Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “In fact, you didn’t find the evidence. Jake Ryder did.”

  Jake caught his breath. This was bad. It made it look like he planted the evidence.

  “We found the information about Annabelle Harper, we had the toxicology report, and we found the murder weapon,” said Peyton.

  “But Jake Ryder found the journal and he handed you the will, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So in essence, he gave you your case.”

  A cold sweat broke out on Jake’s brow. He frantically looked at Marco, but Marco shook his head as if to say, no worries. Jake was plenty worried. Just like Abe, the defense attorney was twisting Peyton’s testimony to Claire’s benefit.

  Peyton smiled, a cold, predatory smile and her eyes fixed not on the attorney, but on Claire. “We had the information on Annabelle Harper and we found the murder weapon in Claire’s bag. The name on the prescription bottle was Blake Harper, and the person who filled that prescription signed for it at the pharmacy…that person was named Claire Harper.”

  “Check,” said Abe.

  Jake found he was clutching the arms of his chair in a death grip. He tried to ease his hold.

  Renshaw leaned on his table, reading from his notes. After a moment, he looked up at Peyton. “You have a close personal relationship with Jake Ryder, don’t you, Inspector?”

  “We became friends after the case.”

  “Good friends, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I guess.”

  “In fact, such good friends, you offered him a room in your house.”

  Jake almost bit through his tongue. Shit. Why hadn’t they thought of this? Of course an attorney would find out.

  “Easy,” whispered Marco to him.

  Easy? He was hyperventilating.

  “He is renting a room from me, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? He needed a place to stay and I needed help with the mortgage. Mortgages are very expensive in San Francisco…” Peyton shot a look at the jury. “Oh, sorry, maybe not for a lawyer.”

  A few jurors made snickers of laughter.

  Renshaw rubbed the back of his neck. “You also got him a job at the precinct, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, we needed a crime scene photographer and Jake is a very good photographer.”

  “Isn’t that just a little irregular, Inspector Brooks? Giving a one-time suspect in a capital murder case a job and a place in your home?”

  “Coincidental maybe, but not irregular.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “I needed a housemate, he needed a room. We needed a crime scene photographer, he needed a job. It just worked out.”

  “Are you lovers?”

  Peyton’s eyes narrowed. “No, we are not.”

  “And yet you invited a murder suspect to live in your house with you? Do you expect us to believe there’s not something more there?”

  “There is.”

  Jake almost stopped breathing.

  “What else is there, Inspector Brooks?”

  “I felt guilty.”

  “You felt guilty?”

  “Claire Harper destroyed his life and we helped her. She killed the woman he adored and we made him a suspect in a murder case.”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Inspector Brooks?” questioned the judge.

  “He asked me why I felt guilty, Your Honor, and I was telling him.”

  “Try not to draw conclusion about the case, Inspector Brooks.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  Renshaw glanced at his notes again. “In truth, Inspector Brooks, Jacob Ryder was your primary suspect and you treated him as such for the majority of the case. In fact, you didn’t look elsewhere until the very end, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  Jake sucked in air, drawing a glare from Abe.

  “Since Jacob Ryder was your prime suspect, isn’t it possible that you only looked elsewhere because of your own admitted guilt to ruining his life?”

  “No, Mr. Renshaw,” said Peyton placidly.

  “No?”

  “We didn’t look elsewhere at the beginning because it seemed inconceivable to me that a woman could be so heartless…”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “So ruthless…”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “So vile that she would off the very child she raised herself from an infant.”

  Renshaw gasped, “Objection!”

  “Sustained,” said the judge, but the jury was muttering amongst themselves and furiously writing on their notepads.

  Abe smiled over at Jake. “Check and mate,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Jake turned as Peyton left the courtroom. He was standing in the hallway outside with Marco and Abe, and he came toward her, clasping her arms. “You were brilliant.”

  She smiled. His praise meant a lot to her. She knew how hard this trial was on him and how devastated he was after Abe’s testimony yesterday.

  Abe wrapped her in his long arms and kissed the top of her head. “Totally brilliant,” he said.

  “I could kiss you,” laughed Jake, then he held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just joking.”

  Marco glared at him, then offered Peyton a rare smile. “Nice work, partner.”

  She acknowledged it with a nod, wishing she didn’t want more from him. He’d never been lavish in his praise, but right now she needed any bone he would toss her way.

  The courtroom door opened behind them and Devan stepped out. He beamed at Peyton. “You were amazing,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He touched her elbow and motioned further down the hallway.

  “Don’t you need to be inside?”

  “Renshaw asked for a break. I think you rattled his cage a little.”

  Peyton stepped away from the others and followed Devan into a side corridor leading to the stairs. He rubbed the back of his neck and hooked his other hand on his hip, looking at her with a smile.

  “You always impress me, you know that? Nothing they ask you shakes your professionalism.”

  “I just tell the truth.”

  “Always the straight shooter, aren’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “It makes me remember how it was.” He dropped his hand and shifted weight. “Can I take you to dinner? Some place nice? You pick it. My treat.”

  Peyton frowned. “You’re asking me to dinner?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit inappropriate?”

  “Peyton, we were good together. Remember?”

  “No, I don’t remember. I remember us struggling to find our footing, and I remember that you’re engaged to another woman. Do you remember?”

  He started to say something, but stopped himself.

  “What is this about?”

  “I miss you. There, I said it and now you know. Maybe I was a little rash in breaking things off, maybe I was very rash in getting engaged. It’s just watching you up there on the stand brought back these feelings and…”

  “And you should definitely not finish that sentence.”

  “Peyton…”

  “No, this isn’t fair. You were right. We didn’t belong together. We’re very different people, you and I. I didn’t see that until this moment. I don’t know if you have cold feet or what is going on, but you better do some soul searching, Devan. This isn’t fair to me and it sure as hell isn’t fair to your fiancée, so figure it out, but whatever you decide about her, I’m not part of that.”

  Before he could respond, she walked away. When she got back to the others, they looked at her questioningly. “Let’s go,” she said, starting down the hallway. “We’ve got a case to solve.”

  “What happened?” demanded Abe, falling into step beside her.

  “He asked me to dinner.”

  “He did what?” exclaimed Abe, coming
to a halt.

  She turned and looked back at the three of them. She really should do something about getting some girlfriends, she decided. “He asked me to dinner.”

  “Like a date?” asked Jake.

  “Seemed that way.”

  “He’s engaged.”

  “Really? And here I didn’t get the implications of a wedding invitation.”

  “Does he understand he’s engaged?” asked Marco in something close to a growl.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Well now, that isn’t my problem, is it? Seems to me that’s Runny Misery’s problem.”

  “Rani,” said Jake.

  They all looked at him in bewilderment.

  “Her name? Rani, not Runny and I think it was Misra, but as I’m saying this, I realize you probably meant to mess it up deliberately.”

  Peyton shook her head and started walking again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marco cuff Jake on the side of his head. “Idiot,” he hissed.

  “Freakin’ cop,” Jake hissed back, rubbing his ear.

  And Peyton found herself bursting into laughter.

  * * *

  When Marco and Peyton arrived at the Yellow Lotus, they found it crowded with patrons. In fact, every single table was filled. With the muted candle light and the hushed conversation, Peyton couldn’t deny the restaurant had a romantic air.

  The maître d gave Marco a critical look in his jeans with his gun strapped under his arm, but Peyton guessed she got a pass in her black pantsuit. She held up her badge and he took a step back.

  “Where’s Meilin?”

  “Kitchen,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.

  Peyton and Marco crossed the room, drawing attention as they went. The patrons even sidled away from them, whispering around the candles on their tables. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, Peyton found it in ordered chaos as before. People raced back and forth, talking in clipped Chinese.

  Meilin was in the middle of it, directing traffic like an air flight attendant, all the while she chopped vegetables with a swift, violent motion. She stopped in mid-chop and glared at them.

  “You better be here to tell me you found Matt’s killer.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “This can’t wait,” said Peyton in her firmest cop voice.

  Meilin lowered the knife and wiped her hands on her apron, then she gave an order in Chinese to a young woman next to her and stepped away from the wooden chopping block. Removing her apron, she handed it to an older man nearby and walked toward them, smoothing back her hair in its long ponytail.

  “Hello, Inspector D’Angelo,” she said, giving him a sultry smile.

  “Hello, Meilin,” he answered, ducking his head.

  For some reason, his posture bothered Peyton, but she stored it away. Meilin sure honed in on any male in the vicinity. She led them back into the restaurant and located a table to the very right of the kitchen door. It was tucked in back, in a dark, unappealing part of the restaurant and Peyton figured it was probably used as a last resort.

  Meilin grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the table, then they took seats around it. Motioning to a waiter, she met Peyton’s eye. “How would you like to try some Mao Tai Jiu, Inspector Brooks?”

  “I’m assuming that’s alcohol.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m on duty.”

  She sighed and then smiled up at the waiter as he arrived. She placed her order in Chinese and he went off. “Aren’t we all?”

  “What?”

  “On duty. You cops and your duty. Is that all you live for? No marriage, no romance, no wine, just duty.” She shot a look at Marco.

  Peyton got that same uneasy feeling she’d had in the kitchen, especially when Marco shifted and looked out at the restaurant. Deciding she didn’t like the imbalance in power or playing mouse to Meilin’s cat, she went on the offensive.

  “Are you Lily Witan?”

  She’d expected a reaction and she got one. Meilin reared back and Marco’s head whipped around to her.

  “What?” said Meilin.

  “Before you deny it, we’ve talked with Detective Ehrenthal in New York and we know they questioned you about your identity. We also know you denied it and they didn’t pursue it.” Peyton folded her hands on the table. “Be aware, Meilin, I am not male and I don’t give up easily.”

  She measured Peyton for a moment, but the waiter arrived with a strange bottle of wine and three glasses. He filled Meilin’s glass, but Peyton covered hers with a hand, shaking her head no. He turned to Marco, but Marco also shook his head. Setting the bottle on the table, he retreated.

  Meilin kept eye contact with Peyton as she reached for her glass and brought it to her mouth. Her hand didn’t shake, but she drained half the glass before replacing it on the table again. “Yes,” she said, licking the residual off her lips.

  “You are Lily Witan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you deny it in New York?”

  “I was in the midst of winning Food Battles. My life was about to change in ways you can’t imagine and I wanted the new start. If they made a connection to my old life, I would never get that, I would always be dogged by what happened to my parents. Is it so wrong to want a new beginning? A new identity? A new chance?”

  “Meilin Fan entered the country twenty years ago. Lily Witan entered as an adoptee nearly forty.”

  “Thirty-eight to be exact.”

  “How did you get yourself a new identity?”

  “Lily Witan was my adoptive name, the name my adoptive parents gave me. After they died, I tried to stay in Miami. I tried to stay in their house, but every day was a reminder of what happened. I found their bodies on the night of my senior prom. I found them, cold and dead and bloody.” She shivered and lifted the glass again, draining it. “Every time I entered that house I saw it all over again.”

  “So you left?”

  “I went to New York, but the things that an 18 year old can do for money are…let’s say, limited.” She gave Marco a pointed look. “I got enough money for a flight to China. From there, I found the province where I was born and I went to the orphanage to find my birth record.”

  “That’s where Meilin Fan came from?”

  She laughed and motioned for Marco to refill her glass. He did so, to Peyton’s surprise. “There wasn’t even a first name. Just Fan Girl. That’s all. Just another girl born in a country that doesn’t value them.”

  “So how did you get a student visa?”

  “You’d be surprised what money buys in both countries, Inspector Brooks. Let’s say I got the student visa and the moment I arrived, I worked to get my citizenship. They were so pleased with my English, my Anglo-ways.”

  “They never questioned why you had an American accent?”

  “I told them I’d been educated in British schools.”

  Peyton frowned.

  Meilin lifted her glass and saluted Peyton with it. “You’d be surprised at what a little flirting can do as well, Inspector.”

  Oh, Peyton didn’t think there was anything surprising in that. “Just flirting, Meilin?”

  Meilin’s lips lifted in a smile as she drank. “You are an astute woman, Inspector Brooks.”

  “How is it you speak fluent Chinese if you were raised here?”

  “My parents wanted me to keep my Chinese heritage. They sent me to Chinese school after I finished my regular studies. Year after year. I hated it, but they were determined. In the end, I guess it served me well.”

  “Do you know who killed your parents?”

  She closed her eyes and lowered the glass. “No. Neither did the police in Miami. Their murders were relegated to the Cold Case Squad last I heard, a sad man waiting to retire named Buck Reiter.”

  “It’s being investigated by a woman now,” said Marco, speaking for the first time.

  Meilin’s brows rose in surprise. “Really? As in now?”

  “As in r
ight now,” said Peyton.

  “How interesting. Have you been in contact with her?”

  “Not yet. Should we?”

  “I was just wondering if she’d made any progress on the case.”

  “I thought you wanted to put that part of your life behind you, Meilin.”

  She leaned forward, her face going stark. “I want to forget about it. I want to erase that memory from my mind.”

  “Like a lotus blossom?”

  “Like a lotus blossom, Inspector Brooks.” She leaned back. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want my parents’ killer brought to justice.” She drained her glass. “Anything else, Inspectors?”

  “Not right now, but…and I can’t stress this enough, don’t leave San Francisco.”

  She gave a high, tinkling laugh. “And why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe China beckons?”

  “I have a business here, Inspector. Besides that, I may have been born in China, but this country, America, is my home.” She rose to her feet, placing a hand on Marco’s shoulder as if to steady herself. “Have a nice evening, Inspectors.” Then she turned and went into the kitchen.

  Peyton didn’t move for a moment, trying to absorb everything.

  Marco scratched his forehead, then glanced at her. “Well?”

  “She did it. She killed her parents and I’ll bet you she killed Matt.”

  “How? She has witnesses that put her here in the restaurant the night Jensen died.”

  “I don’t know, but I know she did it. It’s not coincidence that three people have died around that woman.” She gave Marco a pointed look. “Stay away from her, Marco.”

  He frowned at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Peyton again couldn’t deny that strange feeling in her gut. “I don’t know. Just give that woman a wide berth, okay?”

  “Whatever, Brooks,” he answered, pushing himself to his feet, but it bothered her that he wouldn’t make eye contact.

  * * *

  Peyton opened the door of her house to the soaring sounds of a soprano singing a plaintively haunting aria. She’d forgotten Abe was coming over to teach Maria about Madame Butterfly.

  Slowly closing the door at her back, she took in her entire living room. Jake was sitting in the recliner, holding a frothy pink drink in his hand, Maria and Abe lounged back on the couch, Pickles between them. All of them, including the dog, had their eyes closed and the room vibrated with the music coming from her stereo. In fact, they hadn’t heard her enter.