“Peyton? Why would she scare me?”
Jake shrugged. “She’s so…so feisty.” The minute he said it, he wished he could take it back. If Stan told Peyton what he said, she would do more than threaten to castrate him.
Stan got a goofy grin on his face. “I like feisty.”
Jake quirked a brow. “All righty then. Well, I need to text this information to her, so I’ll let you get back to work.”
“All right. See you later.”
“Yeah, see you later.” He waited until Stan had wandered back toward his office before he let out a bark of laughter. I like feisty. Oh lord, poor Stan didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.
* * *
Peyton’s phone buzzed in the hospital elevator as the doors opened on Maria’s floor. She pulled it out and thumbed it on as they stepped out. A text from Jake appeared on the screen. Reading it, she slowed her pace.
Marco stopped and turned to face her. “Everything okay?”
She glanced up at him. They hadn’t really talked to each other since leaving Meilin’s restaurant. “Jake got the report on the fingerprints. He found three sets on the doorjamb and the window frame. Two of them belong to Matt and Meilin, but the third is unknown.”
“Did they run it through the system?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t match anyone.”
“So our mystery person doesn’t have a driver’s license?”
“Or any other form of ID.” Peyton tilted her head. “Who wouldn’t have ID?”
“An illegal alien,” said Marco.
Peyton nodded. “I’ll send the list of employees to Stan and he can check to see if any of them are undocumented.”
“Good idea.”
They moved down the hall to Maria’s room and found her pacing in front of the windows. As soon as they entered, she whipped around, her eyes enormous and frightened. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, her dark hair in a tangled ponytail, her arm in a sling.
“He made bail,” she said, hysterically.
“Junior?”
“Who else?” she snapped.
Peyton held up a hand. “Okay, calm down.”
“Calm down. He’ll be at the house. He’ll be there.”
“You don’t have to go. We can get whatever you need.”
“You’re gonna pick out clothes for me?” She gave Peyton a scathing look. “Really?”
“Or not.” Peyton was already beginning to regret this insane act of charity.
Maria paced back to the window. “I should have just stayed at my mom’s. Why did I think I could do this? Why did I think I could be on my own?”
Peyton crossed around the bed and stopped her with both hands on her shoulders. Maria looked up at her, her pupils dilated, her chest heaving. “It’ll be okay. I’m gonna call Smith and have him meet us there. He isn’t going to hurt you, not with three armed cops around. It’ll be okay. I promise you.”
Maria clenched her teeth and nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay. Good.” Peyton reached for her phone. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, I already signed out. That’s all I have.” She pointed to the plastic bag on the bed.
Marco picked it up and moved into the hall. As they walked to the elevator, Peyton placed the call to Smith and asked him to meet them at Walker’s house. He readily agreed. Not that she doubted he would.
Maria fidgeted in the backseat of the Charger the entire way. Peyton wished she could offer her some comfort, but her own stomach was in knots at the thought of seeing Junior Walker again. How the hell had the bastard made bail so quickly? Clearly something was wrong in a system where domestic abuse merited such a low bond.
Smith was waiting for them when they pulled up before the house.
Peyton climbed out, giving him a smile. “Thank you for coming, Frank.”
“My pleasure, baby girl.”
She opened the back door for Maria and helped her out of the car. Maria’s hand trembled in hers.
“Don’t you worry. He’s not gonna try anything tonight,” Smith reassured her.
“Thank you, Frank,” she said, clinging to Peyton as they walked to the foot of the stairs.
“Let me go first,” said Marco, stepping before them.
Peyton nodded and watched him take the stairs two at a time, stopping before the door and banging on it loudly. Maria still trembled, so Peyton shifted her hold, linking their arms together. “It’s okay,” she said, patting her hand where it poked out of the sling. “He’s not gonna touch you again.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she whispered, but she let Peyton propel her upward toward the door.
Halfway up, Junior threw the door open, looming in the entrance. Marco shoved his badge in the idiot’s face.
“Back up,” he said, his voice thrumming with warning.
Junior took in his size and then backed out of the doorway. Marco stepped into the house and Peyton urged Maria forward. Once inside Maria turned her head away, refusing to look at him. Marco had him backed into the middle of the room, but he glared after them as Maria led Peyton toward the back of the house and into a hallway on their left.
Once in the master bedroom, Peyton stood guard at the door, while Maria pulled a suitcase out of the closet and set it on the bed, then she began to fill it as quickly as she could without bothering to fold the clothes.
“Can you get my makeup?” she asked, pointing to the bathroom. “There’s a makeup case beneath the sink and everything’s in the first drawer.”
Peyton paused in the hallway, listening for voices from the living room, but all was quiet. She went into the bathroom and found the case, then opened the top drawer by the sink. Grabbing bottles and brushes and compacts, she shoved them into the flowered case. She couldn’t believe how much crap Maria used to appear presentable every day. Besides a touch of mascara and eyeshadow, Peyton preferred her own natural color to all of this garbage.
Maria appeared in the entrance. “I’ll finish. Can you get Frank to carry my suitcase?”
Peyton left Maria in the bathroom and walked into the living room. Marco was standing where he’d been, but Junior had taken a seat in a ratty recliner, his hands gripping the arms. Frank blocked the doorway, but he looked up when Peyton appeared.
“Frank, can you get her suitcase? It’s on the bed.”
“Got it.” Frank followed where Peyton pointed and appeared a moment later carrying the bulging suitcase to the door and setting it down. Maria trailed him, holding the makeup case by the handle.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, everything else is his.”
Peyton placed a hand in the middle of her back and directed her toward the front door. Halfway across the room, Junior surged to his feet. “Maria, wait!”
Maria stumbled to a halt, ducking her head. Peyton wrapped an arm around her waist and urged her forward, but she wouldn’t move.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, moving toward her.
Marco stepped in front of him, placing a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him backward. “That’s enough.”
He knocked Marco’s hand away. “Maria, please.”
Frank came to Maria’s other side and together he and Peyton tried to get her to the door, but she was shaking violently, her eyes closed tight.
“Maria, please. I didn’t mean it. It won’t happen again. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just don’t leave.”
Marco shoved him again. “I said that was enough.”
Junior came up against him, bumping him with his chest, but Marco never budged. “What are you gonna do about it, Pretty Boy?” he shouted in his face.
Peyton started toward them, but Smith stepped in front of her, holding her back. She watched as Marco gave Junior a sneer. “You know what they say about men who beat on women.”
“What?” Junior thrust out his chin in challenge.
“They say they’re compensating for something they lack.” His eyes t
racked up and down the smaller man’s body. “Just what is it you lack, Junior?”
Junior’s jaw clenched and he swallowed hard.
Marco edged into him, large, menacing. “Let me give you fair warning. You ever lay a hand on anyone I care about again and I will end you. Do you understand me?”
Junior’s eyes narrowed, then he broke Marco’s stare and dropped his gaze. With a short nod, he backed up and sat down in the recliner again.
Peyton released her held breath, her knees shaking. Somehow they got Maria down the stairs and into the Charger where she huddled against the door. Frank hung back on the stairs, while Marco put the suitcase in the trunk. When he closed it, Peyton moved forward suddenly and threw her arms around his waist, burying her face in the center of his chest.
He encircled her with his arms and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.
“Man up, Brooks,” came the rumble of his voice beneath her ear.
CHAPTER 6
Gabby tried the door at the front of the school labeled office, but found it was locked. Billy moved to the side and peered in the tinted window.
“There’s a bunch of ladders and tarps all over everything,” he said.
“Can I help you?” came a voice behind them.
Gabby turned and smiled at the short, squat woman coming toward them in a loose pants suit with a colorful blouse covered in a floral pattern. “I’m Detective Gabriela Acosta from the Miami PD.”
“Yes, Detective Acosta, we spoke on the phone. I’m Margaret Ruiz, principal here.” She shook hands first with Gabby, then Billy.
“Detective William Lucott, ma’am,” he said, straightening to his full height.
Gabby rolled her eyes, but Margaret smiled at him. “Pleased to meet you.” She focused on Gabby again. “You said you had a warrant to search the academic records of a past graduate?”
Gabby pulled the warrant out of her back pocket and extended it to the woman. “A Lily Witan?” She pointed to the graduation date written on the warrant.
“Yes, I see,” said the principal, scanning the paper. She handed it back. “As you can see we’re doing some maintenance while the school’s closed for the summer, so we moved our offices to the library. Let me show you where that is and then I’ll have the registrar locate Miss Witan’s records. They’ll likely be in the archives since it’s been almost twenty years, but I’m sure we can find them.” She motioned into a palm-lined quad.
“Are the archives on campus?” asked Gabby, following her.
“Yes, but it might take a bit of digging.”
“That’s fine.”
She directed them to the library, pulling open the door. The rush of air conditioning struck them and they entered a low ceilinged room that stretched away on all sides. It was dimly lit, but two walls were comprised entirely of windows, so muted sunlight filtered through.
Bookcases broke up the open expanse, choked with hard bound copies of dated reference material and Perma-bound novels with tattered spines. A long counter ran across the back wall with an old fashioned box computer occupying the exact center. In front of it were mismatched composite tables and blue plastic chairs with metal legs. A back room housed a few desks and an older woman manned one, a telephone receiver pressed to her ear.
“I’ll just go tell the registrar. Please, make yourself at home.”
Gabby gave her a smile and took a seat at a table as the principal bustled toward the room with the desks. Billy wandered over to a shelf and squatted down, reading the spines.
“God, it’s been so long since I was in a high school.”
Gabby’s brows rose. “What? Two years?”
“Funny.” He pulled out a book and flipped it open. “I loved high school.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I was voted most likely to serve time.” He chuckled.
She gave him a nod. Figured.
“In my senior will, I dedicated all future 4/20’s to my graduating class.” He replaced the book and stood up. “You know? 4/20?” He pinched his index finger and his thumb together and pretended to inhale. “Get it?”
“Yeah, you smoked dope.”
He made a face. “Pot, not dope. Jeez.” He ran his hand along the top of a shelf. “They put my will in the yearbook. Administration wigged out. Pulled every single one of them and told us we couldn’t have them.”
“You were a real rebel without a cause, weren’t you?”
“It started this big ass protest. Students walked out of class, parents came down to the school.” He gave her a flash of dimples. “Even made the freakin’ news.” He pointed a finger at her. “They gave them all back and I still got to walk. Boy, we took it to the man but good, let me tell you.”
“Then you went and became the man.”
He nodded. “Yeah, now that’s what you call irony.” He returned to looking at the books. “How were your days in high school?”
Gabby shrugged. “I did pretty good, got good grades. Played volleyball a lot.”
“Volleyball? They had that back then?” He smirked at her as he walked around the bookshelf.
“Funny.”
She could hear him chuckling as he disappeared from sight.
Margaret Ruiz walked out of the office, carrying a tan colored file. “You’re in luck. It wasn’t as hard to find as I feared. I guess our registrar put everything in order last summer once school was out. Take your time, okay?”
Gabby accepted the file. “Thank you.” She opened it, hoping to find a picture, but the first page only contained a transcript. She flipped through the entire file, but there wasn’t a single picture to be found. “Mrs. Ruiz?”
The principal turned in the doorway of her office.
“Why isn’t there a picture in the file?”
“That’s a cum folder, Detective. It’s just a record of her academic career. We never put pictures in them for the safety of our students.”
Gabby sighed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Turning back to the first page, Gabby scanned the transcript. Lily Witan had been a good student, straight A’s for the first three years of high school with an impressive class load – mostly Advanced Placement or Honors. Her test scores were also high, ranking near the top in almost every subject.
“She was a good student,” she said aloud.
“Mmm,” grunted Billy.
Gabby traced the grades with her finger, flipping a page. Her senior year was on the back of the first page, so Gabby had to turn the file upside down to see it. Suddenly the grades dropped dramatically. A number of C’s and even D’s began cropping up, all in subjects in which she’d excelled before. And her test scores plummeted. Something had clearly happened in that final year to make her tank so badly.
Turning the file around again, Gabby located a log of contacts from the academic counselor to Lily, or the counselor to Lily and her parents. At first the interactions were routine – appointments to schedule classes or recommendations for more challenging course work, but in her last year, there were suddenly many more requested by her parents to find out why she was doing so poorly. The concerns appeared to go unanswered because in the end Lily barely scraped together enough units to graduate.
“Something happened to this girl her senior year. She almost didn’t walk.”
“How much do you love me?” asked Billy.
Gabby reared back, surprised to find him standing right in front of her. She hadn’t heard him approach. “What?”
“How much do you love me?” He dropped a book on top of the cum folder and grinned at her.
Gabby looked down and saw row after row of beaming teenagers splattered across the page. A high school yearbook. Billy leaned on the table and pressed his finger to one picture in particular. Beneath the picture was the name Lily Witan.
Gabby blinked in shock, staring at the smiling face of the pretty y
oung girl. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as shooting.”
Gabby’s eyes rose and fixed on Billy. “Explain to me how the hell Buck Reiter missed the fact that Lily Witan was clearly adopted.”
Billy gave a careless shrug. “Guess we better ask him, eh?”
* * *
The lab door made a hissing noise as it opened. Abe glanced over his shoulder, pausing in the act of washing his hands. Bruce Walton entered, holding a file. Bruce was an older man, nearing retirement, and he usually did the medical autopsies that Abe just hated. Most of the time it was some poor fool who’d had a heart attack while watching television and eating potato chips.
“Hey there, Bruce, how’s the wife?”
Bruce had married a woman twenty years younger than he was with expensive tastes. He probably would have retired by now, but he had to keep her happy or lose her, something she made very clear to him on a regular basis.
“She’s visiting her sister in San Diego.”
Abe reached for a paper towel and dried his hands. “Must be nice to have a little freedom for a change, eh?”
“You have no idea.”
Abe figured he probably did. Marriage seemed like a whole lot more work than benefit. He tossed the paper towel in the trashcan. “What can I do you for?”
Bruce held out the file. “We’re swamped on our end and this one just came in this morning. It should be pretty quick. On first blush, it looks like anaphylactic shock, but SFPD wants it confirmed.”
Abe took the folder and sat down on the stool by his autopsy table. Flipping it open, he glanced over the medical analysis, blood work, and the little bit of history the police had collected. Poor fool was found by his neighbor who came to deliver a package.
“Sure, I’ll take it,” he said, glancing up at Bruce.
“Great. He’s on his way in from St. Francis. Should be here within the hour.”
“Got it.”
“I appreciate the help.”
“Not a problem.”
Bruce seemed reluctant to go. Abe didn’t socialize much with the other M.E.s, so he wasn’t sure what the guy wanted. “This one might be interesting. Don’t get many anaphylactic shocks, do we?”
Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5) Page 10