Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

“That’s the problem with serial killers, Nathan. You never know what they’re going to do. You’re always playing behind them. Somehow you gotta throw ahead of the runner.”

  “Throw ahead of the runner?”

  Peyton shook her head wearily. “You have no idea how much baseball I watch since Jake moved in. I can actually tell you the batting average of the Giants starting lineup.”

  Cho laughed. “I guess it’s nice having another woman around.”

  Peyton nodded, declining to comment. Another woman might be nice, but Maria was something else altogether. If she wasn’t vetoing Peyton’s choice in clothes, it was commentary about her eating habits or recommendations on how to style her hair. And then there was the advice on why she couldn’t find a proper man. You’d think someone with Maria’s track record on men might abstain from such advice, but no, oh no, not for a freakin’ minute.

  “I think you and Maria will have a wonderful time tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Peyton. I appreciate the support.”

  “Who hasn’t been supportive?”

  Cho gave a bark of laughter and brought his mug to his lips, taking a sip. “My partner doesn’t think people who work together should date. I love the guy, but sometimes…”

  “Tell me about it,” she said in commiseration.

  As if summoned by their conversation, Marco appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Defino wants an update on our case. You think you could spend a little time on it with me?”

  Peyton and Cho exchanged a look.

  “What?” growled Marco.

  “Nothing,” said Cho as he pushed past Marco, carrying his coffee mug.

  Peyton started to go too, but he blocked her.

  “Were you talking about me?”

  She frowned at him. “No, we were talking about Maria.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, but even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

  “If you’re talking about me, how is that not my business?”

  She shoved him in the stomach, backing him out of the doorway. “When you’re acting like an ass and I commiserate with someone about it, that’s not any of your business.”

  “So you were talking about me?”

  She stopped and turned around. “That’s what you take from what I said?”

  He replayed her words over in his mind. “So I’m an ass for wanting to work our case?”

  “No, D’Angelo. You’re an ass for busting my chops all the time about it. I am working the case. I just stopped to get a cup of coffee.” Her eyes shifted beyond him to the break-room. “Which I forgot because of you.” Throwing up her hand, she turned and went back to her desk.

  Searching for the case file, she located it in her top desk drawer and opened it, reading through her notes. She heard him approach, but didn’t look up.

  He set her mug on her blotter with her bottle of aspirin. “Why the aspirin?”

  She looked up. “What?”

  “Why are you taking aspirin? Were you drinking with Abe last night?”

  “What if I was?”

  He started to say something, then thought better about it. “I put in a call to that detective in Miami.”

  “Acosta?”

  “Yeah. She wasn’t in. They’re three hours ahead of us, but I left a message asking her to call us back.”

  “Great.” She closed the file and slapped it against her thigh, turning toward Defino’s office.

  “Brooks?”

  She stopped and turned around.

  “I’m sorry, all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Peyton…” He took a step closer to her. “I don’t mean to be hard on you.”

  “Really, ‘cause that’s about all you’ve been lately.”

  He seemed to be fighting for the words he wanted to say. “I’m just worried about you.”

  “You’re worried about me? Well, I’m worried about you. Why don’t we talk about that?”

  His blue eyes searched her face. “I think you aren’t seeing what I’m seeing.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  “With Devan’s marriage and your mom, I feel like maybe you don’t realize the stress you’re under.”

  She moved close enough that she had to look up at him. “The thing with Devan and my mom wouldn’t be a blip for me if you weren’t pushing me away the way you are. If you want to go around psychoanalyzing people, you need to take a close look at yourself. You’re angry and short-tempered, and everything I say to you is wrong. Why are you so displeased with me, Marco? What have I done?”

  His jaw clenched and he broke eye contact. “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, we need to solve this case, okay? Maybe that’s all we need to concentrate on right now.”

  She studied him intently. She couldn’t believe he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong. They’d shared everything the last eight years. So he didn’t always divulge his every feeling, but she’d never felt this distant from him before. What had she done to make him so displeased with her, so detached?

  “Fine. Let’s solve the case.”

  Fighting the burning tears in her eyes, she walked to Defino’s office and knocked on the door.

  * * *

  Marco found himself wandering into the Fiddler’s Green after work. Something about returning to his empty apartment made his guts knot and Peyton sure as shit hadn’t invited him over to her circus. She was still pissed at him from earlier in the day. He knew that he could probably wrangle an invitation to watch the Giants’ game from Jake or even get Maria to ask him over, but his pride wouldn’t let him go trolling for their charity. And he sure as shit wasn’t about to try making things up to Peyton again. That just got him frustrated and angry. God, she got under his skin in monumental ways.

  He took a seat at an open table by the door. It was a good spot. Not his usual one at the bar, but here he could watch the tourists meander up and down the street. They were good for a distraction any day.

  He was watching a short little couple try to read a comically drawn map of Fisherman’s Wharf. The man had on Bermuda shorts with socks and sandals, the woman a pair of pink capris and flip-flops. They both wore I Heart San Francisco windbreakers in allowance for the vagaries of summer weather along the Pacific coast. They were arguing about which direction to take, both of them turning circles to find any of the landmarks on their ridiculous map. He found himself smiling, watching them. Even though they were arguing, the woman had her hand on the man’s arm, holding on as if she feared being separated from him.

  “What can I get you, handsome?”

  He blinked up at a middle-aged waitress with tobacco stained teeth. “Just a beer. Whatever’s on tap.”

  She gave him a smile and walked away.

  When he looked back out the door, the couple had moved on. He felt a strange sense of sadness at their departure.

  “If it isn’t the Hollywood cop and his gorgeous baby-blues,” came a voice.

  He shifted as a woman stopped at his table. Genevieve Lake, the amateur reporter trying to get a spot on the Examiner no matter what she had to do to get it. The pretty, young African American woman had been a thorn in his side after Alcatraz, trying to seduce him into giving her an inside scoop on the Clean-up Crew case. He hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t given up and gone back to L.A.

  He couldn’t deny she was attractive, tall and shapely with straight, long black hair – the very type of woman he usually wouldn’t hesitate to take home, but not this one. This one was trouble.

  “If it isn’t Free-lance. And here I thought you’d have gone back to L.A.”

  “Do you mind if I sit or is this a one person pity-party?”

  He frowned at that. How had she read him so easily? “Sit.” He pushed out a chair with his foot.

  She sank into it, careful to smooth out her skirt. Crossing her legs, she gave him a nice
view of her long limbs and she smiled when she caught him looking. “So how have you been, Hollywood?”

  “Just peachy,” he said.

  The waitress returned and settled his beer on the table. Genevieve gave him a pointed look.

  With a sigh, he smiled grimly at her. “Do you want something?”

  She beamed up at the waitress. “I’ll have a glass of Pinot.”

  “Coming right up,” said the waitress, turning around again.

  Marco took a sip of his beer.

  “Why did you think I’d go back to L.A.?”

  “Free-lancing probably doesn’t pay the bills or buy Pinot,” he said nodding toward the bar.

  “I got a by-line in the Examiner. Didn’t you see it? About your serial killer? I’m even the one who named him – the Janitor. Clever, huh?”

  He wasn’t touching that. “Did they give you a job?”

  Her expression soured. “No.”

  “I see.”

  The waitress returned with the wine and settled it in front of her. “Anything else, handsome?” she said.

  “Not right now.”

  As she walked away again, Genevieve smiled at him. “You’re so casual about the effect you have on people. It’s sort of charming.”

  He shrugged. “So is this your regular hang-out now? Hoping some cop will come in and get you a second by-line?”

  “You could give me the exclusive I want. You’re all I need.” She lifted the wine glass and took a sip. “You could make my career.”

  He laughed. “I’ll give you an exclusive. Go back to L.A. You don’t belong here and you especially don’t belong messing around with a serial killer.”

  She leaned forward on the table. “Look, I know he hasn’t struck in a month, not after that failed sting at Pier 39, but we both know it’s only a matter of time before he does it again. It’s a compulsion, something that he just can’t resist. He’ll kill again. He has to, but if you let me do my exclusive, maybe we flush him out. Maybe we get him to make a mistake.”

  “And maybe more people get killed. Stay out of this, Free-lance.”

  She glared at him, then she forced a sultry smile, taking another sip of her drink. “Why don’t you buy me dinner?”

  “Uh uh, sister, I’m not getting mixed up with you. I know your type.”

  “What is my type?”

  “You think you’ll play me and I’ll give something up, but I’m not biting.”

  “I don’t mind biting,” she said, winking at him.

  He shook his head with a smile. Oh, in the past, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but not now. Now he knew better.

  Just as the thought formed, the outer door opened and a familiar face peered inside. Marco frowned as Bartlet walked into the Fiddler’s Green, looking around. Of course, he spotted Genevieve first and his face lit up, until he saw who she was sitting with.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Officer Bartlet, what a pleasant surprise,” she said. “Are you here to have a drink with Inspector D’Angelo?”

  Bartlet came to the table, but he didn’t want to meet Marco’s eye. “Ah, no, I just thought I’d have a beer before heading home.”

  “Really?” she said, taking another sip. “Why don’t you join us?”

  He finally glanced at Marco, a brief challenge, then he slumped into the chair across from him. “D’Angelo.”

  “Bartlet.” Marco didn’t like this coincidence at all. “Fancy you coming here tonight of all nights.”

  “Yeah, little surprised to see you here myself.”

  “I come here a lot.”

  “Do you?”

  “So does Ms. Lake? Don’t ya, Free-lance?”

  “Not as much as you think.”

  “Oh, so you’re still trolling around the coffee shop across from the precinct?”

  “No.”

  “You could get a real job. That’s what most people do when they have too much time on their hands.”

  She bristled at that, just as he intended. “Seems you can turn the charm on and off, can’t you?”

  He leaned closer to her. “I’m serious. You’re messing with dangerous things and I would hate to get called out to scoop up your dead, broken body one day.”

  She glared at him, then she reached for her wine and stood. “Nice to see you again, Officer Bartlet,” she said, then turned and walked away.

  Bartlet started to rise and go after her.

  “Sit down,” Marco commanded.

  Bartlet sat abruptly, staring at the table.

  The waitress came over. “Can I get you anything?”

  Bartlet started to answer, but Marco preempted him. “He’ll have a cola and then he’ll be leaving. Put it on my tab.”

  She backed away without speaking.

  “Look, D’Angelo.”

  “No, you look. Actually, you listen. I know why you’re here. I went to bat for you with Defino one time already, but I’m not doing it again. I almost lost my badge because of you.”

  Bartlet met his eye. “What do you mean?”

  “About a month ago, you ran into that woman in the coffee shop across from the precinct and you told her about my suspension and the serial killer.”

  “I…”

  “Don’t deny it.”

  “Okay. I may have said too much.”

  “Way too much and now she’s following me, poking around where she doesn’t belong.”

  “Why do you think she’s following you?”

  “She’s met me here twice now. And then you show up? What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m not gonna tell her anything. I just wanna ask her to dinner.”

  “Ask someone else. That one is trouble and she’ll cost you your badge.”

  Bartlet shook his head.

  Marco slammed his hand on the table, making him jump. “Listen to me, kid. I’m not playing with you. Defino already suspects you’re the one who screwed up last time. If she gets proof, she’ll pull your badge. But if that doesn’t mean anything to you, think about the girl. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s desperate to make a name for herself and get hired on at the Examiner. If you toss her any more bones, you’re gonna get her killed.”

  The waitress put the drink down in front of Bartlet and gave Marco the check. Marco pulled out a twenty and handed it to her, waiting for her to walk away again.

  Bartlet continued to stare at the table, but occasionally he would glance behind Marco where he assumed Genevieve had taken a seat. “I just wanted to ask her to dinner.”

  Marco leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, and the next thing you know, you’re telling her everything she wants to know across her pillow.”

  Bartlet met Marco’s gaze. “How do you ever trust anyone then?”

  “You don’t trust reporters. That I know.”

  Bartlet nodded. “I didn’t know you went to bat for me.”

  “That was the point.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I guess it was pretty stupid, huh? I was just trying to impress her.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s where we all get f’ed up, kid, trying to impress women.”

  He picked up the cola and made a face. “I’m over twenty-one, you know?”

  “Start acting like it and then we’ll see.”

  Bartlet set the glass down again. “How about two shots of Jack and you can tell me everything you know about women?”

  “That’ll be the shortest conversation known to man,” said Marco with a chuckle.

  CHAPTER 11

  Gabby clicked on the phone message in her inbox. A man’s deep voice came through the speakers. He had a nice voice, resonant and sexy, but it had that flat California accent like every national newscaster Gabby had ever heard.

  “Detective Acosta, this is Inspector Marco D’Angelo from the San Francisco Police Department.”

  Billy swiveled his chair around and frowned at her monitor.

  “I was told
by Detective Ehrenthal of the NYPD that you’re investigating a woman named Lily Witan. Or rather, that you’re investigating the double homicide of her parents.”

  Gabby looked over at Billy.

  “We believe Lily Witan is actually a woman named Meilin Fan. In fact, Ms. Fan admitted as much to us. I was hoping you’d give us a call, so we can compare notes. My number is….” And he rattled off a series of digits.

  Gabby grabbed up a pen and a yellow sticky note, reaching for the mouse to play the number again, but he repeated it for her. She jotted it down, then leaned back in her chair.

  “Anyway, Detective, I would appreciate a call at your earliest convenience.”

  The message ended. Gabby sat, staring at her monitor, tapping the pen against her lower lip. So Meilin Fan had admitted she was Lily Witan. Interesting.

  “This is Inspector Marco D’Angelo from the San Francisco Police Department,” mimicked Billy in a gravelly baritone.

  She frowned at him. “What’s your problem?”

  “That guy just oozed cop, didn’t he? This is Inspector Marco D’Angelo…shesh. Inspector? What the hell is that?”

  Gabby shook her head, reaching for her cell phone. “Don’t you have an obedience class or something right now?”

  “Shit. That’s right,” he answered, scrambling from his chair.

  “What? I was joking.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’ve got a crime scene evidence class to attend.” He paused and gave Gabby a saucy wink. “You gonna call Inspector Douchebag?”

  Gabby leaned forward. “Tell them to teach you how to sit and stay…with your mouth shut.”

  He made a panting noise and hurried off, disappearing around the corner of the building. Gabby shook her head. Lord, the idiot was driving her silly, but she had to admit things were a lot less boring with Billy Lucott around.

  She typed in the number and waited, listening to the ringtone. After about the fourth ring, a man’s voice came on the line. “D’Angelo.”

  “Inspector, this is Gabriela Acosta from the Miami Police Force.”

  “Detective, thank you so much for calling me back.”

  “Not a problem. I’m sorry it took so long. Your message came in after I’d already left for the night.”

  “I know. Time difference.”