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

by Hamilton, M. L.

  “Don’t run, Jake. I will shoot you. I won’t have any choice.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Peyton. Why won’t you believe me?” he shouted at her.

  She wanted to reassure him, but she had to bring him in. She had no other choice. Defino demanded it and so did his safety. “The evidence is pretty substantial, Jake.”

  “What evidence? You have nothing. You know the case is riddled with holes.”

  “Jake, please. Come back with me and we’ll talk about it.”

  He slid his foot back a half step. She steadied the gun with her free hand.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to find out the truth. I have to know. I’m sorry.”

  “Jake, don’t…” she warned, moving forward with him.

  “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

  “Jake, please…”

  He hesitated. His chest was heaving. “I’m sorry.”

  Oh, God, please don’t do this, Jake, she prayed, but she held the gun steady. She knew he was trying to get between the cars and complicate any shot she had, but he didn’t understand how accurate she was.

  “Jake!” she shouted, moving another step closer as he retreated a pace. “Jake, don’t!”

  He lowered his arms.

  “Jake!”

  He took another step.

  “Jake! I will shoot!” She stepped to the left, trying to cut him off. “Jake!” Please, please don’t.

  He gave her a wounded, anguished look and then started to turn.

  Peyton squeezed the trigger. The bullet whistled from the barrel and the gun recoiled in her hands. Not a foot from him, the tire on one of the cars began to whistle as the air escaped in a rush. Jake ducked, covering his head with his hands.

  “The next one goes in your knee, Ryder!” she said angrily. Damn him to hell if he made her shoot him.

  “You shot at me,” he said, staring at her incredulously.

  She could hear running feet behind her and knew the cavalry was coming. “Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head!” she shouted.

  “You shot at me!” he repeated, staring at the now flat tire.

  “Get on your knees!” she shouted, moving closer to him, the gun leveled at his head.

  He glanced at her, then slowly lowered himself, placing his hands behind his head. A uniformed cop sprinted past her and knocked him onto his belly, straddling him as he reached for his cuffs. Peyton lowered the gun, releasing her held breath. Suddenly Marco was beside her.

  “You okay?” he said, gripping her shoulder.

  As she put her gun into her holster, she realized her hand was shaking. “Yeah.”

  “You sure?” He turned her, so she had to look up at him.

  “Yeah.” She pushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I hate that.”

  “I know.”

  “Defino is gonna love this,” she said, pointing at the car.

  “Better that than a body, I’m thinking.”

  She reached for a business card in her pocket and sidestepped Jake, placing it on the car’s windshield below the wiper, then she turned and leaned over Jake. “I promise you I won’t stop working this case.”

  He didn’t answer, but slowly, he closed his eyes. Two uniformed officers pulled him to his feet and began walking him toward the market where their patrol cars waited. Peyton watched them go, then she shifted her attention to Marco.

  He’d retrieved the folder Jake had dropped on the asphalt and he was reading the will. She moved toward him, still feeling shaky and unnerved. She hated firing her gun. She hated pointing a weapon at a living person and she dreaded the day she’d be forced to take a life.

  Her father had always told her that every cop feared that, but knew it was inevitable. One day she would draw her gun and shoot. That was the job, that was the responsibility, and that was the burden. She leaned against Marco’s arm and drew a deep breath.

  “Anything good?” she said, looking up at him.

  He met her gaze and gave her a tight smile. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He held up two papers. One read Divorce Application and the other read Last Will and Testament.

  Peyton narrowed her eyes. “Now isn’t that interesting.”

  Marco gave her a nod. “And just wait until you read it.”

  Peyton shifted and looked in the direction Jake disappeared. She replayed something he said over in her mind. “Marco?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where are Cho and Simons?”

  “I’ll call and find out. Why?”

  “I think our cases are connected.”

  * * *

  “A car, Brooks, you shot a car?” said Smith as they entered the precinct. “Did it resist arrest?”

  The rookie, Bartlet, smirked, but when Peyton glared at him, he dropped his eyes.

  “I shot a tire. Maybe you’d like me to shoot something round and spongy on you,” she said, going toe to toe with him.

  Marco made a chuckling sound. “That would certainly deflate him.”

  Smith gave them a condescending laugh in return. “Very funny.”

  “Brooks!”

  Peyton closed her eyes briefly, then turned around. “Captain?”

  Defino stopped before her and looked her up and down. “You okay?”

  Peyton felt her shoulders lower. “Yeah. Thank you. Is Ryder in booking?”

  “No, we processed him and he’s cooling his heels in an interrogation room. We got him some food.”

  “Good.” She glanced over her shoulder. “We were just going to talk to Simons and Cho.”

  “I want to hear this,” Defino said and led the way across the squad room.

  Simons and Cho’s desks occupied a corner of the squad room near the stairwell. As Defino approached, both Simons and Cho rose and moved to meet her. Bill Simons was a bear of a man with huge blunt fingers and a barrel-chest. His hair was thinning, wisps of light brown combed back from his brow, showing the pink of his scalp. Nathan Cho was small and quick with a head of thick black hair and a round, open face.

  “Brooks and D’Angelo might have something for you,” offered Defino.

  “We’ll take anything we can get,” said Simons. His voice rumbled from deep in his chest.

  “I need to ask you some questions first,” said Peyton. “Mind if we sit.” She motioned to the chairs. Simons grabbed one and swung it around for her. Peyton sank into it. She was still a little shaken from the confrontation, she realized. Marco offered a chair to the captain and grabbed one himself, straddling the back of it. Simons slumped into his desk chair and Cho perched on the edge of his desk, clasping his hands on his bent knee.

  “What’s up?” said Cho, pointing his chin at Peyton.

  “Your lawyer? What was his name?”

  “Neal Goldman,” answered Simons without hesitation.

  Peyton shared a look with Marco. “He get run over by a car?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Can you tell me what you’ve got so far?”

  Simons leaned forward with a grunt and grabbed a folder, opening it. He picked up a sheet of paper and glanced over it quickly. “He was hit around 8:00PM on March 29th, while walking near Washington. Killed him on impact. Knocked the poor bastard out of his shoes.”

  “No skid marks,” said Cho. “Didn’t even try to brake. Hit him and never slowed down.”

  Peyton blew out air. “Any suspects?”

  “No. Found the car at Seal Rock with the imprint of the body on the front bumper and a shattered windshield. Dusted for fingerprints. Found some hairs and sent them to the lab for DNA testing, but you know how long that takes,” said Simons.

  “License plates?” asked Marco.

  “Yeah,” answered Cho. “We ran them. The car was reported stolen at 6:00PM that same day.”

  “What kind of a car?” asked Peyton.

  “Benz. Latest model. The family said they’d only had it a few months.”

  “Who did it belong to?”

  S
imons picked up his notes and read them. “Young. Registered to Henry A. Young.”

  “You said you dusted for fingerprints?”

  “Yep.”

  “Get anything?”

  “Matched both Youngs, husband and wife,” answered Simons. “No others.”

  Peyton chewed on her lip, thinking.

  “Where do these Youngs live?” asked Marco.

  Simons studied the paper, then lowered it. “Pacific Heights.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Peyton climbed the stairs and studied the double doors for a moment. Reaching up, she shifted her gun in its holster and touched the link on her radio. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and exhaled. In and out, centering herself.

  Opening her eyes again, she lifted her hand and knocked, twice, loudly. She resisted the impulse to touch the radio again and rocked on her booted heels. She could hear movement behind the door, then the door was pulled open and Brandon Dixon loomed in the entrance.

  She gave him a grim smile. “We seem to meet here a lot,” she said.

  He frowned at her. “Officer Brooks, right?”

  “Right. Mind if I come in?”

  Claire appeared in the entrance behind him. It was 8:00PM and she wore heels, a linen skirt, and a silk blouse. Her red lipstick was a slash of color across her face. “Tell me you have that murderer in custody, Officer Brooks.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” She moved closer to Brandon as if she would step inside the house, but he didn’t back away. “Do you mind if I come in, Mrs. Harper?”

  Claire nodded at Brandon and he backed up a few steps. As Peyton entered the house, she saw Juanita watching from the hallway. She gave her a smile, but the maid didn’t acknowledge her gesture.

  Claire clasped her hands before her. “Do you have Jake in custody, Officer Brooks?”

  Peyton glanced around the entry, marking the coats on the rack and the green Coach handbag. She turned back to Claire. “Actually, it’s Inspector Brooks, Mrs. Harper. And yes, we have Jake in custody.”

  Claire pressed a hand to her heart and exhaled. “Thank goodness.”

  Brandon, however, didn’t seem relaxed. He loomed beside Peyton, staring down at her.

  “Well, thank you for coming out here personally. I appreciate it, Inspector Brooks.” Claire tipped her head back and looked down her perfect nose. “And I accept your apology for the way you treated me the last time you were here.”

  “Apology?” Peyton smiled, slowly. “Certainly. However, I do have a few last questions.”

  “Questions? You said you had Jake in custody.”

  “We do, but I’m certain you’d like us to get a conviction, Mrs. Harper, right?”

  “Of course. He murdered my daughter.”

  “Right.” Peyton kept her smile in place. “Do you mind?” She pointed to the parlor. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

  Claire glanced toward the parlor, then shrugged and moved toward the doorway. “I’ll do everything I can to end this miserable experience.”

  She led them into the room. Brandon didn’t take a seat, but stood leaning against the wooden door jam. Peyton took the same seat she had on her last visit, her back to the windows. As she settled on the striped cushion, she adjusted her gun in the holster.

  Claire perched on the edge, her back ramrod straight. She is the very definition of what people mean by a stick up your wahoo, thought Peyton.

  “Can we get this over with, Officer Brooks? I have funeral arrangements to finish now that this is settled.”

  “Inspector Brooks,” Peyton repeated.

  “Inspector,” said Claire, fighting for patience. She drew a breath, then forced a tight smile. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea, soda?”

  Peyton’s smile returned. “Oh, I won’t be drinking anything, Mrs. Harper. Thank you.”

  “So what do you need to know?”

  Peyton shifted her attention to Brandon. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  He glanced at Claire, then his eyes moved back to Peyton. “I’d prefer to stand.”

  “Of course.” Peyton turned her gaze on Claire. “Did you know Zoë had a journal, Mrs. Harper?”

  “A journal? No, I didn’t. Did she mention the problems in her marriage? Did she say she was afraid of Jake?”

  “Actually, no, she talked about how much she loved him. How dedicated he was as a husband. She did mention you and…” Peyton’s eyes snapped to Brandon. “Her ex-boyfriend.”

  Claire gripped the arms of the chair. “I want that journal, Officer Brooks. It is the last words of my daughter, and it’s private. It belongs to me.”

  “It’s evidence now, Mrs. Harper, so that isn’t possible.”

  “I will call Captain Defino, Officer Brooks. You should be aware of that.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be calling her, Mrs. Harper. You see, my dad was a cop…”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” snapped Claire, her polished façade slipping.

  Peyton smiled. “He always said a case was like a stool, built on three legs. The first is your suspect, the second your evidence, and the third your motive.” She clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “I’ve had the devil’s own time figuring out the motive, Mrs. Harper, but nothing’s worked out. Until we found Zoë’s journal, or rather, Jake found it.”

  Claire slowly licked her upper lip, but she didn’t speak. Brandon was no longer leaning against the door jam.

  “You aren’t Zoë’s mother, Mrs. Harper. That was our first break.”

  “I raised Zoë from the time she was an infant. I am her mother in every other way.”

  “You and Dr. Harper worked in the same hospital, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you having an affair?”

  “No. He and Annabelle had just married a few years before, but when she died, he was so lost. You know men and babies. He had no idea what to do. I helped him get back on his feet, and I took care of Zoë. We fell in love.”

  “Then what happened? Why did he have divorce papers drawn up?”

  Claire closed her eyes and looked away. “All these years I’ve supported him, attended political events, served on the boards of two hospitals, hosted parties, and raised his child.” She looked back. “Men and their mid-life crises.”

  “What was her name?”

  Claire’s eyes grew cold. “Ashley. Nursing student. Twenty-one years old. She was younger than his daughter. Isn’t that sick, Officer Brooks? Younger than his daughter.”

  Peyton turned her attention to Brandon. “Not only did he draw up divorce papers, but he cut you out of his will. Was he getting suspicious about Annabelle?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Peyton glanced at her. “You don’t know what I’m talking about? You mean the will or Annabelle?”

  “I know about the will.”

  Peyton nodded slowly. “I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t pull the plug. It seemed so heartless to keep him alive, but you had to have him alive, didn’t you? If he died, you wouldn’t get any of his money, his house.” She motioned around the room. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Brandon edging toward the door. She focused on him again. “Ironically, Zoë would have been safe, if it wasn’t for Brandon.”

  Claire frowned and glanced at him as well. “He has nothing to do with this.”

  “Really? Did you know Zoë felt that he raped her? She came here to get answers from you and he was waiting for her. He gave her a drink and she passed out. When she woke up, she was in bed with him. She had absolutely no memory of what happened.”

  Claire swallowed convulsively, but didn’t speak.

  Peyton looked up at Brandon. “Did you know Zoë was carrying your child? She died with your baby in her belly.”

  Brandon’s chest heaved and he looked at Claire frantically, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Such a shame because that was the trick of
Blake’s will. He didn’t leave the money to Zoë, he left it to her future children. If you hadn’t gotten her pregnant, she’d still be alive. And if you had protected her, you’d potentially have access to the Harpers’ substantial holdings.”

  “Claire?” he begged.

  Still she wouldn’t look at him, but slowly she closed her eyes.

  Brandon’s jaw worked. “Claire, you promised me…”

  “What did she promise?” asked Peyton.

  He gave her a frantic look, then turned his eyes on Claire. Peyton could see the confusion and fear on his face. “Claire, you promised it would be all right.”

  Peyton glanced at Claire, but she still had her eyes closed, her hands clawed around the chair.

  “Claire!” he shouted, taking a step toward her.

  Peyton reached for her gun and his eyes shifted to it. She could see his pupils were dilated and his breathing was erratic.

  Claire opened her eyes and looked at Peyton. “Are you suggesting Brandon killed my daughter?”

  Brandon’s mouth worked again, but no sound came out. He stared at the back of Claire’s head, then looked down at Peyton’s gun. Finally he bolted, running toward the back of the house.

  Claire jumped to her feet and turned toward the door. “Brandon!”

  Calmly Peyton rose and pressed the button on the radio, speaking into her shoulder. “You have incoming,” she said.

  Static crackled on the line, then Marco’s voice answered, “On it.”

  Claire took a step toward the hallway. “Brandon!”

  “Sit down, Mrs. Harper!” said Peyton in her most forceful tone.

  Claire blinked at her in disbelief, but didn’t move.

  “I said, sit the hell down!”

  Claire sank into her seat, gripping the arms of her chair again.

  * * *

  Peyton’s voice crackled across the radio. “You have incoming.”

  Marco nodded at Cho and motioned toward the house rising across the yard, then he pressed his radio button. “On it,” he said, reaching for his gun.

  He pulled it out of its holster and moved away from the redwood tree standing at the back of the yard. He heard the French door slam open as he angled around the pool for a better shot. Cho, Simons and Smith fanned out to the right of him, blocking all access to the sides and back of the yard. Marco knew at least that many officers lined the front yard as well.