Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Gabby could see the pale blue of taffeta with beading along the sleeve. “Lily’s prom dress?”

  “Apparently.” He tilted it, so Gabby could see the blood stain on the bodice.

  “Can you imagine how hard it would be to find your parents like that?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  Gabby opened the file. It was broken into sections. CSI reports, lab reports, photographs of the crime scene, and then an entire section of interviews Buck Reiter had conducted. He’d talked to Dana Messette and the neighbors of the Witans, but one name in particular caught Gabby’s attention. Sanderson.

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” said Rick, leaning over to look at the file.

  “Sanderson.” She pulled open her lower desk drawer and took out the scrapbook, flipping it open to the page with the final article about the case. She’d placed the obituary in the binding to keep it from slipping out. She passed it to Rick. “This kid killed himself about a month after the Witans were murdered. He was one of their neighbors, apparently. Reiter interviewed the parents, but they were so distraught, they didn’t really have much to tell him.”

  “Weird. A lot of tragedy for one neighborhood.”

  “Yeah.” She turned to the pictures, studying the gruesome images of a dead Carol and David, lying in their own blood. David had been shot in the chest, but it looked like Carol had been hit in the forehead, her brains splattered on the wall behind her. There were photos of the blood stains, photos of the bodies, photos of the room where they died. There were even photos of a broken glass one of them had dropped as they were shot, but there were no photos of their daughter, Lily – not a single one.

  “This is so strange.”

  “What?”

  Gabby tapped a finger on a picture of the room. “The scrapbook has missing pages right where you’d expect to find images of the Witans’ daughter Lily. And in this file, with all of these pictures, there isn’t a single one of her. Since she had their blood on her dress, wouldn’t someone have thought to take her picture?”

  “You’d think so.”

  Gabby thought for a moment. “I really want to see a picture of this girl.”

  “What about the granddaughter? What was her name?”

  “Janet? Yeah, I’ll give her a call and see if she can find anything for me.”

  Billy came around the corner of the building, holding a piece of paper in his hands. “How much do you love me?” he said to Gabby, beaming from ear to ear.

  “Not much at all,” she answered. “Did you find out anything about the Witans before they died?”

  “Not the Witans. The Messettes. Three week before the Witan murders, Philip Messette, Carol’s father, reported a stolen gun – a Colt M1911.”

  “Nice gun,” said Rick.

  “I know, right?” answered Billy.

  Gabby flipped over to the ballistics report. “Well, shit. The Witans were both shot with a .45.” She lifted her gaze to the two men. “Gentlemen, I think we’ve just identified our murder weapon. Wonder how Buck missed that?”

  “Did they ever find the gun?”

  Gabby ran her finger over the report as she read. “No. They never did,” she answered. “Well, now that is a problem.”

  * * *

  The curtain was violently thrown back and Marco loomed in the entrance. Peyton flinched at the expression on his face, curling her arm over her ribs. She’d been trying to put on her boots, but that was proving a hell of a lot more difficult than she’d thought.

  “They tell you to get dressed, they just don’t tell you how,” she said, trying to be light.

  He moved into the make-shift exam room, filling it with raw, male tension. Behind him Peyton could see the emergency room nurses rushing back and forth. He extended a hand and placed two fingers under her chin, turning her face and looking at her swollen left cheek and jaw.

  “They give you any ice?”

  She patted the bag next to her.

  “He punch you?”

  She was surprised at the calmness in his voice. It scared her a little.

  “Kicked me. He’s some kind of martial arts idiot.”

  “How’s Maria?”

  “Dislocated shoulder, cracked a few ribs. They’re keeping her overnight for observation.”

  He grabbed the only chair in the room and pulled it up beside the bed, taking a seat. Then he grabbed her foot and braced it on his knee, while he reached for her boot.

  “Marco?”

  His eyes rose and met hers. They looked smoky and dark in the brilliantly lit emergency room.

  “I know you’re angry.”

  “Why am I angry, Peyton?”

  She winced at his use of her first name. “Because I didn’t call you, but Maria asked me not to.”

  “Maria told you not to call me? Why?”

  “She was so embarrassed. I don’t think she was thinking straight.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Late.”

  “Early. It’s tomorrow already. Do you know how I found out?”

  “Holmes.”

  “He called wanting to know why the hell I wasn’t down here.”

  Peyton swallowed and looked away. “Marco, please…”

  “Please what? What made you go to her house?”

  “I was worried about her.”

  “And you couldn’t tell me that?”

  She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. She was so damn tired. She didn’t want to go around and around with him. He slid her boot on her foot and began to lace it.

  “I thought you’d tell me I was meddling.”

  “You were.”

  “I thought you’d tell me not to do it.”

  “I would.” His eyes rose to hers. “And then I would have gone with you.” He released her foot and grabbed the other one, reaching for the second boot. “At least tell me you pulled your gun on the bastard.”

  “Shoved it right up against his brain.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said.

  She felt a flush of warmth at his words. “I’m sorry, Marco.”

  He didn’t answer, just worked at the lacing of her other boot.

  “Marco?”

  “Let it go, Brooks, okay?”

  “Okay. I just don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  “Well, that’s not gonna happen.” He leaned back in the chair. “You do this shit all the time. You never think anything through all the way and you don’t feel like you have to answer to anybody. I’ve known this for eight years.”

  “This is why I couldn’t make it work with Devan.”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a pointed look. “It is.”

  She pushed him with her foot, then winced as it jarred her ribs. “You’re supposed to tell me that’s not true, that it was all his fault.”

  “No, I’m not. That’s Abe’s job.” He nodded at her side. “Anything broken?”

  “No, just bruised.”

  A male nurse entered. “All right, Inspector. Here’s your pain medication and your release papers. Follow up with your own doctor tomorrow, okay?”

  She accepted the white paper bag he gave her and signed where he indicated on the clipboard.

  He passed a copy to her and gave her a big smile. “Hopefully we won’t see you for another month.” Then he was gone.

  “Cute,” she said, then watched as Marco climbed to his feet.

  He placed a hand under her arm and helped her slide off the bed. She sucked in a breath as her feet hit the floor. Everything hurt. Every inch of her was sore.

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he reached back and grabbed the ice, passing it to her. “At least put this on your face. You look like you’ve been brawling down by the docks.”

  She gave a laugh, then gripped his arm hard as pain speared through her. “Are you punishing me, D’Angelo?”

  “Sweetheart, that wouldn’t do me a damn bit of good, now would it?”

  She choked on another laugh, ga
sping in pain.

  “Man up, Brooks,” he said, helping her walk beyond the curtain.

  * * *

  Jake met them in the entry way the moment they opened the door. Wearing a tank top and a pair of sweats, he held Pickles under his arm, his hair mussed from sleep. His expression shifted from concern to alarm and he reached for Peyton’s arm.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “It’s a long story, Jake, and I really need to go to bed,” she said.

  Marco closed the door behind him and helped her walk toward her room, shoving the paper bag against Jake’s chest. “Get her a glass of water and one of these.”

  He grabbed for the bag, then hurried into the kitchen.

  Marco guided Peyton around the couch and into the hallway, reaching around her to open her bedroom door. He got her to the bed and she sank down on it. Kneeling in front of her, he began to unlace her boots.

  Jake arrived with the water and a pill. Pickles followed him into the room, his tail between his legs. Jake handed both to her, then took a step back as she swallowed the pill. Marco pulled off her boots, then gently lifted her legs to the bed. She sank back against the pillows, grimacing as she lay down.

  “Where’s my dog?” she said through clenched teeth, passing the glass of water to him.

  Marco placed the water on the nightstand, then picked up Pickles and settled him on the bed beside her. The little Yorkie curled against her side, resting his head on her hand. Reaching for a blanket on the end of the bed, Marco pulled it over her.

  She caught his hand as he started to pull away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

  “Shut up, Brooks,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

  She gave him a faint smile as he pulled away, then closed her eyes. He backed from the room, carefully pulling the door closed, then turned to find Jake waiting for him.

  “What the hell happened to her, D’Angelo?” Jake demanded.

  Marco motioned him back into the living room. “She went to Maria’s house to check on her. Maria’s boyfriend didn’t appreciate the interference and went after Maria. When Peyton tried to defend her, he attacked her.”

  “Attacked Peyton?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She needs to be in the hospital.”

  “Where do you think she’s been, Ryder?”

  “Why did they release her?”

  “She’s banged up. Nothing serious.”

  “Looks serious to me. What about Maria?”

  “They kept her overnight for observation. She’s a little worse off.”

  “How did Peyton stop him?”

  “She pulled her gun.”

  Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “Where were you?”

  Marco let out his breath. “Obviously I wasn’t there, was I?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she didn’t tell me she was going.”

  Jake’s eyes went beyond him to Peyton’s door. “She can’t keep doing this.”

  Marco rubbed the back of his neck. He was keyed up and exhausted. He didn’t need to deal with histrionics right now. “Doing what, Ryder?”

  “This job. She’s going to get herself killed. She just can’t help but get involved and then this is what happens.” He held out a hand toward her door and his eyes tracked back to Marco. “You’ve got to get her to quit.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got to tell her to quit.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” He started for the front door.

  Jake shifted to follow him. “I’m not kidding. You’ve got to talk her into quitting or you’re responsible for what happens.”

  Marco whipped back to face him, his eyes narrowing. “Sometimes you’re not very smart, Ryder, you know that?”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “How?”

  “She won’t listen to anyone else, but she’ll listen to you. Tell her to quit, Marco. Ask her and she’ll do it for you.”

  Marco took a step closer to him. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Why? Why won’t you? Do you like seeing her like this? Do you like seeing her hurt?” He slapped a hand against his thigh. “I don’t. I can’t stand it. How can you?”

  “Because!” he shouted, then he closed his eyes to compose himself. “Because I don’t have any other choice.”

  “What the hell does that mean? You can talk to her, you can make her see how dangerous this is.”

  “You’re asking me to change who she is. You’re asking me to change Peyton.”

  “I’m asking you to save her from herself.”

  Marco started to answer. Jake was staring at him with such intensity, such conviction, but he just didn’t understand. He would never understand. “I won’t ask her to change herself for me, Jake. And if you care about her at all, you won’t ask her either.”

  With that, he left the house, shutting the door behind him.

  * * *

  Peyton was surprised to see half the precinct in Maria’s room when she arrived at the hospital the next day. Flowers and balloons crowded every available surface, but one particularly enormous bouquet drew her attention and she walked over to it, sniffing a brilliant pink carnation.

  “Wow,” she said, turning around.

  Maria was sitting up in the bed, her shoulder in a brace, both eyes bruised, but she beamed a smile at Peyton. “That’s from Nathan.”

  Peyton’s brows rose. “Trying to out-do me, Cho?”

  He looked sheepish. Interesting, thought Peyton.

  Defino watched her with an inscrutable expression. “You’re walking like everything hurts, Brooks.”

  She briefly caught Marco’s eye, but he looked away. “Because it does, Captain.”

  “Next time you’ve got a suspicion, you might want to take backup, eh, baby girl?” scolded Smith.

  “I had backup. Drew arrived about five minutes after I called him.”

  Holmes gave her a smile. “She already had him trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

  Peyton moved to the side of Maria’s bed. “That was Maria’s doing.” She touched her hand. “We made a good team.”

  To her surprise, Maria turned her hand over and clasped Peyton’s. “We did.” She glanced over at Marco. “You should have seen her whip out that gun and shove it up against his fat head.”

  Marco gave a short nod and rose to his feet, walking to the window and looking out.

  Peyton followed him with her eyes, but Maria patted the bed beside her. “Sit down.”

  She took a seat on the edge, surprised at Maria’s sudden solicitude.

  “Where’s the bastard now, Holmes?” asked Defino.

  “Junior Walker is cooling his heels with the Special Victims Unit, Captain. Besides Domestic Violence, they’re tacking on Assaulting an Officer.” He gave Maria a rough pat on the shoulder. “You ain’t gonna have to worry about him anymore.”

  Maria forced a smile, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you guys mind if I talk to Brooks alone?”

  Peyton glanced around in surprise.

  They all muttered in agreement and began to file out. Bill Simons patted Peyton’s back as he left and gave her a “Good job” grunt, but Marco would even look at her. She wanted to go after him, but Maria tightened her grip on her hand.

  Once they were all gone, Peyton turned back to her. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to thank you for yesterday. I think he would have killed me if you hadn’t come.” The tears spilled over and raced down her cheeks.

  Peyton reached for a tissue and handed it to her. “We watch out for our own.”

  Maria pressed the tissue to her eyes. “I feel so stupid. I thought he was a good guy.”

  Peyton shrugged. “A lot of women make the same mistake, Maria.”

  “Yeah, but I rushed this. I just wanted out of my mother’s house so bad, I didn’t really know him well enough.” She gave a watery laugh. “Now, look at me. I’ll just have to go back to Mom’s like a damn fool.”
>
  “Someone did notify her, right?”

  “Yeah, she was here all night. She stepped out to get something to eat when the entire Homicide Squad arrived.”

  Peyton tried to redirect the conversation. “Those are some gorgeous flowers from Cho.”

  Her face scrunched up and she started crying in earnest. Peyton wasn’t sure what to do. She glanced behind her, but everyone had moved out of sight. Grabbing more tissue, she held them out to Maria.

  “I’m sorry, you don’t need this. You’ve got your own problems.”

  Peyton frowned at that. “My own problems?”

  Maria didn’t seem to hear. “I just wanted a life of my own. I wanted something that I could call mine.”

  “Okay?” This was awkward. She and Maria only ever exchanged insults with one another. Sure, it was always good natured ribbing, but she didn’t remember ever having a serious conversation with her.

  “Do you know I’ve lived with my mother my whole life? I’m thirty-one, Brooks, thirty-one. Who still lives with their mother at thirty-one?”

  “A lot of people.”

  Maria glared at her. “I share a room with my five year old niece, Brooks.”

  Peyton blinked at her. Well, that was…uh, odd. “Your niece?”

  “Yeah, when my sister got a divorce two years ago, she moved back in and brought her kids. There was nowhere else to put her, so my niece moved into my room.” She held up a tissue filled hand. “Who am I kidding? It’s her room. I just get to sleep there.”

  Peyton shifted uncomfortably.

  “And when I go back, I’ll probably have to sleep on the couch. The couch, Brooks! Do you know what it’s like to be a guest in your mother’s home for thirty-one years, so I meet this guy, but instead of really getting to know him, I move in with him, but of course, he’s a wife beater and starts punching on me two days after we start living together.”

  Peyton looked over her shoulder at the door again, but no help was coming.

  “Martial artist, that’s what he tells me and I think it’s cool. Cool?” She slapped Peyton’s arm.

  Peyton flinched.

  “Cool? He goes around kicking people and it doesn’t even register that he might not be a good boyfriend for me. No, I move in with him. Then I’m so embarrassed, I can’t tell anyone, so I stay in the house, hoping the hell he won’t kill me.”