Murder on Russian Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Having a family is hard, Peyton, because you’re bound to hurt them, disappoint them, worry them, but without them, what are you?”

  “Alone.”

  He opened his eyes and studied her. “That sounds personal.”

  She shrugged.

  “If you’re going to stay, you have to tell me about your family. Your chatter helps.”

  “Chatter? Where’s that famous Ravensong charm? You’re starting to sound like James.”

  He laughed again. “I’m in pain here, Peyton. How much charm do you think I can muster?”

  She reached for the washcloth and found it hot to the touch. “All right. Let me wet this again, then I’ll tell you about my dysfunctional family. That ought to get us to the other side.”

  He didn’t respond because he was too busy grappling with another wave of agony. Watching him, Peyton felt her protective instinct go into overdrive.

  * * *

  The buzz of her cell phone catapulted Peyton out of a sound sleep. She sat up quickly and dragged it out of her pocket. Sometime in the night she’d fallen asleep on Ravensong’s bed. Looking around in a daze, she saw sunlight was streaming through the window, encircling him in his chair. He moaned and screwed his eyes shut tighter.

  She thumbed it on and put it to her ear, swinging her legs to the floor. “Hello,” she whispered.

  “Where the hell are you!”

  Jake.

  “Jake?”

  “Are you all right?”

  She held the phone away from her face and looked at the time. Shit! “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “I was worried sick, Peyton. I didn’t know if something had happened to you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I got busy and just decided to stay here.” For some reason, she was reluctant to tell him where she was. She rose to her feet and stretched the kinks out of her back.

  “You slept at the precinct?”

  She glanced at Ravensong. His eyes were still closed and a frown darkened his brow. Sure, let’s go with that, she thought. “Is everything all right? Is Pickles okay?”

  “You scare the shit out of me and you ask me about Pickles? Thanks a hell of a lot, Peyton.”

  “Okay, stop scolding me. I’m sorry, all right?”

  “You could have called me, sent a text message, anything.”

  “I know. You’re right. I was completely wrong.”

  “Damn straight you were.”

  Okay, Preacher, this is going a bit far. “I didn’t mean to worry you, but I won’t do it again. I’ll be home in a few hours, okay?”

  “Fine. We’ll talk more then.”

  Wonderful, she thought. “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  The phone went dead and she put it in her pocket, taking a seat on the edge of the bed again.

  Ravensong cracked open an eye. “Boyfriend?”

  “You’d think, huh? No, just a housemate. An uptight, over-protective housemate.”

  “I guess with your job that’s understandable.”

  She thought about it. He had a point. It was kind of nice having someone worry about her for a change. “How are you?”

  “If I don’t move, I’ll be fine. The worst is over, now it’s just the hangover.”

  “That’s shitty. No fun, but all the suffering.”

  His laugh turned into a moan. “You don’t help when you make me laugh. What time is it?”

  “7:00AM.”

  He squinted at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.” She looked around the room. “It’s kinda strange that no one came to check on you in all that time.”

  “With enough money, you can buy a great deal of privacy. Most of the people here are not here voluntarily, but I came here with the understanding that they leave me alone for the most part.”

  “Yet they won’t let you have a toothbrush.”

  “I can have a toothbrush if they watch me. It’s a concession I make.”

  “What exactly can you do with a toothbrush?”

  “Sharpen the end of it.”

  Peyton reared back. She hadn’t thought of that. “Well, okay then.”

  He forced a smile for her. “I haven’t been suicidal since my daughter was born, Inspector Brooks. It’s all a precaution.”

  “So you don’t do the therapy sessions?”

  “I have my own psychiatrist.”

  “Yeah, I met her.”

  He frowned. “Is there anyone you didn’t meet?”

  “Nope. I pretty much got the whole Ravensong experience.” Her phone vibrated again and she pulled it out, looking at the display. Marco’s name flashed across the screen and she thumbed it on. “Hey.”

  “Peyton, I need you to come down…” His voice trailed off and she could hear other voices in the background.

  “Marco?”

  “Peyton, look, I need you to come to Saint Francis Memorial.”

  Peyton felt her heart slam against her ribs. “Saint Francis? The hospital?”

  “On Hyde, yes. I need you to come now.”

  Her grip tightened on the phone. “Marco, what’s wrong?” Her mouth felt suddenly dry.

  “Tonio was in an accident last night. Bad.” His voice had dropped and she had to strain to hear him.

  “Oh God,” she breathed. “Is he all right?”

  “He has a head injury and a compound fracture in his left leg. They’re prepping him for surgery right now. There was another boy in the car, Billy Miller. He’s in a medically induced coma.” His voice trailed away and she could hear other sounds in the background, a PA system, loud talking.

  “Marco?”

  “I need you to come down, Peyton, please.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Thanks. I’ll meet you here. Seventh floor, ICU, okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.” Then he was gone.

  Peyton held the phone in her hand for a moment, trying to still the frantic pounding of her heart.

  “You okay?”

  “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  He leaned forward in the chair, grimacing in pain. “No worries. Go. You’ve done enough for me.”

  She hesitated. She wanted to offer him some comfort, some platitude, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate it. Mostly she wanted to tell him she wasn’t giving up on the case, that she was still looking into it, but that seemed small and petty. The reality was without some break, he would be tried for his ex-wife’s murder and she couldn’t stop it.

  “I’ll check up on you in a few days, okay?”

  He took her hand in his. “Inspector Brooks, you don’t owe me anything.”

  But she did. She owed him the truth, even if that meant the worst for him. He deserved to know. Damn but he was making it hard for her to see him as a murderer.

  She squeezed his hand and rose to her feet. “It would help if you weren’t so damn charming.”

  He laughed. “You’d better go.”

  She released him and backed toward the door. “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

  He gave her a smoky look and Peyton felt like she was half-in-love with him. “I’m fine,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing to either of them.

  With a short wave, she turned and hurried to the door, pulling it open. She didn’t allow herself to glance back as she shut it behind her.

  * * *

  The Saint Francis Memorial Hospital was an imposing grey building in the heart of the City. Peyton parked in the garage on Pine and hurried to the main hospital entrance. A security guard directed her to the information desk and Peyton found an older woman sitting behind it with cat-eye glasses perched on the end of her nose and held in place by a beaded chain.

  “ICU?”

  “Sign in, dear,” she said, pointing to a spot on a register.

  Peyton quickly signed.

  The woman handed her an oval shaped visitor’s badge and pointed an arthritic finger behind her. “Take those elevators to the seventh floor.�
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  “Thank you.” She hurried to the elevators and pushed the button. As she paced before them, she wished she’d had time to grab a cup of coffee and a shower, even use the restroom, but she’d raced right over the minute she left the psych facility.

  The elevator opened and Peyton stepped inside. The back wall was mirrored, so she tried to smooth down her hair and straighten her clothes as she waited for it to climb. Turning around, she studied the numbers above the door, then noticed a glass covered box. Peering at it closer, she marked that it was a camera. Made sense. She was sure there were cameras all over the hospital, watching everything people did.

  The doors opened and she hurried out, coming to a glass door that blocked her from going any farther. Located beyond the doors was a nurse’s station and a young Asian man in scrubs buzzed her through. She pushed open the door and hurried to the counter.

  “D’Angelo?”

  “They’re in a waiting room down that hallway on your left.”

  “Thank you.” She walked as quickly as she could down the hallway. It was white and austere with no decorations on the walls. A bank of windows looked out over the City, but the only view she saw was a covering of fog shrouding everything.

  She came upon the waiting room and turned in the doorway. Marco glanced up at her from where he sat in a chair by himself. He had his hands clasped before him, but he rose immediately. She marked that Vinnie and Rosa sat in chairs on the other side of the room, next to Mona and Leo. A television flickered on the wall above Marco’s chair, but the sound had been turned down.

  She stepped forward to meet him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He enfolded her and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “Thank you for coming,” rumbled his voice beneath her ear.

  After a moment, she pulled away and went to Vinnie and Rosa. Rosa fell into her arms, tears racing down her face. Peyton held her and reached out her hand to take Mona’s. Mona kissed the back of her fingers.

  Peyton held Rosa off and smoothed back her hair. “It’s gonna be all right,” she soothed. “Where’s Cristina? Do you want me to take her to my place?”

  “She’s with Franco and Sofia,” said Vinnie.

  Peyton nodded. “Is Tonio in surgery right now?”

  Rosa wiped her eyes. “Yes, they had to operate right away or he might lose his leg. They’re worried though because he has a brain injury and the surgery might increase the swelling.”

  “Was he conscious?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t remember anything that happened.”

  Peyton turned and hugged Vinnie. “Can I get you guys anything?”

  He hugged her in return. “Just being here is enough.”

  Marco touched her back. “I need to talk to you.” He motioned to the hallway.

  Peyton quickly went to Leo and kissed his cheek.

  “Thank you for being here for my family, bella,” he said, patting her shoulder.

  “Always,” she answered and followed Marco into the hallway.

  He was leaning against the window sill, his arms crossed. His eyes were bloodshot and he hadn’t shaved.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded, his gaze drifting to the waiting room. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need you to look at the police reports from last night.”

  “Okay. What happened, Marco?”

  Marco held up a hand and let it fall against his arm. “He and this Billy Miller kid went to a party near George Washington. Tonio was driving. He doesn’t remember what happened, but somewhere around midnight he slammed the car head-long into a tree on the corner of the school.”

  “Where?”

  “Thirtieth, right on the corner of Balboa.”

  “You said Billy Miller’s in a medically induced coma?”

  Marco swallowed hard. “The crash severed his spine. If he lives, he’ll be paralyzed.”

  Peyton felt tears burn her eyes. “Okay.” She fought to choke them back because she could see Marco’s eyes were glistening too.

  “I need you to get the police reports and take a look at the car. They moved it to the impound yard this morning, so I didn’t get a chance to see it.”

  “Was he drinking, Marco?”

  “I don’t know. They took blood, but they didn’t tell us the result.”

  She nodded.

  “Peyton, if he was drinking and if this Miller kid dies, they’ll try him for manslaughter.”

  “I know. I’ll get the reports, then Jake and I will go see the car.”

  “I’d help, but…” He motioned to the waiting room.

  “No, you stay here.” She thought for a moment. “You said Balboa and Thirtieth, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Was he turning on Thirtieth and lost control?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t remember anything.”

  “I’ll take a look at the crash scene too. I’m just having a hard time picturing the accident.”

  “So am I.”

  She came forward and he lowered his arms, so she could wrap her arms around him. He folded his body around her, resting his forehead on her shoulder, and she simply held him, running her hands across his back to soothe him.

  “You’ll keep me updated?” she said.

  “You know it.”

  “Let me know as soon as he’s out of surgery, okay?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted his head and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  She leaned back and gave him a watery smile. “You don’t need to say that.”

  “I know.”

  She kissed him in return and stepped away. “Tell Vinnie and Rosa I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  He nodded and watched her walk away.

  CHAPTER 10

  I wandered to the window and back toward my desk. Most of the time, he did the pacing, but this part of the story worried me. We’d gotten to something deep and dark, something I wasn’t sure I was ready to broach. Up until now, everything he told me made him the victim, but this would change things, this would cast him in a different light.

  Maybe I could stop. Maybe I didn’t need to go on. I had enough for the book, didn’t I? I didn’t need to delve any deeper. His life until now was interesting, tragic, compelling. Did people need to know more, know the man who was weak and flawed and flat out stupid?

  There’s where it was. I wanted people to feel sympathetic toward him. I wanted them to love him. I didn’t want them to see him as just another junkie, a drug addict, master of his own destruction. Here’s where the story would change, would paint him in a light that wasn’t flattering because there was no way to not hold him responsible for his own fall.

  “You’re wearing a hole in the floor.”

  That voice, sexy, smoky, like dark chocolate. It flowed over me and made me stop pacing.

  He had his back to me, his hands clasped on the chair arms, the damn leather bands like shackles. I could only see his dark hair, the edge of a royal-blue sleeve rolled to mid-arm, exposing the bands as if they were his brand, his mark of shame.

  Ah, a writer’s mind is a playground of words. Some came so easy, but some were hard. Some didn’t want to be said, written. That’s what took courage. Writing what shouldn’t be written. Like confession, it hurt, but the pain was necessary to get to the truth.

  I didn’t know how to answer him, so I didn’t.

  “You wanted to do this project. You asked me to cooperate, but now you’re backing out,” he said.

  “I’m not backing out. I’m just wondering if we have enough. If we should stop?”

  “That’s not it.”

  I wanted to argue, but there wasn’t any point. We both knew I was flirting with cowardice.

  “If I continue telling you, things change and you don’t want that. You’re afraid to go there. Afraid to hear how easy it is.”

  “Easy what is?”

  “To slide.”

  To slide. And there it was. I couldn’t ign
ore it, I couldn’t pretend we hadn’t arrived at this point, I couldn’t bury the truth. He connected it and it was done.

  “You know people may not feel the same way about you after we write this.”

  “I know.”

  “The adulation, the worship, it will be tarnished.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s one thing to read about it in the abstract, but this won’t be abstract, this will be real.”

  “A confession.”

  “Yes.”

  “I know.”

  “Why do it? Why tell this? Why not let people have their fantasy?” I came around the chair, so I could see his face, his dark eyes, high cheekbones, perfect bone structure. “Why not let them pretend?”

  He gave me a grim smile. “We make gods out of lesser things. We make gods out of shallow, two-dimensional people and we shower them with riches and adulation. Why? Why do we do this?”

  “Because it makes our lives seem less mundane. We can live out a fantasy through them.”

  “And all the while we rot inside. We have more substance abuse than at any other time. Maybe we should stop living the damn fantasy and take a look at ourselves. Maybe we should start living for real.”

  I stared at him. I could wax on poetic about seeing him, really seeing him for the first time, but that would be more author chicanery. Instead I just nodded. That and nothing more. After a moment of staring at each other, I went and took my seat again.

  * * *

  The roar of the crowd echoed in Joshua’s head as he pushed through the roadies and band members backstage. He needed just a moment to himself, a moment to gather his thoughts. Pushing open the backdoor of the club, he eased out into the alley. A single light illuminated the area over the door, so he moved a few steps to the left, deeper into the alley and the shadows. The night was cold and he leaned against the brick of the building, allowing the breeze to cool the sweat on his body.

  This was the biggest concert Blazes had done to date – two encores and the fans had continued to scream for more until the management brought the house lights up. Joshua’s modeling had done exactly what Phil promised, it had catapulted them into the spotlight and soon these sorts of clubs would be too small. Now he wanted Joshua to accept a cameo in a movie. Joshua wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasn’t an actor, he wasn’t a model, he was a musician. Why the hell wasn’t that enough?