“Are you all right?” she asked, taking the paper.
“Low blood sugar,” he said. “Anything else I can do for you?”
She tucked the receipt into her wallet beside the bills and snapped it closed, fumbling for her purse. “I think that’s it for today.”
Jake sneaked a look at the line.
“I’ll help the next customer,” said another teller. Jake couldn’t remember her name, she only worked part time.
Again, she motioned another customer in front of her, then she looked pointedly at Jake and gave him a smile.
Mrs. Barnes had finished stuffing her wallet into her purse. “Thank you for your patience.”
Jake gave a curt nod, then watched her turn around. As soon as her back was to him, he grabbed the window and pulled it closed, hurrying toward the break room. He saw Pauline look after him, but he ignored her. He knew it was too early for his lunch break, but he had no other choice.
Slipping into the break room, he grabbed a chair and pulled it out, sliding into it and putting his head in his hands. He didn’t know why he was so upset, but his heart was hammering in his chest. Damn it all, he’d just started putting his life back together. What the hell could she want with him?
He wanted to look outside and see if she’d gone to someone else, but he was afraid he knew the answer to that. She wouldn’t come in here unless she wanted to harass him for something. What did she want? Zoë’s murder trial didn’t even have a date set as far as he knew, so it couldn’t be about that. He hadn’t heard from the San Francisco police department for six months. How did she even know where he was?
He should have gone back to Nebraska like his sister, Faith, wanted. Then she wouldn’t have any jurisdiction over him. He’d be beyond her reach, so far away that she would only be an unpleasant memory.
“Jake?”
Jake looked up through his hands and met his boss’ light brown eyes. Sarah Temple was a short, round woman, who always wore a suit that seemed two sizes too small. Her feet were shoved into pumps that made the flesh ooze out of the top, and her bosom strained the buttons on her blouse so that it gaped, giving him a view of very pale flesh. He always tried to look away, but it was like a traffic accident, he was destined to gape.
“I’m sorry I left my window. I just desperately needed a break.”
She didn’t look happy, her face pinched. “There’s a cop out there who would like to open a checking account. She asked for you specifically.” Tilting her head, she gave him a severe glare. “You aren’t in trouble again, are you? Because you assured me that everything was behind you, you were cleared.”
Jake dropped his hands and shook his head vigorously. “No, I don’t know why she’s here, but it has nothing to do with me. I showed you the paper work. I was exonerated of all wrongdoing.”
Sarah folded her arms under her bosom, forcing the flesh against the gaping fabric. Jake wanted to wince, afraid a button might ping off. “I know, but why are you acting so strange?”
Jake forced himself to draw in a deep breath, then exhaled. “That woman caused me to lose my last job. I never wanted to see her again, but suddenly she appears here? I need this job, Sarah, please.”
Her look softened and she uncrossed her arms. “Okay.”
Jake felt some of the tension leave him. If he just waited here long enough, she’d give up and leave, then he could go back pretending that his life hadn’t been any different until six months before.
“I’ll still need you to take the account application though.”
“What?”
“She requested you specifically.”
Jake wanted to argue, but he was afraid. He wasn’t lying. He needed this job. Since Zoë died, nothing had gone right. He’d had to leave their flat on Potrero Hill because he couldn’t keep up the rent with his unemployment check, then the only apartment he could afford was on Hyde, too close to the Tenderloin for his comfort.
“Please, Sarah, can’t you help her for me?”
“I tried, but she refused. Said it had to be you or nothing.”
Jake braced his hands on the table and stared at them. What the hell could she want with him? Maybe she really did want to open an account. But he knew, he knew there was no way he was that lucky.
“Look, Jake, one cop isn’t worth shit, far as I’m concerned. There’s certainly no money there, but we don’t want to make enemies out of the cops. One robbery and they don’t respond…come on, you know we can’t have that.” She laid a pudgy hand on his shoulder. “Man up and go out there. Make her happy and I’ll be able to write you a good recommendation if anything opens up at the Loan Center.”
Jake resisted the impulse to shake her hand off his shoulder. This was blackmail and he hated it. He hated being a teller and she knew that he was biding his time until he could get out of there. Still, it was better than unemployment. Once in a while he could even afford a little hamburger and beer.
He pushed himself to his feet and straightened his suit jacket. His hands were sweating, so he wiped them on his pants, then he went to the door and peered out. She wasn’t waiting in line, but when he leaned forward to take in the rest of the bank, he found her sitting in a chair at the assistant manager’s desk. The assistant manager was an avid Giants’ fan and had Giants’ paraphernalia all over his cubby. She was leaning forward, looking at a Giants’ desk calendar.
He mentally prepared himself, then shoved away from the break room door and tried to stride as calmly as possible behind the teller line to the half door that opened onto the platform. He pushed it open and crossed the carpeted floor, circling around her chair and dropping into the seat behind the desk as if he hadn’t been having a panic attack two seconds before.
“Inspector Brooks,” he said, but didn’t offer his hand.
She looked him over, a smile on her lips. Damn her, she didn’t look at all flustered. “Hello, Jake, you look good – thinner, but good. No beard.”
He resisted the impulse to run his hand across his jaw. “What do you want?” So much for being polite.
“I want to open an account.”
“No, you don’t.”
She sat up at that. “What’s with the hostility, Jake?”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice, but he kept an eye on Sarah as he spoke. “You’re here to harass me about something. You don’t want to open an account. You could have done that on-line or gone to one of the other tellers. You’re here to see me.” He sat back, gripping the arms of the chair. “How did you find me?”
She gave him a look that made him feel like a small, very stupid boy. “Really, Jake?”
“Okay, but why? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m trying to put my life back together again…”
“Working as a teller?” She made a face. “With a college degree?”
He felt heat rising into his cheeks. He gripped the chair so hard, his knuckles ached. “You didn’t leave me with much else. I barely got this job.”
“We got your old job back, Jake, why aren’t you there?”
“I couldn’t go back there. Everyone knew what happened. Even though I was exonerated, no one would ever look at me the same.”
“I understand that, and besides your last boss, Anders…”
“Andrews.”
She nodded. “Andrews, right? What a prick.”
Jake couldn’t stop the disbelieving laugh that escaped him. “What do you want, Peyton?”
She crossed one leg over the other, folding her hands on her knee. “We have this case and it’s a nasty one. Gang bangers and hookers, one guy was decapitated.”
Jake realized he was staring at her with his mouth open. “What the hell does this have to do with me?” He looked around the bank. “Where’s your partner, Adonis?”
She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, reaching out to touch a bobble head on the corner of the desk. She set the head to dancing and smiled at it.
Jake clamped a hand on the head, stopping it, then glared at her. “Peyton,
I don’t have time for this. Why the hell are you here?”
“Marco doesn’t know I came. He’d give me hell if he knew I looked you up.”
Jake figured he liked Adonis more than ever.
“Like I was saying, we have this case. This one has the potential to get out of control. It’s really nasty and we really need to have all our t’s crossed and our i’s dotted.”
Jake released the bobble head and slumped in the chair. He couldn’t fathom a reason why he gave a damn about her case, but she didn’t seem concerned.
She picked up a manila envelope that had been leaning against the chair, then she slid it across the desk to him. “Look at those.”
Jake didn’t touch the envelope. He stared up at her as if he thought it contained a poisonous snake. “What’s in there?”
“Photos.”
“Of dead people?”
She made a strange nodding motion. “Sort of. Take a look.”
She’d cost him his job and his home, she’d cost him the only friendship he’d had, and now she wanted him to look at photos of dead people. Good lord, wasn’t enough enough? Still, she didn’t seem inclined to go away. He reached for the envelope and opened it, pulling out the photos inside.
He frowned, then turned them over, looking at them a different way. “What the hell is this supposed to be?”
“A tattoo.”
“On a dead body?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong with your photographer? Is he blind?”
Peyton shrugged. “We think he’s lost his nerve, but it doesn’t matter. He quit.”
“He quit? Why do I think you were involved in that decision?”
“I don’t know, but whatever. You’re not entirely wrong.”
“You made him quit?”
“I pissed him off and he quit. He was probably going to be fired anyway.”
Jake laid the photos on the envelope and pushed it back to her. “Why are you bothering me with this?”
“We need a crime scene photographer. If you’re interested, you could even take some classes at the precinct on crime scene investigation.”
“Why would I do something like that?”
Peyton looked around the bank. “It’s better than this.”
“Taking pictures of dead people is better than this?” he asked incredulously.
“Hell yes. Come on, Jake, what are you making? Minimum wage?”
“And this pays better?”
“Yes, and you’d get medical benefits. Besides, you’d be helping out the public. We need a good photographer, Jake, someone with talent.”
“I’m just an amateur, Peyton, that’s all.”
“You’re a hell of a lot better than Bob Anderson.”
“Who’s Bob Anderson?”
She motioned at the photos with her chin.
Jake considered a moment. He was better than Bob Anderson, that he knew, but still, this whole visit was outlandish, insane. “I’m not a cop.”
“You don’t have to be. Not for this. You just have to be able to take clear pictures that we can use as evidence.”
“And how are you going to propose this, Peyton? Oh, by the way, remember that guy whose life I ruined because I thought he killed his wife, yeah, well, I hired him to take pictures for us. You must be freakin’ crazy.”’
“How is this crazy? Look around you, Jake. This is bull shit. You can’t possibly want this job. I’m giving you a way out. I’m giving you a chance to get paid for doing something you love.”
“Taking pictures of dead people is what I love?”
She exhaled. “I want to do this for you. I owe you this, Jake. I can’t stand the thought of you working at a place like this.”
Jake barked out a laugh again. “So you offer me a job taking gory pictures?” He pushed himself to his feet and pointed at the door. “Please leave, Peyton, this is charity that I definitely don’t need.”
She stared at him a moment more, then she grabbed her blurry photos and shoved them in the envelope. Rising to her feet, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a card, placing it on the desk in front of him. “If you change your mind, call me.”
Jake deliberately picked up the card and tore it in half, throwing both pieces into the Giants’ wastebasket by the desk. “Just leave.”
She shook her head, then reached out and flicked the bobble head, sending it bouncing madly. With that, she turned her back and headed toward the door. She just reached the tiled lobby when she looked over her shoulder. “You know where to find me,” she said, before grasping the handle.
Jake watched her stroll to the outside door, then he glared down at the bobble head. Bringing back his hand, he punched it off the desk and into the trash can.
* * *
“Mama?” called Magdalena, pushing open the front door.
As she settled the backpack by the door, she heard pounding coming down the stairs. Her twin brothers, Jesus and Juan, skidded on the linoleum, both of them grabbing the banister to stop themselves.
“We’re hungry.”
“Call Mama.”
Magdalena took off her jacket and hung it on the hook Papa had nailed to the wall by the door. “Where’s Papa?”
“He’s working a double shift.”
“He won’t be home until midnight.”
Magdalena angled around her brothers and headed toward the back of the house. Both boys followed her. They had just turned ten last month and they reached her shoulder already. With their mops of black hair, gap-toothed smiles, and identical black eyes that twinkled with mischief, Magdalena knew they would break women’s hearts someday.
“Mama’s at the hospital, sí?”
“She said to call her.”
“She couldn’t wait.”
“Why were you late?”
“She wasn’t happy.”
Magdalena leaned on the counter and looked down at them. They gamboled about like puppies. “Take out the garbage, while I call Mama, then I’ll make dinner.”
They started shoving each other, arguing over whose turn it was. Magdalena ignored them and reached for the house phone. She dialed Mama’s cell. It rang three times before Mama picked up.
“Magdalena,” Mama whispered into the phone. “You home?”
“Sí, Mama.”
“I had to leave the boys alone. Why were you late?”
Magdalena gripped the phone, watching her brothers struggle to remove the overflowing garbage. One held down the can, while the other tugged on the bag. She didn’t want to tell her the truth. She knew it worried Mama if her children got in trouble at school. She didn’t like them to draw attention to themselves in a negative way.
“Mrs. Rosales asked me to meet with her after school.”
“Are you in trouble?” hissed Mama.
Magdalena closed her eyes and tried to summon all of her patience. “No, Mama, I’m not in trouble. She wanted to go over my essay with me.”
“No necesitamos problemas, mi’ja.”
“I know, Mama. How is Esperanza?” She wanted to change the subject.
“She is sleeping now. It was not a good day.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t like to think of Esperanza. Her sister had just turned twelve when they got the diagnosis.
The boys were still tugging on the garbage bag. Mama was saying something, but Magdalena could see the plastic was about to rip.
“Hold on, Mama. Juan, the bag.”
Before she could slide around the counter, the bag ripped and garbage spilled out onto the floor. Magdalena stopped and just stared at it. Her brothers looked up from the mess and met her eye. She didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t really their fault.
“What is wrong? Magdalena? What’s happening there?”
Magdalena drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Nothing, Mama. We just had a little spill. I’ll clean it up.”
“Please don’t leave me a mess, Lena. I have too much to do.”
Magdalena watc
hed as her brothers hunkered down over the mess, using a can to push paper out of the way so they could inspect the brown fluid that was oozing across the floor. “I know, Mama. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve still got to make dinner.”
“There’s some rice in the refrigerator. Mix it with the soup from the weekend.”
“Okay, Mama.”
“And make sure the boys do their homework.”
“Sí, Mama.”
“And can you run a load of clothes? They won’t have anything to wear if you don’t.”
“Sí.”
“All right, I’ve got to go. The nurse is here. Adiós, mi’ja.”
“Goodbye, Mama.” The phone went dead in her hand. Magdalena replaced the receiver, then crossed to the garbage and shooed her brothers away. “Go get your homework and start it at the kitchen table. I’ll clean this up and get dinner.”
They reluctantly backed away and Magdalena stepped over the mess, pulling another bag out of the dispenser under the sink. As she began cleaning up the spilled garbage, she thought of the boy, Felix, she’d met in detention. Thoughts of him made her cheeks heat, so she forced them down. Glancing at the clock on the stove, she realized it was getting late. Here was another night when she wouldn’t be able to complete her homework.
That thought depressed her so, she decided she’d let herself think about Felix instead. Mama might not like it, but she didn’t have control over Magdalena’s mind. At least there, she could do what she wanted.
CHAPTER 4
Peyton returned to the precinct after the frustrating meeting with Jake. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been more receptive to her idea. Certainly, she had made his life difficult, and the investigation had cost him his job, but she hadn’t treated him any differently than any other suspect. It wasn’t personal. Why did he take it that way?
Placing the manila envelope between her teeth, she tugged off her coat as she headed to her desk. It was beginning to rain again and the leather on her jacket was wet. Removing the envelope, she vowed that she wasn’t going to give up on Jake, not now. Once the shock of seeing her wore off, he’d realize she was right. She was offering him more than what he had as a teller.
Marco was waiting at their desks with a cop she vaguely recognized. She’d seen him a couple of times before at crime scenes, but she couldn’t remember his name. He was about five ten, well-muscled with tattoos covering his arms. His Hispanic heritage was evident in his round face, dark eyes, olive skin, and black hair, which he kept in a crew-cut.
Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2) Page 5