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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “What about his wife?”

  “She’ll probably be at the church with him, right?”

  “Right.”

  “The most important part is getting into the house and searching it. We’ve either got to link him to the money or find a motive for her death because otherwise, O’Shannahan may just walk.”

  “We’ll find something, Captain. I promise.”

  “I know. Now go home.” She walked toward her office, effectively dismissing them.

  Peyton and Marco looked at each other.

  “You’re not going to sleep, are you?” he said.

  “Will you?”

  “Like a baby.” He slung his arm around her shoulder and walked her to the door of the precinct. “I’m not the one in love with a rock star.”

  * * *

  Marco pulled the Charger over to the curb. They were just about a block from O’Shannahan’s house. Peyton shifted anxiously in the seat and adjusted her gun in the holster. She wasn’t used to wearing it around her waist, but Defino insisted they wear flak jackets. She wasn’t sure why. O’Shannahan liked to bash people in the head apparently and that wasn’t protected, unless by her hair as Maria would say.

  “You’re making me crazy, Brooks,” snapped Marco.

  “I can’t stand it. This is the part I hate.”

  “You hate the dead bodies.”

  “That and this. Waiting is so hard for me.” She reached out and shifted the vent up and down.

  Marco stretched all the way over and grabbed her hand, stopping her. He looked up into her eyes. “Stop it.”

  She bent forward and kissed him on the nose. That earned her a smile and he released her hand, sliding back into his seat. “How’d it go with Billy Miller’s family? You never told me.”

  “They’re relieved we caught the guy, but…” He shook his head sadly. “Nothing will ever bring back their son’s legs.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry about that.”

  Marco shrugged.

  “How’s Tonio?”

  “Still doesn’t remember anything and blames himself for them getting into that mess, but I think it helps that he didn’t cause the accident. I don’t know. He tortures himself trying to remember something that’s gone. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.”

  Of course, that made her think of Joshua. “When does he get out of the hospital?”

  “Another week or so, since he’s been in traction. They need to get him up and walking again.”

  The radio cracked and Marco turned the dial to zero it in. “D’Angelo?” came Smith’s voice.

  “Here.”

  “The O’Shannahans just left.”

  Peyton sucked in her breath and held it.

  “On our way,” said Marco, starting up the Charger.

  He pulled into the driveway. Smith already had a uniform cutting a hole into the frosted glass in the center door panel so they could get in. They were trying to do as little damage as possible. A moment later, the glass was cut, the officer reached in and turned the deadbolt, and they were inside.

  “He doesn’t have an alarm on the house?” Marco asked Smith.

  Smith reached in and flipped a light switch on and off. “We cut the power.”

  “Nice.”

  “We try.”

  They followed Smith into the foyer. Uniforms swarmed the house, searching everywhere, under furniture, in closets. Marco immediately turned right and went into O’Shannahan’s study, but Peyton walked down the front hallway to the back rooms. They opened on a great room with a gourmet kitchen and a family room with the largest big screen television she’d ever seen. All the better to watch himself preach on Sundays, she thought.

  She imagined Kristin O’Shannahan wandering around in the big house and wondered if the woman could be as blind as she appeared. Did she really not know what her husband was doing or did she choose to ignore it so she could have all of this?

  Peyton ran her hand across the marble. She had never been moved by luxury or wealth. She liked her little house on 19th and her dog. She wouldn’t mind sharing it with a man, but she would never pretend she didn’t notice if he was unfaithful…or a murderer.

  “Brooks?”

  Marco’s voice came to her from the front of the house. She walked toward it and then turned toward the study where he and Smith were searching. She paused, lifting her hands to grasp the doorjamb. Marco was bent over in the closet, but he straightened and motioned her to him.

  “Take a look at this.”

  Peyton felt her heart kick against her ribs as she crossed the room and stood beside him. A laptop lay nestled in a black duffle bag shoved deep into the closet. Marco reached in with gloved hands and picked it up, holding it for her and Smith to see.

  “You think our reverend is partial to pink?”

  Peyton’s gaze skimmed over it, then she pointed to a spot on the back cover. “Not unless his real initials are T.A.R.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Peyton found herself pacing behind Maria’s desk, watching Stan Neumann work on the laptop, trying to find a direct connection between Terry Ravensong and O’Shannahan. They had enough evidence to compel O’Shannahan to give blood and probably enough to free Joshua, but they all wanted a motive, a reason to arrest the bastard right now.

  Defino sat in a chair next to Stan; Marco and Smith leaned on the counter; and Jake and Maria sat on a credenza along the wall of Defino’s office. Peyton paced. They were running out of time. It was 8:00AM and they had less than two hours before his prayer meeting started. If they were going to get him, it had to be in this window before someone had time to tip him off and he could lawyer up.

  “Come on, Stan,” Peyton said.

  “I’m trying.”

  Defino gave her a stern look.

  Peyton did feel bad. How many times had she called him away from home on the weekend? And he always came, his loyalty to her that strong. He deserved a basket of muffins or something else. Chocolate. She’d like chocolate.

  “Hm,” said Stan. “She has an encrypted email account.”

  “And?”

  “I just need to trace the root. Give me time.”

  Time? Peyton ran her hand over her face. They didn’t have time. “What’s an encrypted email account?”

  “An account you don’t want anyone to access,” offered Jake.

  Stan nodded. “It’s stupid, really. Anyone with half a brain can hack it.”

  Maybe, but she hadn’t even known there was such a thing. “You can hack it, can’t you, Stan? You can hack anything,” she purred at him. Perhaps he just needed a little encouragement to get this done.

  He stopped working and looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes were huge and round behind his glasses, his lips parted. Peyton hadn’t expected that. She glanced up and found everyone frowning at her.

  “Stan!” said Marco sternly.

  He gave a little start, then went back to work.

  Okay, flirting was a bad idea. Marco continued to scowl at her, so she gave him a helpless shrug. She couldn’t help it if Stan found her irresistible. Someone had to.

  “There you are. I’ve got you now.”

  Peyton moved behind Stan’s chair. A video sudden burst across the screen of two naked bodies surging together over and over again. “Oh my,” breathed Peyton, recognizing Terry Ravensong’s long blond hair and the cleft in O’Shannahan’s chin. “That’s not praying.”

  Stan quickly covered the screen with his hand, hiding the naked bodies, but the sound of them panting and moaning came through the speakers. He frantically clicked with the mouse, succeeding in closing the window. Then he sank back against the chair as if he’d run a marathon.

  No one moved.

  Peyton scanned the emails that Stan had brought up and clicked one dated about three days before the deposit went into Terry’s account. She scanned it quickly, then looked around Stan at the captain. “She was blackmailing him with that video. She was going to release it
the Sunday she died.”

  Defino’s eyes were fixed on the screen. “Go arrest that bastard,” she said.

  Peyton fought a triumphant smile, then kissed Stan on the cheek. “You are brilliant,” she said, whirling away.

  Marco and Smith were already in motion behind her.

  * * *

  After Peyton and Marco left the precinct, Jake and the others sat where they were, staring at the computer screen. Slowly Stan lifted a hand and touched his cheek where Peyton had kissed him. Jake swung his legs and lifted his eyes to the clock over the conference room door.

  “Uh, Captain.”

  “Yeah, Jake.”

  “It’s 9:30.”

  “I know.”

  “The prayer meeting is televised at 10:00.”

  “I know.”

  “It takes about half-an-hour to get there with traffic.”

  “I know.”

  “Which means they’re gonna get there right in the middle of the sermon.”

  “I know.”

  Jake shared a look with Maria, but Defino still seemed intent on the computer screen. Slowly she swiveled in her chair until she was looking at them. “Do we still have that television in the conference room, Maria?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  Defino swallowed hard. “We better turn it on.”

  Stan shifted around as well, then all three of them bolted from their seats and scrambled to be the first into the conference room.

  * * *

  Peyton stared up at the flashing marquee over the entrance to the massive white building, which was built in the gothic revival style with sharp angles and winged gargoyles on the roof. Narrow multi-storied stained glass windows lined the front of the building, depicting scenes from the Bible, most of which Peyton didn’t recognize. Probably Old Testament, since O’Shannahan seemed partial to that.

  Long stone stairs rose to the entrance, spreading in a semi-circle from the sidewalk to the enormous double doors. The mix of modern with classic, the electronic marquee against the old architecture, was jarring and Peyton couldn’t help but focus on the name of his church. Church of the Blessed. Just that, the Blessed. It seemed unfinished or profoundly pretentious, either way.

  Smith jogged down the stairs to them. “The meeting just started. The pews are filled with people.”

  Marco’s mouth fell open, but Peyton smiled wickedly. “Oh, I’m gonna love this.”

  Smith chuckled. “I’ll bet you are, baby girl. What’s the plan?”

  “Let the uniforms go in first and secure the parishioners, keep them calm. Marco and I will take down O’Shannahan.”

  “Done.”

  “Give me a signal when you’re in place.”

  Smith nodded at her and jogged back up the stairs.

  “They’re filming in there, Brooks,” said Marco, his eyes wide.

  “Just smile and show them your good side, Marco baby. The camera’s gonna love you.”

  “Which side is my good side?”

  Peyton patted his cheek as she moved past him. “All of them,” she called over her shoulder.

  Smith signaled to her from the door of the church. Two uniforms thrust the massive doors back and officers streamed inside. Peyton and Marco walked up the steps and looked across the vestibule to where the inner doors had been opened. She could see O’Shannahan standing behind his pulpit, a large screen above his head casting his image around the room and through the television airways to thousands of viewers.

  He had his hands raised, but as the police swarmed into his service, he lowered them and gripped the pulpit with both hands. Peyton and Marco crossed the vestibule and Peyton removed the warrant from her belt.

  “What is the meaning of this, Inspector Brooks?” boomed O’Shannahan through the microphone attached to the lapel on his ornate robes. His hair was perfectly coiffed and rings glistened on his fingers. “You are disrupting a divine meeting of Christian brotherhood.”

  A murmur rose among the parishioners and they shifted on the pews, but the officers kept them in their seats. Peyton and Marco started walking down the center aisle, headed toward O’Shannahan.

  “Why don’t you step down and we can talk about this in private, Reverend?” said Peyton, deciding a public arrest might not be good P.R. for the department. It was a circus in here already.

  O’Shannahan lifted himself up higher and pointed directly at her. “Woe onto you, sinner. How dare you violate the sanctity of this community, the sanctity of this congregation, when we are in the act of pledging ourselves to God.”

  Peyton cast a look at the padded pews, the ornate scrollwork on the back of the seats. Video cameras and microphones swung back and forth from the rafters. Even the reverend’s pulpit was edged in gold foil.

  “That tears it,” she murmured to Marco. Lifting the warrant in her hand, she started walking again. “Jedediah O’Shannahan, I have a warrant for your arrest for the…”

  “Turn thee away from me, Jezebel, or suffer the wrath of God for your sins.” His voice boomed through the speakers above their head.

  Peyton stopped walking and looked at Marco. “Jezebel?”

  Marco shrugged. “He has a point.”

  Peyton gave him a snarky smile. “Cute.” They moved up the aisle. Kristin O’Shannahan occupied the first seat on the left and her look bordered on panic. Peyton motioned to Smith to get her and he moved in her direction. For a moment, she looked like she might bolt, but he got to her in time and took her arm, helping her to her feet.

  “‘Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil’,” shouted O’Shannahan.

  Peyton and Marco reached the front and angled to the left where stairs led to the pulpit. O’Shannahan turned and pointed at them as they climbed up to him.

  “‘Blessed is the man that endures temptation; for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord has promised to them that love him.’”

  Peyton halted in front of him. “Jedediah O’Shannahan, you are under arrest for the murder of Theresa Ravensong.”

  He continued to point at Peyton, his voice thundering in the now silent church. “‘Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.’”

  Marco grabbed his arm and held it out, forcing him to open his palm. Peyton’s heart caught. There were no blemishes on his hand. Marco grabbed his other arm and forced him to show both hands. Nothing on either one of them.

  Peyton whipped around. “Frank?”

  He held Kristin by the arm, but he reached for her wrist. She tore out of his grasp, but Frank motioned another uniform over and together they forced her to extend her hands.

  A jagged, raised wound ran from her palm outward, held together by surgical tape.

  Peyton turned back and stared at O’Shannahan as Smith began reading Kristin her rights.

  O’Shannahan gave Peyton a slow grin. “‘Be sober. Be vigilant because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walks about, seeking whom he may devour.’”

  “Arrest this bastard as an accessory,” she told Marco.

  Marco twisted his arm behind his back, slamming him into the podium. “You have the right to remain silent.” He reached for his handcuffs. “And for the love of God, use it.”

  O’Shannahan closed his eyes as Marco snapped a cuff on his wrist. “Our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

  “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” Marco continued.

  “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

  “You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present during any questioning.” Marco began searching under his robes for weapons.

  “Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.”

  “If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at th
e government’s expense.” He yanked him upright and turned him toward the stairs.

  “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” O’Shannahan opened his eyes and glared at Peyton. “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Peyton through gritted teeth.

  EPILOGUE

  Peyton stepped out of the circle surrounding Ravensong and moved back by Marco where he leaned against the front counter of the precinct.

  Joshua handed the autograph to Holmes and took the scrap of paper Bartlet held out to him. Smith and Abe were waiting their turn. Maria swiveled back and forth in her chair, smiling at him, and Captain Defino leaned against her office door, watching the exchange.

  “I had my first date at an Avalanche concert,” said Bartlet, shifting nervously as Joshua signed.

  Joshua smiled up at him and handed him the paper.

  “I lost my virginity to an Avalanche song,” said Holmes, elbowing Smith in the stomach.

  Everyone laughed and Joshua reached for the paper that Smith held. “Make it out to Frank…” He glanced around, then puffed out his chest. “Frankie. My granddaughter.”

  “Frankie, it is,” said Joshua with another smile.

  “I came out at a Blazes concert,” said Abe loudly.

  Joshua looked up at him as he held the autograph out to Smith. “Come again.”

  Peyton and Marco fought a laugh.

  “I was in high school and I was dating this girl. I took her to one of your concerts and there you were prancing around the stage in tight pants and belting out a ballad with that sexy voice of yours and my girlfriend said, ‘I would so do that man,’ and I said, ‘So would I, girlfriend.’ Then we just looked at each other and we both realized that clearly I was gay.”

  Joshua glanced over at Peyton, then back at Abe. “Glad…I could…help.”

  Abe laughed and held out a folded piece of paper. “Can you sign this please? Make it out to Abe. Not Abie.” He shot a scathing look at Smith.

  Joshua held up the piece of paper. “Is this a bird?”

  “No, it’s origami.”