“Sure.” He clicked the file.
Once more the two vehicles careened down 30th and the truck swerved into the Escort, actually hitting it and forcing it over the curb. When the truck came to a bouncing halt, Peyton touched Chase’s shoulder.
“Stop it there.”
He did as she requested.
They stared at the truck. It was impossible to see the driver, but it looked like only one person was in the cab.
“Can you read the license plate number?” she asked.
Chase squinted at the screen, then shook his head. “The video’s too dark and grainy for that.”
“Maybe Stan will be able to enhance it?” she said to Marco. Stan Neumann was the precinct’s tech genius who could work wonders with a computer.
Marco didn’t respond, just stared at the screen.
Chase held up the zip drive. “The footage is on here. Let me know if you want the original.”
Peyton closed the drive in her fist. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“I wish I could do more.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I know it’s not the best quality.”
“It tells us a lot.” She glanced at her partner. “More than you can imagine.”
Chase gave Marco a puzzled look.
Peyton pushed Marco in the stomach to back him up. He blinked at her and then acknowledged Chase. “Thank you,” he said in a tight voice.
“No problem.”
Peyton led the way to the door and opened it. “If you ever need anything, please use my card.”
“Thank you, Inspector Brooks,” he answered, leaning on the door as they went down the stairs.
Once they were on the street again, Marco walked over to the crime scene. Peyton followed him, but she waited on the sidewalk while he walked through the destruction.
“I blamed him for this. I yelled at him when he couldn’t remember what happened.”
“It was a natural reaction, Marco.”
He turned around. “If there hadn’t been a video on that house, Tonio would have carried the blame for that accident for the rest of his life.”
“Maybe not. Jake found white paint on the Escort when we saw it in the impound yard. And he took photos of the tire treads to be analyzed by Forensics. The video is just quicker.”
Marco strode back to her. “Brooks, I was sure Tonio was responsible. I jumped to that conclusion without looking at the evidence.”
“Okay? What’s your point?”
“What if I’ve been wrong about Ravensong?”
Peyton started to answer, but both of their phones went off at the same time. “Hold that thought,” she said as she pulled the device from her pocket. “Brooks?” She stepped away from Marco and into the street.
“Inspector Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“This is Emily Staddler, Joshua’s psychiatrist.”
“Yes, Dr. Staddler?”
“I was wondering if you could come to the psych facility. I have an idea of how to jar Joshua’s memory about the day Terry died and I’d like to run it by both of you.”
“Sure. I have to finish up something, but I’ll be over there in an hour.”
“Great. See you then.”
The phone went dead and Peyton replaced it in her pocket, turning back to Marco. He had his back turned as well and the only thing she could hear was “Uh huh” over and over again. Shifting sideways, he glanced back at her. “Okay, I’ll be there. Yes, 30 minutes. Okay.”
Lowering the phone, he closed the distance between them. “That was Billy Miller’s father. They brought him out of the coma and he wants to talk to me.”
“The boy does?”
“Yeah. The father says his son remembers what happened.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“What was your call about?”
“Dr. Staddler, Ravensong’s psychiatrist, has an idea to jar his memory of the day Terry died and wants to discuss it with him and me, but I can reschedule if you want me to go with you.”
“No. We can’t stall any more about that case. Devan is going to demand we hand it over to him pretty soon. Let me drop you off at the precinct and then we’ll meet up tonight and compare notes.”
“Got it.” She tossed him the keys to the Charger. “You drive. I want to send the captain a text message and tell her what we’ve got.”
* * *
Peyton watched Marco pull away, then she jogged up the stairs to the precinct and pulled open the door. Jake was waiting for her by Maria’s desk with the captain. She tossed him the zip drive and he caught it with his free hand. His other held a couple of photos.
“Take this to Stan for me and see if he can get a license plate number off it,” she told him.
“All right, but I got the tire analysis from Forensics.”
“Okay?”
“The second set of tires belonged to a truck of some kind.”
“Yep, a white pick-up. It’s there on the zip drive.”
“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I wanted to make you feel useful.”
“Freakin’ assed cops,” he muttered, turning away and walking toward the back of the precinct.
Defino smiled after him. “You could stroke his ego a little, you know?”
“Oh, come on, Captain. When have you ever done that for a man?”
“Point taken. What’s happening with the Ravensong case?”
“The psychiatrist wants to meet with me. She’s got an idea to jog Ravensong’s memory.”
“Okay, but I want to be debriefed when you get back. Where’s Marco?”
“On the way to the hospital to meet with Billy Miller. They brought him out of the coma and he asked for Marco.”
“You okay handling this on your own?”
Peyton held up her hands. “I’m fine. Unless, you’d like to come out with me and see our rock star for yourself?”
Defino hesitated just long enough to surprise Peyton, then she glanced at Maria and shook her head. “You do it. I’ll man the fort here.”
“I’ll go,” piped up Maria.
“That’s okay. I think he’s been put through enough already.”
Maria glared at her. “Well, then I don’t know why you keep torturing him with that hair.”
Defino didn’t say anything, just shook her head and retreated to her office.
Peyton left the precinct, taking her little green Corolla, and made the drive to the psych facility. The late day sun played over the hills and dappled the sidewalk in shadows, but from the top of the psych ward she could see all the way over the City to the bay. Checking in at the desk, she found it manned by an older security guard with a completely bald head.
He directed her to an office to the right of the lobby and she entered to find Ravensong already sitting in a chair before a massive cherry wood desk. He glanced up at her as she entered and she was glad to see he looked much better than the last time she saw him. He still wore the non-descript grey sweat suit and sneakers without the laces, but his hair lay in a glistening blanket about his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes were gone.
She closed the door at her back and sat down next to him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He gave her a crooked smile and she noticed the beauty mark above his upper lip for the first time. Damn the man was sexy, even in sweats.
“Do you know why we’re here?”
“When Emily’s involved, I never know.”
Peyton looked around the office. It had a very masculine feel with heavy wooden paneling and leather desk chairs in burgundy. The desk was cleared of papers, but a silver metal schooner hung suspended from a fulcrum to Peyton’s left. In the center was a leather pen cup and calendar. To the right, a desk lamp and a bowl of chocolate candies.
“Did Elena tell you about the video from the elevator?”
He involuntarily flexed his hand. “Yeah. I don’t remember doing that.”
“Well, I guess it’s so
mething men do.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it must be a trait common to testosterone-laden humans.” When he still looked confused, she held up a hand. “Every man I’ve talked to can relate at least one incident of punching something inanimate.”
“And?”
“Women don’t do that.”
“You don’t punch things, or you don’t punch inanimate objects?”
“Pretty much both.”
“I see.”
“Apparently, it’s very understandable if you have…” She caught herself and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.
He shifted in the chair, so he faced her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Have what?”
“Have…chutzpah.”
He laughed. “I have never heard it called that before.”
She wasn’t going to touch that. Not with him, not when being next to him made her heart do funny little flutters. She was glad her skin was dark enough to hide the blush that tinged her cheeks.
“You are good for me, Inspector Brooks. I don’t know of anyone else who makes me laugh as much.”
She wasn’t sure that was a compliment. Frankly, she’d rather make him feel as fluttery as he made her. Reaching out, she set the schooner in motion, watching it pass through its wide arcs, the light from the desk lamp reflected off its sides. It was almost mesmerizing, the way it swung back and forth, back and forth, rhythmically, until the arc gradually got less and less.
She blinked and glanced over at him. He was staring at it, his eyes wide and fixed, completely absorbed in the motion. Leaning forward, she caught it and forced it to stop. He gave a little start and blinked.
“Sorry,” she said.
He released his held breath. “Uh, yeah.”
The door opened and Emily Staddler stepped through, going behind the desk and taking a seat. She had her glasses perched on the end of her nose and she wore a crisp charcoal grey business suit. “Forgive me for the delay. I had to take a call.” She hesitated and looked between the two of them, noticing the strange energy. “Is everything all right?”
Peyton didn’t want to explain what had happened. She didn’t think Ravensong would appreciate it. “Just a little sexual tension,” she said. She meant it as a joke, even though she hadn’t thought it through all the way, but Ravensong’s breath escaped in a half-laugh.
The doctor frowned at her from above the glasses.
Chewing her lip, Peyton wasn’t sure what to say now. Reaching across the desk, she grabbed a piece of candy, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. “Oh, that’s good.” She grabbed one and handed it to Ravensong. “Try it.”
He took it, giving her a half-bewildered, half-amused look.
Peyton swallowed, facing the doctor again and plastering a smile on her face. What the hell was it about this man that had her babbling like an idiot?
Dr. Staddler continued to watch her with a skeptical look on her face, then she deliberately flattened her hands on the desk. “I have an idea on how to spark Joshua’s memory. I want to show him the video from the elevator.”
Ravensong shifted in his chair and Peyton could see his shoulders tense from the corner of her eyes. Automatically she reached over and put her hand on his wrist. He glanced down at it, then covered her fingers with his own. The doctor frowned fully now, but Peyton didn’t move her hand. This doctor hadn’t been there the night he fought his way through withdrawal.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“What makes you think it’ll work and if it does, to what end?”
Staddler held up a hand. “To the end of this whole mess. To Joshua’s freedom.”
Or conviction, thought Peyton.
“I’ll do it.”
Peyton glanced over at him. “Joshua, think about it.”
“I have.” His grip tightened on Peyton’s hand. “I have to know. I need to know if I did it and if this is the only way, then so be it.”
Peyton gave him a sad smile. “Okay. I’ll make the arrangements for tomorrow. If you’re sure?”
He met her gaze, the velvet dark of his eyes beckoning her in. “I am.”
Well, okay then, she thought. Nothing more to argue about. “Fine, I’ll set it up.” She released him and pushed herself to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve still got a lot to do today.”
She turned for the door and pulled it open, feeling the psychiatrist’s eyes on her. Glancing back, she smiled for Joshua. “See you tomorrow.”
He nodded and she left the room, hurrying down the hall to the lobby. She’d just made it past the reception desk when Staddler called to her. Peyton stopped and slowly turned around. She knew the entire exchange in the office had been weird, but she wasn’t going to discuss it with this woman. The night of Ravensong’s withdrawal was theirs and no one else needed to know what he’d gone through.
“Inspector Brooks, I’d like a word with you.”
“Of course.”
She came to a halt in front of Peyton, her hands clasped around a file. The cut of her business suit was professional, but stiff and formal, at odds with the more bohemian style of her patient.
“Inspector Brooks, I’m certain you understand that Joshua is in a delicate place right now.”
“Of course.”
“He’s vulnerable and probably not thinking as clearly as he should.”
Peyton frowned. Was there a point to this?
“He has a tendency to misread situations.”
“Dr. Staddler, I don’t have a fancy college degree, so if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d speak a bit more plainly for me.”
The doctor glanced over her shoulder, then moved closer to Peyton. “Joshua has an addictive personality as you may well be aware and that extends to everything.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he tends to get emotionally invested with people and right now he’s in a committed relationship. Were something to happen that affected that relationship, he would come to regret it very much, but he might not be able to stop himself before it’s too late.”
“What?”
“In the past, Joshua has entered physical relationships, believing them to be emotional ones; however, to be honest, the only real relationship he’s had is with Elena. He truly loves her, but he might fixate on someone else if he feels she offers him solace and safety. And if that confusion were to evolve into a physical encounter, it would be very destructive to the wellness he’s been building for so many years now.”
“What exactly are you saying, Dr. Staddler?”
“Okay, here it is. I get the feeling that you are personally invested in this case, and while I appreciate how that can happen, I’m just wondering if Joshua wouldn’t be better off with someone less emotionally attached.”
Peyton clenched her jaw and moved close enough to the doctor that their shoes almost touched. “Right now, you’d better be grateful for my emotional attachment because it’s all that’s standing between him and arraignment, and with the way the evidence stacks up in this case, I’m his best chance to beat a conviction, so let me just ask you, Dr. Staddler, how much you want to pursue this train of thought because when you start accusing people of impropriety, you might just want to take a look in the mirror yourself. A lot of people might question why a psychiatrist comes all the way up from L.A. to treat one of her patients.”
Dr. Staddler’s nostrils flared and she took a step back.
Peyton narrowed her eyes. “Do we understand one another?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then I will see you and Joshua in my precinct tomorrow at 9:00AM.”
“On the dot.”
“Excellent. Have a pleasant evening, doctor.”
“You too, Inspector Brooks.”
“Oh, I most certainly will.”
CHAPTER 13
Joshua gripped the microphone so hard he could feel the edge of it dig
into his fingers. Closing his eyes to block out the crowd, he tried to think of the song, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could hear was the pounding of the drums, beating inside his chest, and the wail of the guitar filling his head with noise. He snapped open his eyes and the crowd swam before him, a kaleidoscope of colors and motions, blurring in trailing tails of light.
Releasing the microphone, he stepped back. He nodded at James to take center stage and moved further away from the spot lights. James gave him a strange look, but he stepped up and automatically launched into his guitar solo.
Joshua turned then and headed backstage, pushing through the roadies and groupies lining the wings. He made it to the open, near the concession table, and leaned on it, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to chase back the panic.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He turned and faced Phil. Sweat slid down the planes of his chest and ran down his spine. It stung in his eyes, making his vision swim. “I just need a moment.”
“You need a moment? What the hell do you mean you need a moment? We’re playing a packed house.”
“I know. I just need a break.”
“A break?” The look on Phil’s face spoke volumes. Joshua knew it sounded ridiculous. “What is this? A panic attack?”
“I can’t remember the lyrics.”
Phil tilted his head as if he didn’t hear him right. “You can’t remember the lyrics?”
Joshua shook his head. “No, I can’t remember them.”
“What the hell do you mean you can’t remember them? You wrote the damn things!”
“I know!”
People turned and stared at them. Joshua realized they were both yelling.
Phil came forward and grabbed his shoulder, pushing him further away from the stage and prying eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Joshua lifted a hand and let it fall against his thigh. “I’m almost out of the pills and I…I can’t think straight without them.”
“The pills? The ones I gave you?”
“No.”
Phil pulled him closer, dropping his voice. “What pills then?”
“Oxycodone.”
“Oxycodone?”
Why did he keep repeating everything Joshua said?
Murder on Russian Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 3) Page 21