“I was given this bottle when I won Food Battles. It seemed like a good time to drink it.” She turned the glass, letting the yellow liquid bathe the insides. “Life is so short, you shouldn’t wait to taste the wine.”
Her words struck him and he looked away. You shouldn’t wait to taste the wine. Funny how he’d done the exact opposite all his life. “Did you call one of the other officers when you heard someone trying to get in your room?”
“No. I called the number of the person that made me feel most secure.”
He glanced back at her. They hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words between them. Oh, man, this was a very bad idea. “I didn’t notice anything when I came up. Everything seems fine.”
“You’re probably right. I’m just spooked. I haven’t been alone in years.”
He understood that. He understood loneliness.
“How long have you been a detective, Inspector D’Angelo?” She made a face. “That’s a mouthful – Inspector D’Angelo. Can I just call you Marco?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“How long have you been a detective?”
“Eight years.”
“Homicide all that time?”
“Yes.”
“Same partner?”
Again, he felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t called Peyton to tell her he was coming over here. This was the very thing he rode her about all of the time and here he was doing it himself. “Yes, same partner. Maybe we should move you to another room?” He didn’t want to talk about Peyton with her.
“You’re awfully young to have such a prestigious job.”
Prestigious? Looking at dead meat, seeing the depravity of the human mind, killing people. He shook away those thoughts. Maybe he should have a drink after all. “We got lucky. The department was short on detectives, so they promoted us a lot earlier.”
She crossed her legs, making a pretense of covering her bare flesh. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” She gave an uncomfortable smile and shook her head.
“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.
“Ma’am? What a word. You spend your youth wanting to be older, to be taken seriously, and before you know it, someone is calling you ma’am.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
She smiled at him as she lifted her wine and took a sip. “I know you didn’t. Truth is, I’m older than you are. Did you know that?”
His eyes involuntarily tracked down to her bare thigh, but he forced himself to look away. Such a bad, bad idea, this.
“I just turned 38. Do I look 38 to you?” She gave him a sultry look over the top of the glass.
He shook his head, only briefly making eye contact.
“That’s pretty good, isn’t it? A successful business by 38?” She set the glass down. “And all alone, no one to share it with.”
“I’m sorry, but…”
“We have so many dreams when we’re young. We’re so sure everything is going to be exactly as we want it, but it’s never that way.” Her eyes lifted to the window. “My parents thought they knew what I should do. They pushed and pushed and pushed.” She gave a grim laugh. “They had such high expectations for me.” She looked back at him again. “You’re lucky you’re not Asian.”
He frowned at that. What?
“The expectations, the pressure for success. There is no room for failure.”
“I’m sure it’s like that for a lot of kids now.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the same. You don’t even know.”
He wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you married, Marco?”
His eyes whipped to her face. “What?”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Ever been?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
He leaned back in the chair. “No.”
“Boyfriend?” When he gave her a bewildered look, she laughed. “You’re awfully pretty and this is San Francisco.”
“No.”
“Why not? Why wouldn’t someone like you have a significant other?”
Oh, boy, this was a box he did not want to open with this woman, this stranger. “It’s complicated.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “How complicated?”
Nightmarish complicated, he wanted to say. “Very.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Look, Ms. Fan, everything seems okay here. I’ll help you move rooms or hotels if that makes you feel better, but if not, I really need to go.”
She rose as well and moved close to him, so close he could smell the jasmine of her perfume. Looking up at him, she placed a hand in the center of his chest, her fingers long and delicate. “You don’t have to go.”
He encircled her wrist and pulled her hand away. “I do have to go. I’m working an active case that you’re involved in and this borders on inappropriate conduct right now.”
She smiled and backed up. “Do you always follow the rules, Inspector D’Angelo?”
He laughed. “When you have a partner who always breaks them, yes.”
She gave him a speculative look. “I see.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he couldn’t stay to find out. He eased around her and headed for the door.
“Don’t forget to taste the wine, Inspector,” she called after him.
He gave her a short nod, then opened the door and stepped out. Taste the wine. Freaking hell, that was just the sort of advice that was bound to get him fired.
CHAPTER 8
Gabby glanced at the clock on the corner of her desk, an engraved mahogany monstrosity they’d given her when she completed her 20th year on the force. That’s what they gave you – twenty years out of your life, here’s a clock. Funny thing was she liked the damn thing. It kept time, it had real hands, and it had little lines where the numbers should be. Billy said he couldn’t read it, he’d only ever read digital clocks before. Somehow that made her sad – that telling time had become obsolete, like cursive writing and well, spelling out actual words when you wrote.
She rubbed a hand across her eyes and back through her short-cropped hair. This case was frustrating the hell out of her, making her long for a time when crime fighting was more about figuring out “who done it”, than piecing together the electronic trail every person left behind in a nebulous universe that existed only in cyberspace.
Behind her, Billy lounged in his desk chair, swinging it back and forth with a foot, the other braced on the edge of the desk. He had Lily Witan’s yearbook open on his lap and was leafing through the pages, occasionally commenting that this girl or that was hot. It would have made Gabby uncomfortable, but she was actively trying to ignore him.
Picking up her desk phone, another relic of a bygone era, she punched in the number for Cold Case in New York City. It didn’t escape her that she had to look up their number on-line, log into the directory to see who had requested the case box, then punch in the numbers that rang directly to the detective’s cell phone.
A male voice came on the line. “Ehrenthal.”
“Detective Ehrenthal? This is Detective Gabriela Acosta of the Miami Police Department.”
“Yes, Detective Acosta. I got your message. Sorry I haven’t called you back, but I’ve been busy all day.”
“Not a problem. Hey, I wanted to ask you about a case we have down here, a case that you requested the file for about a year ago.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It sort of got hung up in the system. It should have been returned to you guys as soon as we finished with it, but you know how those things go.”
“Right.”
“If you could see the number of cases we work up here…” He gave a laugh. “How many detectives you got working cold cases down there?”
“A few.” Okay, she got it. New York – busy. Miami – well, she was it. Except Billy. There was always Billy.
“Detective Ehrenthal, can I ask you a few questions?”
“I’ll do my level best to answer them.”
“Thanks. The case you requested was for a double homicide here in Miami, home invasion robbery gone bad.”
“Right. I remember. Teenage girl found the bodies.”
“That’s the one. The girl was named Lily Witan.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Why did you request the file?”
She could hear other voices in the background, shouting and loud conversation.
Ehrenthal shifted in his chair. “Sorry about that. Squad room’s always like Grand Central, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, let’s see. Let me pull up the notes I took.”
“You have notes?”
“Always take notes, Detective. Anyway, here it is.”
“Why aren’t your notes in the case file?”
“Wasn’t necessary. They didn’t relate to the case you have there. I just keep them for my own use, in case someone like you calls.” She heard him clicking with his mouse. “There it is. I got a call from someone telling me that a woman here in New York was a suspect in a murder case in Miami. Funny thing about this was the woman who called said she saw the suspect on a reality show.”
“Reality show?”
“Yeah, hold on. Let me see which one. Don’t watch the crap myself, but it’s all that’s on nowadays.”
“Right.”
“Uh, here it is. Food Battles. She said the woman participating in Food Battles was Lily Witan.”
Gabby’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “Why didn’t you contact us?”
“Because it wasn’t her. The woman on Food Battles was named Meilin Fan. When we did some looking into her background, we found out she was an immigrant from China. She came into the U.S. on a student visa twenty years ago and eventually got dual citizenship.”
“Detective, Lily Witan was adopted, probably from China herself.”
“Well, I found an adoption record, Detective Acosta, but it was sealed. The Chinese government is very secretive about such things. Ironic, ain’t it?”
“Did you get a warrant to open the adoption record?”
“No reason too. Meilin Fan entered this country just twenty years ago. Lily Witan came in as an infant almost forty years ago. Clearly this isn’t the same person. Besides that, Lily Witan was never a suspect in her parents’ murder.”
Gabby rubbed at her temples. “Can you tell me the name of the person who filed the tip?”
“It was left anonymously. Sorry.”
Gabby felt so defeated. Maybe she was going about this whole thing the wrong way. “Thank you, Detective Ehrenthal.”
“My pleasure. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”
“Can you send me a copy of your notes by email?”
“Sure. Just send me a text with your email address.”
Send him a text. Gabby sighed. “I’ll do that right away. Again, thank you, Detective.”
“Anytime…and hey, if you’d like change of scenery, we’re always looking for sharp people up here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Great. Nice talking with you.”
“You too.”
Gabby hung up, then sat staring at the phone, her forehead braced in her hands.
“What was the name of the kid who hung himself?” asked Billy.
“Sanderson, why?”
Billy leaned back in his chair, making the springs squeal. “How much do you love me?”
She lifted her head and glanced at him over her shoulder. “That depends. Tell me you’ve got a break in this freakin’ case.”
“Take a look at who made Cutest Couple for Miami Union High School.” He passed her the yearbook.
Gabby stared at the photo of a pretty Asian girl standing with her arms around a tall Caucasian boy. Both were beaming at the camera. Above the photo in a swirling script, complete with hearts, were the words Cutest Couple, and below it in big blocky letters – Lily Witan and Grant Sanderson.
Billy’s grin promised all sorts of mischief. “Love me now?”
Gabby smiled back at him. “Little bit. Lit-tal bit.”
* * *
Peyton opened the door of her house to a bouncing Pickles. She scooped him up and closed the door behind her, panting to regain her spent breath. She loved running in the morning when the fog lay over everything. The adrenaline rush gave her a euphoric feeling all throughout her morning shower and subsequent drive to the precinct, but when she didn’t get to run, she felt sluggish and out of sorts.
“You run every single day?” came Maria’s voice from the kitchen. She was leaning on the counter, holding a cup of coffee in her good hand.
Peyton walked to the barstool and took a seat. “Every chance I get.”
“Without your gun?”
“Why would I take a gun to go running?”
Maria shrugged, then pointed the mug at Pickles. “Lil’ Bits ate.”
“Thank you for feeding him.” Peyton scratched behind his ears and got a lick on her cheek in return.
“He’s one of your good qualities.”
Peyton smiled. “So everyone tells me.”
“You want some coffee.” She set her cup on the counter.
“Please.”
Pouring Peyton a mug, she slid it across to her. “Sugar?”
“Of course.”
Maria slid that as well and then handed over a spoon. “No wonder you gotta do so much running. You better never stop or your ass…”
“…will be as big as a house,” finished Peyton, setting Pickles on the stool next to her and spooning three tablespoons into the dark brew.
“…will be as big as a hippo, but house works too.”
Peyton laughed and lifted the mug to her lips.
“You also have good coffee. Two points in your favor.”
“Oh, don’t give me credit for that. Jake buys it. He’s ruined me for the diesel fuel we serve at the precinct.”
“Jake, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess his wife was a coffee aficionado or something.”
“Aficionado?”
“Means expert.”
“I know what it means. I’m surprised you did.”
“Word of the day calendar.” She held up her mug in salute. “From Abe.”
Maria gave her a speculative look. “Ever since I got the shit beat out of me, you won’t fight back. What gives?”
“Nothing. I just don’t feel like busting your chops right now. As soon as you’re better, I’ll be right back at you, sweetheart.”
Maria leaned on the counter again. “Look, Brooks, I have something I want to ask you, but I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
Peyton lowered her mug. “Okay? How would I take it the wrong way?”
“Think we’re best friends or something.”
“Oh, I’d never do that.”
Maria smiled, then grew serious again. “I want to learn how to defend myself. I found a class at the precinct, but I was hoping maybe you’d go with me. It’s every Wednesday night.”
Peyton nodded. “I think that’s a great idea, Maria. It’s always good to be proactive.”
“I just don’t want to be a victim anymore.”
“Can you do it?”
“Because of my shoulder?”
“Yeah.”
“I talked with the instructor and she said they’d go easy, show me a few things, until I get clearance from my doctor. Besides, it doesn’t start for two weeks.”
“I’d be happy to take it with you.”
Maria gave her a brief smile. “Thank you.” She turned her mug around by the handle. “You want something for breakfast?”
“I’ll grab something on the way out. Right now, I want a shower.” Peyton started to climb off the stool, reaching for Pickles, but Maria cleared her throat.
“Nate Cho asked me on a date.”
She nodded.
“What’d you say?”
“I’d think about it.”
“What’s there to think about? Cho’s a great guy.”
“He’s a cop. I vowed I’d never date anyone I work with.”
“I understand that.”
Maria ran her finger around the rim. “But he is a great guy.”
“Where does he want to take you?”
“To dinner and then an opera.” Maria gave Peyton a wry look. “I don’t know a damn thing about opera.”
“Neither do I, but Cho is mad for them.”
“I know.”
“Which one?”
“Will it matter?”
“Yes.” Peyton leaned in conspiratorially. “I have a ringer.”
“A what?”
“An opera aficionado.”
“You’ve got to stop using that word.”
“It’s a perfectly good word.”
“Not when you use it every other sentence.”
“Fine. A connoisseur, if you will.”
Maria sighed. “Who?”
“Abe.”
Maria straightened. “Abe would know about crap like that, wouldn’t he?”
“You bet your sweet ass he would.”
“Better than a hippo’s ass.”
“You would know.”
Maria gave her a puzzled look.
“Because you look at it.”
Even Pickles lifted his head and studied her.
“Leave me alone. I’m out of practice,” said Peyton, waving her off.
“Yeah you are.”
“Shut up. Do you want Abe’s help or not?”
Maria considered it for a moment, then she drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Yeah, I want his help.”
“When’s the opera?”
“Friday.”
“That gives us time. Tell Cho you’d love to accompany him. What opera is it, so I can tell Abe.”
“Madame Butterfly.”
“Okay. I’ll let him know and we’ll get it set up.” She picked up Pickles and set him on the floor. Reaching across the counter, she patted Maria’s hand. “I think this is a good thing, Maria.”
“I hope you’re right, Brooks, ‘cause if it goes bad, you know I’m blaming you.”
Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5) Page 14