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

by M. L. Hamilton

  The man’s face crumpled and he braced his forehead with a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just lost it. I was so damn pissed. I just wanted to teach them a lesson. I’m so sorry.”

  Marco sighed. “Well, you did. You taught them a lesson.” He leaned close, steadying himself on the arm of the chair. “The worst part is, you ruined three lives that night. Theirs and…yours.”

  * * *

  Peyton drove back to her house. Marco didn’t say anything the entire way; he just sat with his hands braced on his thighs, staring out the side window of the Charger. Peyton wanted to say something, but they’d been together long enough that she knew sometimes he just needed the silence.

  She pulled in the driveway and he climbed out. Together they walked up the stairs to her door and she unlocked it. She hadn’t asked him if he wanted to go home. That wasn’t an option for her, and she suspected he was glad to have her take the decision away from him. She’d pick up her Corolla in the morning. It would be safe enough at a police station.

  Pickles came running when she opened the door, but he immediately sensed something was wrong and he walked to Marco with his tail between his legs. Marco bent and picked him up as Peyton turned on the lights. Reaching around her, he grabbed Pickles’ leash from the peg by the door and snapped it to his collar, then he went back out the door. Peyton watched after him, but she let the two of them disappear around the corner of the house without following.

  Tossing her keys and her license on the sofa table, she shrugged out of her leather coat, kicked off her boots, and hung her gun beside the door, then she walked into the kitchen and ordered a pizza from Marco’s favorite pizzeria down the street.

  Pulling open the lower cabinet, she grabbed the Jack Daniels bottle and two shot glasses, setting them on the counter. If there was ever a time for their ritual, this was it. Many years ago during a particularly difficult case, they’d made it up and they only performed it when the trials of their job began to tell on them.

  Picking up Pickles’ food bowl, she filled it, then gave him fresh water. She was just pouring the first shot when Marco and Pickles returned. He released Pickles from the leash and hung it by the door. A subdued Pickles padded into the kitchen and began eating.

  Peyton finished pouring the shots and pushed a glass over to him as he took a seat on one of the bar stools. Lifting the glass, she said, “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.” She tossed back the shot, closing her eyes and bracing her hand flat on the counter.

  “He leadth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.” Marco drank his and gave a shudder. “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”

  Peyton filled their glasses. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” She brought the glass to her lips again and let it blaze its path down her throat. As she lowered it, the door opened and Jake walked through.

  He took in the scene with weary eyes as he tossed his keys on the sofa table and shrugged out of his coat. Peyton and Marco watched him hang the coat next to hers, then he walked over to the counter and climbed on the stool next to Marco.

  Peyton reached down and grabbed a shot glass for him, filling it with Jack Daniels and sliding it over to him.

  “Where are you?”

  “Thy rod.”

  He thought for a moment, then lifted his glass. “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.” Slamming back the shot, he banged his fist on the counter. “Oh, God that burns.”

  Peyton and Marco shared a smile.

  “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.” Marco tossed his back.

  Peyton refilled. “Thou annointest my head with oil.” She sucked in cold air after the shot, trying to ease the burn.

  “My cup runneth over,” said Jake. His fingers closed around the shot reflexively as he brought it to his mouth. His lips pulled back tight against his teeth as he swallowed.

  “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.” Marco stared at the amber liquid a moment, then he released his held breath. Peyton could see his shoulders relaxing. Lifting the glass, he saluted her, then he downed it and slammed the empty glass on the counter again.

  CHAPTER 16

  Joshua pushed open the door to the studio and stopped. James, Evan and Ben were gathered around Phil. They hadn’t seen the manager in more than a month as he went about promoting his new, younger band.

  A flush of anger rose in Joshua’s face, but it drained away a moment later. The drugs made everything seem so slow and liquid, he couldn’t hold on to an emotion for long. He let the door close behind him and he walked toward his brother.

  James threw his arm across Joshua’s shoulders pulling him up against him. “Phil has some great news, Joshy.”

  Joshua met the manager’s sheepish look. “I’ll bet he does.”

  “Tell him.”

  Phil scratched at the back of his neck. Joshua could tell he was feeling uncomfortable. Well, he deserved more than discomfort.

  “Yeah, tell me your news, Phil.”

  “I got Blazes a gig in Los Vegas. You’ll be playing at one of the smaller casinos, but it’s on the strip.”

  Joshua gave him a grim smile. “And just who are we opening for?”

  “Opening for? You’re the headliners.” He beamed at them and held his hands out as if he wanted applause.

  James and the others laughed and high fived each other, but Joshua wasn’t fooled. He narrowed his eyes on the manager, but Phil wouldn’t completely meet his gaze.

  “So you guys gotta clean up that new stuff. It’s amazing and they’re gonna love it, but you gotta set down those riffs, James. You’ve got two weeks to get it dialed in, then we fly out of here.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “I’ll bring the contract by tomorrow.”

  James released Joshua and hugged Phil. The other band members gathered around, patting him on the back and shaking his hand. Joshua wandered away, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa they used to nap on when they played late into the night. Rubbing his arm, he watched them fawn over Phil as if he’d given them a kidney or something.

  With another admonishment to get back to work, Phil extricated himself and headed toward the door, which brought him right by Joshua. James and Evan started talking about the future, while Ben went back to his drums.

  “So what happened?” asked Joshua as the manager came alongside him.

  Phil gave him that practiced smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. Where’s your hot, young singer and his high school mates?”

  His eyes tracked over Joshua. “He wasn’t you.”

  A laugh rumbled out of Joshua’s chest. “He wasn’t me?” He leaned forward a bit unsteadily. “How stupid do you think I am?”

  “Actually, I was wondering how high you are.”

  “What do you care? You have your new band.”

  Phil cast a look over his shoulder, but the others were too absorbed in the news he’d given them. “Why didn’t you tell James?”

  Joshua’s gaze lifted to his brother. He’d wanted to, he’d intended to.

  “I know why.”

  Joshua looked at him again.

  “You didn’t want me to tell him what an addict you are and you knew I would if you ratted me out.”

  Joshua gave him a slow, condescending smile. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re back, playing the hero, rescuing us from obscurity. Just tell me. Humor me. What happened to the other band?”

  “Like I told you, the singer wasn’t you. He didn’t have the voice or the talent or the ability to write his own shit. Even stoned off your ass, you’ve got it.” He reached out and tried to pat Joshua’s cheek, but Joshua slapped his hand away. Phil didn’t seem to care. “And he sure didn’t have your pretty face. So I figure
d, I could try and make him something he wasn’t, or I could come back to you. Here I am.” His look grew cunning. “So tell me what you need, sunshine?”

  Joshua pushed himself to his feet and bumped Phil with his shoulder as he walked away. “Not a damn thing from you, you backstabbing bastard,” he answered.

  * * *

  Peyton took a seat on the coffee table, facing Marco. He was sprawled out on her couch, his hands folded on his belly, his head resting on the arm, sleeping. She’d put a blanket over him when he’d fallen asleep, but Pickles had made a nest in it, curling up on Marco’s thighs.

  “Hey, sleeping beauty,” she called.

  He blinked open his eyes, looking around in confusion, then recognition lighted in their blue depths. He rolled his head on the arm and squinted at her.

  She held up a cup of coffee.

  Scrubbing a hand across his face, he carefully eased out from under Pickles and sat up, reaching for the mug. She held out her other hand and when he extended his palm, she dropped two aspirins in it. He tossed the aspirins back with a sip of coffee.

  “You are the best partner a man could want,” he said, cupping his hands around the mug.

  “I was going to present you with flapjacks, but Defino called.”

  “And?”

  “O’Shannahan came back last night.”

  He sipped at his coffee.

  “She doesn’t want me to question him alone.”

  “Of course not.” He looked around. “Just let me splash some water on my face and we’ll go. You got any mouthwash?”

  She smiled at him. “Go take a shower. We’ve got time. And there’s mouthwash in the medicine cabinet. There’s also a new toothbrush in there as well, still in its box. You can have that.” When he gave her a frown, she shrugged. “I bought it for Devan.”

  He planted a kiss on her forehead as he levered himself to his feet, still holding his coffee. “His loss,” he said, staring directly in her eyes, then he turned and headed for her room. He passed Jake at the entrance to the hallway and the two men gave a grunt of recognition, then he was gone.

  Jake leaned against the arch, looking hung over. He wore a faded pair of sweats and a tank top, his hair disheveled. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” she said. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her closed bedroom door. “I’ll get some in a minute. Why are you up so early?”

  “O’Shannahan’s back. Marco and I are going to question him.” She started to rise. “Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

  “It’s okay, Peyton, really. I need to talk to you.”

  Peyton sat down again. She hated when people said that. It never meant anything good. Maybe he was moving out. For some reason, that thought bothered her. She liked having Jake around. He livened things up, made the house seem less empty.

  “I need to walk Pickles, but I won’t be long.”

  He moved around the couch, casting a skeptical look at the dog. “I’ll do it later. Pickles seems perfectly content to me.”

  And he was. He’d rolled over on his back, his paws folded against his chest.

  Jake sat down in Marco’s spot, directly across from her. “I really need to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” She rubbed her hands on her jeans, wishing the aspirin would hurry up and kick in. “What’s up?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, I got a call to meet Simons and Cho at a hostel on Isadora Duncan.”

  Peyton blew out air in relief. He wasn’t going to tell her he was moving out, unless he was moving to that particular hostel, but his apartment in the Tenderloin had to be more upscale than that. “Okay?”

  “When I got there, I saw a man hanging from a ceiling fan.”

  “Hanging? As in suicide?”

  “That’s what I thought at first, but Simons pointed out the guy’s hands were tied behind his back with a belt.”

  “I see.”

  Jake tented his hands, touching the tips of his fingers together. “Actually, you don’t. I have to go back further. Do you remember when you got the call for Terry Ravensong’s murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I went first to a call at a BART station.”

  “I remember.”

  “Bum who’d been shot in the back of the head, execution style.”

  She nodded. “Cho said they didn’t have any leads.”

  “They don’t.” Jake clasped his hands. “When I processed the scene, I found a card in his back pocket.”

  “Card?”

  “Business card.”

  “Okay?”

  “It said two words on it. Just two words.”

  “What words, Jake?”

  “Clean-up Crew.”

  “And?”

  “Last night, the dead guy had a card in his hands. It said…”

  “Clean-up Crew,” she added.

  Jake nodded. “Peyton, when Abe and I were taking pictures of the bum, we did some research on him. He had a criminal record.”

  “Right. Cho said he’d served time for child molestation.”

  “Yeah.” Jake pointed his clasped hands at her. “Last night I did some research on our latest guy. He also has a record.”

  “Let me guess. Child molestation.”

  Jake gave a short nod.

  “You’ve got a serial killer here.”

  “That’s what Simons said.”

  “Let them handle it, Jake. They’re great cops. They’ll get him.”

  Jake closed his eyes briefly and drew a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, Mighty Mouse. Maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe they should just let this guy do his thing. These men were child molesters. They deserved what they got and maybe we should let vengeance take its course.”

  Peyton straightened her back. “That’s a dark place to go, Jake, a very dark place.”

  “How?”

  “This guy is a murderer. He’s not Batman. And this isn’t what we do. We stop the killers, we don’t make judgment calls about whether they are justified in what they do or not. Those decisions are for people like Devan to make. Lawyers, judges, juries, not us.”

  His look was intense. “Are you going to tell me that it hasn’t crossed your mind just once that it would be so much easier if you just pulled the trigger, if you just took care of the problem yourself?”

  Peyton leaned forward and grasped his forearm. “I’m not gonna lie and tell you the thought hasn’t crossed my mind, but it’s nothing more than a thought. My daddy used to say a cop didn’t have the luxury of playing God. His job was containment and containment only. We stop the chaos, we stop the madness, we don’t decide whether it is wrong or right. We have our laws and we must adhere to them, because anything else leads to anarchy.”

  Jake rubbed his hands across his face. “I know you’re right, but it’s so hard. How can anyone justify protecting a child molester, giving him due process?”

  Peyton smiled sadly and ran her hand up and down his arm to soothe him. “Poor Jake. What did I do to you? I should have just left you in the bank, safe and secure and happy.”

  He covered her fingers with his own. “Not happy. I was never happy there.” He shook his head. “Yeah, it might be hard and I might question it, but I think I’m actually doing something with my life for a change. Something beneficial.”

  She squeezed his fingers, then looked up as Marco threw open her bedroom door.

  “Let’s go shake down a preacher man,” he said.

  * * *

  Peyton knocked on O’Shannahan’s door for the second time in as many days. Kristin opened it a crack and peeked out. Today she wore a pair of khaki capris and a navy blue polo shirt with flat heeled loafers. Her brown hair was pulled back in a navy headband. She made an aggravated noise when she recognized Peyton.

  “Inspector Brooks, my husband is just leaving for a game of golf in Redwood City. He has a long drive and he doesn’t have time for this.”

  “We won’t take much time, Mrs. O’Sh
annahan. We’ll even walk him to his car.”

  “That won’t be necessary. He has no information to give you. As I told you before, you have your man, Inspector. Let the dead rest in peace.”

  Peyton started to answer her, but O’Shannahan’s voice came from beyond the door. “Let the inspectors in, Kristin. We have nothing to hide. As it says in Second Corinthians, ‘Make room for us in your hearts. We have wronged no one, we have corrupted no one, we have exploited no one.’ And we have nothing to fear, but fear itself.” He pulled the door open and beamed a smile at them.

  “The last part was a nice touch,” said Peyton.

  “Whatever do you mean, Inspector Brooks?”

  “Combining the Bible with FDR.”

  O’Shannahan gave her a confused look.

  “Nothing to fear…” She shook her head. “Forget it. Can we have a word with you, Reverend?”

  “Certainly.” He motioned them into the foyer.

  Peyton started over the threshold, then she paused and looked back at Marco. This was his first time in this house since he had a gun pressed against his skull.

  He gave her a wry look. “Man up, Brooks,” he said, placing a hand in the center of her back and propelling her inside.

  For the first time, she looked at O’Shannahan fully. He was dressed in yellow checked golf pants with a yellow polo, and he had leather gloves on his hands. Her eyes zeroed in on his hands immediately.

  “I thought Mrs. O’Shannahan said you were playing golf in Redwood City.”

  “I am. Lovely little course in Woodside.”

  “That’s a bit of a drive, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it’s nice to get out of the fog.”

  Peyton gave him a tight smile. “I’m just wondering why you’re wearing your gloves already, Reverend. Isn’t that a bit premature?”

  Kristin glared at Peyton, but when Peyton looked over at her, she dropped her eyes and stared hard at the toes of her loafers. Her arms were crossed over her stomach as if she were hugging herself.