“He came to the side of the balcony and smiled back. ‘Is something wrong?’ he said. He had a thick accent, you know, but I understood him.” The reverend nodded his head vigorously as if he’d accomplished an amazing feat. “I said I was simply concerned as I had heard arguing. I introduced myself, but he didn’t know who I was.”
“That must have been terrible,” said Peyton.
The smile bloomed again. “I just don’t often find people who don’t know who I am. At any rate, that’s when he said it. It was so strange I wasn’t sure what he meant at first.”
“What did he say?” asked Marco.
“He said that our houses were so close together that you couldn’t even murder someone without the neighborhood knowing about it.”
Marco tilted his head to look at Peyton. Peyton met the look, then turned back to the reverend. “Did he specifically say he couldn’t murder you or someone else?”
“He said someone, but later when I thought about, I realized it was a threat toward me because I was listening…” He paused, then added, “…out of concern.”
Peyton stuffed the notebook back in her pocket and curled her fingers around the arms of her chair, pushing herself to her feet. “Thank you for your time, Reverend. I think we have enough.”
Marco rose with her.
“What’s the next step?”
Peyton glanced at her partner, then back. “We’ll have to do some more investigation.”
“I can give you the name of the realtor. She can probably tell you their names.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
The reverend rose also. “Will you keep me informed on the progress of the investigation?”
“As soon as we have anything, you’ll be the first to know.” She crossed between the chairs and moved toward the door. Marco was fast on her heels.
“Maybe I didn’t convey the tone of his voice when he said it.”
“We got it.”
“Should I keep an eye on him, or what do you want me to do? I could set up surveillance cameras out back?”
Peyton paused at the door. “Please, let us handle it from here. We don’t want you in any danger. You’re too important to this community.”
He halted in front of her, beaming. “I appreciate you saying that, Inspector. I would love to see you in my flock on Sunday. We have a lovely African American family that attends quite regularly.” He smiled over at Marco. “Not too many Italians, but I’d be delighted to share the blessings with you.”
Marco pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.
Peyton followed on his heels. “We’ll definitely give it some thought,” she said, nearly racing Marco for the outer door.
“Thank you, Inspectors. I’ll check with the mayor in a day or two to see how you’re progressing.”
Peyton shut her eyes briefly at that. She just bet he would check with the mayor. He wasn’t going to let this go. “Good bye,” she said over her shoulder as they stepped out into the sunlight.
Shutting the door at their backs, Marco looked over at her. “We aren’t going next door, are we, Brooks?”
“Hell no.” She jogged down the steps toward their Charger. “I’m not bothering those people.”
She waited as Marco circled the front of the car, pressing the button to unlock it.
“Is something wrong, Officers?” came a voice.
Peyton turned and watched a handsome Hispanic man in his early thirties approach them. His black hair was parted to the side and combed away from his face, his cheekbones were high, and his dark eyes large and thickly lashed. He wore a fine, tailored suit with cufflinks on the shirt sleeves. He could be the dark to the reverend’s light as if they were opposite halves of the same coin.
“No, nothing’s wrong. The Reverend O’Shannahan is a friend of the mayor and he asked us to pay a visit.”
“Oh,” said the man, “I live next door. I was worried that something might be wrong.” He had an accent, but he spoke perfect English. “It is good of you to come out here.”
Peyton moved away from the Charger and held out her hand. “Inspector Brooks and D’Angelo,” she said.
He took her hand in his and gave her a firm shake. “The pleasure is mine. I am Raphael Peña. I am opening an import business here. It is good to know that we have the attention of the San Francisco police department. I feel much safer for it.”
Peyton thought it a strange thing to say, but she figured it might be the language difference. “Have you had any trouble with your neighbor, Mr. Peña?”
“The Reverend O’Shannahan? No. Did he say we quarreled?”
“Not exactly.”
“He is a man of the cloth, as you say. A man of faith. I have no quarrel with him.”
Peyton reached into her pocket and pulled out her business card, passing it to Raphael. “If you need anything, please feel free to call me,” she said.
He took it, pressing it to his lips. “It is good to know such a beautiful woman will watch out for me.”
Oh, this one was a charmer, Peyton thought, feeling a blush steal over her cheeks.
Marco cleared his throat. He was leaning on the driver’s door, waiting.
“Have a good day, Mr. Peña. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“You have a good day, la belleza, and thank you for your card.”
Peyton backed to the Charger and pulled open the door, sinking into the seat.
Marco threw himself into the driver’s seat and started the car. “La belleza. Give me a frickin’ break,” he snarled, pulling away from the curb.
Peyton laughed. “You’re just pissed because you didn’t get all the attention for the first time.”
Marco looked over at her. “Yeah, that’s it.”
* * *
Defino stood by Maria’s desk when they arrived at the precinct. Her arms were crossed and the expression on her face didn’t look welcoming. Peyton and Marco came to a halt in front of her.
“Let me guess, the mayor called?” asked Peyton.
“No, why?”
Peyton blew out her held breath. “Because you look pissed, Captain.”
“I’m not pissed.”
Realization dawned on her. “You need to give in and get some glasses, Captain. When you squint at people, you look pissed.”
“I don’t need glasses, Brooks, and I’m thinking it isn’t a bad thing if people believe I’m pissed all of the time, then they won’t pull crap on me. Now tell me what happened. What was behind this complaint?”
“The neighbors are too brown,” said Marco, tugging off his leather jacket as he moved toward his desk.
Defino followed him with her eyes, then turned back to Peyton. “Really?”
“I’m afraid so. Although he gave us Bible verses about loving one’s neighbor, our reverend is a piece of work.”
“He’s a racist?” asked Maria. “He seems so genuine on his show.”
Peyton gave her a skeptical look. “He told me that I’d be interested to know his wife helps children in Africa and then called me a Baptist.”
Maria frowned in confusion, but Defino’s mouth dropped open.
“And he damn near patted me on the head for being a poster child for Affirmative Action.”
“What did he say to D’Angelo?”
“That he’s a Catholic.”
Defino tsked, but Maria seemed more confused.
“That’s a bad thing?” she asked.
“Not at all, baby,” answered Peyton, “but he’d probably ask you if you were born in Tijuana.”
“I was born in Daly City.”
“My point exactly.”
“Forget it,” said Defino. Peyton wasn’t sure whether she was talking to Maria or her. “We looked into it. It’s nothing. Now let’s get back to our case.”
“Got it. Were you able to talk to Jake’s boss at the bank?”
“Yeah, he’s cleared. Got him started reading a basic crime scene manual and he’s scheduled for
classes in a few weeks. Why don’t you see how he’s doing on his first day?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Tapping Marco on the shoulder as she passed their desks, she wended her way through the squad room to where Jake’s desk now stood. The squad room was almost deserted this time of the afternoon since most cops were out on calls.
Jake glanced up as they approached. He pressed his fingers against his eyes and closed the manual he’d been reading. “I think I’d rather take pictures of decapitated heads.”
Peyton smiled. “Bored already?”
“It’s a lot to take in at once. It was easier counting money.”
“You need the basics, so you don’t screw up the evidence.”
“I got that about 100 pages back.” He shifted his attention to Marco. “So, why do you look so damn happy?”
“Seeing you here just sours my mood,” Marco shot back.
Peyton pushed him in the chest. “We had an annoying call to run and not a single person flirted with him. It’s been an off day.”
Jake chuckled, drawing a glare.
Peyton’s phone suddenly vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and thumbed on the screen. The icon for a text message blinked at her, but she didn’t recognize the number.
“I’m gonna get a soda,” said Marco.
“Hold on.” Peyton touched the icon and the message scrolled across her screen. Need help. Meet me at Betsy’s Diner on O’Farrell. Venus. She showed it to Marco.
“I’ll tell the captain,” he said, headed for the front of the squad room.
Peyton reached into her pocket and pulled out the keys for her Corolla, passing them across the desk to Jake. “You need to get your own car.”
“I’ll take the Charger.”
“You can’t drive that, it’s police issue. I don’t know how long we’ll be, but if you make it home before I do, will you walk Pickles?”
Jake took the keys. “Do you mind if I swing by the old place and pick up the last of my things?”
“No, just don’t get her stolen.”
“I’ve ridden in your little green heap, Peyton. No one wants her.”
“I wouldn’t talk bad about her. She just might strand you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
* * *
Betsy’s Diner was a typical greasy spoon. A few tables crowded the front of the store, looking out over the street. The back wall was occupied by the grill, which spat black, foul smelling smoke into the room. A tired-looking woman in a stained apron manned the cash register and a couple of teenage girls took orders in jeans and skimpy t-shirts that read Betsy’s across the bust. Behind the grill was an older man, Asian-looking with a white beany on his head.
Marco opened the door and motioned Peyton through. She spotted Venus instantly. She was sitting with her back to the wall, watching the door with an anxious, nearly manic expression. Her fingers drummed on the table and she held an unlit cigarette in her other hand. Her clothing was filthy, her fish-net stockings torn and the shoulder of her shirt hanging down around her elbow. She tried to push it back into place when she saw them, using the hand with the cigarette to smooth down her mussed hair.
Peyton slid into the booth beside her, fighting the odor of sweat and sickness coming off her. Marco sat on the other side, boxing her in. He placed his hand flat on the table and stared out at the restaurant, a position of defense. She knew he could grab his gun in a second if necessary.
Peyton marked that Venus only had a water glass in front of her. “Did you order?”
Venus made a disparaging sound. “With what money?” Her fingers drummed again and again.
Peyton reached over and covered her hand with her own. “We’re here now. You’re okay.”
Venus’ eyes were bloodshot and watery. “How’s Athena? She talkin’ yet?”
Peyton shook her head. “Can I get you something? A burger maybe?”
Venus gave a laugh and twisted a lock of hair with the hand that held the cigarette. “I can’t remember the last meal I had.”
“Where have you been, Olivia?”
“Hiding. Tried to turn some tricks, but I couldn’t go home and get cleaned up. They’re watching for me. Searching the streets for me.”
“Who?”
Venus’ eyes flitted away.
A waitress approached the table. “What can I get you?” she asked.
“A cheeseburger with fries,” Peyton said. “You want something to drink, Olivia?”
“Milkshake, chocolate.”
Good choice, thought Peyton.
“Anything else?”
Peyton shook her head.
The waitress wrote the order and walked away.
Shifting in the booth, Peyton leaned as close to Venus as she could stand to get. “If you want our help, you’ve got to tell us everything, Olivia. You can’t lie anymore, or there’s nothing we can do for you.”
Venus put the cigarette in her mouth, then remembered it wasn’t lit and took it out again. Peyton could feel her kicking her leg beneath the table. She glanced at Marco, then away, but Marco’s eyes roved the diner.
“I lied about El Griego.”
“What do you mean you lied?”
“I know his name.”
Peyton reached for her notebook and pulled it out. “Tell me.”
“Alberto Flores. He ran with a gang called the Aztecas – Los Hermanos Aztecas. That’s what the tattoo is. The letters ŁĦȺ. They deal in drugs and prostitutes. Their territory is most of the Tenderloin now. They’ve been pushing the other gangs out.”
“How?” Peyton wrote the name in her notes.
Venus shook her head. “I don’t know. They suddenly got new guns, I mean real nice pieces. Not those…what do you call them?”
“Saturday Night Specials?” offered Marco.
“Yeah, not those. But Sigs, glocks. Real fire power.”
“Who’s supplying them?” asked Peyton.
“I don’t know. No one does. They don’t let you know anything and if you figure it out, they kill you. If I stay on the street, I’m dead. They’ll find me and kill me.”
“Why?”
“Because I tried to get away. Because I was there when Athena killed El Griego. Just because they can.”
The waitress placed the burger and milkshake in front of Venus. Venus didn’t touch it for a moment, just stared out at the diner as if she was afraid someone would suddenly materialize. “They’ll kill me,” she said, shifting to look at Peyton.
“Okay, look, give me their usual hang-outs and I’ll get you help. I’ll take you to a shelter I know for women who are escaping bad situations. They’ll help you.”
“You mean like for women who are getting beat up?”
“Yeah.”
Venus shook her head. “They won’t take no prostitute. I tried it before and they told me to go. If I go in there looking like this, they ain’t gonna let me stay. I need some decent clothes and a shower or something.”
“Olivia, this is your chance to change things. To start a new life. If we take you there, you’ve got to promise me you’ll stay. We need you to testify for Athena, we need you to tell the judge that she killed El Griego out of self-defense.”
“I don’t like judges.”
“I understand that, but you care about Athena, right? You want to help her, right?”
“Are you going to arrest me if I don’t testify?”
“No, but if you don’t testify, Athena may be charged with murder and she will go to prison then.”
Venus broke the cigarette in half, then stared down at it as if she hadn’t meant to do that. She laid it on the table and pushed it away from her with the heel of her hand. “I don’t want Athena going to prison.”
Peyton covered her hand with her own. “I know. I promise you they’ll take you at the shelter and you’ll be safe.”
“They won’t take me like this. They ain’t gonna take no dirty prostitute. If I can’t get a shower and some decent clothes, we can
both forget about it. There’s down-and-out and then there’s prostitute.”
“Do you have any clothes we can get that are less provocative?”
“What?”
Peyton drew a patient breath. “Less slutty.”
She gave Peyton the look that made her feel simple. “Yeah, I got me a business suit back at my condo.”
“Okay.”
“On Nob freakin’ Hill.”
“Okay.” Peyton patted her hand. “I can probably…” Her voice trailed away.
Marco’s eyes rose to pin her. As if they communicated by telepathy, she knew he knew what she was thinking. He shook his head at her, but Peyton held up her hands in a gesture of futility.
“God damn it,” muttered Marco under his breath.
“Look, Olivia,” Peyton said, “I’ll take you to get a shower and a change of clothes, but you’ve got to give me something in return. I need their hangouts, where you went when they sent you to a John.”
Venus reached for the milkshake and took a sip. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t send me back out there.”
* * *
Magdalena’s eyes were wide as they crossed over the Bay Bridge and the skyline of San Francisco rose in the distance. She’d seen pictures of the City in books, but she never dreamed it would feel like this. Panic fluttered in her belly. She needed to find a phone and call Mama, tell her she was all right, but the entire ride out here, she’d never gotten away from Felix for a moment. He watched her like a hawk.
She wasn’t sure she could call Mama now anyway. She had done things with Felix, things in the car and the cheap motel rooms that she knew would make Mama cry. Touching the crucifix at her throat, she tried to say her novenas, but couldn’t finish. Would God turn away from her now? She wasn’t married like Felix promised. He’d never taken her to the priest he said he knew.
His cousin had sent him money to get to San Francisco, but by the time they hit Arizona, they couldn’t get motel rooms anymore because they had to save all of their money for gas and food. She wanted to take a shower, she felt dirty in more ways than one. And she was so sick of driving.
Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2) Page 12