Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “So you say.”

  “Although that would be funny. Can you imagine if someone came into your house and just peed on the furniture?”

  At that moment the door opened and a silver haired man looked out. He frowned at Billy. Clearly he’d heard their exchange. “Can I help you?”

  Gabby whipped out her badge and presented it to him. “Mr. Sanderson, I’m Detective Acosta from the Miami Cold Case Squad and this is my partner, Detective Lucott. I called you earlier to talk to you about your son, Grant?”

  “I remember, Detective. Come in.” He pulled open the door and motioned her through, but when Billy came to the threshold, he gave him a critical look. “Don’t you dare pee on my furniture, Detective.”

  “No sir,” said Billy, stepping into the house and giving Gabby a wild look.

  Gabby choked back her laugh.

  “This way, Detectives,” he said, leading them down a short hallway into a family room. The floors were a rich walnut ending in a brightly lit room with floral furniture and sunlight streaming through a bank of windows on two walls.

  An older woman was sitting on the floral sofa. A pitcher of ice tea and four glasses occupied a tray in the middle of a white wicker coffee table. She rose as they stepped inside.

  “This is my wife, Andrea,” he said, then he held out his hand to both of them, “Detectives Acosta and Lucott.”

  She gave Gabby a faint smile. “Please come and sit. Let me pour you some tea.”

  Gabby took a seat beside her on the sofa, but Billy sank into a lime-green arm chair across from them. Grant’s father occupied the other arm chair in a striped gold and beige fabric. Leaning forward, Andrea Sanderson poured them each a glass and passed them around. Gabby took hers and sipped on it. A blast of sour lemon nearly stole her breath and she fought not to make a face. Billy couldn’t control his own animated features and he gave a shiver, screwing his eyes shut tight.

  “Add some sugar, Detective,” Andrea said, pushing a round sugar bowl at him.

  He leaned forward and began taking heaping spoonfuls of the sugar. Grant’s father gave him a critical look and he stopped, leaning back again. Gabby was beginning to get a picture of this Sanderson fellow, a disciplined man who expected others to follow suit.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson, thank you for seeing us.”

  “You said you wanted to ask us about Grant.” Mrs. Sanderson clasped her hands, but she spun her wedding ring around her finger as she talked.

  Gabby marked the motion, then settled the iced tea on a cork coaster. “We went out to your son’s high school and saw a yearbook of his senior year. In it is a picture of Grant and a girl named Lily Witan.”

  “Cutest couple,” added Billy.

  Gabby shot him a quelling look. “We were wondering if you knew the Witan girl.”

  Andrea Sanderson looked at her husband.

  “Lily and Grant were dating,” he said.

  “Did she come over very often?”

  “She spent a lot of time here. Her parents were rather hard on her and she liked to come here to get away,” offered Andrea.

  “What do you mean hard on her?” asked Billy.

  Grant’s father acted like he didn’t agree with his wife’s summation. He shifted in his seat and exhaled. “They expected her to perform. They had plans for her future as any parent would and they wanted her to work to her potential.”

  Andrea studied her hands, twisting that ring around and around.

  “Did you know the Witans well?” asked Gabby.

  “Not well. They didn’t mingle much in the neighborhood,” Mr. Sanderson answered.

  “How long did Grant and Lily date?” questioned Billy.

  Andrea looked up. “Almost three years. They were friends all through elementary school, then they started dating when they became sophomores.”

  “How close is the Witan’s house to you?” asked Gabby.

  Andrea pointed vaguely over her shoulder. “Three houses down.”

  “Does anyone live there now?”

  Andrea gave a wan smile. “A young couple with two kids.”

  Gabby leaned forward, bracing her arms on her thighs and clasping her hands. “I know this must be difficult to talk about, but Grant committed suicide about a month after the Witans were murdered, right?”

  Andrea swallowed hard and nodded.

  Mr. Sanderson looked out the windows.

  “Did he leave a suicide note?”

  Andrea shifted on the sofa and pulled open the drawer in a wicker side table. She took out a scrap of yellow notepaper in a plastic baggie and handed it to Gabby. Written in spidery handwriting were two words and two words only: I’m sorry.

  Gabby sighed. This had to be every parent’s worst nightmare, the sort of loss that one never recovered from. “Do you know what he meant?”

  Andrea met her eye…almost, but not quite. In fact, her gaze tracked somewhere around Gabby’s left ear. “I have no idea.”

  “Did Grant seem upset or had he ever attempted suicide before this?” asked Billy.

  “No.” Mr. Sanderson’s response left no room for question, but Billy eased forward in his chair and shifted toward him.

  “Are you sure, Mr. Sanderson? Did he give any indication that he was worried about Lily after her parents’ death or upset that a violent murder happened so close to your family? Maybe he was having trouble sleeping at night? Unusual anger or sleeping more than usual?”

  Mr. Sanderson slowly faced him and his eyes narrowed. “My son was acting perfectly normal before his death. Do you have any idea how devastating it is to lose your only child, Detective Lucott?”

  “No, sir. I don’t. I wouldn’t presume to even begin to understand it, but we’re trying to solve a double homicide here and the only connection we have is the fact that your son took his life one month after the Witans were killed. Since I’m not a parent, I can only go on what I know right now. I’d personally want to know if my son witnessed anything that would bring him to the place where suicide seemed like his only option.”

  Mr. Sanderson’s hands curled on the arms of his chair. “I think we’re done here.”

  Billy turned to Gabby, giving his head a slight shake. Gabby nodded at him to indicate he’d done fine. No wonder Buck Reiter had been stone-walled. Something wasn’t adding up.

  “Well, thank you for your time,” said Gabby, rising to her feet. She handed the suicide note back to Andrea. “And thank you for the tea, Mrs. Sanderson.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I’ll see you out,” said Mr. Sanderson, standing.

  Billy and Gabby followed him to the door. As soon as they were on the porch again, he slammed the door at their back.

  Billy glanced over his shoulder at it. “Sorry. I guess I should have been easier on him.”

  “No, you did fine.”

  “They’re hiding something.”

  “Yep.”

  “They know what Grant meant by I’m sorry, don’t they?”

  “Maybe they don’t know, but they suspect something.”

  “Mrs. Sanderson is looking out the window right now.”

  Gabby glanced over her shoulder. The woman was peering at them from the dining room window, holding the curtain to block her body from sight. Gabby gave her a grim smile and a nod.

  “Let’s walk to the car and see what she does.”

  Billy nodded and stepped down the stairs. They made it about five steps before the front door opened and Mrs. Sanderson came out. Gabby and Billy stopped, turning around.

  “Mrs. Sanderson?”

  She glanced over her shoulder into the house. “Grant wasn’t sleeping well. He would sit in front of the television in the family room all night, watching old black and white movies.”

  Gabby nodded. “What did you mean when you said the Witans were hard on Lily?”

  “They expected her to always have straight A’s. She could never get anything less than the top score
on tests. If she did, they restricted her, took away her privileges.”

  “Her senior year, her grades tanked.”

  “She was fighting back. They wanted her to go to one of those Ivy League schools, but she didn’t want to leave Grant. I heard them once, planning to run away to New York as soon as they graduated.”

  “But they didn’t?”

  “I begged Grant not to go. I told him Lily could come live here.”

  “Did she?”

  Andrea looked over her shoulder again. “My husband forbade it.”

  “How long before the Witans’ murders did this happen?”

  Andrea went back to the ring twisting. “Less than a week.” She looked at the door once more. “You have to understand. My husband felt so guilty after Grant’s death. That’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I understand, but I have a few more questions.”

  Andrea’s expression shifted to panic. “No, I’ve said too much. I need to go.”

  Without another word, she turned and disappeared into her house.

  “What now?” asked Billy.

  “We wait. Andrea Sanderson is ready to put the ghost of her son to rest. We just have to be a little more patient.”

  Billy started walking toward the car again. “I don’t do patient.”

  “Really? Who’da thunk it?” said Gabby, pushing him in the shoulder.

  * * *

  Jake sat in his regular spot, the front row of the courtroom, trying not to make eye contact with the jury. He knew Devan wanted him here, he wanted him to generate sympathy with the jury, but this was killing him, reliving every minute of Zoë’s death. And he didn’t know how to generate sympathy. Did he make eye contact with the jury or did he sit here like he was now, bleeding internally from wounds no one else could see?

  The door opened and a veritable crowd entered…well, for this courtroom at least. Peyton led the way, followed by Marco and Abe. Marco and Abe took seats on either side of him, while Peyton sat down on the opposite side of the courtroom behind the defense attorney. She gave Jake a smile, then clasped the arms of the chair and looked straight forward. Devan glanced over his shoulder at her and gave her a brief nod. She nodded without looking at him, her entire focus centered on the back of the defense attorney’s head.

  “What’s she doing?” Jake whispered to Marco.

  Marco glanced over at her. He wore his usual jeans and a ribbed sweater which strained at the shoulders, his hair pulled back in a short ponytail. He braced a work boot on the bar before them and lounged back in the chair. Jake could see the handle of his gun poking out beneath his left arm. “Centering herself.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged.

  Abe leaned in on his right side. “She always does that before a testimony. She runs over the answers in her mind.”

  Jake’s eyes went involuntarily to the jury. “Is that a good thing?” He was surprised to find a few of the middle aged and younger women studying Marco. Figured. They’d never once looked at him.

  “She’s a pro at this. Just watch,” answered Abe, patting his knee.

  Jake jerked his chin at the jury. “Look at that.”

  Abe glanced over, then tracked where the women looked. “What did you expect, an Angel just entered the courtroom.”

  “Shhh,” hissed Marco.

  Abe gave Jake a wink. He was dressed in a brown suit today, and while conservative for Abe, the cut and fabric screamed style no straight man could master.

  The bailiff stepped away from his position by the wall. “All rise.”

  The courtroom rose as one to the entrance of the judge. Judge Himura sat down and addressed the jury. “How is everyone this morning?”

  They nodded and a few muttered, “Fine.”

  Shifting to the front, he held out a hand to Devan. “Call your next witness, Mr. Adams.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. I call Inspector Peyton Brooks.”

  Peyton rose and walked to the stand. Jake was surprised to see her dressed in a crisp black pantsuit, her wild curls tamed in a bun. Maria’s doing, he felt sure. The clerk gave her the oath and she took a seat. Jake noticed she didn’t bring a file or notes with her and it worried him a little.

  “State your name for the record, Inspector.”

  “Inspector Peyton Brooks of the San Francisco Police Department.”

  “And how long have you been a homicide detective, Inspector Brooks?”

  “Eight years.”

  “Were you one of the investigating officers on the Zoë Ryder murder case?”

  “I was. The case was given to me and my partner, Marco D’Angelo.” She nodded at Marco.

  A few of the jurors smiled at hearing his name. Jake and Abe exchanged a look.

  “Who was your primary suspect when you first got the case, Inspector?”

  “Per police protocol we look at the people closest to the victim, those with the greatest opportunity to do the crime. Usually that’s the victim’s significant other, husband or boyfriend.”

  “So your first suspect was the victim’s husband, Jacob Ryder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you change the direction of your case?”

  “None of the evidence fit. Neither did the motive.”

  Devan glanced over at the jury. “The other day we heard testimony that Mr. Ryder was not the father of Zoë Ryder’s child. Is that not motive, Inspector?”

  “Usually, but upon questioning it became clear that Jacob Ryder did not know he wasn’t the father until we told him ourselves. This information was given to him after Zoë’s death.”

  “You said none of the evidence fit. What did you mean?”

  “I meant that we could find no way for the husband to obtain the warfarin. We also discovered that Claire Harper was not Zoë’s biological mother. In fact, we discovered that Zoë’s biological mother, Annabelle, died from the very thing that Zoë did – massive hemorrhaging – however, she died in the hospital a few days after giving birth to her daughter.”

  “Did you find any other anomalies regarding the members of this family and their health?”

  “Yes, we found that Blake Harper, Zoë’s father, was in an unresponsive coma due to massive blood loss. He died shortly after his daughter.”

  “Three people, all from the same family, dying in the same fashion. That’s a bit more than coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “Objection,” said Renshaw. “Calls for speculation on the part of the witness.”

  The judge looked at Devan.

  “I’ll reword the question. Was there anything that you and your partner noticed connecting these three deaths beside the actual cause of death?”

  “Claire Harper. She was with Zoë Ryder the day she died, she called the paramedics when Blake Harper collapsed, and she was the attending R.N. for Annabelle when she was recovering from childbirth.”

  A few people on the jury murmured.

  “Was Zoë aware that the woman she thought was her mother really wasn’t?”

  “Once we received her journal, it became clear that she had growing suspicions.”

  Devan picked up the journal. “I’d like to enter this into evidence, Your Honor, along with pages we’ve copied out of it for perusal by the jury.”

  “Allowed.”

  Devan carried the journal and papers to the clerk. “What else did the journal reveal?”

  “That Brandon Dixon was the father of her child.”

  “Who is Brandon Dixon?”

  “Zoë Ryder’s high school boyfriend, but at the time of her death, he was Claire Harper’s lover.”

  “And what did Zoë reveal about Brandon in her journal?”

  “That she believed he raped her.”

  “How?”

  “She had gone to confront Claire about her real mother and she believed Brandon gave her a drink with a date-rape drug inside of it.”

  “Zoë Ryder’s pregnancy had serious implications for Claire, didn’t it?”
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  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Inspector Brooks has studied the case thoroughly. She is simply testifying to what she read herself.”

  “Allowed.”

  “Inspector Brooks, what were the implications for Claire Harper if Zoë Ryder got pregnant?”

  “She would be cut out of Blake Harper’s will.”

  “Why?”

  “He left everything, all of his investments, his property, and his assets to Zoë’s children.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “We read his will.”

  Devan picked up another piece of paper. “I would like to enter this into evidence, Your Honor.”

  The judge motioned and Devan approached the clerk.

  “What was the final bit of evidence that concluded this case for you, Inspector Brooks?”

  Peyton drew a deep breath and curled her hands on the arms of the witness chair. “We found the murder weapon.”

  “Where?”

  “In Claire Harper’s handbag.”

  “And what was it?”

  “A prescription bottle for warfarin.”

  Jake shot a look at the jury. A few were shaking their heads, some were writing, and others were shifting uncomfortably.

  “Check,” whispered Abe.

  “What?” whispered Jake in return.

  “Chess, you know? She just moved her queen in front of the defense’s king. Check.”

  Jake nodded.

  Devan gave Peyton a smile. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Renshaw?”

  Jake could feel his stomach knot. Here’s where it all went south with Abe.

  “Inspector Brooks, you testified yourself that Jacob Ryder was the first suspect you pursued, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Almost relentlessly, wouldn’t you say?”

  “We followed police protocol, yes.”

  “You revoked his bus pass, you froze his accounts, you followed him wherever he went. Is this protocol?”

  “Yes.” Peyton folded her hands in her lap. “The first suspect is always the significant other.”

  “You believed Jake Ryder killed his wife, yes?”

  “We suspected him. When we found evidence to the contrary, we investigated it.”