“Yeah?”
“Valedictorian, Summa Cum Laude.”
“One boring bitch if you ask me.”
Gabby glared at him. “I didn’t ask you.”
“Just saying.” He bent over and stared at one of the larger boxes lower on the wall. “This could hold kidneys.”
Next was an engagement announcement with a picture of Carol standing beside a studious young man in a huge pair of glasses, wearing a bowtie. A few pictures of the wedding showed a beaming Carol with her new husband, David Witan, and then a birth announcement for a baby girl they’d named Lily.
Gabby turned a page, then caught her breath. She flipped back a few pages, then turned forward a number more.
Billy looked over his shoulder at her. “What?”
Gabby leaned closer to the book, inspecting the binding. She could just make out the tattered edge where a number of pages had been ripped out. “Janet’s grandmother Dana, Carol’s mother, kept up with her through the birth of her daughter, but then a number of pages have been torn out.”
Billy wandered back to the table. “Torn out? Could they be in the back of the book?”
Gabby flipped to the back, but found no loose pages, and the safe deposit box was empty. “No, they’re gone.” She turned back to the page about Lily. “Here’s the birth announcement, then it goes to here.” She placed her finger on an article about Carol and David’s murder. “No baby pictures, nothing on the daughter.”
“Huh.”
Gabby closed the album and ran her hand over the cover, then she reached for the rubber band and replaced it. “I need to spend more time looking at this. Let’s go back to the precinct. While I’m going through it, you can search the archives for Reiter’s file on this case.”
Billy groaned and threw his head back dramatically. “Not the archives. I hate going through that place.”
Gabby closed the lid on the safe deposit box, locked it, and pulled out the key, slipping it into her pocket. Then she picked up the album and turned for the door. “Now in those boxes, you might find something severed, or other pieces of disgusting stuff some cop thought was evidence.”
“What about a treasure map?” His eyes gleamed.
Gabby chuckled. “Sure, I’m sure there are all manner of treasure maps in the archives just waiting for you to discover them.”
* * *
Chinatown in San Francisco was the largest Chinese community outside of Asia and the oldest Chinatown in North America. Covering twenty-four square blocks in the heart of the City, it centered around Grant and Stockton Streets.
Hawkers called out from the street corners, trying to entice tourists into their shops or restaurants. Performers played the moon guitar or yueqin, sitting on camp stools beneath the intricately carved dragon street lights. Crisscrossing overhead were lines of bright red lanterns, giving the streets a festive appearance.
Marco and Peyton pushed through the late morning crowds, walking briskly toward Stockton. Jake trailed behind them, looking around with such wonder Peyton felt sure he’d never been to Chinatown before.
They’d parked the Charger in St. Mary’s Square, hoping to avoid the crush of tourists, but it was nearing lunchtime and the streets were already filling with people snapping pictures or looking at the curios that lined the sidewalk.
Glancing over her shoulder, Peyton marked that Jake was no longer following them. He was staring into the window of a shop, looking at a display of swords and ornate silver daggers. Peyton touched Marco’s elbow and the two of them backtracked to him.
“In need of some weaponry?”
He glanced up at them, his eyes wide. “They can just sell it like that on the street?”
“They sell guns on the street, Jake. Come on. Stop acting like a bumpkin.”
He pointed to something on the lowest shelf of the window display. “Why does anyone need one of those?”
Peyton squinted at it, then felt her face heat with embarrassment. A very largely endowed phallic symbol stood next to a statue of two people in the throes of passion. “You don’t need that either,” she said, tugging on his arm.
Marco burst out laughing.
“Why would they sell that though?” asked Jake, following her back onto the sidewalk.
“I don’t know and I don’t want to talk about it.”
He looked up at Marco. “What’s it for?”
“The statue or the real thing?”
Jake gave him an arch look. “The statue.”
“It’s a fertility totem.”
Peyton frowned at him. “How do you know that?”
“I know things.”
“I’ll bet you do,” she muttered darkly.
A few minutes later, they found the Yellow Lotus. The restaurant was closed, but a uniform stood guard at the entrance. Peyton took out her badge and showed it to him.
He pulled open the door. “Go toward the bathrooms. There’s a door at the end of the hallway that leads up to the flat. It should be open.”
“Thanks.”
The Yellow Lotus sported an elegant, up-scale atmosphere with black lacquered tables and red cushioned chairs. Finely drawn painting of lotus flowers adorned the walls and ornate silk lanterns hung from the ceiling.
A few uniforms were seated at a table, but rose as they entered. Peyton motioned them back down, then pointed to the silk screen that marked the entrance to the bathrooms. They found the door at the end of the hall and climbed the stairs to the upper level, coming out on a landing with a narrow window that overlooked the front of the restaurant.
Officers Holmes and Bartlett met them on the landing. The front door was open and Peyton could see a blood stain on the marble floor in the entrance of the flat. She glanced back down the stairs.
“The shooter had to come through the restaurant to get up here, right?”
“Right,” said Holmes, rubbing a hand across his short-cropped, thinning crown.
“Was the lock jimmied on the door at the bottom of the stairs?”
“Nope, but the victim’s girlfriend said they rarely kept it locked, except after the restaurant closed for the night.”
Jake set his case down and took out his camera, beginning to snap off pictures.
“No one heard anything?”
“No, according to the girlfriend, the restaurant was busy and with the background music and the patrons talking, it was real noisy.”
Bartlet leaned in close, his young face awash with excitement. “You know the girlfriend is Meilin Fan, right?”
“Right.” Peyton exchanged a look with Holmes.
“From Food Battles? She won last season.”
Holmes gave him a withering look. “Really?”
“You don’t watch it?”
“No, I don’t watch it.”
“It’s the hottest reality show on TV right now.”
Peyton cleared her throat. “Our reality star didn’t hear anything either?”
Holmes shot another glare at his partner before focusing on Peyton. “She was in the kitchen which is in the back, so no, she didn’t hear anything.”
“Did the shooter come out the same way? If the patrons and staff didn’t hear anything, they didn’t see anything either?”
“We think he went out the fire-escape. It’s on the other side of the building. There’s a bloody footprint on the window sill,” said Bartlett.
“Is the girlfriend inside?” asked Marco, motioning to the flat.
“Yeah, she’s sitting on the couch, just staring at the blood. She’s not saying much.”
Peyton and Marco moved to the door. A large pool of blood covered the entrance, so Marco steadied Peyton with a hand on her elbow as she made the leap across it and into the flat, then he followed behind her with his longer stride. Jake remained outside, continuing to take pictures of the landing.
The entrance hall opened into a large living room. Directly across from the door was a bank of bay windows, overlooking the alley behind the restaurant. Late
morning sun shone through, illuminating the understated furniture. An attractive Asian woman sat on a low slung red couch, her hands folded in her lap. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was streaked with tears. Peyton guessed she was in her mid to late thirties, slight of build and around her own height. She lifted dark eyes to them, her expression bleak.
Peyton pulled out her badge again and showed it to her. “Meilin Fan?”
The woman nodded, glancing at the badge.
“I’m Inspector Brooks from the San Francisco Police Department and this is my partner, Inspector D’Angelo.”
“Inspectors.”
“Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”
“Not at all. Please have a seat.” She motioned to two black bamboo arm chairs with turquoise cushions situated directly across from the couch. A low, boxy black coffee table lay before them. Peyton and Marco sat down where she indicated and Peyton reached for her notebook.
“Do you mind if I take notes while we talk?”
“Not at all.”
“First of all, let me start by saying how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Thank you, Inspector.” Tears spilled over and she reached for a tissue on the coffee table, blotting it beneath her eyes. “I’m still in shock.”
“I’ll bet.” Peyton motioned at the window. “Is that the window that the shooter used to escape?”
Meilin nodded. “The officers found a bloody footprint on the window sill.”
Marco rose and walked over to it, pulling back the sheer curtains to inspect it.
“What time did the restaurant close last night, Ms. Fan?”
“Meilin, please. It closed at 10:00.”
“Did you come up here directly after it closed?”
She pressed the bunched tissue to the corner of her eye. “No, I helped the staff clean up and checked the receipts.”
“What time did you come upstairs?”
“About 10:40 or so.”
Peyton jotted a note in her book. “And you found your boyfriend…ah, Matt Jensen at that time?”
She gave a delicate shudder. “He was lying in the doorway. The door was open. At first, I thought he was dead, but he was still breathing.” She gave a hitching sob. “I still can’t believe this happened.”
“So you called 911?”
“Yes, then I tried to stop the bleeding.”
“Was he conscious at the time?”
“No.”
“Did he ever regain consciousness?”
Her face screwed up and she started crying, pressing the tissues to her eyes. Marco shot an annoyed look at Peyton. Suddenly a sharp whistle echoed through the flat. Both Marco and Peyton jumped. In the entrance hall, Peyton could hear Jake mutter, “Shit!”
“Excuse me. That’s my tea,” said Meilin, beginning to rise.
“Let me,” offered Marco and he beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.
Peyton forced herself to wait, while Meilin wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“I’m sorry, Inspector.”
“That’s all right.”
“What were you asking?”
“Did Matt ever regain consciousness?”
“No, he died in the emergency room.”
“I know this is hard, but did Matt have any enemies? Anyone who might want to do him harm?”
“No, Matt was the most generous, loving man I’ve ever met. He was my soul mate.”
Marco returned and handed her the cup of tea. She gave him a watery smile as she accepted it, her hands curving around his as he released it. Peyton marked the motion, but kept her features neutral.
“Do you know if anyone noticed a strange man lurking around the bathrooms? Maybe you yourself saw someone acting strange, edgy?”
“I stay in the kitchen. I rarely leave during the dinner rush.”
“How many other people are with you in the kitchen during a shift?”
“There are five of us every night.”
“I’ll need their names.”
“Of course.”
“Did you happen to notice if anything was missing in the flat?”
“Missing?”
“Jewelry, money, electronics?”
“No, but in the bedroom, someone smashed a picture that Matt and I took in Hawaii last year.”
Peyton glanced at Jake. He gave her a short nod to indicate he’d heard as he made his way to the window. “Do you have family we can contact?”
“No, I was an only child. Both of my parents are dead.”
“I see. What about Matt’s family?”
“His mother lives in Fremont. I called her from the hospital. But that’s all he had left.”
Peyton leaned forward in her chair, bracing her forearms on her thighs. “Meilin, is there anyone who would want to do you harm?”
“Me?”
Peyton glanced toward the door. “I’m guessing a lot of people know about the contest on Food Battles, right? Have you ever gotten hate mail or did anyone ever contact you during the show to threaten you in any way?”
“No, never. You think I was the target?”
“I’m just covering all the bases. You won a large sum of money. Sometimes people get jealous, especially as it put you in the public eye.”
“I’ve never gotten any threatening letters or emails, Inspector Brooks, no.”
“What about the other contestants? Were any of them upset that you’d won?”
“The competition runs for two months at a time, so you get very close with the other people on the show. Even though you’re competitors, they become your friends. None of them would do this. Besides that, why target Matt? Why not come after me in the kitchen?”
Peyton gave a nod. “I just have to ask these questions. The restaurant isn’t opening tonight, is it?”
“No, I can’t think about that right now.”
“I understand. You aren’t staying here, are you?”
“No, I have a room at the Marriott. Your captain was kind enough to give me an officer to escort me there as soon as we’re done here.”
“Good.” Peyton reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call. We’ll also be in touch if we find out anything.”
Meilin’s attention shifted to Marco. “Can I have your card as well?”
Marco glanced at Peyton. “My card? I don’t have one.”
“Will you write your contact number on the back then?” she said, holding out the card to him.
He took it, looking around for a pen. Peyton marked the exchange with a frown.
“I’m so shaken up, I’d just feel better if I have both of your numbers. If what you say is true, Inspector Brooks, that I could be a target, I’ll feel more secure knowing I have a way to get a hold of one of you if I need to.”
Jake passed a pen over Marco’s shoulder, giving him a speculative look. Marco grabbed the pen and jotted down his number on the back, then held the card out to Meilin.
“Thank you,” she said, her fingers gliding across his as she accepted it.
Peyton pushed herself to her feet. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Inspector.” Meilin rose as well and held out her hand. Her grip was light and she immediately released Peyton, turning to Marco instead. This time she clasped his hand a bit longer and gave him a surprisingly sultry smile. “I appreciate you coming out.”
Marco gave her a tense smile in return.
“You ready, Ryder?”
“I just have a few more things to do.”
Peyton moved toward the door. “We’ll be downstairs.”
“Got it.”
She found a narrow spot to cross over the blood without touching it. Bartlett and Holmes were waiting on the landing. “Are you escorting her to the Marriott?”
Holmes nodded.
Bartlett moved close to Peyton and lowered his voice. “Isn’t she something?”
“Yeah, an absolute delight.
” She looked up as Marco left the flat. “You don’t even have to say anything and women act the fool around you,” she groused.
Marco held out his hands. “What did I do?” He turned to Holmes.
Holmes shrugged, but Peyton walked to the stairs and descended. Once in the restaurant, she looked around again, marking the layout in her notebook.
Marco appeared a moment later, going to the uniforms. “Where’s the kitchen?” he asked.
They motioned toward a swinging door at the back of the restaurant and led Marco toward it. The three of them disappeared inside. Peyton wandered over and pushed the door open. A large, gleaming stainless steel kitchen stretched before her. At the very far end was a door. Marco pushed it open, revealing the alley they could see from Meilin’s living room. Marco and the uniforms stepped out, leaving the door open.
Wandering into the kitchen, Peyton tried to imagine it bustling with people. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to orient the location of the kitchen with the location of Meilin’s flat above them. Square acoustical tiles lined the ceiling, providing a noise barrier between the restaurant and the flat upstairs. She probably didn’t hear anything after all.
Walking back into the main part of the restaurant, Peyton’s attention was captured by the lotus paintings again. They were ethereal, the light catching on the petals in an enticing way. She walked to the hostess podium and picked up a menu. A similar painting adorned the cover.
Opening the menu, her eyes scanned the intricate lines of Chinese characters, describing the dishes. Below each line of characters were lines in English, each done in calligraphy so beautiful, the menu itself was a work of art. She flipped through the pages, then looked at the painting on the front again. Faint brush strokes on the bottom corner in white paint said Hui Bai. Walking over to one of the paintings on the wall, she looked in the same spot. Hui Bai. She liked his work.
Jake appeared around the silk screen. “All done.”
Peyton nodded.
“Ordering take-out?” He motioned with his chin to the menu.
“Just looking. Ms. Fan charges some hefty prices for her fare.” She opened the menu and showed it to Jake.
Jake let out a whistle. “Hey, the whole thing is written in calligraphy, not word processed.”
Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5) Page 3