restaurant. A number of dumpsters lined the back wall and next door a busboy was smoking on the back stoop, his arms braced on his knees.

  Jake slipped into the alley and started walking as quickly as he could. The busboy nodded at him, but no one else seemed to notice. He kept walking until he figured he was at least a few blocks from the restaurant, then he cut up a side alley to the street. When he stepped out into the street, he didn’t hesitate, but found the very next bus stop that was crowded with people just getting off work.

  His heart was pounding rapidly as he waited. A giddy feeling of excitement moved through him. He wondered how long the cops would wait before they checked the restaurant for him. He pulled the same trick once the bus arrived of entering through the back, but this time he found a seat near the stairwell. He sank into it, realizing his legs were trembling, and immediately fished Zoë’s journal out. If he was brave enough to escape the police, he was brave enough to face whatever she revealed in her private thoughts.

  December 26th

  Jake gave me a redwood tree for Christmas. He said it was for the community garden and that we’d plant it to have a reminder of our love. As long as the tree grew, we would know someone in the world loved us.

  I’ve received diamonds and electronics, televisions and earrings, but nothing compares to this. I can’t believe I found a man who understands it isn’t the monetary things in life, but the simple things.

  I know it sounds ridiculous, but I feel like I’ve found the very person I was meant to be with, meant to marry. Jake is that man. He accepts me for exactly who I am and no matter how many faults I have, no matter how many mistakes I make, I know that I have one person standing solidly and firmly rooted in my corner. Pun fully intended. Get it – tree, root.

  Jake swallowed the lump in his throat and put his hand over his eyes, closing the journal and letting it settle on his briefcase. No matter how much he might want to pretend otherwise, there was no escaping this grief.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jake walked through the rose arbor and up to the mansion. He hesitated on the front step and drew a deep breath. Oh, God, he didn’t want to ask Claire for help. He would give anything if he didn’t have to do this. He didn’t even know if the police had contacted her with their suspicions or how she would respond to him. Would she lend him money to hire a lawyer?

  When a car went down the road, he looked over his shoulder, searching for the Crown Victoria. He was becoming paranoid. If this continued much longer, he was going to wind up in a mental ward.

  Steeling himself, he pressed the buzzer. Hopefully, Angelina or Juanita would answer it. He wished he could remember the maid’s name. He felt guilty that he didn’t know, but she kept to herself in parts of the house Jake had rarely seen. Claire liked to keep her help invisible. She pretended that she still did much of the work herself.

  The door opened and Brandon, Zoë’s high school boyfriend, loomed in the entrance. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

  Jake frowned, trying to look beyond his shoulders inside the house. “Is Claire here?” He felt confused. This idiot had been here twice when Jake happened by.

  “I said you shouldn’t be here.”

  “I heard you. The neighborhood heard you. Just exactly what are you doing here? Aren’t you one of the neighbors?”

  “You’ve got some balls after what you’ve done,” Brandon said, moving a step onto the porch.

  Jake backed up, frowning at him. “What? Where’s Claire?” He tried to look into the house again.

  “You come here after what you did to Zoë.”

  Jake went still. Of course the police had been here before him. “I didn’t hurt Zoë. Why do you think I’m out of jail? They have nothing on me. I want to see Claire.” He stepped back and looked at the upper windows. “Claire!”

  “I want you to leave!”

  Jake ignored him. “Claire! Claire!”

  “I’m warning you, Ryder, you’d better leave.”

  “Not until I see Claire. Claire!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, shut up, Jake!” hissed Claire, appearing in the doorway.

  Jake dropped his eyes to her. Was she hiding in the entryway the whole time? He lowered his gaze further and saw she held her
cell phone. “Did you call the police?”

  “Of course I did. They’re on their way.”

  Jake took a step closer to her, but Brandon moved to block him. “Claire, I didn’t hurt Zoë. You know I loved her. You know I wouldn’t have done anything to her.”

  “I don’t know any such thing.”

  “Claire, I need help. I need some money to hire a lawyer. The police are framing me for something I didn’t do.”

  “That’s what they all say, Jake. No one in this country has ever committed a crime. They’ve all been framed. I’m sorry, but I’m not about to help a man who’s been accused of harming my daughter.”

  “How could you think I’d do something like that?” He wished Brandon wasn’t listening to this conversation, running interference.

  “People do a lot of terrible things to each other. I don’t know why you did it and I don’t want to know. I just want you to leave.”

  “You know me, Claire, you know I wasn’t capable of that.”

  Claire’s expression grew cold. “Do we ever really know anyone, Jake? Do we?”

  Jake hesitated. She had a point. He hadn’t known his own wife was capable of cheating on him. He hadn’t known his whole marriage was a lie. All Zoë talked about in her journal was how much she loved him, how happy she was, but yet, she’d cheated. She lied and betrayed him, for what?

  He started to ask Claire about the baby, but she lifted her phone as if she would dial again.

  “They’re coming, Jake,” she said.

  Jake stared in frustration at her, then at Brandon. In the entryway of the house, he could see the maid, watching him with large, anxious eyes. Oh, the police would love this. There must be something they could charge him with on this one.

  “I didn’t hurt Zoë,” he repeated, then he turned and walked back toward the street.

  * * *

  Peyton scrunched up her nose as they entered the convalescent home. The smell of urine covered by disinfectant assailed them. A few residents were lined up in the entry hall, sitting in their wheelchairs, soaking up the late day sun. Down the hall, she could hear someone yelling, actually swearing up a blue streak.