“Guess not.”
“Yep. You get anything interesting from Homicide lately?”
“A shooting.” Abe shrugged, sending the beads on the end of his dreads to tinkling. “That’s about it.”
“I read about the serial killer. The Janitor or something?”
“Yeah, well, he hasn’t struck in a month.”
“Strange to have a serial killer here, isn’t it?”
“I guess. Probably happens in a lot of big cities.”
“Probably.”
Abe gave him a wry smile. “I should take a look at this file before he gets here.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll go back to my lab. Got another 400 lb. stroke guy to dissect.”
Abe grimaced. “Fun.”
“Yeah.” He started to turn away, then looked back. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“You got it.” After he left, Abe shook his head. Straight dudes. Shesh! Flipping open the file, he read the police report again:
Mr. Chen knocked on Mr. Bai’s door at 8:00PM to deliver a package that had been brought to the wrong address. He received no answer, so he departed. At 9:20PM, he again knocked at the door whereupon he heard a moan of distress. Concerned for Mr. Bai’s welfare, he tried the handle and found it unlocked. Upon entering the apartment, he discovered Mr. Bai lying on the floor of his kitchen. He called for an ambulance, but before the paramedics arrived, Mr. Bai went into cardiac arrest. He was pronounced dead at the hospital at 10:34PM. A subsequent search of Mr. Bai’s apartment turned up an epinephrine pen with an expiration date of more than a year before. A search of Mr. Bai’s person did not turn up any form of identification and an on-line search also proved inconclusive. No next of kin have been notified at this time.
Inconclusive? Try nonexistent. Mr. Hui Bai didn’t appear to have any identity, which meant he was likely an undocumented resident. Poor idiot may not have been able to get a refill on an expired epi-pen if he was afraid of being discovered by INS.
Abe sighed and closed the file. What a frickin’ damn shame!
* * *
Peyton drove Maria to work the following morning. The ride was awkward, but no more awkward than coming out of her room this morning and finding a skimpily clad Maria asleep on her couch. Jake’s eyes had almost bugged from his head when he came around the corner of the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee and found Maria in a baby-doll nightie and pink panties.
Peyton figured she should probably have a talk with her, but she was reluctant to broach the subject, especially not after Maria had broken down crying when she’d had to ask Peyton to comb her hair and put it up in a ponytail for her.
Parking the Corolla, they walked into the precinct together. Cho and Simons were just leaving Defino’s office and they stopped, Cho’s face lighting into a brilliant smile. Peyton hid her grin as he hurried to open the half-door for her.
A large bouquet of pink roses sat on the edge of Maria’s desk and she went to it, bending over to sniff at a bud. Lifting the card, she read it, then turned back to Cho, reaching out her good hand to clasp his. “Thank you, Nathan. They’re so beautiful.”
Cho squeezed her fingers, then released her, dropping his gaze. Simons and Peyton exchanged amused looks. There were few people, in her book, that were more loyal or steadfast than Nathan Cho. She hoped Maria would eventually see that.
Defino stepped out of her office, smiling when she saw Maria. Coming toward her, she gave her a hug and then held her off, looking into her face. “If you need anything at all, you just ask, you hear me?”
Maria smiled back. “Thank you, Captain.”
Defino patted her arms, then turned to Peyton. “Brooks, my office now.”
Peyton sighed and followed her into the darkened room. “I’m doing much better too, Captain,” she said, taking a seat in the chair before Defino’s desk.
Defino paused and stared at her as if she didn’t understand.
Peyton reached out and picked up a clear paperweight with a beetle in the center of it. “Is this new?”
“Got it in Chinatown.”
Peyton held it up to the desk lamp and turned it around so she could see the underside. There was something creepily fascinating about the blue-green bug forever preserved in acrylic. “When were you in Chinatown?”
“Last night. Colin and I had dinner at the Yellow Lotus. We’ve been wanting to try it for ages, but we couldn’t get reservations. Meilin reserved a table for us, in light of the help we’ve been giving her.”
“How was it?”
“Exceptional. We had the duck. You have to order that 24 hours in advance. It was just like the recipe she made when she won the semi-finals of Food Battles…” The captain caught herself, then reached over and took the paperweight from Peyton’s hand. “Anyway, where are you and D’Angelo on this case?”
“Jake found a third set of fingerprints at the crime scene, but they don’t belong to anyone in the system. We know the bullet was from a .22, cheap-ass gun, but it was enough to kill him when fired at point-blank range. Meilin’s employees have conflicting feelings about her, but they all vouch that she was in the restaurant at the time of the murder.”
“So basically, you have nothing.”
Peyton held out her empty hands.
“I arranged a video chat with the producer of Food Battle. I thought you might ask him if Meilin received any threats or had any enemies on the show. Stan will connect you in about twenty minutes.”
“Great, I’ll get right on it.”
Defino turned the paperweight around and tapped her fingernails against it. “Are you and D’Angelo fighting?”
Peyton blinked in surprise. “What?”
Defino lifted her gaze and focused on Peyton. “At the hospital the other day, I got the sense that you and Marco were fighting. Are you?”
Peyton didn’t know how to answer that. “Ah…”
“Don’t lie to me, Brooks.”
“I’m not, Captain.” She blew out air and fidgeted in the unforgiving chair. “He wasn’t happy that I went to see Maria by myself, and he expressed that to me very emphatically.”
Defino continued to eye her.
Peyton shrugged. “You know me, Captain. Someone’s always pissed at me for one thing or another.”
Defino lowered her eyes to the paperweight. “You’d better go see Stan, Brooks.”
Peyton knew a dismissal when she got one. Pushing herself to her feet, she left the captain’s office, closing the door behind her. Something about the odd exchange bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Walking toward Stan’s office, she tried to erase it from her mind. She didn’t have time to worry about that now.
Marco was just coming out of the break-room as she approached their desks. He gave her a nod of greeting, lifting a cup of coffee to his lips.
“Defino arranged a video conference with the producer of Food Battles. Stan’s setting it up for us. You wanna come?”
“Sure.” He placed the coffee on his desk and followed her toward the back of the precinct.
Stan’s office was an old closet, converted into a tech guru’s heaven with multiple computers operating at the same time. A long table blocked the entrance, but he’d left just enough room to slip past the end of it and enter the confining space. Peyton usually avoided Stan’s lair because the tight configuration always felt claustrophobic to her.
The minute they appeared in the entrance, his face broke into an enormous smile. Peyton smiled back. “Hey, Stan. Captain said you’re hooking us up with a video chat?”
“Sure am, Peyton. Come in.”
Peyton eased past the end of the table and slid into the seat Stan had set up for her. There was no other place available for Marco. Not that she minded. Marco’s bulk would make the hot, tight space even more cramped and miserable.
Stan picked up a box on the table behind him and held it out to Peyton. “Check out the most recent addition to my collection.”
She pretended
to inspect the action figure behind the cellophane window. “Superman, right?”
“Right. This is the latest replica they’ve made. Someday it’ll be worth a lot of money.”
“I’ll bet.” She handed it back, glancing around at the many toys on display. “You’ve got a veritable fortune in here, Stan. Good thing you work in a police department, huh?”
He gave a bark of laughter and turned back to the screen.
Peyton gave Marco a pleading look, but he just smirked and glanced away.
“It’ll take me just a minute to set this up,” Stan assured her, clicking away on his keyboard.
“Take your time,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Did Defino give you the producer’s name?”
“Bruce Whitesides,” said Stan.
“Bruce Whitesides, huh? Very Hollywood.”
Stan blinked at her in confusion, his eyes looking owlish behind his glasses. “He’s in New York.”
“Right.”
Stan turned back to the monitor, clicking some more. “There we go.”
A strange chime issued out of the computer, then a moment later a man’s face appeared on the screen. “Hello?”
Stan motioned to the monitor and Peyton leaned forward. “Hello, Mr. Whitesides?”
“Yes.”
She reached for her badge and held it up to the screen. “I’m Inspector Peyton Brooks from the San Francisco Police Department.”
“Yes, Inspector Brooks, your captain told me you’d be contacting me.”
“Thank you for talking with me.”
“Certainly. How can I help you?” Bruce Whitesides was an attractive middle aged, Caucasian male with blond hair slicked back from his forehead and a strong, square jaw.
“I’m investigating the murder of Matt Jensen, Meilin Fan’s boyfriend.”
“Lord, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Did you know Mr. Jensen?”
“I met him once or twice. He was a nice enough fellow. Young guy. A little lost, if you ask me.”
“How so?”
“Well, let’s just say Meilin called the shots in that relationship.”
“Did they fight?”
“I never saw them, but she mentioned that he was perfectly content to work in a grocery store. She was a little contemptuous of him, but then not many people had Meilin’s drive.”
“I see. How was she to work with? I mean for you and the other contestants on the show?”
“She was very generous. She’d bring us some delectable treat almost every day. And she helped out the other contestants when they got stuck on something. Still, she was by far the most driven contestant we’ve had. I’d find her studying recipes right up to the moment we’d start filming and some of the contestants complained that she stayed up half the night perfecting her dishes.” He scratched the back of his neck. “As I’m sure you know, the contestants all stay in the same house during the competition.”
Peyton hadn’t known that, but it was an interesting tidbit. “When they complained to you, what did you do?”
“I told them it wasn’t expressly forbidden in the rules, so there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”
“Were any of them particularly upset when she won?”
“Not really. Just being on the show assures every single one of them more money than they can handle. I don’t think a single one hasn’t profited off it in unbelievable ways. Winning is really only a formality.”
“What about fans? Did any of them send her hate mail or threats?”
“I wish I could help you, Inspector Brooks, but Meilin was a fan favorite. It was a joke on the set – Meilin Fan’s Fans.”
Peyton rubbed her forehead. This case was giving her a headache. She glanced up at Marco. “Anything else?” she asked him.
“Ask how she behaved around the men on set.”
Bruce seemed to hear Marco because he gave a sarcastic laugh. “Meilin had all the men wrapped around her fingers. There wasn’t a one of them who wouldn’t do anything she asked the moment she asked it.”
“She flirted with them?”
Bruce gave her a wry smile. “You might say that.”
“Did she flirt with you, Mr. Whitesides?”
“Of course.”
“I have to ask this, so please don’t be offended, but did anything happen between the two of you?”
“No, she might have been a flirt, but she was devoted to Jensen.”
“And nothing happened with any of the other men?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did it bother the women that she flirted?”
Whitesides shrugged. “None of them complained about it to me and believe me, they complained about everything. Generally, Meilin was well liked by both the men and women. I really never saw any problems.”
“I appreciate you talking with me. If you think of anything else, will you contact me?”
“Of course. Tell Meilin I’m sorry about Jensen, will you?”
“I will and thank you.”
“No problem. Have a good day, Inspector Brooks.”
“You too, Mr. Whitesides.”
Stan reached over and disconnected the link. Peyton leaned back in the chair and lifted her eyes to Marco. “Well, what do you make of that?”
Marco shook his head. “Meilin Fan is one complicated woman.”
“You can say that again,” said Peyton.
* * *
Because their leads were so slim and because so many people had conflicting views of Meilin, Peyton called Matt Jensen’s mother in Fremont and asked if they could talk with her. At first, she didn’t want to agree, but Peyton had broken down and explained they just didn’t have anything to go on and the case was stalled. Finally, she’d acquiesced.
Peyton stared up at the row of townhouses, standing shoulder to shoulder. Small patches of lawn before each one were the only allowance for nature and individuality. Unlike the townhouses on either side, Pam Jensen didn’t have any personal effects on display like the colorful garden gnomes or planter boxes of her neighbors. Her porch and lawn were completely bare, utilitarian.
Marco walked around the front of the Charger and opened the door for her. “You coming, Brooks?”
She eased out, grimacing at the pull of muscles still sore from her encounter with Junior Walker. “I hate talking to grieving parents.”
“So do I.” He motioned up the walk and she moved in front of him. “You’re moving a little slow. You feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to take the lead on this?”
Peyton glanced back at him. Something in his tone touched her. In all honesty, it was nice to have someone concerned about her for once. “I’m good,” she said, giving him a smile, “but thank you.”
He frowned at her, but she let it go. She didn’t feel like cheapening the moment by teasing him about being sensitive.
Knocking at the front door, she reached for her badge.
It took a few minutes, but finally the door opened, revealing a terribly thin woman whose head bobbed in constant motion. “Yes?”
“Inspectors Brooks and D’Angelo from the SFPD, Mrs. Jensen?”
The woman glanced at the badge, then swung the door open. “Please come in.”
Peyton stepped over the threshold into a very tight entry hall. A set of stairs rose to their left and a few steps to their right was the entrance to a living room. Leaning on a cane, Mrs. Jensen started toward the living room.
“This way,” she said.
Peyton and Marco followed her into a small room with a loveseat and two wing-backed arm chairs arranged in a semi-circle around an outdated square box television. The television was on, showing the waiting room of a hospital, but the sound was turned off. Mrs. Jensen carefully made her way over to the loveseat and sank into it, her hand trembling on the arm as she lowered herself.
“Make yourselves at home,” she said.
Peyton took the seat beside her an
d Marco squeezed himself into one of the small armchairs. Mrs. Jensen reached for the remote on the table and switched off the television, her hand trembling as she did so.
Peyton gave the woman a gentle smile. “Mrs. Jensen, we’re very sorry for your loss.”
The older woman didn’t respond for a moment, simply sat and stared at Peyton, her head bobbing just the slightest amount. Then she choked back tears and nodded. “Thank you, Inspector. Matthew was the light of my life.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“You mentioned on the phone that you have no leads?”
“No we don’t, ma’am. I thought maybe you could tell us about him and it might give us a place to start.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you. Do you mind if I take notes?” She reached for her notebook and flipped it open.
“That’s fine.”
“How did Matt meet Meilin?”
“He was a produce manager at the grocery store where she shopped.”
“In New York?”
“Yes, that’s where Matt was born and raised.”
“Did you move out here with them when she opened the restaurant in Chinatown?”
“Yes. I have Parkinson’s, Inspector, so Matt didn’t want me to be alone. They paid to have me relocate with them.”
“Was Matt an only child?”
“He was.” Her eyes filled with tears. Peyton motioned to a box of tissue on top of the television and Marco retrieved it, setting it on the coffee table within reach.
“Where’s Matt’s father?”
“Dead. We divorced when Matt was ten and he died three years ago from a massive heart attack.”
Peyton leaned toward the woman, bracing her arms on her thighs. “This might be difficult, Mrs. Jensen, but did Matt have any enemies? Anyone you can think of that would want to do him harm?”
She reached for a tissue and blotted it against her eyes, her hand shaking. “Matt had no enemies.”
“How did you get along with Meilin?”
“Meilin?”
“Yes.”
“We got along fine. She was good to me. Helped me move out here to be close to Matt, but…”
“But?”
Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5) Page 11