Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Well, who would know she’s been moved, except for us? She should be safe enough for now,” said Defino.

  “I’m sure we can fight it, Captain, if I talk to them.”

  Defino shook her head. “Leave it for now. If anything happens, we’ll be all over that hospital in a heartbeat.”

  The captain’s assistant, Maria strolled over, handing her a slip of paper. “Smith just called,” she said. “They got a drive-by about an hour ago down on Eddy. Two cars hit. A passenger in one of the cars says the shooter was a Hispanic male, riding in a late model Benz. Smith figured Brooks and D’Angelo might want to check it out.”

  Peyton and Marco were already moving, grabbing their coats and looking for car keys.

  “Get your camera, Jake,” Peyton said, taking the slip of paper the captain held out to her and heading for the door.

  Jake looked around in confusion. “Me?”

  “We got us a crime scene…” she shot over her shoulder.

  “And you’re the crime scene photographer,” finished Marco.

  Jake nearly tumbled out of his chair, hurrying to his desk after his camera bag. When he’d worked at the bank, he hadn’t even been in a bank robbery. What the hell was he doing, rushing off to take pictures of a shooting? But his heart pounded in his chest and he didn’t remember when he’d ever felt so exhilarated. It was just like in the movies.

  * * *

  Eddy ran through the Tenderloin, going from the west to the east. It crossed most of the major streets running north and south into Market.

  Marco pulled the Charger to the side of the street behind the crime scene tape and they climbed out. Clouds were rolling in and Peyton glanced upward, wondering if they weren’t in for more rain. To their right was a motel and across the street was a bistro. A number of patrons from both were standing on the sidewalks watching. Smith walked down the middle of the street toward them.

  Two cars were lined up one behind the other at a street light, steam rising from the engine of the first one. The one on the right had a flat tire on the passenger side and Peyton thought she could see a bullet hole in the windshield.

  An older couple was giving their information to another uniformed officer and a young woman was sitting on a planter box that lined the front of the motel, talking to a paramedic. The older couple was white, but the young woman was Hispanic, dressed in a uniform of some kind.

  “Hey,” said Smith, coming up to them.

  “Hey,” said Peyton and Marco.

  Smith’s gaze shifted to Jake.

  “Jake Ryder,” Peyton said. “He’s our crime scene photographer.”

  Smith raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. Although he sometimes ribbed Peyton, he was a solid cop that could be relied on in a pinch. He had a thick dark moustache and a head of hair most men envied. He was a little shorter than Jake, stocky, but not really overweight.

  “What we got here?” Peyton asked.

  Smith pointed back over his shoulder. “The blue Taurus is a rental, driven by the older couple. They’re on vacation from Washington State. The silver Civic behind the Taurus belongs to the girl.” He pointed to the Hispanic woman. He shifted around and pointed to a liquor store on the corner of Larkin and Eddy. “They think the gunshots came from there, maybe down the street a little.”

  “Anyone hurt?” asked Marco.

  “No one was hit, but the girl, uh…” He pulled out his notebook and flipped it open. “Daniela Ortega, she was shaken up pretty badly. Far as I can tell without Forensics out here, one bullet went into the passenger side tire, the other through the windshield. I think it’s imbedded in the backseat. She said her son usually rides back there.”

  “Where is her son now?”

  “With her mother. She just got off work and was on her way home.”

  “You get names on the older couple?”

  “Richard and Nancy Miller from Olympia.”

  “Great way to attract the tourists.” She hit Marco in the arm. “Let’s go talk to them.” Then she remembered Jake, hovering behind them, looking like a lost little boy. She kept forgetting he was new to this. “Jake, take pictures of the cars, the bullet holes, the entire scene –anything that catches your eye, but especially things that have a plastic marker by them.”

  “I know about the plastic markers, Mighty Mouse. I read the manual.”

  Peyton and Marco exchanged a smile.

  “He read the manual.”

  “Freakin’ brilliant,” answered Marco.

  Jake muttered something as he pushed past them. Peyton thought she caught the words hard and ass, but she wasn’t sure.

  They approached the older couple first, since the paramedic was checking the younger woman’s vitals. Peyton reached for her badge as the uniformed officer stepped back a pace. “Inspector Brooks and this is my partner, Inspector D’Angelo. Officer Smith told us you were visiting from Olympia?”

  “Yes,” said the woman, “I’m Nancy Miller, this is my husband Richard. We’re on vacation.” She looked over at the younger woman. “Is she all right? We couldn’t get her out of the car at first. All she kept saying was her son was usually in the backseat.”

  “She’s being looked after right now, but I think she’s just a little shaken up. Are you both all right?”

  “We’re fine. Scared us to death, but we’re fine.”

  “We’re fine,” repeated the husband.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Not at all.”

  Peyton removed her notebook. As she did so, Marco wandered across Larkin, headed toward the liquor store. She could see Jake taking pictures of the cars from the corner of her eyes.

  “You were driving down Eddy…” she prompted.

  “We were coming back from Japan Town. We got a little turned around and were trying to find Market. We don’t know our way around San Francisco very well, and the GPS wasn’t really helping.”

  “It wasn’t helping,” echoed her husband.

  “And you came to the light?”

  “Yes, we stopped at the light. All of a sudden we heard this strange pop and steam started rising out of the engine.”

  “Right out of the engine.”

  Peyton nodded to get them to continue.

  “Then pop, pop, pop!” said Nancy.

  “So many pops,” said her husband.

  “Gunshots?”

  “Yes, gunshots. We weren’t sure at first, but then the young lady started screaming.”

  “Screaming like she was dying.”

  “We were terrified.”

  “I understand,” said Peyton. She looked to where Marco was standing. He was on the side of the liquor store, near a sandwich shop. From his angle, they had a clear view of each other. Fairly easy shooting. “Jake,” she called over her shoulder. “Can you take some shots of the cars from where Marco is standing?”

  He immediately shifted in that direction.

  Peyton focused her attention back on the couple. “Did you see anyone?”

  “You mean the shooter?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We saw a man in a hoody start running that way.” Nancy pointed up Eddy. “He jumped into a car that was parked in front of the liquor store and the car sped away.”

  “Did you see what he looked like?”

  “He looked Hispanic.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I got a quick glimpse of his face as he ran.”

  “Just a quick glimpse,” said Richard.

  Peyton made some notes. “What kind of a car did he get into?”

  “I think it was a Mercedes Benz.”

  “Definitely a Benz.”

  “When the car sped off, where did it go?”

  “Turned down that street up there. Made a right turn.”

  Hyde. And Hyde led directly into Market. From there, take your pick. He could be all the way up the peninsula by now or across the bay.

  She took out a card and gave it to them
. “Would you be willing to talk with a sketch artist at my precinct?”

  “Certainly,” said Nancy, “we’re happy to do anything we can to help.”

  “Happy to do it.”

  Peyton reached out and squeezed Nancy’s arm. “Thank you. It would be best to do it sooner rather than later. We want to keep the memory fresh in your minds. The tow truck should be here to take the car away and then, Officer Smith will bring you to the station, all right?”

  “That’ll be fine. I guess our rental car is now evidence.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I suppose it can’t be helped,” said Nancy.

  “Can’t be helped,” said Richard.

  Peyton smiled at them and moved toward the young woman. She hunkered down beside her. “How’s she doing?” she asked the paramedic.

  He began rolling up his blood pressure cuff. “Shaken up, but her vitals are fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gave a nod and rose, moving toward the ambulance parked on Larkin.

  Peyton reached for her card and held it out to the young woman. She was definitely Hispanic, around twenty-five or so, her black hair tied up in a ponytail. She was wearing a white uniform dress. “I’m Inspector Brooks.”

  “I heard,” she said, but she took the card. “Look, can I go? I’ve got to get home to my boy. He’s waiting on me.” She curled her arms around her middle, gripping her elbows.

  “Soon. I need to ask you some questions.”

  “I didn’t see anything. I just want to go home.”

  “How old is your son?”

  Peyton decided to change track.

  “Seven.”

  “Officer Smith said your name was Daniela Ortega. Is that right?”

  She gave Peyton a hostile look. “Yeah, can I go?”

  “We’re waiting on a tow truck.”

  “I need that car for work.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “The Marina Inn. I’m a maid there.”

  “And you were coming home from work when you heard the shots?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where did they come from?”

  “Where the old people told you. About where the photographer is standing now.”

  “Did you see the shooter?”

  She met Peyton’s eyes and her expression closed down. “Yeah, he was about six feet tall and black.”

  Peyton studied her a moment, but didn’t correct her.

  “Where do you live, Daniela?”

  “I gave my address to the officer.”

  Peyton nodded. “I can get it from him, but just tell me the street.”

  “Utah.”

  South of Market. “Do you always drive this way going home?”

  “Why?”

  Peyton shrugged. “I just have to ask these questions.”

  “I just want to go home to my son, please.” She gripped her elbows so hard, her knuckles turned white.

  Peyton took a seat next to her on the planter box. Something wasn’t adding up. “It’s funny because both Nancy and Richard said the shooter was Hispanic.”

  “I told you I didn’t see anything.”

  “Did you see the Benz drive away?”

  “No, after the first shot, I ducked behind the steering wheel.”

  “But yet you saw enough of the shooter to identify him as a black man, six feet tall. Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t being completely honest?”

  She gave Peyton a frantic look. “They shot at me. Why are you making me feel like I’m the criminal?”

  “I’m not. I just want to figure this out.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything. I can’t help you. I heard the shot and I ducked. That’s all. I don’t remember anything else until the old man pulled me out of the car to see if I was hurt.” Tears filled her eyes and she shivered. “I don’t have a cell phone. I don’t have any way of calling my mother and telling her what happened. And now I don’t have a car or a way home. I just want to see my son, that’s all. I just want to go home.”

  Peyton studied her a moment more, then pushed herself to her feet. “Okay, Daniela. I’ll have Officer Smith take you home, but if you remember anything, will you give me a call?”

  She gave a quick nod, then looked down, rocking herself back and forth. Peyton motioned Smith over and asked him to take Daniela home after the tow truck arrived.

  She then wandered over to where Marco and Jake were standing. “Any shell casings?”

  Marco shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Anyone see anything?”

  “Heard the shots, but by the time they got out here, they only caught a fleeting glimpse of the Benz turning onto Hyde. She tell you anything?”

  “No, and what’s really strange is she said it was a black male, about six feet, then she told me she saw nothing because she was hiding behind the steering wheel. When I questioned her, she got angry with me. She’s definitely hiding something.”

  “Maybe the shooter was a pissed off boyfriend,” offered Jake.

  “Well, I don’t think he was shooting at the tourists.”

  Jake rubbed a hand over his chin. “Of course, you know, that means that he knew which way she came home and what time.”

  Peyton nodded. “That is some freakin’ amazing manual,” she teased, “because that’s exactly what’s bothering me about this whole thing.”

  * * *

  Felix’s cousin scared her. He sat in the small apartment, lounging back on the couch, the television blaring a telenovela that he hadn’t looked at once. He had a tattoo on his neck. Magdalena had seen tattoos on arms and legs, but never on anyone’s neck. She didn’t want to make eye contact with him, but it was hard not to stare.

  She sat on a folding lawn chair next to Felix. Once in a while Felix would stroke her hair, but mostly he ignored her, talking to his cousin, asking him questions that Magdalena didn’t understand about deliveries and other things. She suspected it had to do with drugs, but she didn’t really want to know.

  She desperately wanted to call her family. She needed to know if they were all right and if maybe, maybe she could come home. She had forsaken her religion, she had taken a man as husband without being married, but maybe Mama and Papa would forgive her. The priest forgave people much worse things with a few rosaries and Hail Marys, and of course, a promise never to stray again. If she could go home, she would never, ever stray.

  But Felix wouldn’t let her near a phone. He said she had to give up that past life and understand that he was her family now. He would provide for her. She glanced around the apartment and thought he wasn’t doing much providing.

  In the day they’d been there, people came in and out of this apartment all of the time. Sometimes Felix’s cousin would take them into one of the rooms. Sometimes they’d sit down and drink a cerveza with him, but often he went outside to talk with them in the hallway.

  A lot of the people who visited were women. In fact, last night, two of the women had come in very late and had fallen asleep on the floor. In the morning, they handed Felix’s cousin some money. Magdalena wasn’t stupid – she knew what the money was for and it made her even more ashamed.

  She felt the cousin’s eyes on her. He kept watching her ever since she’d gotten out of the shower the previous day. She clasped her crucifix and tried to ignore him, but she could feel the weight of his gaze boring into her. He’d been drinking for a few hours and a line of cervezas was beginning to ring the crate he used as a coffee table.

  “Felix,” he finally said.

  Felix looked over quickly. Magdalena noticed that whenever his cousin spoke, Felix was right there, panting like a puppy. The cousin was maybe ten years older than he was, or maybe it was less, but life in San Francisco had aged him.

  The cousin leaned forward and braced his arms on his thighs. “You want your next letter, primo.”

  Felix nodded. “Yeah. How?”

  His eyes shifted to Magdalena and she felt a drop in her st
omach. “How bad you want it?”

  “Bad, Berto. I want to be one of you. I came all the way out here, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did.” His eyes traveled over Magdalena. “Give me your girl.”

  Felix went still. Magdalena turned to him, using her eyes to plead. “My girl?”

  The cousin nodded, his gaze never leaving Magdalena.

  Felix barked out laughter. “You crazy, man. Got me good.”

  Magdalena chanced a look at the cousin. He slumped back on the couch, but by the tight lines of his jaw, she knew he wasn’t happy. “Whatever.”

  Felix fidgeted for a few minutes, pretending to watch the TV. Magdalena wanted to run. She gripped the crucifix so hard, the points dug into her hands. She began reciting the 23rd Psalm to herself.

  “You were joking, right?”

  The cousin shook his head.

  Felix shifted anxiously in the chair. “I want the next letter. What else can I do?”

  The cousin shook his head again.

  Felix’s hand tightened into a fist on the chair. “She’s my girl, man.”

  “Whatever.”

  Felix glanced into Magdalena’s terrified face, then away. “She’s my girl…” he said weakly.

  Magdalena thought to jump up and run, but she didn’t know where she was or where to go and they would probably catch her before she got to the door. Then what would they do to her? Oh, God, why? Why had she left home? Why had she come to this God forsaken place? She wanted her Mama and Papa, she wanted to go home.

  Felix slammed his fist down on the chair arm. “Take her,” he said without looking at her.

  Those two simple words echoed in her head, drowning out all other sound.

  CHAPTER 9

  Peyton stretched, trying to work out the kinks from a difficult night sleeping. Her desk lay before her and beyond that was the white board that led to many different conclusions, but none of them reasonable.

  She heard the tap of Devan’s dress shoes and turned to greet him. He stopped in front of her and curled his hands around her shoulders, bending down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.