The corner of this article hadn’t been glued down as carefully as the others and had folded over when someone closed the scrapbook. She smoothed it out with the pad of her index finger, but as she did so, she realized that it was thicker than typical newsprint. Easing back the corner, she peered under it and saw another scrap of paper slipped behind the first one.
Reaching into her top desk drawer, she pulled out a pair of tweezers and used them to carefully separate the newsprint from the cardstock of the scrapbook. Once she had it pulled back enough, she slipped the tweezers into the gap and pulled out a folded wad. Unfolding it, she found it was an obituary for a teenaged boy, only 17. He’d hung himself in his bedroom closet, leaving a note telling his parents how sorry he was. His name was Grant Sanderson, and the picture showed a smiling, young Caucasian male holding a basketball.
Gabby looked at the date of the obituary, then turned back to one of the articles on the murder. The obituary was dated about a month after the Witans were killed. Who the hell was this boy and why had Dana thought it was significant enough to include his death notice in Carol’s scrapbook?
“Hey, lady,” came Billy’s booming voice as he entered the precinct.
Gabby lowered the obituary and glanced up at him, taking another sip of her coffee. “Hey. You’re here early.”
“Yeah, you gotta look far to find someone as dedicated as I am.”
“I’ll bet.” She set her mug on the corner of her desk. “You got that file I asked you for last night, Mr. Reliable.”
He threw himself into his chair and swiveled around to face her. “Funny thing about that. The box is gone.”
“Gone? How can that be?”
“Currently, it’s in New York City.”
Gabby frowned. “Why?”
“Someone requested it about a year ago.”
“A year ago? Why the hell would New York want a Miami cold case?” It wasn’t lost on her that a year ago Dana Messette had suddenly wanted to open her music box.
“How much do you love me?”
“Not much at all.”
He waved her off. “I already put in a request to have the box shipped back to us. It should arrive in a day or two.”
Gabby gave him an approving smile and nod. “Now that’s taking initiative.”
“Really? That’s what it’s called?”
Gabby laughed. “You might make a Cold Case Detective yet, bud.”
Billy placed a hand over his heart and feigned tears. “That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Nothing’s more important than Cold Case.”
Gabby glared at him. “I take it back. You suck.”
* * *
Marco glanced up as a door down the hall opened. Peyton appeared around the corner of the living room, her hair in loose, damp curls around her shoulders. Pickles lifted his head from his food bowl long enough to wag his tail at her before he went back to eating.
“Hey, partner,” she said, slowing her stride. She came to the counter and climbed on a stool, leaning over to see what he was doing. “Are you making breakfast?”
“Omelets.” He reached for a paper cup and handed it across the counter to her.
“Mocha?”
“You got it.”
“With whipped cream?”
“Of course.”
She took a sip, closing her eyes in pleasure. “Do you know how much I love you right now?”
He didn’t answer that.
Pickles finished his bowl and came over to her, pawing her leg. She scooped him into her arms and settled him on her lap. “Are eggs allowed in a vegetarian diet?”
He picked up the whip and began beating them. “Usually no, but I make an exception for these eggs. They come from a little farm up north that allows the chickens to be completely free range.” He held up a block of cheese. “Cheese too. It’s goat cheese and the goats not only produce milk, but they’re also used for fire abatement to eat down the overgrown vegetation.”
Peyton smiled as she lifted her coffee for a sip. “I’m guessing no bacon, right?”
“Right. Pigs don’t just drop the bacon as they graze.”
“Too bad.”
He added a dash of soy milk and set the bowl aside, turning to the cutting board. Grabbing a tomato, he began chopping it. “Look, Peyton, about yesterday.”
She lowered her coffee cup. “I suppose Devan told you as soon as I left?”
He nodded.
“Great. It wasn’t enough to humiliate me, but he had to tell my partner too.”
“It wasn’t like that.” He glanced up at her through his lashes. “This isn’t easy for me to talk about, but…” He met her gaze directly. “Devan wasn’t right for you.”
She curled her arms around Pickles and rested her cheek on his head. “Who is, Marco? Is there anyone right for me? Anyone that can handle me?”
He set down the knife. “Of course there is. You just keep looking in the wrong places.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe cops should never marry. Maybe we’re just not cut out for the give and take of a real relationship.”
He leaned closer to her. “That’s not true. You have plenty to give. You just need a man who is secure in himself, who doesn’t want to dominate you, who doesn’t feel threatened by your strength and independence.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “As I told Abe last night, you’re talking about gay men.”
Marco’s eyes rose and pinned hers. “Not entirely.”
She went still, her gazing narrowing on him.
“Would you look at this? Adonis cooks? Who’da thunk it?” said Jake, coming around the corner. He climbed on the stool next to Peyton.
Marco broke her stare, then reached for a second paper cup and passed it over to him.
“Thank you. So what are you cooking?”
“Omelets. How do you like yours?”
“Omelets? We get real eggs?”
“Yep.”
“And cheese?”
“Yep.”
Jake leaned forward. “Bacon?”
“No pig.”
Jake looked over at Peyton. “I love pig.”
She gave him a half-smile.
Marco picked up his bowl and carried it to the frying pan on the stove.
“And you brought us coffee? You’re spoiling us, D’Angelo,” he said, lifting it to his lips. He took a sip, then groaned in pleasure. “Lord, I haven’t had coffee this good since Zoë…” His voice caught and he lowered the cup.
Marco looked over his shoulder and watched Peyton run a hand across Jake’s back.
“Sorry,” said Jake, shaking his head in embarrassment. “This trial thing just brought up all of the old feelings.”
“I know, but it’ll be good to get closure, won’t it?”
Jake gave her a wounded smile. “I hope so. I’m just afraid it’ll start the nightmares again.”
Marco forced his attention back to the omelets. He didn’t have anything to say to that. He couldn’t even fathom the devastation of such loss – it made his stomach knot.
“Abe said he’d do the autopsy this morning,” said Peyton, shifting the conversation.
“I know.” Marco added the vegetables to the eggs, then sprinkled shredded cheese on top.
“I guess we should go over there before we go to the precinct.”
He folded the omelet over and then slid it onto a plate, carrying it to her. Setting it on the counter, he passed her a fork. She was watching him with those dark, exotic eyes of hers, searching him. Pickles lifted his head, his nose sniffing frantically.
“What do you say?” she asked.
“I say that’s a plan. The morgue after breakfast.”
Her face lit up with a smile.
Jake looked longingly at her plate. “I get one of those too, right?”
* * *
Abe glanced up as they entered his autopsy room, his dreads sliding back over his shoulders. A smile stretched the width of his face, his t
eeth barely constrained in his mouth. He wore a white lab coat, but Peyton could see a brilliant hot pink shirt peeking out at the collar.
“If it isn’t my favorite two people…and Jake.”
Jake gave him a sarcastic smile. “The street runs both ways, buddy.”
Abe chuckled and turned, slapping an x-ray onto the light box. Peyton was glad his examination table was empty, but the damp floor beneath it still made her feel queasy.
“Did you finish the autopsy on Matt Jensen?”
“About ten minutes ago. Just doing a final check,” he said, squinting at the x-ray. “He’s in the cold room if you wanna get some pictures, Jake.”
“Got it.” He turned on his heel and went back out the door. It always surprised Peyton how quickly Jake had taken to his new profession. None of it seemed to bother him, except, well…decapitated heads, but she figured that was understandable.
“What’d you find, Abe?”
He turned and studied her. “How are you this morning?”
“Fine. The Baileys and ice cream did the trick.” She shot a look at Marco, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. She wasn’t sure what had happened this morning, but it had been one of the strangest exchanges between them in eight years. She hadn’t really had time to process it yet.
Abe moved to the stainless steel table and leaned on it. “You sure?”
“Yeah. About Matt Jensen?”
His attention shifted to Marco. “Mmm mmm mmm, you look as fit and fine as ever, my Angel’D. Love the black jeans.”
“Thanks.” Marco shifted uncomfortably.
“Abe!”
“Right, Jensen.” He splayed his elegantly long-fingered hands on the table. “He was shot at close range, .22. Cheap ass bullet, but even so, it was enough to knick his heart, pierce a lung and lodge in his spinal column, severing his spinal cord. Poor bastard would have been instantly paralyzed and unable to call for help.”
“How’d it do all that?”
“Close as I can figure, the shooter put the gun right up to his sternum and pulled the trigger. He bled out slowly. Must have been excruciatingly painful.”
“How long would it take you to bleed out like that?” asked Marco.
“Report says his heart was still beating when the medics arrived, so he couldn’t have been down more than 15 minutes or so.”
“Meilin said she found him around 10:40 and the restaurant closed at 10:00.”
“So that means he was shot after the restaurant closed. How could no one have heard anything?” asked Marco.
Peyton chewed her inner lip. “When I went into the kitchen, I noticed acoustic tiles on the ceiling. Maybe they blocked the sound?”
“Maybe.”
“Just one shot?” Peyton asked Abe.
“Just the one. More than enough, though.”
“And it’s been sent to ballistics?”
“First courier of the morning.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing. He was the picture of health. Young, fit, great build. Not as great as yours, Angel, but…” He winked at Marco.
Marco gave him a sarcastic nod.
“How young?”
“Late twenties at the outside.”
“Younger than Meilin.”
“Yeah, but she’s a good looking woman.”
Peyton frowned at him. “You’re gay.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize good looking women, does it?”
“No, but how do you know what she looks like?” Peyton asked, although she felt sure she knew the answer.
“Food Battles. Come on, really, you didn’t watch last season?”
“I didn’t watch any season. The only thing worse than watching people cook is watching people golf.”
“You have no taste whatsoever.” He swatted a hand at her. “There’s drama and tension, back stabbing and cattiness. It has everything a really good reality show should have.”
“Back stabbing?”
“Not literally, no, but you know…” He gave her a sultry look.
“Did Meilin have any enemies on the show? Anyone who was particularly competitive with her?”
“They were all competitive, but everyone seemed genuinely happy she won. I think she was the most well liked contestant on there. She sure was a fan favorite.”
“We probably need to get the names of everyone on the show,” she told Marco.
He nodded.
“How many people compete each season?”
“You start with five. A person gets eliminated every two weeks, until there’s only two left. Then they have two weeks to impress the public and the judges before the final votes are tallied.”
“So what? Eight weeks? She was bound to piss someone off in that time, right?”
Abe held up his hands. “Like I said, she was one of the most popular people on the show.”
* * *
They got back to the precinct around noon. Peyton hesitated in the entrance, marking that Maria’s desk was still empty. Defino poked her head out of her office when she heard them.
“Brief me,” she said.
Peyton followed Marco through the half-door.
“I’ll just go print pictures,” said Jake, hurrying toward the back of the precinct.
Peyton glanced after him, then faced the captain. “We met with Meilin yesterday afternoon. She swears she didn’t hear or see anything. We talked with Abe this morning. He pegs the shooting at around 10:30 or so, since the victim bled out. He estimates she had to find him within 15 minutes of the gunshot for him to still have a heartbeat. The restaurant closed at 10:00 and she didn’t come upstairs until 10:40, so the shooting happened after the restaurant closed, which means the shooter was in the building once the front doors were locked, but no one saw him.”
“That’s strange. Was anyone else with Meilin when she found the body?”
“No, but apparently, she never leaves the kitchen once they open until they close. It ought to be easy to verify that with the rest of the employees. Also, there was a bloody footprint on the window sill in her flat, leading out to a fire escape. We think the shooter left that way. Meilin is about my height, so the footprint is too big to be hers. Someone was in that flat.”
“Did Jake dust for fingerprints?”
“He did,” said Marco. “We should get the results today, but Meilin also mentioned that a photograph of her and Jensen was broken in her room.”
“Lovers’ triangle?”
Peyton shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”
“What’s your next move?”
“Talk with the other employees. See if any of them remember Meilin leaving for an extended period of time. Wait for the analysis from the crime lab on the fingerprints. We should probably search to see if Meilin or Jensen bought a gun recently. Abe said it was a .22.”
“The restaurant is opening again tonight for business,” offered Defino.
“Is Meilin working?”
“No, she’s still too shaken up, but the employees asked me if it would be all right. I told them to go for it.”
Peyton held up a hand. “That’ll be the perfect time to talk to them, then.”
“I’ll go look for a gun permit before we go back out there,” said Marco, moving toward their desks.
Peyton hung back. “Captain, is Maria still sick?”
Defino’s brow knit. “Yeah, she says the doctor told her to stay out the rest of the week.”
“Did you actually talk to her or her boyfriend?”
“I talked to her this time. She doesn’t sound well.”
Peyton gave her a nod. “Anything on the Clean-up Crew case?”
“Brooks.”
“I know, it’s just hard to let it go.”
“Well, do so. You need to focus on this murder and forget about that one. Besides, I’m beginning to think our last encounter spooked him. Maybe he’s moved off to greener pastures.”
“You don’t hope that, do you?”
“I don�
�t want him killing more people, but yeah, I hope like hell he’s gone from the City. I’d be lying if I told you differently.” With that, she went back into her office and shut the door.
Peyton waited a few seconds, then she hurried around Maria’s desk and pulled open the top drawer, locating the electric bill with the yellow forwarding address label. Glancing around, she made sure no one was looking, then she pulled out her notebook and wrote the address inside, replacing the envelope in the desk and shutting the drawer again.
She slipped the notebook back in her pocket and went in search of her partner.
* * *
The Yellow Lotus wasn’t open yet when they arrived, but a teenage girl came to the door and unlocked it when Peyton showed her badge. She wore a pair of black slacks and a crisp white collared shirt. Her long black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“Inspector Brooks with the SFPD,” Peyton said, stepping inside. Marco followed behind her.
The girl gave her a grim smile. “Meilin said you might be out again.”
“We heard you were opening tonight.”
“Yeah, at 5:00.”
“Do you work here every night?”
“Pretty much. Saving for college, you know? My aunt is one of the cooks and I wait tables.”
“Were you here two night ago when the shooting happened?”
“I might have been. I left around 8:00.”
Peyton could hear people banging pots in the kitchen. “Is everyone here that was here that night?”
“Except Meilin. She’s still too upset to come to work.”
“I’m Peyton, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Leah.”
“Leah, can I talk to your aunt?”
“She doesn’t speak English very well, but I can translate.”
“Sounds good.”
The girl motioned toward the kitchen. Peyton and Marco followed her. At least seven people bustled about, prepping dishes, folding tablecloths, or chopping vegetables. All motion ceased as they entered.
Leah went over to an older woman and touched her shoulder. Bending close, she began talking in rapid Chinese, pointing at them. The woman put down her knife and followed Leah over, clasping her hands in the folds of her apron.
Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5) Page 5