Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  She shrugged. “I just felt she was too old for him and really wished he’d meet someone a lot closer to his age, but I think he really did love her.”

  “I see. Did you ever notice them fighting?”

  “No, nothing more than any other couple. I just can’t understand it. Who would want to do Matt harm? I’d expect Meilin to be the target before my son.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just because of that television show and then there was the problem.”

  Peyton glanced at Marco. “What problem?”

  “With the show. It was something to do with her identity or something. The show’s legal consultant thought she went by a different name.”

  “Why did he think that?”

  “Near as I can figure it, someone called and reported it to them.”

  “Who did he think she was?”

  “I can’t remember the name. It was something really common, the first name, but it escapes me.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about your son?”

  Mrs. Jensen’s eyes grew liquid. “Just that I don’t know what I’ll do without him. He was my rock, he helped me face everything.”

  Peyton patted her hand. “Is there anyone helping you now?”

  “I have an aide that comes three times a week. Meilin paid for that.”

  “Any other family?”

  She sighed. “I have a cousin in New York. I might go back there to be closer to her.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, Inspector. I’m tired and I think I’d like to rest.”

  Peyton pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you for talking with us, Mrs. Jensen.”

  “Of course. If you find out anything, will you let me know?”

  “Yes we will. Again I’m so sorry.”

  Using her cane, she levered herself to her feet. “Thank you, Inspector. That means a lot.”

  She trailed behind them as they moved toward the front door. Peyton pulled it open and stepped down onto the walk, headed for the Charger, Marco on her heels.

  “Inspector Brooks,” called the older woman.

  Peyton paused and turned back around. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “The name…the name I can’t remember…”

  “Yes?”

  “Some flower or something. I wish I could recall what it was.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jensen,” said Peyton, lifting a hand in salute just as her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out as they reached the Charger.

  Marco opened the door for her as she read the text message.

  “Abe wants us to meet him at Rasselas on Fillmore.”

  He shrugged. “The jazz club? I could use a drink. What about you?”

  “I guess so. Jake and Maria are also meeting us there.”

  “More’s the merrier,” he said, placing a hand on her elbow as she climbed into the car.

  * * *

  Rasselas was a jazz club and Ethiopian restaurant on the corner of Fillmore and Geary. It was always crowded, especially on a Friday night, but Abe had secured a table to the right of the bar, against the red brick back wall.

  People danced in a little area before the band, swaying to the smooth sounds of a jazz saxophone and the sultry voice of a female singer whose ample curves stretched the fabric of her blue sequined dress in all the right places. She gave Marco a wink as he and Peyton pushed through the crowds to Abe’s table.

  Maria and Jake were already there. Jake was drinking a beer, but Abe and Maria had a green drink with Honeydew melon balls floating across the top of it.

  “What is that?” Peyton shouted over the crowd.

  “It’s aptly called the Melon Ball,” said Abe, holding it up for her to see.

  “Why is it green?”

  “Midori. Want one, soul sista?”

  “No, I’ll have what Jake’s drinking.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Marco, moving toward the bar.

  Peyton squeezed into the chair between Abe and Maria. Leaning toward the other woman, she said, “You know never to drink anything Abe drinks, right?”

  “It looked fun.” She gave Peyton a frank look. “I need a little fun.” Then her face screwed up as if she saw something unpleasant. “Couldn’t you have at least put down your hair and brushed it out?”

  Peyton rolled her eyes and leaned back. Maria was obviously feeling better. Her eyes caught on Maria’s sling. Bright glass bangles lined the entire edge of it. “What the hell is this?” she said, touching it.

  “Abe bedazzled it.”

  Abe gave her a wink over the top of his Melon Ball.

  Peyton leaned back into him. “You’ve always wanted your own doll to play dress up with, haven’t you?”

  He made a kissing motion with his lips. “Let’s just say you aren’t her.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Jake was smiling at the exchange.

  “You have something to say?” she challenged.

  He shrugged and lifted his beer for a swig. “Nothing, except I agree with Maria. Always did like your hair down better.”

  Marco returned and passed her a beer, then squeezed into the only chair left between Jake and Abe at the very back of the table.

  “Hey, Marco baby,” said Maria, flashing him a sweet smile.

  “Hey, Maria,” he said, tilting his beer toward her in salute.

  Abe leaned close to him. “What about a dance, Angel’D?”

  “Not on your life.”

  Abe pouted at him, but he reached over and tapped Jake’s shoulder. “Come on, Jake. Let’s go dance.”

  “I’m not dancing either.”

  “Stop being a chicken and get out there, Ryder,” said Peyton.

  Maria placed her drink on the table and rose to her feet, holding out her hand. “I’ll go with you. The three of us can dance as a group.”

  Jake shook his head, but Maria emphatically snapped her hand at him. “Come on, Ryder. It wouldn’t hurt you to loosen up a bit.”

  Peyton smiled as Maria grabbed his hand and tugged him upright. Abe squeezed past her, hurrying to Jake’s other side and taking his arm. Jake looked back over his shoulder in mock panic as they led him to the dance floor.

  Abe dragged the two of them into the very middle, then began a ridiculous long limbed shimmy that had even Jake laughing.

  Sliding into Abe’s seat, Peyton lifted her beer and took a sip.

  “Abe is certifiable,” said Marco, watching them.

  Peyton leaned back in her chair, enjoying the moment of solitude with her partner. “Maria looks like she’s having fun.”

  “Yeah. It’s hard not to when Abe’s around.” He gave a laugh and lifted his beer. “Ryder is so freakin’ white.”

  Peyton grinned as she watched Jake bop up and down in dubious rhythm to the music. “He’s a good sport.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sometimes though, I could kill him.”

  Marco glanced over at her. “Why?”

  “He called my mother and she came over to check up on me.”

  “Whew! He’s one ballsy damn fool,” Marco said with a chuckle.

  Peyton nodded, reaching for a handful of nuts in the center of the table. “I wasn’t thrilled.”

  “She get on you about your job?”

  “Of course. It was subtle, but she had to work it in, even after I told her I wasn’t on the job when it happened.”

  He shifted to look at her. “You can’t really blame her, can you?”

  Peyton glanced at him. “I guess not.” She tilted her bottle and looked inside. “She told me Cliff asked her to marry him.”

  Marco set down his beer without drinking. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t know what to say. She told me she said no, but…”

  “But?”

  “She said he made her happy, Marco.”

  He put a hand on the back of Peyton’s chair and leaned closer so she could hear him. “Brooks, I know how hard this must be for you.”

&nb
sp; She shook her head and took another drink. “I don’t want to be maudlin, but it’s a little too much to take all at once.”

  “Maudlin?”

  “Means morose, depressed.”

  “Right.”

  She looked out at the dance floor. Abe was twirling them both around by the hands and Jake was trying to break free. “Abe gave me a word of the day calendar last Christmas.”

  “I see.” He gave her a speculative look. “What do you mean it’s a little too much to take?”

  “First Devan, now my mother.” She met Marco’s look. “I told her to accept his proposal.”

  “That had to be hard.”

  “What could I do? I want her to be happy, but it still hurts to realize that after she marries Cliff, I really will be all alone.”

  “That’s not true, Peyton.”

  “Isn’t it? You’ve been right all along, Marco. Cops should not have serious relationships. It’s not fair to either party.”

  “That’s not completely true.”

  “It is.” She gave him a weary smile. “I’m tired of trying to fight it. I’ll be alone forever as long as I remain a cop.”

  He drew a deep breath, his hand closing into a fist on the table. “Peyton, it could be different.”

  “How?” She looked directly into his blue eyes. “How can it be different? Once my mother marries Cliff, the only thing I have, the only thing that makes any sense or has any meaning is my job. It is the one thing I can count on, the one thing that will always be there.” She looked back out at the dance floor. “I’ve just got to tell myself that it’s enough.”

  He went still beside her, his eyes searching her face. She didn’t meet his look, she didn’t want him to try to convince her otherwise. The first step to making peace with the future was to embrace it, she decided.

  CHAPTER 7

  Gabby found Buck Reiter fishing off a white-washed wooden dock on the edge of his property. The small lake was tangled with mangroves and kudzu vines. The older man had on hip-waders and a faded blue fishing hat, covered in lures.

  He smiled as Gabby came up beside him. “You bring your pole?”

  “No, not much into fishing. Catch anything?”

  “Naw, they’re taking a nap right now.” He reeled in the line, then cast again.

  “How was Alaska?”

  “Fishing was great.” He gave her a smile, his grey mustache lifting. “Not much for the weather though. Missed the humidity.”

  Gabby pulled her t-shirt away from her skin and backed up where a mangrove tree cast shade over the dock. “I could do with a little less of it, myself.”

  “Grab us a couple of chairs,” he said, nodding over her shoulder at two folding chairs lying on the dock.

  Gabby picked them up and unfolded one behind him. She set hers back in the shade, close enough to feel a slight breeze tickle through the mangrove branches. He used one hand to pull the chair closer, the other keeping a tight grip on the pole, then he sat down.

  As soon as he made himself comfortable, he opened a cooler that had been sitting beside him and grabbed a can of beer, holding it out to Gabby. She glanced at her watch. It was a little after 10:00AM, but the condensation running down the sides of the can was more temptation than she could resist. She popped it open and pressed it against her neck, so she could feel the chill from the ice on her overheated skin. It was only 80 degrees right now, but nearly 90% humidity.

  Buck popped his own can and took a swig. “Let me tell you, retirement is when you really start to live.”

  “Seems that way.” She leaned forward and braced her arms on her thighs, taking a sip of the beer. The cold bite of it was like heaven. “I need to talk to you about the Witan murders, Buck.”

  “Witan murders?” He didn’t even look at her, his attention fixed on the fishing pole. “You said that in your message, but I’ve been wracking my brain and I just don’t remember it.”

  “Two doctors, murdered in a home invasion robbery. Their daughter found them when she returned from prom.”

  “Lord, how many years ago was that?”

  “Nearly twenty.”

  “Yeah, long time. You get a new lead?”

  “Carol Witan’s mother recently died and her granddaughter found a key to a safe deposit box.” She sketched out everything their investigation had found, except for the most important thing – the fact that Lily Witan was adopted.

  “Sounds like the old lady lost it a little, cutting out the pictures, tearing pages out of the scrapbook.”

  “Do you remember her?”

  He shrugged, reeling in the line. “I have a vague memory of her.”

  “What about Lily, Buck? Do you remember the girl?”

  “I remember a young girl, but that’s about all.”

  Gabby lifted her beer and took another sip. “How come you didn’t indicate Lily Witan was adopted, Buck? Nowhere in the file does it disclose that.”

  He went still.

  Gabby had a strange feeling that he remembered a whole lot more about the case than he was telling her.

  He shifted on the folding chair, letting the tip of the pole touch the water. “The media was all over that case and she was just a young girl, just turned eighteen. The investigators were trying to protect her.”

  “From what?”

  “From everyone knowing that she was adopted. It was bad enough that she found her parents, but can you imagine the way the media would have gone after her, trying to find out everything about her past?”

  Gabby set the beer down beside her chair. “Did you ever consider her a suspect, Buck?”

  He looked bewildered. “Why would she be a suspect? She was at the prom all night.”

  “But she disappeared after their deaths, right?”

  “She couldn’t take it anymore, living under the scrutiny all the time, and then when that boy killed himself…”

  Gabby straightened. “What boy?”

  “I don’t remember his name. He lived on the same street as Lily.”

  “Grant Sanderson?”

  “Right. That was his name. Grant Sanderson.” He sighed. “It was too much for her and she had to get away. She said that street was cursed.”

  “Did you actually talk to Lily?”

  “When I came on the case, it was already about six months old. I talked to her just before she left.”

  “What about Grant Sanderson’s parents?”

  “They refused to talk to me.”

  “Were he and Lily connected in anyway?”

  “They went to the same school, lived on the same street.”

  “Did you know that Lily’s grandfather, Philip Messette, reported a stolen gun three weeks before the Witans’ murders? A Colt .45.”

  He nodded. “I remember that.”

  “And did you know that the Witans were shot with a .45?”

  “I seem to remember it.”

  “But you didn’t think Lily might be a suspect?”

  “Read through the file again, Gabby. Officers on the scene did a powder test and found nothing on her. She was clean.”

  “She was covered in their blood.”

  “From trying to revive them. The girl was destroyed by this. She couldn’t function, she barely graduated.”

  “She was failing most of her classes before this happened. Did you think to ask her if she was being sexually assaulted? If her father was molesting her?”

  Buck rose to his feet, setting his pole on the dock. “What are you trying to say, Detective?”

  Gabby rose also. “I’m saying that due diligence wasn’t done on this case. Too many things were left open and too much wasn’t reported carefully enough. Now I’ve got to try to find a girl that disappeared into the wind more than twenty years before.”

  Buck scratched the crown of his head through his fishing hat. “Welcome to Cold Case, Detective. We get what we get. In all honesty, if there weren’t mistakes made or things overlooked, you wouldn’t have a job, kiddo.”
r />   * * *

  The Superior Courthouse in San Francisco was located in an ornate grey stone building where cases were handled, both civil and criminal, in a series of courtrooms located on different floors according to their function. The building appeared to be in perpetual motion as lawyers and bailiffs, cops and civilians rushed back and forth, attending to the business of a “civilized” society.

  Jake had been directed to the second floor where the Honorable Judge Himura presided. Court wasn’t scheduled to start until 9:00AM, but he’d wanted to make sure he could find a seat. He hadn’t expected the small, wood paneled courtroom to be empty, except for the lawyers. Now he sat and waited, trying to resist fidgeting. That was hard. The thought of being here, of what he was about to witness made him feel physically ill.

  No windows were present to let in natural light, but the fluorescent tubes overhead bathed everything in a stark, yellow glow. He sat in the small spectator area directly before the doors. It was choked with metal theater chairs with cracked vinyl cushions. In a few, white stuffing showed through the tears. Before the spectators’ area was a wooden bar, separating it from the rest of the room, and directly in front of that on the right was the prosecution’s table, the defense to the left. A double row of jury seats lined the right side of the room with the judge’s bench and witness stand directly in front.

  The judge was not present, but Devan sat with his back to the room at the prosecutor’s table, talking with an older woman. They were studying a file and whispering to each other. Directly across from Jake on the defense side sat a middle aged man in a suit, staring straight ahead, his hands folded against his stomach.

  Jake looked back over his shoulder as the massive wooden door opened and Peyton entered. He occupied a chair in the first row behind Devan, but he was the only one who shifted and looked at her as she entered.

  Peyton walked down the aisle and slid into the seat next to him. A bailiff glanced over at her and she gave him a short nod. He nodded back. Devan and his assistant continued to whisper.

  Jake and Peyton hadn’t talked much throughout the weekend. He’d stayed in his room to give her and Maria time to work through Maria’s recent trauma. He’d heard a whole lot of shouting at certain points, then some crying, but by this morning, Maria had been up, showered and ready to go back to work.