Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Where’s Brooks?”

  “She’s headed into interrogation with the detective from Miami. I think they’re waiting for you.”

  “Tell Brooks to go ahead without me.” She drew a deep breath and released it, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Once you do that, tell Holmes and Bartlet to come here. I need them to do something for me.”

  “Okay. Is everything all right, Captain?”

  “Just tell Holmes and Bartlet to hustle.” Before Maria could answer, she hung up the phone. She would have to deal with telling Maria later. Right now she had bigger problems on her plate.

  * * *

  Peyton entered the interrogation room and set the file on the table. Meilin sat straight backed in the chair, her arms crossed, wearing a purple silk shirt and a pencil skirt with ridiculously high heels.

  Peyton looked under the table at them. “Nice shoes. Bet those set you back a bit.”

  “What is the meaning of this, Inspector Brooks? I have a business to run.” She cast a scathing look at Frank Smith.

  So here was one man she hadn’t been able to flummox.

  “I got this, Officer Smith,” Peyton told him.

  “She’s all yours,” he said, giving her a wink as he walked to the door.

  Peyton took a seat across from her. “Thank you for coming in.”

  “What choice did I have? The goon squad were pretty adamant.”

  “Yes, well, Officer Smith was just doing his job.”

  “What job? Are you telling me you’ve found Matt’s killer?”

  “As a matter of fact, we think we might have. We believe it was Hui Bai.”

  “Hui Bai? The artist?” Meilin made a face. “Why would he kill Matt?”

  Peyton tilted her head. “Why indeed? I figured you might know.”

  “Me? Why would I know? I employed Hui to design my menus. I bought a few of his paintings. That’s all.”

  “Did you buy those paintings with sex?”

  “What? This is an outrage. Where is Captain Defino?”

  “She’s busy with something else right now.”

  “I’m not talking about this anymore. I want to go home.”

  “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to stay for a bit longer.” Peyton opened the file and took out a photo, sliding it across the table to Meilin. “Did you know Hui is dead?”

  She glanced at it, then looked away. “Why are you showing me that?”

  “That’s what a man looks like who dies from asphyxia. It’s gruesome, isn’t it?”

  Meilin refused to answer.

  “So I’ve been trying to piece this whole thing together, but I thought you might help me out a little.”

  “I’ve said all I’m going to say.” She met Peyton’s gaze. “Do I need to get a lawyer, Inspector Brooks?”

  “Do you need a lawyer, Ms. Fan?”

  “It sure seems like you’re accusing me of something.”

  Peyton held up a hand. “You know, you’re right. I am. I’m accusing you of murder.”

  Meilin scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I was in the kitchen when Matt died. I have witnesses.”

  “Right. You were. Actually, I’m accusing you of being an accessory to Matt’s murder. It’s Hui’s murder that I think you did yourself.” Peyton leaned forward. “You don’t like to do them yourself, do you? You like to have others do the dirty work?”

  “That’s preposterous. Why would I kill Hui?”

  “Near as I can figure, he freaked out after he shot Matt and wanted to go to the authorities, but you had to stop him, so you put peanuts in his regular take-out, knowing his epinephrine pens were all expired.”

  “How would I know that?”

  “You were sleeping with him. The neighbor saw you leaving his apartment after a rather noisy bout of sex.”

  “You really think anyone is going to buy that ridiculous story.”

  Peyton shrugged. “When they hear how you manipulated Hui into killing Matt, they might buy it.”

  “Now that really is ridiculous.”

  “Here’s how I see it. You brought Matt and his sick mother out here from New York. After all, you didn’t know anyone out here and he was familiar. However, once you got here, he wouldn’t get a real job, so he was a drain on you. You met Hui and he was easy to manipulate. He was undocumented, uncertain in a country where he didn’t speak the language very well, and struggling to make ends meet selling his art. You and he became involved and you told him things about Matt.”

  “I told him things about Matt? Like what, Inspector?”

  “That he beats you, forces you to have sex with him, things that would upset another lover.”

  “Ridiculous. Where the hell are you getting this fantasy?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. Do you know what a psychopath is, Ms. Fan?”

  “Of course. Someone who has no ability to feel for other people.”

  “Exactly.” Peyton leaned on the table. “You, Ms. Fan, are a psychopath.”

  “How?”

  “You have absolutely no remorse for the way you manipulate people, get them to do your dirty work. You were tired of Matt, so you had him eliminated. Killing Hui was a necessity in your mind, so you took the situation into your own hands.”

  Meilin gave Peyton a slow smile. “All of this is speculation, Inspector. I’ve yet to see a solid bit of evidence. There is no jury in California that would convict me.”

  Peyton smiled in return. “I’m so glad you said that because you’re right. There’s no jury that would convict you in California, but lucky for us, we don’t have to rely on California at all.”

  Meilin frowned. “What the hell do you mean?”

  Peyton motioned behind her and the interrogation room door opened. “Let me introduce Detective Gabriela Acosta from the Miami Police Department.”

  Gabby walked into the room, carrying an accordion file. “Nice to finally meet you, Lily,” she said, stopping beside Peyton.

  Meilin’s face shifted from antagonistic to frightened in a split second. “What’s going on?”

  “Detective Acosta works with Cold Cases, Meilin. Like the murder of your parents.”

  “You are a very difficult woman to find. It was clever to use your own birth record to build you a new identity.”

  Peyton looked up at Gabby. “That was something, wasn’t it?”

  “Stroke of brilliance,” she agreed. Then she looked back at Meilin. “Not so brilliant? Going on a reality show where your grandmother and another person recognized you.”

  “Actually, I like how that worked out. Vanity and greed combined to bring you down. It’s almost Greek in its elegance.”

  Gabby nodded at Peyton. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Meilin seemed to recover. “I found my parents. I was at the prom the night they died. You have no evidence that I was anywhere near them.”

  “She has a point,” said Gabby.

  “She does, except remember how you asked me where I’m...what was it you said, getting this fantasy? About your manipulation of men and the way you get them to do stupid, stupid things?”

  Meilin didn’t answer.

  “I figured that part out when I saw the letters Detective Acosta brought. Letters to poor Grant Sanderson, who killed himself for you. You told him your parents were abusing you, refusing you food if you didn’t study, locking you in your room and denying you the ability to go to the bathroom.” Peyton leaned forward. “Worse yet, that your father molested you.”

  “And just exactly where are these letters?” said Meilin with a strange smile.

  Gabby tossed the accordion file on the table. “Right here. We found them in Grant’s treehouse.”

  When Meilin reached for them, Gabby placed her hand on the file and leaned on it, preventing her from taking them. “Know what else was there?”

  Meilin’s eyes snapped up to meet hers.

  “Your grandfather’s Colt M1911.”

  Peyton made a tsking noise with her tongue. �
�Now, like I said, we probably won’t be able to get a conviction in California, but in Florida...”

  Gabby leaned closer. “And we’re a capital punishment state. Welcome home, Lily.”

  * * *

  Panting to regain his spent breath, Marco wiped his face on the towel as he walked to the door and pulled it open. His muscles still felt fluid from his workout this morning. Something about lifting weights and running always helped him clear his head.

  He was surprised to find Holmes and Bartlet standing on the other side. He wrapped the towel around his neck and backed up.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  Holmes stepped inside, followed by Bartlet. He refused to make eye contact with Marco.

  Marco wiped sweat from his neck as he studied the two of them. “What’s going on?”

  “We need to bring you into the precinct,” said Holmes, finally looking at him.

  “Why?”

  Bartlet shifted weight, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Junior Walker was killed last night, Marco.”

  “What?”

  “He was shot in the back of the head, execution style,” said Holmes.

  “I thought he was in jail.”

  “He made bail. He was shot at his house.” Holmes drew a deep breath and released it. “We need your gun.”

  Marco stared at them. For some reason, his brain wouldn’t process what they were telling him. “You need what?”

  “Your gun, Marco. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

  “Hold on.” He glanced between the two of them. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with this.”

  Bartlet gave him a sad look.

  Holmes sighed. “Defino’s orders.”

  “Drew...”

  Holmes held up a hand. “Marco, I need your gun.”

  Marco walked to the coat closet and yanked it open, grabbing his gun and holster off the peg. His heart was pounding. How the hell was everything going so wrong lately? He held it out to Holmes.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “We need to take you in, Marco. I’m sorry.”

  What the hell? They couldn’t believe he’d do anything like that. “Can I at least get a shower?”

  Holmes nodded, then looked away.

  * * *

  Peyton and Gabby left interrogation. Meilin had demanded a lawyer and Smith was making arrangements for her, but Peyton didn’t think it would do her a damn bit of good. The evidence Detective Acosta and her partner had collected painted a pretty clear picture of manipulation. She’d actually put the gun in Grant Sanderson’s hand herself and even though she didn’t pull the trigger, her intent was clear. Her parents had to die.

  Peyton loved the rush she got whenever they closed a case like this one. Although it would never make sense why someone felt the desire to take another’s life, she could at least draw a direct line between the motive (what someone wanted) and the action (murder). Serial killers were another matter entirely. She didn’t know what they wanted – except to kill.

  “Let me buy you a cup of tar,” she said to Gabby as they headed toward the break-room.

  “I’d love one.”

  “We made a pretty good team, don’tcha think?”

  Gabby smiled at her. “Damn good. I’m not going to lie. I loved wiping the smirk off her face.”

  Peyton laughed. “She was definitely not happy to see you.”

  They stepped into the break-room and came to a halt. Cho, Simons, Jake and Maria were all there, sitting around the table. Cho had his arm around Maria’s shoulder and Maria was staring at the table, unblinking.

  “Everything all right?” Peyton said.

  Jake looked up at her and his expression stopped her cold.

  Simons reached out and took her elbow, pulling her toward them. “Junior Walker was murdered last night.”

  Peyton looked at Maria. “I’m sorry, Maria,” she said, moving toward her, but Simons stopped her, placing his huge hands on her shoulders. “He was shot execution style, back of the head.”

  Peyton narrowed her eyes. Why was he acting so strange? “Okay?”

  “Cho said you couldn’t get a hold of Marco last night. Did he ever return your call?”

  Peyton couldn’t have been more confused. She glanced over her shoulder at Gabby, but the other woman had halted in the doorway, sensing the strange atmosphere. “Why are you asking me about Marco?”

  “Walker filed a complaint against him after the last time he was arrested. He said Marco threatened his life.”

  Peyton shook her head. “Same as any of us would in the same situation.” She backed out of Simons’ hold, reaching into her pocket for her phone.

  “Peyton,” said Jake.

  She hesitated, looking up at him.

  “Holmes and Bartlet brought him into the precinct while you were interrogating Meilin Fan.”

  She moved toward the table. “Where is he?”

  “Defino’s office,” said Cho.

  She started for the door, but Simons blocked her again. He didn’t touch her, just moved into her path and held up his hands. “Brooks, you will only make things worse if you go storming in there.”

  “Marco didn’t go near Junior Walker.”

  “How can you possibly know? You said you couldn’t get a hold of him last night.”

  “No, but sometimes he goes out on a date or with his family.”

  “Do you have any idea where he was?”

  Peyton looked at all of them. “Are you freakin’ serious?” She couldn’t help the anger in her voice. “Marco D’Angelo would never murder someone, even someone like Junior Walker. What the hell kind of friends are you?”

  “I don’t think he did it, Peyton, but he has been under a lot of stress lately,” said Jake.

  “Not like that.”

  Simons’ expression was grim. “Walker attacked you. You know Marco will go to any length to protect you, Brooks.”

  “Murder, Bill? Do you really think he’d murder someone in cold blood?”

  “He shot the priest on Alcatraz.”

  Peyton straightened, her chin rising. “And if Nathan came under fire, what would you do, Bill? Stand there and watch him get shot?”

  “No, I’d take the shot just like he did. I’ve done it before and I’ll probably do it again. I just don’t think you’ll help anything by storming in there. This is one battle that he’s gonna have to fight on his own.”

  “The hell it is,” she said, starting to go around him.

  “Peyton,” said Jake, rising to his feet.

  She hesitated and turned around.

  “Bill’s right. You’re only going to make it worse for him. Please listen to us. Please don’t go in there.”

  She couldn’t believe they were asking this of her. Not go to Marco’s defense, not do anything she could to make this go away? How the hell did they expect her to do that?

  * * *

  Holmes gave him a pointed look as he shut Defino’s door. Marco wasn’t sure what it meant, but both Holmes and Bartlet had shown him nothing but respect on the way down here. He shifted and met Defino’s steely gaze.

  “Captain, you can’t believe I shot Junior Walker.”

  “Sit down, D’Angelo,” she said sternly.

  Marco sat, more because he was so bewildered by this whole thing.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Home.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you text anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone call you on the phone?”

  “I didn’t answer. In fact, I turned my phone off.”

  Defino slumped back in her chair. “So, not a single person can vouch for your whereabouts last night?”

  “Does anyone need to?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Why the hell would I kill Junior Walker, Captain?”

  “He says you threatened him.”

/>   “Every cop does that, especially with wife beaters. Threatening scum is a long way from putting a gun against the back of their head.”

  “Ballistics will confirm that.”

  “Ballistics?” Marco moved forward in the chair. “You know me, Captain. I’ve worked for you for eight years. You know I do everything by the book. I wouldn’t take the law into my own hands. Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Because he attacked your partner.”

  “And she took care of him.”

  Defino drew a deep breath. “You killed a man for her, Marco.”

  “In the line of duty.”

  “I know, but...”

  “But nothing. What happened on Alcatraz is...” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “...miles away from executing someone in cold blood.”

  “I agree.”

  He held out his arms. “Then why the hell am I here?”

  “Because Dr. Ferguson believes I should split up your team.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Dr. Ferguson’s recommendation was to split you and Peyton up, otherwise, he feared, something unfortunate would happen.”

  Marco shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense. He wants you to break up your best team.”

  “He had very good reasons...”

  “Peyton and I have solved more cases for you than anyone else in this department.”

  “I know that.”

  “Than more seasoned cops.”

  “I know.”

  “And we have a better conviction record than anyone in this precinct. In fact, we have a better conviction record than any other department in this city.”

  “Marco...”

  “If you were to compare our records with the other major cities in this state, I’ll bet we rank in the top ten percent.”

  “Marco!”

  He caught himself and eased back in his chair.

  “I have never questioned your abilities, but I am questioning your emotional well-being.”

  Marco shook his head in confusion. “What?”

  “Just a few days ago, you got into a shouting match in my precinct with your partner. You demanded she quit.”

  “I was out of line and I told her that.”

  “You killed a man...” When he started to protest, she held up her hand. “In the line of duty, yes, but it created major conflict in your partnership. And now this.”