Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Stryker’s eyes shot up to Marco. “Seriously?”

  Marco shrugged.

  Stryker thought for a moment. “You know what, I will. I’ll do that.”

  “Good.”

  “Buttons go with you?”

  “No, she won’t. I asked her to, but she won’t do it.”

  Their meal arrived and they spent the next few minutes eating, not talking. It wasn’t an awkward silence and Marco sensed Stryker needed the time, the quiet. Once they were both finished and the waitress had taken away their plates, she poured them another cup of coffee and they settled back, staring at each other.

  “I know this job isn’t what I was doing when I was an agent,” Stryker began. “I didn’t mind the training, especially when I got students like Buttons, but I’m bored with it. I thought of opening my own gym, but how is that any different than what I’m doing now for the FBI?” He held out a hand. “This seems like something I would like. I get to be out in the community, but I don’t have to carry a gun, and most importantly, I get to stay in San Francisco.”

  Marco couldn’t believe it. He might just have found himself a director, and a good one at that. “I have to run things by the mayor for final approval, but he pretty much lets me run with this on my own. Are you sure you want it?”

  Stryker thought for a moment, then he smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure I want it. I think the change will do me good.”

  Marco held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you.” Stryker took it in a firm grip.

  “You know, as we’re talking, I’m thinking we might be able to do some self-defense classes in the communities, offer them in the high school gym or something.”

  “That’s what I was thinking and maybe a gun exchange program for a gym membership and I could run some classes there. We might be able to get some local gyms in on the idea.”

  Marco smiled. “I think this is going to work out.”

  “So do I, and I appreciate the opportunity. I owe Buttons lunch or something.”

  “Chocolate. You get her chocolate and you’ll have a friend for life.”

  Stryker laughed. “Good to know.”

  “I have to ask,” said Marco, shaking his head, “but Buttons? Where did that come from?”

  “Ah, don’t get upset, but she was my favorite student in Quantico. A little slip of nothing, more hair and eyes than substance, but she was all piss and vinegar on the inside. I always used to say, she was cute as a button, hence Buttons.”

  Marco laughed. “God, I miss her.”

  Stryker nodded. “I’m right there with you, man.”

  “You give Rosa a nickname?”

  Stryker looked appalled. “Are you shitting me, man? She’d castrate me if I tried.”

  * * *

  At noon, Marco made his way to the mayor’s mansion. Somehow Mayor Osborn had purchased the home in Pacific Heights, but even so, when Marco pulled up in front of it, he was stunned. The massive cream colored European style house with its ornate marble lintels over every window and door took his breath away.

  Parking the Charger on the street, he climbed out, grabbing his crutches, then he made his way to the white wall running around the perimeter of the property. This was the wall where Harper McLeod had shown him the graffiti. Someone had carefully painted over it and there was no trace anything had marred the gleaming surface.

  A wrought iron gate broke up the expanse of white stucco and an intercom had been built into the post next to it. Marco pressed the intercom button.

  “Yes?” came a voice he thought might be the mayor’s wife, Irene.

  “Captain Marco D’Angelo,” he said into the box.

  The gate buzzed and he was let into a courtyard with a cherub fountain in the middle of it, spewing water out of a jug held in its arms. Beyond that was a short flight of stairs into an enclosed entrance with double glass doors.

  Marco had to wonder how the hell Harlan Osborn afforded this on a mayor’s salary as he crutched his way up the stairs. Before he got there, a pretty Hispanic woman opened the door, wearing a maid’s uniform. She smiled at him and inclined her head, motioning for him to enter. He crutched the remaining way into the house and she closed the door behind him.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered. “Mrs. Osborn will be here momentarily.”

  Marco gave her a nod, then looked up when he heard heels on the white marble floor. Irene Osborn turned the corner into the large entrance hall, wearing a smart pantsuit in pale blue, her grey hair perfectly coiffed. Marco resisted the impulse to check if his own business suit was rumpled.

  The entrance hall was a perfect square with hallways jutting off on either side and a grand staircase rising before him. The balusters were edged in gold and the handrail in a rich wood that gleamed. Above him was a massive crystal chandelier with teardrop crystals hanging off it and in the middle of the room was a table made of the same wood, topped with a massive crystal vase and real flowers.

  “Bring lunch to the library, Eva,” Mrs. Osborn told the young woman, who nodded and hurried off down the right hallway. “Good afternoon, Captain D’Angelo,” she said, offering him her hand. “I love to see a man who knows how to keep an appointment on time.”

  He accepted her hand. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Osborn.”

  “How’s your leg?”

  “Better. They’re allowing me to walk on it in physical therapy. Pretty soon I’ll be able to lose the crutches and go back to my cane.”

  “Will you ever be free of the cane?”

  “It’s too soon to tell.”

  “Well, I’ll hope for your full recovery,” she said brightly.

  Marco didn’t bother to tell her that wasn’t a possibility. What did this woman know about his injury and really, what did she care?

  She motioned to the left hallway. “Come, we’ll talk in the library. Paul will join us soon. Harlan’s out on the golf course.”

  “Does he know I’m here?” Marco asked, following her into the wide hallway with its marble floor and paintings of people he didn’t recognize.

  “No, he doesn’t and we’d like to keep your visit a secret. You’ll understand why once we’ve had a chance to talk to you.”

  Marco didn’t like cloak and dagger and he didn’t like secrets, but he followed her into a masculine room with forest green walls, heavy wooden bookcases from floor to ceiling, and a bank of windows which looked over the front courtyard. A red carpet with forest green scallops covered the highly polished wooden floor and leather armchairs were arranged around a table. In one corner sat a desk, but no papers or other paraphernalia marred its gleaming surface.

  She motioned him to an armchair and he sank into it, the vegetarian in him rebelling at the amount of animal products in this room. His eyes were drawn to the top of the bookcases where stuffed pheasants had been arranged around the entire perimeter of the room.

  Mrs. Osborn followed his gaze. “Dreadful, aren’t they?”

  “Mayor Osborn’s a hunter?” Interesting. Marco hadn’t found a gun license in his name.

  She laughed. “Goodness no. Harlan has never fired a gun in his life. Those were left to me by my late father. I inherited the house from him on the single request that I keep the trophies. He had a sense of humor, my father, and I think that was a grand joke to him. I always hated them.”

  “You grew up in this house?”

  “I did. Born and bred San Francisco.”

  “How did you meet the mayor?”

  “We went to college at Princeton together, studied law. Even then, Harlan knew he wanted to run for public office and I had the wealth and prestige to help him in that goal.”

  Huh, Marco thought. Didn’t sound like a love match, but at least it explained that the mansion didn’t come via the taxpayer dime.

  Eva arrived with a tray of finger sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea. She set the tray on the table and began pouring the tea into three tall g
lasses that rested next to the pitcher. She gave the first one to Mrs. Osborn, then Marco, but left the third on the tray.

  “Paul will be along shortly. He had an important call to take.”

  Marco nodded.

  “Would you like me to serve?” asked Eva, lifting a small tong.

  “Certainly. Captain, no food allergies?”

  Marco wasn’t really hungry after his breakfast with Stryker and as he looked at the sandwiches, he noted they appeared to be made of pate or foie gras. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Osborn. I should have told you. I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Oh, dear. Of course, there are traditional cucumber sandwiches, but I’m afraid they’re made with cream cheese.”

  “That’s fine,” he said and Eva efficiently dished him up a plate.

  He settled the glass of ice tea and the small china plate on his thighs and shifted uncomfortably. The leather protested his every move. Before he could say anything, Paul walked into the room, looking flustered and annoyed.

  He stopped and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Then held out his hand for Marco.

  Marco didn’t know what to do, his hands were full. Undaunted, Paul squeezed his shoulder and threw himself into the chair on Marco’s left. When Eva handed him the glass of ice tea and a plate, he waved the plate away.

  “No thank you, Eva. I already ate.” He looked at Marco. “Mother loves her finger sandwiches. I think they’re pretentious.”

  Marco wasn’t sure how to respond, but Mrs. Osborn gave him a fond shake of the head and looked back at Marco. Leaning forward, Marco set the iced tea on a coaster and laid his plate beside it.

  “I’m a little confused about why I’m here, Mrs. Osborn,” he said.

  Irene’s eyes cut to Eva and she waved the maid off. The young woman retreated to the double doors, which were also made of glass, and closed them behind her, then she disappeared from sight. Once she was gone, Irene looked back at Marco. She hadn’t touched her food or drink.

  “You’re investigating Lowell Murphy’s death.”

  “Yes.” His instincts went on full alert.

  “As I understand it, you arrested Mr. Murphy’s roommate, Kurt Foster.”

  “We never arrested him. We brought him in for questioning.”

  “And you released him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He had an alibi.”

  “I see.” She curled her long fingers around the handles on her chair. “Do you have another suspect?”

  “I can’t discuss an ongoing case.”

  “Is my husband a suspect?”

  That took Marco aback. He blinked at her a few times.

  She gave him a smile, but it was a predatory smile, a chilling smile. “Do you think I don’t know what my husband is, Captain D’Angelo?”

  “Um…” he began, completely flummoxed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  She exchanged a look with her son. “I know my husband’s bi-sexual.”

  Marco lifted his head. He glanced over at Paul, but the other man didn’t have any reaction on his face.

  “Well,” she said, smiling that brittle smile again. “Let’s be honest. He’s most likely gay.”

  Marco tried to speak, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  “You’re shocked, I can see. Are you shocked that I know or are you shocked because you didn’t know?”

  “I knew,” he said carefully, “but I didn’t know you knew.”

  “As I told you, Harlan made it very clear that he wanted a career in politics. When we both started, homosexuality wasn’t as accepted as it is now, and honestly, outside of San Francisco, there are still places where it is not accepted even today.”

  He glanced at Paul again.

  “Oh, I’m his biological son,” he assured Marco.

  “Yes, that was part of my bargain. Well, a portion of it,” she clarified. “I had only three rules. He must never ask me for a divorce, he must give me at least one living child, and he must be discreet.” Her upper lip twitched. “He’s kept two of the three.”

  “Meaning he wasn’t discreet with Lowell Murphy?”

  She stared him straight in the eyes and Marco couldn’t suppress the shiver that went down his spine. Her eyes were cold and emotionless.

  “No, he wasn’t. He was fond of Murphy. He even brought him to a fund raising event. Of course, it didn’t take much for people to realize who the young man was. He even flaunted Harlan’s present in front of everyone. He was very indiscreet and Harlan didn’t seem to care.”

  Marco swallowed hard. Was she about to confess to a murder?

  “Harlan has built his career on being pro-family. Of course, no one understood why he pushed that so much in a place like San Francisco, but he had his sights on bigger things.”

  “The governor’s mansion?”

  “And then Congress. Or the presidency. Who knows where he might have gone.”

  “And you think that’s over because…”

  “Because once people tie him to Lowell Murphy’s death, he’ll be forever tainted, and believe me, that will happen. That young reporter shows up here often and soon others will start coming.”

  Harper? She was talking about Harper McLeod.

  “So maybe he should get out ahead of this and come clean?” suggested Marco.

  Paul shifted in his chair. “That’s exactly what we’ve told him, but he’s terrified.”

  Marco frowned. Huh? They’d told him to out himself? “I’m sorry. You told your father to admit he’s gay?”

  “Yes.”

  Mrs. Osborn nodded.

  Marco scratched his forehead. For some reason, his damn brain wasn’t processing this. “Okay, let me see if I have this right. You want him to come out of the closet?”

  “Yes,” they both said.

  “And admit he’s been lying about being a family man?”

  “That’s not necessary. He’s still a family man,” said Mrs. Osborn.

  “He’ll never divorce Mom,” said Paul. “But we believe that if he admits his indiscretions without being outed by a reporter, people will get behind him and support him even more.”

  “You want him to admit he had an affair with Murphy and that Murphy was murdered?”

  “That’s where things get complicated,” said Paul.

  That’s where it got complicated?

  Mrs. Osborn leaned forward, clasping her hands. “Captain D’Angelo, what we say to you now must not get back to Harlan and you must do everything in your power to keep it out of the media.”

  “I am a sworn officer of the law, Mrs. Osborn, so if you’re going to confess to a crime…”

  “Nothing like that,” she said airily.

  “I just want to be sure you understand. Whatever you tell me is subject to the fact that I’m a cop.”

  “Which is why we’re coming to you, Captain D’Angelo.”

  Marco blew out air. “Okay?” he said with a mountain of trepidation. “What do you want to tell me?” Devan should definitely be here for this.

  She exchanged a look with her son and Paul nodded for her to continue. She drew a deep breath, squeezing her hands tightly together. “We believe Lowell Murphy was executed.”

  Marco believed that too. He didn’t think the kid shot himself in the back of the head. “Okay? Why do you believe he was executed?”

  “To keep Harlan from seeing him anymore. To keep Harlan from coming out.”

  “Why? By who?”

  “Harlan has done business with people who have an active investment in his future. They want certain things, so they give him money. Since they give him money, they want to have influence over him. Are you following me, Captain D’Angelo?”

  “I think so. Are these people involved in illegal activities here in the City?”

  “I believe they are.”

  He glanced at Paul, who also nodded.

  “The problem with negotiating with such people is eventually they want
more than you’re willing to give. They expect more and more, and some of these people are willing to do anything to get their way.”

  “Even murder?”

  “Even murder.”

  “My father has always courted influence with people that Mother and I would rather he avoid,” said Paul. “Most of the time, they were on the fringe asking for him to look the other way while they bent the rules.”

  “Like what?” demanded Marco.

  “The tearing down of a historical building for a new high-rise,” said Paul.

  “The cutting down of heritage trees for a golf course,” said Mrs. Osborn. “Things that, while admittedly wrong, were done with the best interest of the City in mind, but unfortunately, he’s gotten a reputation as a man who’s willing to dance for a buck.”

  “And now?”

  “And now, he’s become embroiled with men that are much more than rule breakers.”

  “They’re thieves and murderers and assassins,” said Paul bitterly.

  “And they have resources we can’t imagine,” offered Mrs. Osborn.

  “They believe they own my father. They believe he must do what they want.”

  “And what they want is to do their business across the state of California. They don’t want to be restricted to the City. If Harlan’s in the governor's mansion, they feel sure they’ll have carte blanche.”

  “But while San Francisco may accept his unconventional lifestyle, much of the state is a bit more conservative. If he comes out as gay, he may not win another election,” finished her son.

  Marco absorbed all of this. “Okay, so if you know all this, you must know who these people are.”

  Again Mrs. Osborn and her son shared a look, then Paul gave her a slight inclination of his head.

  She looked back at Marco, leaning forward, her arms braced on her thighs, her hands clasped. “The Russian mob,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 25

  Rosa answered the door, letting Kaz into her room. After she got back from the hospital, she and Radar had spent the day making the arrangements to transport Joe Miller’s body back to the US. Tank, Bambi and Peyton had gone over to the Excelencia, helping Vega and his men interview the workers and the hotel guests before the guests were allowed to make arrangements to go to another hotel.