Joshua turned to face his brother, walking backwards. “It’s a free country, James. If Sarah wants something different, it’s her choice.”
“The hell it is. She’s playing with you. She isn’t serious. She’s never gonna be seen with a freshman.” He closed the distance between them and tapped Joshua in the forehead. “Think! You don’t need your insides rearranged again.”
Joshua stopped walking and looked behind James where the girls were leaving the theatre. “You’re right.”
“Damn straight I’m right.”
“They just look so good.”
“Yeah, right up until you get a fist in your face.” He grabbed Joshua’s shoulder and turned him around. “Just don’t look.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Then look, but keep your distance.” He shoved him forward.
“It isn’t just the way they look.”
“I know, but that’s what gets us in trouble.”
“I’m not sure I can avoid it, James.”
James slung his arm across Joshua’s shoulder. “I’m not sure you can either, but that’s why I’m here.” He ruffled his hair and shoved him away. “Someone’s got to protect that pretty face of yours.”
Joshua laughed and raced him to the truck.
* * *
Peyton eased her green Corolla into the parking lot and wound through the crowd to her parking space. Throwing open the door, she climbed out, almost smacking into the reporter who shoved a microphone in her face.
“Is it true that Joshua Ravensong’s been arrested for murder?”
Peyton shoved the microphone away and glared at the man until he stepped back. Damn paparazzi! She locked the Corolla and pointed herself in the direction of the precinct door, then shoved and pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring their frantic calls for information.
She ran up the stairs. A uniform waited at the top and pulled open the door for her, holding it as she ducked inside. She didn’t even have time to thank him before he yanked the door closed again, blocking it with his body.
Maria and Captain Defino were standing on the other side of the counter, watching the insanity in the parking lot.
Peyton drew a deep breath and released it, smoothing a hand over her ponytail. “If I find out who leaked this story, I think I’ll shoot him.”
“Get in line,” replied Defino.
Peyton pushed open the half door. “So how is our rock star this morning?”
“You mean afternoon,” said Maria with a smirk.
“It’s only ten. I was here until late last night.”
“Don’t worry about it, Brooks,” said Defino. “Our rock star had a quiet night. His lawyer showed up at 8:00AM and is pressing for a bail hearing, but other than that everything’s fine.”
“His girlfriend didn’t waste any time, did she?”
Defino shook her head.
“Such a shame,” murmured Maria, looking out the door.
“I know.” Peyton couldn’t deny she’d wished it had all been a bad dream when she woke up. It was hard to have a hero fall, especially one as special to her as Ravensong had been.
“He tried so hard to stay clean. And his life has been so difficult.”
“Sort of self-inflicted difficult.”
Maria shook her head. “He wasn’t responsible for what his father did to him.”
“What?”
“His father beat him as a kid.”
“How do you know that?”
“He gave an interview a few years ago where he talked about it. He has a charity event every year against child abuse.”
Peyton moved closer to the desk. “Can you find me that interview on-line?”
“I’ll try.”
“And see if Stan Neumann can pull up a CPS report for his daughter Tiffany or a domestic violence report from Terry.” Peyton paused and thought for a moment, then tapped a finger against Maria’s desk. “Also see if he can locate Ravensong’s CPS report.”
“On it.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Defino.
“Elena Harris accused us of assuming Ravensong was guilty and not looking for other suspects. I just think we better cross all of our t’s.”
“Good thought. Devan’s gonna want everything we can find to establish a pattern of abuse.”
Peyton nodded. “Let me pull the drug tests from yesterday as well.”
“Keep me in the loop,” said Defino, moving toward her office.
“You got it, Captain,” said Peyton, heading toward the back. She slowed as she came near her desk.
Abe, her favorite Medical Examiner, was sitting in a plastic chair with his feet propped on Marco’s desk. Marco was leaning back as he usually did, talking to him. Peyton removed her coat and slung it across the back of her chair, adjusting her gun in its shoulder harness.
“Morning, Brooks,” said Marco.
“Morning. What are you doing here?” she asked Abe.
He dropped his feet to the floor and swung around to face her. “I was hoping I’d get to see the delicious rock star you’ve got in stir.”
Of course he was.
“And I brought Marco an apple scone.” He waved an elegant, long-fingered hand over a brown fold of glistening, flaky pastry.
“You made an apple scone?”
“Yes. I took a drive to the foothills this weekend and picked some apples with my bare hands.”
Peyton frowned at him. “You picked apples?”
Abe rolled his eyes. “Okay, I picked an apple.”
“Yeah, and did you really make that?”
“Of course I made it. Sheesh.” He sent his dread locks bouncing with a look of aggravation. “You have so little faith in me.”
Peyton sank into her chair. “Come on, Abe. Admit it. You don’t have one domestic bone in your body.”
“I do so, and it’s a very well-developed baking bone.”
Peyton glanced at Marco. He was making an uncomfortable face. There was never a literal meaning to anything Abe said.
“Well, you know what hurts?”
“What?”
“You brought Marco a scone and you didn’t bring me one. How could you do that to me?”
Abe gave her a pitying look. “You don’t just make one scone at a time, you daft girl.”
“You do if you pick only one apple.”
“I made a tray. The rest are in the break-room.” He pointed a finger at her. “But before you get one, you have to guess the secret ingredient.”
Peyton let out her breath. “Give us a hint.”
Abe glanced between them, the beads on the ends of his dreads clanking together. The beads were a new embellishment.
Marco shook his head at Peyton, but he stopped when Abe’s gaze landed on him.
“It begins with L,” said Abe jubilantly.
“Lard,” said Marco.
Peyton beamed a smile at him. “Love.”
Abe smiled too, his teeth struggling to be contained in his mouth. “Yes to lard,” he said, pointing at Marco, “Yes to love.” His finger jabbed at Peyton. “But I meant liqueur.”
“Why did you bring him one instead of me?”
“He’s prettier, darlin’. You know that.”
Marco pushed his scone toward Peyton. “You can have mine. I avoid lard as a rule.”
Abe pushed it back. “Do you really think I would give my Angel dead animal to eat? It’s vegetable lard, gorgeous.”
Marco broke off a bite and Peyton watched with longing as he put it in his mouth. She loved anything sweet and she meant anything.
Abe leaned back in his chair and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded card. “Look what I got in the mail.” He waved it in front of Marco.
Marco stuck another piece in his mouth and chewed. “What is it?”
“A birthday invitation.” Abe waved it again. “For someone’s thirtieth.”
Marco’s brows knit into a frown. Peyton couldn’t help but smile. He snatched the
card from Abe’s hand. “What?”
“Did you get one?” Abe turned to Peyton.
“Of course.”
“Damn Vinnie,” muttered Marco.
“Vinnie D’Angelo.” Abe leaned toward Peyton, cupping his hand against his mouth theatrically. “You know what I mean?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Delicious.”
“He certainly is,” said Peyton, never taking her eyes off her partner. “Mama D’Angelo sure popped out some pretty babies.”
“Uh huh.”
Marco threw the card on the desk and reached for the phone in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said and rose to his feet, walking away.
“Brother Vinnie’s gonna get an ear full.”
“I don’t think Vinnie cares.”
“No, I guess not. So what are we getting him?”
Peyton leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Two tickets to the Niners, fifty yard line.”
Abe reared away from her and gave her an admiring look. “How’d you pull that off?”
“We helped out one of the players a few years back, so I called in a favor.”
“You slut.” He slapped at her arm. “That earns you an apple scone, and I’ll deliver it personally.”
“I want coffee too. Three tablespoons of sugar.”
“I know, I know,” said Abe, rising to his feet and moving toward the break room. “Someday you’ll make president of the Diabetes Club of America?”
“That’s not a real thing.”
“Sure it is. We meet in the morgue.” He shot a pointed look at her and disappeared inside.
Marco turned off the phone and slumped back to his desk. “He never listens.”
“You’re having a party, so get over it. You only turn thirty once.”
“I don’t need to turn thirty at all.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but the alternative is pretty unappealing.”
Marco gave a laugh and watched as Abe settled a scone and a cup of steaming coffee in front of her. Peyton immediately tore off a bite and stuck it in her mouth. The flaky crust melted against her tongue to be followed by a blast of vanilla and the sharp woodsy flavor of the liqueur.
As Abe sank into his chair again, Marco pointed at both of them. “And no gifts.” His finger stopped on Peyton when she was in mid-bite. “I mean it. No gifts!”
Peyton swallowed. “Of course not. Who buys gifts for a birthday party? Ridiculous.”
Marco didn’t seem convinced.
Peyton turned to Abe. “Out with it. Why are you here?”
“I told you. I want to see your rock star.”
“That’s a terrible reason. According to Jake, men are not for ogling.”
“Ogling?”
Marco made a face. “Ugly word.”
Abe nodded. “It is, Angel ‘D, which is why I never ogle. I venerate.”
“Venerate?” scoffed Peyton.
“Means admire.”
“Yeah, I got that. It’s still a no.”
“Why not? He won’t even know I’m there. This is my one chance to see him up close.”
“Then he’ll know you’re there. Come on, Abe, why are you here? You wouldn’t fight your way through paparazzi just to venerate or ogle either one.”
Abe placed his hand in the center of his chest. “I’m hurt by how little you know me.”
“Okay, so you would come to ogle, but there’s something more.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “You got our vic, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.”
“And you found something?”
“I got back from picking apples…”
“Apple.”
Abe acquiesced with an inclination of his head, his beads clicking. “I got back from picking apple too late last night, so I did the examination this morning. I still have an autopsy to perform, but I spent a few hours digging around in her brain.”
Peyton stopped the piece of scone headed to her mouth and tossed it on the napkin. There went breakfast.
“And?” asked Marco.
“She was hit with some force, I’ll tell you. Dented her skull into her brain. Pieces of bone were actually lodged in grey matter.”
Peyton pushed the scone away.
“Whoever did this was beyond rage.”
“We got that when we saw the body.”
“But you don’t have the murder weapon, do you?”
“We couldn’t find it.”
“Interesting.”
Peyton leaned forward. “You know what killed her.”
“I know what killed her.”
“Spill.”
“It was heavy, leaded crystal. A curio or something, maybe a paperweight.”
“How could you know that?”
Abe’s brow rose as he smiled cagily. “Parts of it broke off in her head.”
“What?”
“Small glass fragments, slivers were lodged in her scalp and some were even pushed into her brain. I extracted as many as I could and sent it to the lab to be processed. Whatever he struck her with broke.”
Peyton stared at the desk considering what Abe said.
“How much force would someone have to use to splinter something like that?” asked Marco.
“That isn’t so strange. A defect in the glass, an air bubble, and you have a weak point, but the force needed to shatter her skull and shove it into her brain…” He gave a shiver and his beads made a tinkling sound. “That was something.”
“Wait,” said Peyton. “If the murder weapon broke off in the murderer’s hand…”
Abe leaned over and tapped a finger against Peyton’s forehead. “Now you’re thinking.”
Peyton swatted at him. “He’d have cuts, right?”
“Right. You need to check Ravensong’s hands.”
“The knuckles on his right hand are a mess, Abe.”
“This would be on the palm and the finger tips. In fact, some might be pretty deep.”
“Is there any way that slivers could have lodged in her scalp, but not cut his hand?” asked Marco.
Abe shook his head. “He’d have to be wearing the thickest gardening gloves ever made. There’s just no way. And if he were wearing those gloves, where did they go?”
“And if he were wearing gloves, why did he have her blood all over his hands?” asked Peyton.
“Maybe it wasn’t all her blood. It could have been his too if he cut himself,” said Marco.
“Except wouldn’t Jake have noticed if he cut himself? He processed his hands.” She turned around and looked over her shoulder. “Where is Jake?”
“He’s doing something for Simons and Cho.”
Abe leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. “So, do I get to see the rock star?”
“No, you get to go back to your lab and complete your autopsy.”
Abe made a face. “I never get to have any fun. Now you want to send me back to that dungeon.”
“You’re not in the dungeon. They moved you up a few floors.” Peyton pushed herself to her feet. “Come on, D’Angelo. Let’s go look at our suspect’s hands and get his drug test results.”
Marco rose at well.
“If you won’t let me see the rock star, can I take Jake back to the lab with me and have him take some more pictures of the vic?” asked Abe, looking up at her.
“Can’t you take your own pictures?”
“His are better. He catches things I miss. Plus, I’ve also got Cho and Simons’ bum to take apart. Jake can photograph both.”
Peyton shrugged. “Ask him. I’m not his boss.”
“You sure think you’re mine,” said Abe.
She caught his head in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “Someone needs to keep you in line.”
“No one can keep me in line, sister.”
She released him. “That’s the problem. Be good.”
Abe turned and waved at Marco. “Bye, Angel.”
“Later,” said Marco, following Peyton toward the bac
k of the precinct.
* * *
Jake returned to his desk and found Abe sitting in his chair. The tall, lean Medical Examiner was making a design with a paperclip. Jake leaned on the partition and watched him. He had long fingers with perfectly manicured nails.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a Star of David.” He held it up for Jake to see. “What are you doing?”
“My job. Why are you making a Star of David?”
“The whys and wherefores of things matter less than the ability to do them.”
“Deep. You’re in my chair.”
“I know.” He continued to fold his paperclip.
“Why?”
Abe shot a look up at him. “That’s a theme with you, isn’t it?”
Jake didn’t answer.
Abe dropped the paperclip. “All right. I want you to come back to the lab with me and take pictures of the two autopsies I’m doing.”
“Why can’t you take them?”
“You take better pictures.”
Jake smiled.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Of course it was. When you tell someone they do something better than you, normal people call that a compliment.”
“Fine.” He rose to his feet. He towered a good three inches over Jake. “Are you coming or not?”
“Yeah, just let me tell Maria where I’ll be.” He grabbed his camera from the lower drawer of his desk.
“How’d you like to ride in a real car instead of that gay-pride float you own?”
“At least I own my float.”
Abe gave him a condescending smile. “I wouldn’t list that as an accomplishment, if I were you. It’s like taking pride in shopping in a thrift store. If you aren’t careful, you’ll be a middle aged hipster.”
Jake frowned. Since he lost his job as a loan officer, he’d done his share of shopping in thrift stores, but he didn’t do it ironically. He did it because he had no choice.
“Let’s go out the backdoor and avoid the mayhem out front.”
“Fine,” Jake grumbled and pulled out his phone, sending a text to Maria.
They wound through the cubicles to the little used back door of the precinct. Abe shoved it open. A weak spring sun was peeking through the layer of clouds. They could hear the muted sounds of voices from the parking lot where the paparazzi had gathered. Abe pointed up the street and began walking.
Murder on Russian Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 3) Page 7