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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “How many do you take?”

  Joshua shrugged. “Too many. I don’t know.”

  “How many do you have left?”

  “Only two.”

  “Two?”

  Joshua nodded. “I’ve been trying to save them, but when I don’t take them, I can’t think straight. All I hear is the drum and the guitar, and the people…” He closed his eyes.

  Phil’s grip tightened. “Okay, listen. We’ve got to get through this concert tonight. You hear me?” He shook Joshua. “Do you hear me?”

  Joshua opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, good. Now listen, take the pills you’ve got, and tomorrow, I’ll take you to a doctor, okay?”

  Joshua straightened. “Doctor?”

  “Yeah, a doctor.”

  It scared him to think of telling someone else what he was doing, but he knew he needed help. He couldn’t continue like this, popping pills every few hours just to keep the panic away. A doctor would be able to help him. There had to be a way to get off the drugs. There had to be something a doctor could do.

  “Okay.”

  Phil patted his cheek and smiled. “Good boy. Do you have the pills on you?”

  Joshua fished them out of his pocket and held them out in the palm of his hand.

  “Okay.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the concession table. “Take them now ‘cause you’ve got to get back out there.”

  Joshua popped the pills in his mouth and swallowed a sip of water to wash them down.

  “Good.” He hooked Joshua by the back of the neck and pressed their foreheads together. “Now, don’t worry about anything. The pills will start working and you’ll remember the lyrics. Tomorrow we’ll go get help from the doctor.”

  Joshua forced a few deep breaths into his lungs. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

  “Right, tomorrow.” He slapped Joshua lightly on the cheek. “See, I take care of my star, don’t I?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. You got this, right? You got this!” He pushed Joshua toward the stage and he stumbled, but a roadie caught him and set him on his feet again.

  Joshua hesitated on the edge, fighting the panic, but he clung to the idea that tomorrow there would be a way out of this hell, tomorrow he’d stop the spiral he was on. He had to believe there was a way back.

  * * *

  Marco stepped off the elevator and waited to be buzzed into the ICU. Just as he was about to ask the nurse on duty for the Millers, Billy’s father turned the corner and moved in his direction. Marco let the man approach, trying to corral his own emotions. The ride over hadn’t done much for his state of mind. A combination of guilt and worry gnawed at him. What did Billy Miller want to say and how were they going to find out who was driving the white truck? He hadn’t even told Vinnie or Rosa about that yet.

  “Mr. Miller,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Inspector D’Angelo,” said the man, taking it with both of his own. “Thank you for coming down.” In his early forties, Billy’s father was a tall, handsome man with very dark skin and surprisingly white teeth.

  “How is your son? You said they brought him out of the coma?”

  “Yes.” The man’s eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back. “He’s stable now, but he still has no feeling in his legs. He did move his hand though. The doctors say that’s a good sign.”

  Marco didn’t even know how to answer the pain in the man’s voice. No words would ever be good enough to make this better. “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Miller. I’m so very sorry.”

  “Bill, please.” He released Marco’s hand. “Thank you. That helps.”

  “Bill, I need to tell you something before I go in.”

  “All right, but my son says he has something important to tell you as well. About the accident. He wouldn’t tell us. He just kept saying it had to be you.”

  “I understand. Here’s the thing, Bill. One of the houses across the street from the school had a video camera attached to the front of it. It caught the entire accident.”

  Bill’s expression grew grave. “You saw the accident?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you see?”

  “The boys were coming down 30th, going way too fast for that road. It looked like they were trying to turn right on Balboa. The thing is they weren’t alone. A white pick-up was coming down beside them and just before they reached Balboa, it swerved into them, sending them over the curb and into the trees.”

  “What do you mean it swerved into them?”

  “I mean it smashed into them.”

  “Did you get a license?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  Bill took Marco’s elbow. “I think you better talk to my boy then.”

  Marco allowed the man to lead him down the hallway and to a glass enclosed room at the far end of the corridor. A woman with fair skin and pale brown hair sat in a chair by the bed and in the bed was the boy.

  Tubes went in and out of him, machines beeped and burred around his head, and he looked small and fragile in the huge hospital bed. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot and the fingers of his right hand twitched on top of the bed covers. Although he wasn’t as dark skinned as his father, his flesh had a grey cast to it that was alarming.

  As Marco approached, the woman rose to her feet and took his hand.

  “Inspector D’Angelo,” introduced the man. “This is my wife, Heather.”

  Marco clasped her hand in both of his own.

  “Thank you for coming, Inspector.”

  “My pleasure.” He released her, then went to the side of the bed and gently squeezed the boy’s fingers. “Nice to finally meet you, Billy.” Seeing him now, Marco remembered watching him jump hurdles at one of Tonio’s track meets. The memory almost made Marco sick.

  “You too, sir,” said the boy in a rough voice. He had a nasal cannula going into his nose and patches for a heart monitor covered his chest.

  “Take a seat, Inspector,” said his mother, placing a chair behind Marco.

  Marco sank into it, releasing the boy’s fingers. “Your father called me and said you wanted to talk.”

  The boy tried to nod, but it was hard with so many tubes going into him. “He told me that Antonio couldn’t remember what happened.”

  “That’s right. The doctors don’t think he’ll ever get the memory back.”

  “But I remember.”

  “All right. Do you mind if I ask you some questions? That might be the easiest way to do this.”

  “Sure.”

  Marco shifted in the chair, bringing himself closer to the bed so he could hear the boy more easily. He’d never been one to take notes when questioning someone, but he wondered if he should now. “Tonio…Antonio told me that you went to a party at a house on Shore View. Is that right?”

  The boy nodded. “For the track team.”

  “Right, because you made sections.”

  The boy nodded again.

  “Antonio said someone brought a couple bottles of champagne that got passed around to everyone.”

  “Robbie Malloy did.”

  “Did Antonio drink anything?”

  “A couple of sips. There wasn’t much there.”

  “Okay.” It wasn’t necessary to ask if Billy drank. He wasn’t the one driving. “Antonio said the party got boring, so you left.”

  “Went cruising.”

  “That’s right. On Market?”

  “Yeah, it was dead.”

  “So you went back toward the party?”

  Billy shot a look at his parents, then focused on Marco again. “There was a girl there…” His voice trailed off.

  “I got you,” said Marco. He knew the boy didn’t want to elaborate with his parents in the room. “Did you make it back to the party?”

  Billy’s fingers tightened on the blanket, balling it in his fist. “No. When we got off Market, Antonio got lost. We were trying to get back to the Avenues, but he was turned around.”

&nbs
p; “Do you remember what street he got on?”

  “We finally circled around to Van Ness and I told him to go left on Geary, but he cut this guy off. We almost smashed into him in the intersection.”

  “What intersection?”

  “I don’t remember. I think it was O’Farrell.”

  Marco adjusted his shoulder harness. “Was the guy driving a white pick-up?”

  Billy’s eyes searched his face. Then he nodded. “It scared us bad. Antonio kept saying that his dad would kill him if he caught him anywhere near Market. We just wanted to get back to the party.”

  “Did you turn onto Geary?”

  “Yeah, but the guy was right behind us. He kept pulling up on our bumper and flashing his high beams. Then once we got on the part of Geary that’s two lanes, he kept swerving around us and getting in front, slamming on his brakes.”

  “Did you guys think about calling the police?”

  “We were freakin’ out, sir, but Antonio, he says we’ve got to get the guy’s license plate number. He remembered you telling him that or saying something about it.”

  Marco leaned closer to him. “Did you get it?”

  “I started trying to climb in back and get Antonio’s backpack. I got a pen out and found a hamburger wrapper from earlier. I started taking down the license plate number.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Antonio turned on 30th. He thought we’d lose him, but all of a sudden the guy was there again.” Billy gave a strange gasping sound. His mother started forward, but his father held her back.

  Marco reached out and took the boy’s hand. “It’s over, Billy. He can’t hurt you again, but I want to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. What do you remember happening when you got on 30th?”

  “He slammed into us. He slammed his truck into us. Next thing I know, the paramedics are cutting me out of the car. That’s the last thing I remember until yesterday.”

  Marco released his held breath. “What you just did, telling me about the accident, was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

  Billy tried to smile, but his eyes filled with tears. “He tried to kill us.”

  “I know.”

  “Just because we cut him off. He tried to kill us. Who does something like that?”

  Marco tightened his hold on the boy’s hand. “I don’t know, but I promise you I will make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

  Billy gave him a nod.

  Marco released him and pushed himself to his feet. He moved toward the door and Billy’s parents followed him.

  “What now?” said his father.

  Marco turned to face them. He could see the small figure of the boy silhouetted in the doorway. “I’m going to look for the partial plate Billy took and see if we can get a hit on the white truck.”

  “If you find it, can you arrest the driver?”

  “You better believe I can.”

  Billy’s mother came forward and took his hands, pressing them to her breast. “Please, please find him. I’m begging you for my son, please.”

  Marco nodded and she released him. “I’ll keep in touch,” he said, backing away from them.

  As he walked down the corridor, the tragedy of it all weighed him down until he felt like he was walking through syrup. Even if he caught the guy, it would never bring back what Billy Miller had lost.

  * * *

  Peyton took a swig of her beer and set it down. “Then she accused me of being too emotionally attached to him.”

  Jake bit into his pizza slice and rolled it into his cheek. “Are you?”

  Peyton frowned at him. “No.”

  Abe snorted into his glass of wine. It was the tamest thing Peyton had ever seen him drink, but then he only had two choices at the pizza parlor and neither of them met his unique tastes. Wine was the lesser evil, he said.

  “What does that mean?” she demanded.

  The two men exchanged knowing looks.

  “You’d get emotionally involved with a grizzly bear if he was your case,” said Jake.

  “And this one’s got you bad, girl.” Abe slapped her arm. “You know we like pretty men, honey. I don’t entirely blame you.”

  Peyton rolled her eyes and took another drag on her beer.

  Jake pushed the pizza over to her. “You’d better eat something. That’s your third beer.”

  “Keeping tabs, Ryder,” she snapped.

  “Oowee, this one’s got you real bad,” said Abe, picking a pepperoni slice off his piece and sticking it in his mouth. “Why don’t you let me meet him and then I can tell you whether he’s worth your career or not?”

  “Worth my career? What do you think is happening? You sound like that stupid psychiatrist.”

  Jake and Abe exchanged another look, then Jake leaned toward her. “Just where were you the night you didn’t come home?”

  “She didn’t come home?”

  Peyton kicked Jake under the table before he could answer. When he looked at her in shock, she glared at him and shook her head. He grabbed his beer and took a swallow, so he couldn’t answer Abe.

  Abe gave her an arch look. “You better not kick me, sister. Did you spend the night with the rock star?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “What do I think?”

  Peyton set her beer on the table. “Really, Abe? Really. Do you need me to tell you what you always think?”

  “I guess I do.”

  “Sex!” said Peyton and Jake at the same time. Then all three of them broke into laughter.

  Marco appeared at that moment and slumped down into the booth next to Peyton, taking a long pull on his beer. He lowered it and sighed. “Who’s talking about sex?”

  “Who do you think?” asked Jake, shoving more pizza into his mouth.

  Marco’s gaze shifted to Abe. “Forget I asked.”

  Abe studied him over his wine glass. “You look tired, Angel.”

  “Yep.” He took another swig.

  Peyton rubbed his shoulders. “What happened?”

  “Billy Miller said Tonio cut off the guy in the white pickup and the guy followed them from O’Farrell to 30th, tailgating them and cutting them off. Tonio thought he’d be able to lose him on Balboa, but the guy sideswiped them before they could get away.”

  Jake paused with his pizza halfway to his mouth. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Stan’s working on the video,” offered Peyton.

  “Billy says he got a partial on the plate. I just need to get clearance to go through the evidence bags.”

  “I can get it tomorrow,” said Peyton. “That way we don’t have to worry about conflict of interest.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted the beer again.

  Abe dished him up a slice of pizza and laid it in front of him. “Eat something, Angel. This is good news, isn’t it?”

  Marco lowered the beer. “I guess, except you didn’t have to stand there and listen to a 16 year old boy tell you how he lost his legs to some bastard with road rage.”

  None of them responded because there really was nothing anyone could say.

  * * *

  Peyton picked up her phone and pressed a finger against the text message. Just what is it you think I think that isn’t what I think? Abe. He wasn’t going to leave this alone. She’d diverted the topic when Marco showed up last night, but she knew Abe. When he got a juicy bone, he was definitely going to keep gnawing it.

  But was he right? Was she risking her career here? It was one thing to feel responsible for destroying Jake’s life, or wanting to help Venus escape prostitution, but no one was going to appreciate her getting emotionally involved with this rock star.

  “Inspector Brooks?”

  Peyton blinked and glanced over. Ravensong sat beside her and on his other side was Emily Staddler. They were both staring at her strangely. They’d arrived promptly at 9:00AM and Peyton had set up the computer in the conference room to play the video. They were waiting for her to sho
w it when Abe texted.

  “You okay?” Ravensong asked.

  “Sure.” She shoved the phone in her pocket without answering. “Why?”

  “You seem distracted.”

  She studied his features. Although she didn’t want to admit it, her feelings for Ravensong were more complicated than they’d been for her other cases. He reminded her of her youth, he was sexy as hell, and she wouldn’t be opposed to a liaison…well, except for Elena and her career. Joshua Ravensong offered a temptation she really didn’t need right now.

  “Here’s the thing, Joshua. It’s been brought to my attention that I may be too emotionally involved in your case.”

  “Who brought that to your attention?”

  She didn’t answer, but her gaze shifted to Staddler involuntarily. He picked up on it.

  “What did you say?”

  She held up a hand. “I said I thought it might be better for you if you had someone a bit more detached.”

  “Detached? What are you saying?”

  “You know your history, Joshua. You tend to confuse physical encounters with emotional ones.”

  He frowned at her. “Well, here’s something I’m not confused by. I’m facing a murder trial, Emily, and the only person I want handling that is sitting next to me right now, so back the hell off.”

  Staddler’s mouth opened in surprise, but she didn’t say anything.

  “She might be right, Joshua. It might be better if I turn this over to someone else.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t think I’m objective anymore.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “If I play this video and you remember what happens, I’m duty bound to arrest you.”

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t do it?”

  No, she’d arrest him, but it would hurt like hell.

  “Peyton?”

  “I’d arrest you.”

  “Then I don’t see what the problem is.” He turned back to face the computer and extended his hand toward the screen. The sweatshirt pulled back, exposing the rope of scar tissue on his arm. “Let’s get this over with, Inspector Brooks.”

  Peyton reached for the mouse and clicked on the file. The video loaded to the spot she’d keyed that morning. Shifting in her chair, she watched Ravensong as he watched himself. When he struck the wall, the man beside her flinched. Peyton stopped the video.