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

by M. L. Hamilton

  She glanced over her shoulder at it. “I’m getting the hell out.”

  “What?” He pushed back the covers and rose. Looking around, he tried to find his clothes, but he didn’t remember where he’d left them.

  She walked to the end of the bed and bent over, grabbing something off the floor, then she chucked it at him.

  He caught the pants in mid-air, but not before the buckle struck him in the chest. Grimacing, he bent to pull them on. “Why are you leaving?”

  She gave him a look that plainly said he was stupid and threw the empty glass on the bed. “Because one of these mornings, I’m gonna wake up next to a corpse.” Her eyes lowered to his arm. “The pills were bad, but you’re shooting up now.”

  “The hell I am,” he said, pulling the jeans over his hips.

  Her brows lifted skeptically. “What the hell are those marks then, dumb ass?”

  “Stop calling me that.” He clawed his hair back again. “I had some blood tests taken.”

  “For what?”

  “To see why I’m so damn tired all the time.” He came toward her and put his hands on her hips. “Look, don’t leave. I stopped taking the pills weeks ago. You know that.”

  “You also stopped breathing this morning.”

  He pulled her against him and bent his head, nuzzling her neck. She had to wrap her arms around him to keep from falling over. “That’s why you need to stay.”

  She pulled his head up and gave him a kiss, a deep, searching kiss, and he knew he had her again, but a moment later she pushed him away. “Listen, baby. You are something, I’ll give you that, and if all I wanted was sex, well, we’d be simpatico, but I’m almost twenty-one. I gotta start thinking about the future.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I need something more than a rock star’s life. I’m sick of sleazy hotel rooms and jumping from city to city. And I’m sick of wondering what groupie whore you’re banging in a dressing room after the show.”

  He frowned. He hadn’t been messing with anyone since she started traveling with the band.

  “Look, I need stability and while you’ve been one fun ride, you are definitely not it.”

  He sat down on the end of the bed. He couldn’t believe she was leaving him. What the hell?

  She came forward and kissed him again, forcefully, insatiably. “Take care of yourself, okay? Try not to off yourself when no one’s looking.” Then she turned away and grabbed her bag, pulling open the door.

  A moment later she was gone and she hadn’t even once looked back at him.

  * * *

  Jake heard banging in the kitchen and glanced at the clock on his desk. It was going on 6:00PM. He slid his chair back and went to the bed, reaching for Pickles. The little dog was curled in a ball and he yawned as Jake picked him up.

  Carrying the dog into the living room, he saw Peyton in the kitchen, searching through the cabinets. An open bottle of beer sat on the counter. She peered over the counter at him and gave him a glare. “Where’s the paring knife?” He could hear the edge in her voice.

  “Dishwasher.”

  She turned and threw the dishwasher door open, reaching in for the knife. Turning back to the counter, she grabbed an onion and began chopping it, her movements sharp and jerky. Jake rubbed Pickles’ ears as he watched her.

  Reaching out with her left hand, she grabbed the beer and swallowed half of what remained in the bottle. “You want one?”

  He shook his head. Last night had been enough for him. “You okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay.”

  “All righty.”

  She finished chopping the onion and reached behind her for a sauce pan that she’d set on the stove. “I’m making chili. You want some?”

  He didn’t think it would be good to say no. “Sure. You need help?”

  “No.” She threw the onions into the sauce pan and reached for the beer again, taking another swallow.

  He was half afraid to ask his next question, but he wasn’t sure if not asking might be worse. “How’d it go with O’Shannahan?”

  “How’d it go!”

  Asking. Clearly worse. He realized he was holding Pickles too tight and he eased his hold. The little dog gave him a lazy blink as if to say, I could have told you that.

  “How’d it go! It went splendidly. He ordered us from his house and threatened to go Old Testament on me if I pursued him anymore. Then of course, Marco had to assault him.”

  Jake realized his mouth was hanging open. He cast a pleading look at Pickles, wishing he’d tell him what to say.

  “And the worst part is…” She pointed the knife at him. “…he’s right. We have nothing. We don’t have a motive, we don’t have evidence, and we don’t have a damn murder weapon. Joshua Ravensong is going to prison and he’s going to become everyone’s favorite plaything, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it!”

  Jake closed his mouth and looked down. He didn’t know what to tell her. He could appreciate her frustration.

  “Just forget it, Jake,” she said, shaking her head. “Let me cook and get out my anger, then I’ll be all right again.”

  He nodded. He could handle that. “I’ll take Pickles for a walk, okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He moved toward the door as fast as he could, reaching for the leash, but just as his fingers closed over it, he heard a crash, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

  “Damn it to hell!” she shouted and Jake turned around.

  She’d disappeared behind the counter. Jake sidled over, holding Pickles against his chest, and peered down at her. She’d knocked the beer bottle off the edge and it had splintered in to a million pieces, glass going everywhere.

  Jake frowned. She’d stopped in mid-motion, reaching for a piece, but instead of picking it up, she just squatted over it, staring at the mess on the floor. “Peyton? You okay? Did you cut yourself?”

  Slowly she shook her head, then reached forward and picked up the nearest shard. “I know what he did with the murder weapon.”

  “What?”

  She swiveled and looked up at him. “I know what he did with the murder weapon. How he got rid of it.”

  Jake’s gaze shifted to the shattered bit of glass. “He smashed it.”

  Peyton pushed herself to her feet and turned toward him, still holding the shard. “And what happens when glass breaks?”

  “It becomes a million little pieces.”

  “And the bastards go everywhere. You never get them all.”

  Jake’s head lifted. “So there has to be some of it left behind.”

  Peyton touched her finger to her nose. “Exactly.”

  * * *

  Peyton watched the CSIs comb through Terry Ravensong’s apartment. They searched the drains in the bathrooms, they searched the kitchen sink, they vacuumed every carpet and sifted through the vacuum bags, looking for shards of glass. Beyond a few pieces right at the murder site, they found nothing else in the entire apartment.

  Jake moved to her side and handed her a piece of paper. “Here’s the report on the garbage from the dumpster in the building.” He gave her a sympathetic look and she knew she wouldn’t like what it said.

  Glancing at it, she closed her eyes. “No trace of leaded glass crystal.”

  “I’m sorry, Mighty Mouse.”

  She moved toward the big picture window across the room and let the sun spill over her. Russian Hill was elevated enough to get late morning sun and it felt good. She stared out the window, realizing that this was another Saturday that she was working with no break in sight. What the hell sort of life was this? She had no family, she had no boyfriend, and the first man she’d been interested in a long time was facing a murder trial. Oh, and of course, he belonged to someone else. She mustn’t forget that, the memory of him and Elena together was still fresh in her mind.

  A sense of panic filled her. What was she doing with her life? Maybe her mother was right and this was not the job
for her. Even if she met someone, who would put up with these hours, the emotional drain, the danger? Feeling claustrophobic, she reached for the latch on the window and pushed it open. There were no screens to block the air from streaming into the room and she drew a deep breath, letting the ocean breeze calm her. Breathe in, breathe out, she told herself, closing her eyes. She really needed to do some yoga or meditation or something. If she didn’t find some way besides alcohol to reduce stress, she was going to break or wind up like Frank Smith, waking up some morning with her gun drawn and no memory of what happened.

  Opening her eyes, her attention focused on the window. There were no screens. This many floors up and there were no screens, nothing to keep someone from falling out or…or throwing something away. Bracing her hands on the window sill, she looked down. Below her was the ledge to this floor and beyond that the ledges of the other floors all in descending order. Far below was the fabric awning over a back door to the condo complex.

  Catching her breath, she squinted into the distance. If you were to haul back your hand, you could aim for the middle of the street, and from eight floors up, whatever you tossed would shatter on impact, the fragments being picked up by the tires of the cars.

  But what if you were nervous or your hands were slick with blood and you missed? You might smack the edge of a concrete ledge and the fragments would scatter, some on the ledge and some onto the blue fabric awning.

  “Marco?” she shouted.

  He came out of the bedroom, gripping the doorjamb with both hands. “Brooks?”

  “Marco, come here quick!”

  He hurried to her side. She could see everyone else had stopped moving. Pointing out the window, she indicated the ledge about three floors below them. “Look there.”

  He squinted down, then leaned further out to see better.

  “Do you see what I see?”

  He brought his head back inside . “If you see glittering bits of concrete, I see what you see.”

  Peyton smiled, feeling some of the tension slip away. “What’s say we get the fire department out here with a cherry picker and explore the ledge just a bit more?”

  “I say, which of us is making the call?”

  * * *

  Peyton paced back and forth beside the Charger, glancing up frequently to mark the progress along the ledge and the blue awning. The street had been blocked off, so traffic couldn’t get through, and police officers swarmed the area, looking for discarded bits of glass.

  Marco leaned against the Charger’s door and Jake sat on the hood, his feet dangling over the side. She couldn’t stay still like they were. Everything hinged on what they might find on that ledge. Hopefully they’d find a large enough piece that they could get a partial print or something from it.

  “Brooks, stop pacing like a wild thing,” scolded Marco. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m too wound up.”

  “You need food,” remarked Jake. “It’s almost 1:00PM and I don’t think you’ve eaten all day.”

  “I don’t need food. I need them to get off that damn ledge.” The fire truck had pulled up on the sidewalk, extending the cherry picker, but one of the CSIs had gone up to process whatever they found.

  “Do you think pacing’s going to make them go faster?”

  “If I don’t pace, I’ll scream.”

  Marco and Jake exchanged a look.

  “This is why men punch things,” Jake offered.

  She turned and paced back the other way. “If I feel the need, I appreciate you volunteering as a punching bag.”

  “I didn’t…” he started to say, but Marco smacked him in the stomach to get him to shut up.

  A car pulled through the barricade and came to a stop in front of the Charger. The door opened and Captain Defino stepped out. Peyton bit her lower lip, certain that Defino was going to scold them.

  She surveyed the scene, then walked over to Peyton. “Got a call from the mayor this morning, Brooks.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain.”

  Defino shrugged. “I’m beginning to think if I don’t hear from him every couple of months that we aren’t doing our job.” She nodded at the cherry picker. “What’s going on here?”

  “We may have found the murder weapon.”

  Defino gave Peyton a surprised look. “Well, let’s hope so, ‘cause I just got a text that Devan is going before the Grand Jury on Monday.”

  Peyton couldn’t deny she felt betrayed. Her face must have given her away, because Defino clasped her arm in comfort.

  “He really had no choice. His boss was pressing for it, especially after he also got a call from the mayor.”

  Peyton let her breath out, feeling such defeat.

  “He was doing me a favor. He didn’t have to let me know, but he did.”

  “I know, Captain.” But it didn’t make her feel any better about him.

  Defino returned to watching the drama play out above them.

  Suddenly the CSI climbed down the ladder on the cherry picker. He had a plastic bag in his hands and he passed it to Smith, who was waiting on the ground. Smith looked into the bag, then he turned around, searching the street for Peyton.

  Carrying it over to her, he held it behind his back. “What do you want for Christmas, baby girl?”

  She clasped her hands together to stop their trembling. “Something heavy and lead and crystal.”

  He held up the bag and a large piece of crystal winked in the sunlight. “How about with a bloody thumb print on it?”

  Peyton felt her eyes fill with tears. She turned to the captain with an expectant look.

  “Get that fingerprint processed,” said Defino. “Stat.” Her eyes tracked back to Peyton. “And while we wait for confirmation, let’s get a warrant to search Jedediah O’Shannahan’s house.”

  “On it,” said Peyton, reaching for her phone.

  * * *

  Peyton, Defino and Marco sat in the break-room at the table. Peyton’s phone lay in the middle of the table between them. They were waiting for a call from Jake. He had taken the shard of glass first to Forensics where they’d lifted the print, then to Abe so he could try to match the blood.

  Night had fallen outside the precinct, but no one moved to go home. Defino had ordered in Chinese and the boxes lay discarded on the counter behind them. Marco had boiled a pot of coffee, but Peyton didn’t think adding caffeine to her nervousness was a good idea.

  When the phone rang, they all jumped. Peyton reached for it, swallowing hard. What if this didn’t prove anything or worse yet, what if the fingerprint belonged to Ravensong? She really didn’t know how she would react if that proved true. She’d convinced herself he was innocent, but if he was guilty she would be shattered.

  Holding it in her hand, she stared at the screen. Jake’s number flashed on the display over and over again.

  “Oh for the love of God, Brooks, answer it!” hissed Defino.

  Peyton thumbed it on and pressed it to her ear. “Jake?”

  “Hey, Mighty Mouse.”

  “Tell her I get to go when she sees the rock star again,” came Abe’s voice in the background.

  “Abe says hi.”

  “Tell her she owes me some ogling. Is that the word, Jake, ogling?”

  Peyton closed her eyes. “Please, Jake. Please. What did you find?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Jake!”

  “Okay. The blood on the shard…”

  “Yes?”

  “It was mostly Terry Ravensong’s.”

  Peyton felt her shoulders drop. “I see.”

  “Mostly.”

  “What does that mean, Jake?” She glanced up to see Marco and Defino eyeing her expectantly.

  “The rest of it was not.”

  “Whose, Jake?” Then her heart began pounding. “Ravensong’s?” She knew they drew blood when they drug tested him.

  “No, Peyton, not Ravensong’s. Someone else.”r />
  “Could Abe match it?”

  “It’s not anyone in the system.”

  Peyton bit her lower lip, then she drew a deep breath. “Were they able to pull the print in Forensics?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “They got a match through the DMV data base.”

  Peyton silently began muttering the 23rd Psalm. The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

  “Peyton?” came Jake’s voice across the line.

  She stopped reciting the psalm. “Yes, Jake?”

  “Peyton, it’s O’Shannahan.”

  * * *

  “Go home and get some sleep,” said Defino, lowering her phone. They were gathered around Maria’s desk, while the night pressed in through the precinct windows. “The warrant will be ready tomorrow morning.”

  Peyton and Marco exchanged a look. “What if he finds out, Captain? Shouldn’t we go in tonight?”

  “The judge won’t grant the warrant until tomorrow. He doesn’t want to disturb the neighborhood at this hour.”

  Peyton gave her a bewildered look. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “It’s better this way, Brooks.”

  “How? Someone might leak it to O’Shannahan, then he’ll destroy any evidence, skip town, flee the country.”

  “The judge is aware of that and promised discretion.”

  “What if the mayor calls him?”

  “How would the mayor know what we found?”

  “Someone reporting to him. We’ve had paparazzi swarming this thing since day one.”

  “Not since Ravensong moved to the psych facility. Besides, Judge Rhinehold is no fan of the mayor, Brooks. Listen, this gives us time to get our ducks in a row. Get some rest. O’Shannahan broadcasts his prayer meeting on Channel 2 at 10:00AM. You’ll go into the house while he’s at the church.”

  Peyton nodded.

  “I’ll be waiting here with Rhinehold on standby. If you find anything, we’ll get a warrant for his arrest. If not, Monday morning, we’ll present the evidence to Devan and he’ll tell us if we have enough. At least it ought to be enough to force O’Shannahan to give us a blood sample.”