Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “I know this must be terrifying.”

  She nodded and turned, moving between the men to get out of the crowded bathroom. She stopped by the bed, watching Jake canvass the murder scene. He had the drapes pulled back from the body.

  Albert Ruiz lay on his belly, his hands curled over the cord wrapped around his neck. She couldn’t see his face, but the skin on his hands had started to flake away and the smell was overpowering.

  She looked up and saw the door to the motel room. She had to get outside.

  “Peyton,” said Marco, pushing to get out of the bathroom.

  Peyton didn’t wait for him.

  “I got this,” came Tag’s voice.

  She made it to the railing and gripped it, driving the cold metal into her fingers. Closing her eyes, she fought to calm her breathing, letting the dusting of rain fall on her. Tag stepped up to the railing beside her, leaning her shoulder against Peyton’s.

  “What’s in the bathroom?”

  “Pictures,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “Of me.” Bracing her arms along the railing, she rested her forehead on them, willing her heart rate to slow.

  “What kind of pictures?”

  “Me at my house. In Golden Gate Park. At the precinct.”

  Tag put her arm around Peyton’s shoulders. “We’re going to find this bastard,” she said, bringing her mouth close to Peyton’s ear. “We’re going to find him and stop him. I promise you.”

  Peyton nodded.

  * * *

  Marco started after Peyton, but Simons stepped out of the bathroom. “Marco!”

  Marco looked toward the door, watching as Tag followed Peyton from the room, then he turned to face the other cop. Cho stood at Simons’ back. “What, Bill?”

  Simons glanced at Peyton, then moved closer to him. “You’ve got to get her out of the City.”

  “What?”

  “Look, when I first became a detective, I worked a serial killer case. Bastard had a thing for young women, college women, professionals, whatever. He started as a rapist, but then he started choking them, graduating to full on murders.”

  Marco listened, searching Simons’ face.

  “He fixated on this young cop we had. Pretty, blond, blue eyed. She was a good cop. Like Peyton, you know? She could get them to talk, confess things.”

  Marco didn’t like where this was going.

  “Like I said, he fixated on her. He started sending her notes, leaving messages at the crime scene. He’d write things to her in the victim’s lipstick, on the mirrors and...other places...worse places.”

  Marco looked away. He vaguely remembered hearing something about this case when he came on the force and what he remembered didn’t end well.

  “He caught her, coming out of the precinct one night. Someone was supposed to walk her to her car, but the guy got hung up on the phone. The bastard raped her, then he strangled her. I was one of the cops who responded to the call.” Simons shivered. “He brutalized that girl. He did things to her that haunt me to this day.”

  Marco swallowed hard.

  “You’ve got to get her out of the City, Marco. You’ve got to get her away from this bastard.”

  “For how long, Bill? Months? Years?”

  Cho moved forward. “At least the weekend. Give us four days and we’ll work nonstop on this case. We’ll go over everything again. Every piece of evidence we have. Just give us that long and I promise you we won’t stop working.”

  Marco glanced over at Jake. He was listening to them, his hands wrapped around his camera.

  “She’s gonna throw a fit.”

  “Then you’ve got to sell it. Don’t tell her what we’ve got planned. Tell her you need a break. You both need a break,” said Simons.

  “She’ll go if you tell her you need to get out of town,” offered Jake.

  Marco rubbed the back of his neck. He certainly wouldn’t be lying if he told her that. He did need a break. He needed to get as far away from this sonuvabitch as they could or he wasn’t ever going to be able to sleep again.

  * * *

  He found Peyton leaning against the Mustang. He mentally prepared himself for the dressing down he was likely to get when he approached this subject with her. She was staring at the asphalt and she didn’t even look up when he stopped in front of her.

  “What if I want to apply for the FBI?” she asked.

  That stopped him cold. “What?”

  “What if I really did apply?”

  “I told you I’d support you.”

  She lifted her eyes to him. “I know, but would you?”

  “Of course. Where’s this coming from?”

  “You asked me to stay back at the precinct. You didn’t want me to come on this call.”

  Well, asking her to leave the City was going to go over like a lead balloon, he thought.

  “You’ve never done that before.”

  He gave a shrug. “I think I probably have. I have a distinct memory of a shouting match we had in the precinct not that long ago.”

  “You can’t sideline me because we’re sleeping together, Marco. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s different between us. I’m still the cop I was.”

  “Peyton, everything’s changed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect the cop you are.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, there’s gonna be starts and stops. There’s gonna be things we both do that the other doesn’t like. It’s human nature. We fought when we were partners. We’re going to fight as lovers too. That’s just the way it is.” He moved closer to her. “I’m gonna be overprotective and you’re gonna be headstrong, but we’ll work through it. If you want to apply for the FBI, do it. I told you I wouldn’t stand in your way. I told you I’d relocate with you if you want that, but you can’t give up on me just because I say something you don’t like.”

  “I’m not giving up on you. I just don’t want you to see me as weak and incapable.”

  “I don’t, but I’m not gonna lie, I’m still freaked out over what happened to you two weeks ago. You gotta give me some time to get over that.”

  She nodded, lowering her eyes again.

  He glanced up at the second story of the motel. Cho and Simons were both watching them. “I’m gonna ask you something now that I know is going to upset you, but I want you to hear me out, okay?”

  “Okay?”

  “I want us to go away for the weekend tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s only Thursday? You said we’d go Friday.”

  “I know, but I want to leave tomorrow and I want to stay away all weekend.”

  Peyton straightened away from the car, then she turned and looked up at the motel room. When she turned back around, Marco could tell from her expression that she was furious. “You’re trying to get me out of town!”

  “Peyton…”

  “I can’t believe you! How can you stand here and say that you believe in me and you support me, then tell me that?”

  “You promised you’d listen…”

  “And you promised you wouldn’t try to change me! You promised you’d respect my abilities!”

  He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I knew you were going to take this the wrong way…”

  “What other way was there to take it? You’re not asking Cho or Simons to go with you. You’re not worried about them.”

  “They don’t have a serial killer fixated on them, Peyton! Damn it! Why does everything have to be a battle!” He moved closer still. “Their photos aren’t plastered all over a mirror in a dead guy’s bathroom!”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. God, he hated it when she did that. He hated seeing her looking so fragile and scared.

  “You told me our relationship went two ways. Do you remember that?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you mean it?”

  She met his eyes. “Of course I did.”

  He held up a hand and let it fall against his thigh. “I’ll support you in every way. I’ll move to Virginia
with you or D.C. or out of the country. I’ll do whatever you need me to do and I’ll never question what you ask of me, but this...this I need, Peyton. I need this weekend.”

  He tried to prepare himself for a tirade. He tried to prepare himself for the worst case scenario – that she would walk away from him and tell him to go to hell. She’d done it with Devan when he made demands on her. She’d walked away from that relationship and never once looked back. And the truth was, he still felt like he was more invested than she was, that he had more on the line. He was very much afraid he needed her more than she needed him.

  She closed the distance between them and lifted her hand, cupping his cheek. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. We’ll go away this weekend. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

  He was so shocked, he couldn’t respond, just stared at her.

  “Whatever you want, I’ll do it. I love you,” she said.

  He pressed her hand against his face and kissed her palm. “Thank you,” he managed to get out.

  She slowly drew her hand away, giving him a weary smile. He wanted to ask her to marry him right here, right now, but he choked it down. As far as romantic moments went, this really wasn’t one – standing in the rain with a dead guy a few yards away. So he didn’t say anything as she walked back to the stairs and climbed toward the crime scene, pulling the sides of her coat tighter about herself.

  * * *

  Genevieve lay on her side, stretched out on the couch, staring at the phone on her coffee table. She’d been here for hours. That was after she exhausted herself pacing the room. She got food by ordering takeout that she picked up in the lobby in full view of the security cameras.

  She’d turned in a few articles on-line, telling her editor that she was still too sick to come in, but she knew that line was getting old. She knew they would fire her if she didn’t get herself put together and leave the apartment.

  Jimmy had called her at least a dozen times, begging her to let him come up and see her, but she’d told him no. She’d told him she was contagious. That wasn’t working either because now he was demanding to take her to the doctor.

  She didn’t know what to do, but this wasn’t it. She was giving up her life, becoming a shut-in because she was terrified. The only answer she saw, and she’d been seeing it for days, was to call D’Angelo and tell him what was going on, beg him to help her.

  Then she needed to go home to L.A. and pray that D’Angelo would catch this sonuvabitch before he came after her.

  The phone rang.

  Genevieve felt as if her heart stopped. She stared at the display and didn’t recognize the number. For so long she’d been praying for it to ring, but now she was so paralyzed with fear, she couldn’t reach for it.

  The tune tinkled merrily over and over again, making her skin crawl. She pushed herself to a sitting position and shoved back her lank hair. She couldn’t even take a shower because she was too afraid to do so.

  If she didn’t answer, he would keep trying. At least for a little while. Maybe she could get D’Angelo on the phone and they could set up a tracer for her cell. Maybe that would be the way to stop this lunatic.

  But she knew Ambrose didn’t have the patience for that sort of thing. He would call back maybe once or twice. Then he’d send a threatening text, but in the end, he’d get suspicious. Besides, he was watching her apartment building. He wouldn’t miss a man like D’Angelo arriving. No one would.

  She snatched up the phone and thumbed it on. “Hello?” Her voice sounded weak and terrified to her own ears.

  “What took so long?”

  She scrunched back as deep into the couch cushions as she could and pulled her knees against her chest. Her mouth was dry and her heart beat furiously beneath her ribs. She could feel it all the way in her temples.

  “You haven’t called in a long time. Why not?”

  “I had nothing to say. Did it worry you?”

  “Yes.” She surprised herself with that admission. “I didn’t know what you were doing.”

  “You didn’t know if I was watching you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ve been watching Inspector Brooks. There’s something about that woman. I don’t know what it is, but she fascinates me.”

  “She reminds you of your wife.”

  “True. She does, but in some ways, Inspector Brooks is more fascinating. She’s such a fighter, such a spit-fire. I like that.”

  Genevieve realized she was trembling. She grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around herself. “Do you follow her?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Do you follow me?”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “I told you it does. I don’t want to be followed.”

  “You don’t go anywhere. You’re too afraid. Inspector Brooks doesn’t care. She does what she pleases.” He paused. “I think she’s sleeping with her partner.”

  “Inspector D’Angelo?”

  “Inspector? No, they promoted him after he saved that idiot in the Palace of Fine Arts. He’s a lieutenant now.”

  “How do you know she’s sleeping with him?”

  “She spends her nights at his apartment.”

  “So you are following her?” Genevieve knew she had to contact D’Angelo. She had to tell him how much danger Brooks was in.

  “You’re boring me.”

  Genevieve needed to keep him talking. She needed to keep the contact going until she could get a hold of D’Angelo. “You used to say Brooks reminded you of your wife. Now you act like she’s different.”

  “She is different. My wife gave up. When it got too painful, she just gave in.”

  Genevieve could hear bitterness in his voice. “She had cancer. What did you want her to do?”

  “Keep fighting.”

  “Maybe she knew it was a lost cause. Maybe she couldn’t fight anymore.”

  “The doctors told her it was over and she believed them. She believed them over me.”

  “Because maybe she felt they were right. Maybe she knew they were.”

  “She believed strangers over me. Over someone who had loved her his entire life. She believed them over a man who had killed for her.”

  Genevieve gripped the phone with both hands. “She didn’t have a choice, Ambrose. She was dying and she knew it. She didn’t want to suffer anymore or have you suffer through her. You’ve got to see that.”

  “All I see is that she left me.”

  “She didn’t have a choice. If you want to be angry at anyone, be angry at the cancer. It’s what took her away.”

  “That’s stupid. Cancer isn’t a living thing.”

  Genevieve drew a deep breath. How did one reason with a sociopath? “In a way, it is. It consumes a person. It devours them. It becomes a living thing inside of them.”

  He went silent. God, she hated the silence.

  “Ambrose?”

  “What?” His voice was surly now, angry.

  “How did Missy die?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “It will help. I promise you. It’ll help you get over it.”

  “Nothing will help.”

  “Please. Please talk to me. Tell me how she died.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe hiding in your apartment is the right way to live. That way you don’t interact with other people, let them into your life.”

  “It’s killing me. I hate it. You have me trapped in here and I feel like I’m dying inside.”

  “Then be brave and face me.”

  “Tell me how Missy died.”

  “You love someone for your entire life, but they break your heart. They ask you to do things that should never be asked.”

  “Like what?” Genevieve was beginning to believe she knew, but she needed him to say it. Maybe if he admitted it, he’d turn himself in. Maybe it would break the cycle.

  “They ask you to do the very thing that goes against your nature. The very thing that you’ve f
ought against your entire life.” He paused, but when he spoke again, his voice trembled. “I had one purpose in life, one mission. Keep her alive at all costs. No matter what it took. No matter what I had to do. My only goal, my only mission was to keep her alive and well.”

  “But you couldn’t fight the cancer. You couldn’t protect her from that.”

  “No.”

  “What did she ask you to do, Ambrose? What was the thing that she asked that went against everything you believed?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “If you tell me, if you admit it, I promise you it’ll be easier. I promise you, you’ll feel freed. What did Missy ask you to do?”

  She could hear him breathing, the sound was ragged and heavy, but he still didn’t answer.

  “Ambrose, I know what she asked you. I know what she wanted you to do.” She pressed the phone tight to her face. Please let this be the answer. Please let this be the thing that made him turn himself in. “Ambrose, I know she asked you to kill her. I know she asked you to end it.”

  A sob echoed through the line, heart wrenching, gut twisting, devastating.

  “You have to tell me, Ambrose. You have to admit it. It’s the only way to free yourself. It’s the only way this will ever end. Please, please tell me. Did you do it? Did you help Missy die?”

  He was silent so long she was sure he’d hung up, but she held onto the phone and she listened to the tick of the clock in her kitchen and she prayed that she’d made the right choice. Because if she hadn’t, if she was wrong, then so many people would pay for her meddling. Inspector Brooks would pay for her meddling.

  “Ambrose, please. Did you kill your wife?”

  “Yes,” came the answer.

  That and nothing more.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Now the key to picking out good lingerie is to find something that is equal parts tramp and sophistication,” said Maria, riffling through the racks.

  She turned and put her hand on her hip. “Are you listening to me?”

  Peyton blinked at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You’re impossible. This is big, this weekend, and you aren’t taking it seriously.”

  Since they’d entered the lingerie store, Tag had planted herself in a chair outside the dressing room, playing some game on her cell phone, and Abe was wandering around, looking at everything like a kid in a candy shop.