Murder on Russian Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Hearing voices at the other end of the alley, he edged back the other way, closer to the street. He didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, but it was unavoidable. Three people blocked the opening to the street. He almost missed them since they were crouched against the building, huddled in a circle, but they looked up when he got close. The one nearest to Joshua rose to his feet. He was young, dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized black jacket. Tattoos covered the side of his neck and lined the top of a white tank top beneath the jacket. His hair was cut in a Mohawk and bright green.

  Joshua recognized the other two, the singer and drummer from the band that had played before Blazes. Light from the bulb over the door caught on something metal as they shifted to hide what they were doing.

  Joshua took a step back. He didn’t want to get mixed up in whatever they were doing. Turning on his heel, he headed back for the door and had just grabbed the handle when he heard footsteps behind him.

  “Hey,” a rough voice called.

  Joshua glanced over his shoulder. The guy with the tattoos had followed him. “What?”

  “You’re that singer in the last band, right?”

  Joshua nodded, but kept his hand firmly curled around the handle.

  “You got some pipes, man.” He gave Joshua a once over. “Kinda surprised me, your voice.”

  “Why?”

  “Just did.” He glanced back at the other two. “You interested?”

  Joshua frowned. “Interested?”

  “I can hook you up, you know?”

  Hook him up? Suddenly it dawned on Joshua what he’d seen. The bit of metal had been a syringe. “No. No thanks.” He pulled open the door.

  “Hey,” said the guy. “What I got is better’n what you’re taking.”

  “What?”

  His eyes lowered to Joshua’s leg. “I know the twitch, man. I know it.”

  Joshua tried to fight it, but the pills made him jumpy. The only thing that helped were the white pills Phil gave him, the downers. He turned toward the door again.

  “I’m not kiddin’, man. What I got will take that away. It’ll make everything smooth.”

  “Smooth?”

  He held up a clear vial. “Smooth, man.”

  Joshua let the door close. “What is it?”

  “China white.”

  “China white?”

  The guy nodded. “Best you can buy.”

  Joshua’s gaze shifted to the other two musicians. They were leaning against the building now, their bodies slack. He didn’t need that. He needed energy and then he needed sleep. He didn’t need oblivion.

  The guy held the vial out in the palm of his hand. “Take it. Free sample.” He took a step toward Joshua.

  Joshua pulled open the door. “No, I don’t think so.”

  The guy slipped the vial in his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper. “Take my business card then.” He held it out to Joshua. “When you get tired of the twitches, call me.”

  Joshua shook his head. Phil was bad enough. He wasn’t dealing with a common two-bit drug dealer.

  The guy came forward and grabbed Joshua’s hand, shoving the scrap of paper inside. “You got some pipes, man. You got some pipes.” Then he turned and jogged down the alleyway, jumping over the musicians’ legs and disappearing around the corner.

  Joshua glanced at the number, then crumpled it up. He started to throw it into the alley, but he caught sight of his leg, the strange twitching he couldn’t control. Closing his eyes, he shoved the number into his pocket, then went back inside.

  * * *

  Peyton leaned on the back of the little blue Ford Escort. The front of the car looked like an accordion, only so much twisted, collapsed metal. The driver’s side door had been pushed nearly to the passenger seat and where the passenger seat had been was a twisted bit of crumpled cushion. Looking at the car, Peyton was amazed anyone had survived.

  As she folded out the printer paper, she could hear Jake taking pictures behind her. She’d gotten the on-scene officer to fax her his report as she’d hurried to pick Jake up, then they’d come straight to the impounds yard. This was the first time she’d had an opportunity to look at what he sent and she dreaded what she’d find. She liked Antonio. He was a good kid, but even good kids did stupid stuff sometimes.

  The ride over had been tense. Jake was warring with his anger that she hadn’t called the previous night and she was anxious to do what Marco had asked her, so they spoke little to one another. Abe called on the way, so she handed the phone to Jake. He gave Abe a terse explanation of what was going on, then hung up. Peyton half expected him to complain about her, but he hadn’t said anything and handed her phone back without looking at her.

  As soon as they’d been directed to the car, Jake had begun taking pictures, so she left him to that. She already apologized enough and she wasn’t about to tell him what really happened, so there was nothing more to say on the subject.

  She didn’t examine why she was reluctant to explain where she’d been. Nothing had happened between her and Ravensong, yet she felt a need to protect him and she didn’t really want anyone else knowing what he’d been going through when she found him. Of course, that brought up a host of other issues – for one, her need to protect people that were accused of doing really bad things. No one understood that, not Marco, not her captain, and certainly not Devan. It had cost her one serious relationship and she wasn’t sure even Jake would understand it, despite the fact that it had helped him directly.

  Forcing herself to focus, she read through the report. The on-scene officer estimated Antonio’s speed at 60 mph, far too fast for a residential street. He’d been coming down 30th Avenue, turning right on Balboa when he lost control of the car. He’d smashed the little Escort into a bank of trees that bordered the soccer field. The cop attributed the damage to both doors from impact with the trees.

  Peyton turned around and studied the interior of the car. Although the passenger side was badly damaged, the greatest damage had occurred on the driver’s side. The driver’s seat had been shoved nearly into the area where the passenger was. If he was turning right, lost control and jumped the sidewalk, wouldn’t the first impact have come on the right side?

  Jake was taking pictures of the front of the car, trying to shoot over the dashboard. The deflated airbags blocked the view, so he angled around to the driver’s side door to shoot the interior. With a heavy exhalation, he glanced up at her.

  “How the hell did they survive this?”

  Peyton shook her head. “Modern cars are made to crumple like that.”

  “Yeah, but look where the driver’s seat is.”

  “I know. According to the report, the side damage was caused by trees, but I don’t understand how that works if he was turning right. Most of the damage is on the left side.”

  Jake continued taking pictures. “Was he drinking?”

  Peyton spread the papers out on the trunk and continued reading. “His blood alcohol level was below the legal limit, but…”

  “He’s a minor.”

  “Right. It doesn’t matter. Any amount is illegal.”

  “Shit.” Jake hunkered down by the car and continued snapping. “What did Marco say about the other kid?”

  “If he survives, he’ll be paralyzed.”

  “Damn. There’s just no good outcome to this, Mighty Mouse.”

  “I know.” She scrutinized the car again. “Why is so much damage on the left side, Jake? How come I can’t get a visual of this?”

  “Didn’t the officer include a diagram?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to go out there and canvas the scene ourselves. I’m almost done here.”

  Peyton read over the report again, searching for something she missed. Neighbors across the street heard the crash and came running out. They called 911 within a few minutes and paramedics were on the scene in less than five. No one witnessed the actual crash, but many of them
reported hearing squealing tires just before impact.

  “Peyton?”

  Peyton glanced up.

  “Come here a minute.”

  Peyton folded the report and edged around the back of the car. Jake was kneeling by the dent in the driver’s door.

  “Look here,” he said, pointing to a spot in the twisted metal.

  Peyton hunkered down beside him and studied where he pointed. She could see where the blue paint had been scraped away, down to the metal, but just to the right of it was a streak of white.

  “That didn’t come from no tree,” said Jake.

  Peyton fingered the paint. A bit flaked off on her hand. “No, so what the hell else did he hit?”

  * * *

  Jake reached for his camera bag as Peyton pulled the Corolla up in front of the houses that bordered George Washington High School. They could see the accident scene roped off with yellow caution tape up ahead, but except for a couple walking their dog in the street, no one else was around. Late afternoon sun shone through the trees, casting a dappling of shadows on the road.

  Opening the door, Jake climbed out. He set the camera bag on the Corolla’s hood and removed the camera. He began taking pictures as they walked toward the scene. Peyton angled out away from him, walking into the middle of the street.

  Skid marks from the Escort were clearly visible as if Antonio had tried to break before making the turn. They carried up and onto the sidewalk, then disappeared as the cement gave way to the loam beneath the trees.

  Jake stepped into the trees and continued taking pictures. Damage to the trunks was extreme and pieces of metal were strewn about the area. A tree on the right had been uprooted and tilted backward precariously and the one right in front of Jake, closest to the soccer field had a huge chunk taken out of the center of it where he presumed the front bumper had made its final impact.

  Turning back to the street, he noticed that Peyton was squatting by the skid marks. Behind her, a man stood in the driveway of his home, watching them. Jake snapped off a picture of her, then wandered in her direction.

  She glanced up when he stopped in front of her. “This must be from the Escort.” She laid her hand on a set of narrow tread marks that angled directly into the trees.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it is.”

  She moved her hand and touched a second set of skid marks. These angled to the right and were wider, the tread a different pattern. “Then what the hell are these?”

  Jake frowned. “Old marks?”

  Peyton shook her head. “They’re as dark as the first ones.”

  Jake lifted the camera and began shooting the different marks. “Doesn’t the department have an expert who can look at the tread marks and identify the car?”

  “Yep, so make sure you get a good shot of each of them.”

  Jake lowered the camera. “What if this is where the white paint came from? Maybe he sideswiped someone?”

  Peyton shrugged, then swiveled to look at the houses. She spotted the man standing in the driveway and pushed herself to her feet. Reaching for her badge, she walked over to him. “Inspector Brooks with the San Francisco Police Department,” she said, holding out the badge.

  He looked at it, then nodded. “There were cops out here last night and this morning again. Did the kids make it?”

  “They’re in intensive care right now.” She looked up at the house. “Do you live here?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jake surreptitiously snapped off a picture of the house. It was the third one down the block from Balboa, a cream colored single home with curved windows all across the front.

  “Did you see anything last night?”

  “I was in bed. All of a sudden I heard tires squeal and then a loud crash. My wife started hitting me in the shoulder, telling me to get up.”

  “Did you come out?”

  “Yeah, I called 911 and ran over to the car, but I couldn’t get them out. The firemen had to use those cutty things.”

  “The jaws of life?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long did it take you to get out here?”

  The man shrugged. “I was asleep, so I had to put on some pants and find my shoes. Maybe two…three minutes.” He gave Peyton a puzzled look. “It was a couple of teenagers, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So why all the cops?”

  “Just making sure we have all the details. When you got out here, was there only the blue Escort?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No other car, maybe a white one?”

  “No, just the Ford.”

  Jake lifted the camera and took a picture of the building next door to the man’s, a pale blue duplex. It also sported an entire front wall of windows. He wondered if anyone might have seen something from there. They were even closer than the man in the cream-colored house.

  Peyton must have thought the same thing. “Who lives next door?” She pointed to the duplex.

  “The one on the right is empty. Older couple, wife died and the husband couldn’t keep it. I think it’s for sale, but the one on the left is two gay guys.”

  “Are they usually home this time of day?”

  “Naw, they’re on a cruise or something. We’re getting their mail for them. They won’t be back until Tuesday, I think. I’ll have to ask the wife.”

  “Thank you.” Peyton reached for one of her ubiquitous business cards and handed it to the man. “If you remember anything else, will you let me know?”

  “Sure.”

  Jake lowered the camera and pressed the button to view the pictures he took. He thumbed back through them to make sure that he got everything he needed. He was particularly concerned about the tread marks. They looked clear in the viewfinder, so he hoped they’d be even crisper on a computer screen. Thumbing back in the other direction, he stopped at the blue duplex.

  Something caught his eye near the eaves on the left side. He pressed the picture to zoom in and squinted in concentration. The dark spot beneath the gutter looked like a lens. Lowering the camera, he glanced up at the house, then walked across the street until he was standing in the far left driveway. Tilting back his head, he could just make out a camera mounted above a window.

  “Inspector Brooks,” he called.

  She strolled down the street until she was next to him.

  He pointed. “Isn’t that a camera?”

  “It sure is.” She turned around and tracked where it pointed. “It looks like it’s directed right at the school.”

  “Yep,” said the man. He’d followed them over to the driveway. “Chase, the guy who owns this place, was sick of all the kids drinking under the trees, so he installed it to show the principal at the school.”

  “Is it on all of the time?”

  “Far as I know.”

  Peyton removed a second card. “Do you have a pen, Jake?”

  “Hold on.” He jogged over to the Corolla and opened the camera case. He kept a pencil in the inner pocket and he fished it out. Peyton and the man had wandered over to him while he searched for it.

  Handing her the pencil, he watched as she wrote something on the back of the card, then handed it to the man. “Will you give this to Chase and ask him to call me as soon as he gets back from vacation? We need to see that tape.”

  The man tapped the card against his palm. “Got it.”

  “Thank you.” She held out her hand and the man shook it. “I appreciate the help.”

  “No problem. Just hope the kids are okay.”

  Peyton smiled at him as she reached for her car keys. “So do I,” she said, “so do I.”

  * * *

  Jake wanted to return to the Saint Francis with her. They checked in at the visitor’s desk and waited by the elevators. She hadn’t heard from Marco again and she felt anxious. Not to mention the mixed bag of information she had to give him. Unless Antonio or Billy Miller could tell them what happened, everything hung on the possibility of a surveillance tape.

 
; “I hate hospitals,” muttered Jake.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  He shifted nervously.

  “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

  A grunt was her only response.

  She canted a look sideways at him. “Still hate me?”

  He rocked on his heels. “No one makes me as mad as you do. Frickin’ assed cops always think they’re invincible.”

  She smiled and bumped him with her shoulder. A moment later, the elevator opened and they waited until a couple with two little children exited. Stepping inside, she leaned against the back wall. It was nearly 6:00PM and she was tired. Besides a bag of chips she’d grabbed at home, she’d had nothing to eat all day.

  Jake pushed the button for the seventh floor, then reached out to stop the door as it slid closed. The door opened again and a young man pushed through the opening, punching the button for six.

  “Thanks,” he said and Jake nodded.

  Peyton glanced up at the numbers as the door closed again. They couldn’t stay long. Pickles was waiting for dinner and he would definitely need to go out in a few hours, but she hated to leave Marco alone here.

  As the floors began climbing, Peyton shifted her attention to the black box she’d noticed earlier. Frowning, she moved closer to it. “Jake, does every elevator have a camera?”

  Jake glanced up as well. “I think so. For security in case the elevator stalls. That’s why they have a phone. Why do you ask?”

  “People have cameras everywhere now. Street corners, houses, but that condo building on Russian Hill didn’t have anything except in the garage.”

  “Right.”

  “What about the elevator?”

  The young man looked over, but Peyton ignored him.

  Jake shrugged. “I’ll bet the elevator had one. Still, what will that prove? We know Ravensong was in the building.”

  “Ravensong? The rock star?” said the young man. “I read something about that.”

  Peyton moved closer to Jake, dropping her voice. “Maybe it’ll show us if he had the murder weapon. If I saw the murder weapon in his hand, I’d be more certain…” She trailed off and glanced over her shoulder at the young man.