Murder on Potrero Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 1)

by Hamilton, M. L.

  For a moment, he simply sat, holding it. He felt such a mixture of dread and happiness whenever he read her words. It kept her close in his memory, but it also made him ache horribly for everything he’d lost. Life without her seemed so empty, so meaningless. He couldn’t seem to get his head around the fact that she was gone and there was no way of getting her back. No way it would ever be okay again. How did you learn to live without the person you loved most? How did you go on without your wife? He leaned back on the couch and opened the cover, leafing to the page where he’d last read.

  August 10th

  Jake and I found this adorable flat in Potrero Hill. It’s near a park and a short distance to the coffee house. Jake can catch Muni about a block from our door.

  I can’t wait to decorate it. Of course, Mom wants to insist the landlord refurbish the floors and paint everything fresh, but I want this to be my project. I want to decorate it my way. Jake doesn’t really care as long as I don’t put doilies on everything. And pillows. He doesn’t want a bunch of decorative pillows crowding the couch. He says he doesn’t understand why women love pillows…and shoes. Men.

  Dad took me to lunch the other day. He wanted to talk about med school, but I put him off. I told him Jake and I were planning a family, not that we’ve talked about it, but I couldn’t think of anything else to keep him from lecturing me.

  Maybe I should have just taken the lecture because now all he’s going to want to know is when he’s getting a grandchild.

  Jake closed the journal and pressed it to his chest. He and Zoë had never discussed having a family. It hadn’t bothered him before, but now that he thought about it, shouldn’t they have talked about it at least? Discussed the possibility? Didn’t all couples talk about those things? Why hadn’t they?

  * * *

  Jake studied the sign. Potrero Hill Community Garden. Beyond the hand painted sign lay the City, skyscrapers stretching into the sky. He stood on the sidewalk and studied it, enjoying the way the sun glanced off the windows and shimmered as if a magical fairy kingdom lay below them.

  “Here,” said Zoë, hitting his arm with a pair of gardening gloves.

  Jake looked down at them and gave her a grimace. “Do we have to do this?”

  She reached for his hand and slapped the gloves into his palm. “Yes, don’t you want to be part of the community?”

  Jake gave her a narrow eyed stare and didn’t answer. She shoved him playfully in the shoulder.

  “Of course you do,” she said, pushing him toward the rickety little gate. She opened it and stepped into the garden. Jake followed her reluctantly.

  He’d expected a vegetable garden. He’d read a story about urban sustainability, but this was a flower garden. Beyond getting flowers to win Zoë’s attention, he didn’t really see much purpose in them, but Zoë was determined.

  “Good morning,” beamed a tall, lanky man in sandals. “Come to help us out?”

  “That’s right. We just moved in over there.” Zoë pointed over her shoulder to their building. “I’m Zoë and this is my husband, Jake.” Whenever she said husband, she got this goofy smile on her face that made Jake fall in love with her all over again.

  A little Jack Russell terrier sidled up to Jake and sniffed his shoe. Jake bent over to scratch the dog behind the ears. He cocked his black and white head in pleasure and closed his eyes.

  “I’m Josiah and that is Killer.” He pointed to the Jack Russell.

  Jake shot him a smile and continued scratching the dog’s ears.

  “Where would you like us to work?” Zoë asked.

  Josiah pointed to a raised bed. “We could use a good weeding over there.”

  “Done,” she said, reaching down and tugging on Jake to get him to stand. They went over to the bed and Zoë put on her gloves. Killer came with them and Jake took a seat on the edge of the bed so he could continue petting him.

  Zoë hunkered down in the dirt and began pulling out the weeds. “Leave the dog alone, Jake, and help me.”

  Jake gave Killer an apologetic look. “Sorry, pal, the wife’s nagging,” he joked.

  Zoë laughed and threw a clot of dirt at him. They pulled weeds for a while and Jake could feel the back of his neck burning from the sun. He edged closer to Zoë and bumped her with his hip. “How does this make us part of the community?”

  “This is the community garden, and we’re gardening, ergo we’re now part of the community.”

  “Can’t we do like your mother and give them money instead?”

  Zoë gave him a severe frown. “Absolutely not. Stop whining. We are going to really contribute something of value here, not pay our way out of it.”

  Jake shrugged and went back to picking weeds. “I left Nebraska to get away from the land. Didn’t expect to get back to my roots in San Francisco.”

  “It builds character,” she said.

  “It builds blisters, and that’s something you tell your kids when you’re trying to get out of doing something by forcing them to do it.” He sat up and gave her a mischievous look. “That’s what we should do. Have kids so we can make them become productive members of the community.”

  Zoë rolled her eyes skyward. “I already have a big kid. I sure don’t need more.”

  “Pizza!” came a call toward the street. “Come and help yourself.”

  Jake scooted around and moved toward the edge of the planter bed, but Zoë hooked him by the back of his sweatshirt and pulled him off balance. He fell on his back next to her.

  “She said pizza,” he protested, looking up at her.

  “You haven’t done anything to earn pizza. Now get to work.”

  He lifted up and kissed her quickly on the mouth.

  She gave him an annoyed look that was destroyed by the smile hovering on her lips. “You’re impossible.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down on him, rolling her over until she was lying on her back in the planter bed. She was laughing, but he kissed her again, silencing her. This time it was a long, lingering kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she pushed him in the chest. “Oh, go get your pizza and let me weed,” she said with mock severity.

  He kissed her nose and jumped up. “I’ll save you a slice,” he called over his shoulder as he hurried toward the road.

  * * *

  Marco pulled the Charger into the space behind the M.E.’s office. “So I took him home. When I called Holmes this morning, he said he didn’t see a sign of him the rest of the night.”

  “He probably passed out.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. He looked like shit. I don’t think he’s been sleeping too good.”

  “Works for me,” said Peyton, removing her seatbelt and reaching for the door handle.

  “Yeah, I really hope Abe has something. I’m sick of this case already, Brooks. I wish we’d gotten Simon and Cho’s dead lawyer.”

  They climbed out of the car and walked toward the building. The security guard nodded at them as they showed him their badges. Marco pulled open the door, motioning Peyton through.

  “So when you had him in the patrol car, did he say anything?”

  “Nope, just stared out the window. I thought he might be asleep for awhile. That rookie Bartlet damn near pissed his pants the whole time though. That was pretty funny.”

  Peyton smiled as they came to the automatic doors before the lab.

  “So spill. How was your hot date last night?”

  “It was good. Took me for martinis at the Top of the Mark.”

  Marco let out an appreciative whistle. “You don’t say. And they let you in with your ass-kicker boots.”

  Peyton punched him in the shoulder. “I wore heels and a dress. You should have seen it. Sleeveless little black number.” She pushed open the door to Abe’s lab.

  “So what time did he leave this morning?”

  “I’m not answering that,” she said, smiling as Abe walked toward them.

  “Well, if it isn’t Marco-my-he
art-beat-faster,” said Abe with a wink.

  Marco grimaced.

  “That was awful,” answered Peyton.

  Abe hooked his arm in hers. “Don’t like that one? Okay, I’ve got more. Marco-all-my-dreams-come true.”

  A bark of laughter escaped Marco.

  Peyton shook her head. “You’ve gotta stop.”

  “Oh, you’re no fun at all. So who’s having sex?”

  Peyton gave him a bewildered look.

  “You were talking when you came in.” He released Peyton by his bench and gave Marco a once-over. “Is it you, Handsome?”

  “Nope. It’s Brooks.”

  Peyton glared at her partner, but he gave her a wicked grin.

  Abe placed his chin on his fist, his dreads swinging forward. “Do tell. Who is it?”

  Marco sat down on a stool. “Devan Adams.”

  “The dreamy Assistant D.A.?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You little hussy,” said Abe, slapping her arm.

  Peyton laughed despite herself. “That’s enough. So you called us down here for something, Abe. What was it?”

  The professional mask fell over Abe’s face. “Right. So I’ve got a biology lesson for you two.”

  “Go on.”

  “We need some background first.” He reached for a file and pulled it open. “When they brought Zoë Ryder into the ER, her blood pressure was almost non-existent. Dr. Singh made the correct assumption that she was bleeding internally, so what to do then?”

  Peyton shook her head. “Transfusion?”

  “Bingo. In order to do a transfusion, you have to type the blood. Simple skin prick, done.”

  “Okay?”

  “Here’s where it gets interesting. He tells Ryder what he’s going to do. Ryder offers to donate his own blood. Singh doesn’t really need it, but he goes ahead and types him, figuring he would feel like he was doing something positive to help his wife.”

  Peyton glanced down at the file. “That’s all in there?”

  “Every word. Our Dr. Singh is a meticulous note-taker as most E.R. doctors learn to be. Saves on depositions for lawsuits and such.”

  “Go on.”

  “Turns out Zoë is O negative. Universal blood donor.”

  “And Ryder?”

  “O positive.”

  Peyton exchanged a look with Marco. “And?”

  Abe tapped the file. “Remember I told you they sent me the fetus.”

  Peyton straightened on the stool. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m as meticulous as Dr. Singh, maybe better. Let’s say I’m better.”

  “Abe!”

  He held up a long fingered hand. “I decided, on a whim, to type the baby.”

  “And?”

  “B negative.”

  Marco’s hand closed into a fist on the bench. Peyton opened her mouth to comment, then stopped.

  “Here’s your biology lesson. In order for the baby to be B negative, one of the parents had to be as well. We know Zoë was the mother for obvious reasons, which means…” He let the last trail away.

  “Ryder wasn’t the father,” Peyton finished.

  Abe touched his nose, then pointed at her.

  Swiveling on her stool, she met Marco’s eye.

  “That’s motive, Brooks.”

  “That’s motive.”

  Marco’s phone suddenly rang. He fished it out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear. “D’Angelo?”

  Peyton could just make out the voice on the other end, taking rapidly. Marco didn’t answer, just listened, but his knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on the device. Peyton and Abe shared a look, then Abe began reading through his file again.

  “Okay, yeah, got it,” said Marco. “No, let me call you back with that.” He thumbed the phone off and met Peyton’s gaze. “Seems our boy took a walk last night without our patrol noticing.”

  “What?”

  “The bank manager called. A night security guard caught Ryder coming out of the bank around two this morning. He’s an older guy, doesn’t know how to use his phone, so he didn’t get the briefing about keeping Ryder away from the bank.”

  Peyton frowned. “I thought they took his keys.”

  “They did. He must have gotten another set from that friend of his.”

  “Okay, so he goes to the bank after what? Money? He had to know that stuff is locked in the vault at night.”

  “He wasn’t after money. Once the security guard told Andrews about seeing Ryder, they viewed the surveillance video. He used the keys to get into the bank, but all he took was a briefcase that was stored in a credenza beneath the windows. We missed it when we searched his desk because it was part of the general furniture in the place.”

  “A briefcase? He breaks and enters a bank to steal back his own briefcase…” Peyton’s voice trailed off. “What the hell is in that briefcase?”

  “Our murder weapon?” suggested Marco.

  “Where the hell is Ryder now?”

  “Patrol did a wellness check on him around five when they changed men. Said he was in his apartment. They want to know if you want them to bring him in.”

  Peyton looked away. Her eyes landed on the table where Abe did his dissections. “No, we’ll get him. I don’t want him flushing those pills or something if he thinks we’re coming for him. We need to get a warrant to search the place, then we’ll arrest the son of a bitch and haul his ass in.” She pushed herself off the seat and started for the door. “Thanks, Abe.”

  “You got it, my soul sista. Bye, Marco-a-wish-upon-a-star,” he called after them. Peyton waved over her shoulder, but Marco gave him a dramatic scowl.

  Once through the automatic doors, Marco put a hand on Peyton’s arm and stopped her. “Put a call into your boyfriend and ask him to meet us at Interrogation. It’d be good to have him there when Ryder confesses.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, but she reached for her phone.

  “And you let him spend the night? Hoowee, you are a hussy, Brooks,” said Marco with a laugh.

  Peyton swung at him, but he ducked out of the way.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jake was wrenched out of sleep by the violent pounding on his front door.

  “Police! Open up!”

  He blinked, looking around the flat. The blanket was pooled around his waist and Zoë’s journal just peaked out between the folds.

  “Police! Open up!”

  Jake grabbed the journal and shoved it under the coffee table, then he scrambled to his feet as the pounding began again. He fumbled for the lock and turned it, but before he could open the door, it was forcefully shoved inward, knocking him backward.

  Guns pointed in his face and he automatically lifted his hands. Police officers streamed into the flat, fanning out around his living room. Behind them entered Brooks and D’Angelo. They also had their guns drawn, but when they saw he wasn’t offering any resistance, they both holstered them.

  “You’d damn well better have a warrant,” he said. It came out braver than he thought it would. His heart was trying hard to force its way out his throat.

  Brooks held up a piece of paper.

  He lowered his hand enough to take it, but he couldn’t make sense of the words on the page. Another headache hammered behind his eyes. He handed the paper back. Brooks nodded at an officer standing behind him. The man shoved Jake against the wall and frisked him.

  “What the hell is this about now?”

  “He’s clean,” said the officer, releasing him.

  “Search everywhere,” said Brooks and the officers dispersed throughout the flat.

  Jake turned toward her, pulling his t-shirt back into place. “Why the hell are you doing this to me?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Where’s your briefcase?”

  He involuntarily glanced toward the coffee table. She followed his gaze, then circled around the couch, leaning over to move his tablet aside as she picked up the briefcase. D’Angelo moved closer to Ja
ke as she riffled through the case, then dropped it on the coffee table again.

  “Nothing,” she said, then looked down at the tablet. Picking it up, she turned to a cop going through his bookshelf. “Hand me an evidence bag.”

  When he did, she slipped the tablet into it and zipped it shut. Then she faced Jake, nodding at D’Angelo.

  “Jacob Ryder,” she began as D’Angelo took his cuffs off his belt, “you have the right to remain silent…”

  Jake just stared at her as D’Angelo grabbed his arm and snapped the cuffs on his wrist.

  * * *

  Peyton watched Jake through the one way mirror. He sat at the metal table, his head in his hands. He hadn’t moved for the last ten minutes. Marco leaned on the table beside her.

  “How long did tech say they would need with the tablet?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No estimate.”

  The door opened and Captain Defino and Devan walked through. Marco rose to his feet and shook Devan’s hand.

  “Captain,” Peyton said and then smiled at Devan.

  He smiled back, turning to the mirror. “That our perp?”

  “That’s the one,” said the captain. “Who’s gonna question him?”

  “Brooks,” answered Marco.

  “You know how you’re going to approach it?” asked the captain.

  “I think so.”

  “Then you’re on,” she said, nodding toward the window.

  Peyton smoothed her hands on her jeans, picked up the file, and walked to the door, pulling it open. She crossed to the Interrogation room and the officer stationed outside of it opened the door for her. When she entered the room, Ryder didn’t lift his head.