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

by M. L. Hamilton

  * * *

  Marco was surprised to see Peyton and Jake gathered around Maria’s desk when he arrived at the precinct. Jake was leaning on the wall of Defino’s office and Peyton sat on the corner of the desk.

  He couldn’t believe how happy he was to see Peyton. “Hey,” he said, pushing open the half-door.

  “Hey yourself,” she answered.

  “Adonis, why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?” asked Jake with a wide-eyed, innocent look.

  Both Peyton and Maria exchanged a glance, then turned back to him with half-smiles.

  “Why aren’t you working?” snarled Marco, moving toward him. He scrambled around the back of Maria’s desk and headed toward his own.

  “You slept with her,” said Peyton, slapping him on the shoulder.

  He turned toward her, shocked.

  “Who?” demanded Maria.

  “The DEA agent with the tight-ass,” said Peyton, cocking her head to the side.

  “Oh, say it ain’t so, Marco Baby, say it ain’t so.”

  “Yep, he did. Same clothes, stubble, avoiding eye contact.”

  Marco fought a smile. He was so damn happy to have her give him a bad time, even over this.

  “You just met her,” said Maria, tsking.

  Peyton gave him a wicked grin. “D’Angelo, you slut.”

  He started to answer, but Defino appeared in the doorway of her office. “Who’s a slut?”

  “Marco,” offered Maria.

  Defino rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, shit, D’Angelo, you didn’t bang the fed agent, did you?”

  “Yes, he did,” said Peyton, giggling with Maria.

  Marco scowled at her, but it wouldn’t do any good, he knew. “Why are you here? I thought you were on vacation.”

  “I know. I’m gone a day and you already get yourself in trouble.”

  “That’s great. I’m probably gonna get a call from the President or something,” groused Defino.

  Marco ignored it. “Brooks, why are you here?”

  “I got a message from your booty-call to meet her here.”

  “Alvarez?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What time did she call you?” He’d just left them half-an-hour ago.

  “Around 6:30. Said I needed to get to precinct pronto, so here I am.” She held out her arms. “Where are they?”

  “They were right behind me.” He turned to Defino. “We went to the hospital to question Daniela Ortega, the mother of the boy who was shot.”

  Defino nodded.

  “You should have seen the way they went after her, demanding to know who she was.”

  “Who she was?”

  “Apparently, they can’t find any history on her or the boy.”

  Defino started to answer, but the outer door opened and the two agents walked through. They all fell silent as the agents pushed through the half-door.

  “Brooks, conference room, now!” said Alvarez, walking toward their make-shift headquarters.

  Defino was frowning as she moved between them, headed toward the agents. Peyton and Marco followed.

  “Is that how she ordered you to sleep with her?” Peyton quipped, nudging him in the shoulder. “D’Angelo, strip, now!”

  He nudged her back as they entered behind their captain.

  “What the hell is going on, Agents?” demanded Defino.

  Both agents removed their glasses, motioning to the tech guys to vacate the room. All three tech guys scrambled to obey, grabbing up laptops as they went. Alvarez unbuttoned her suit jacket and took it off, slinging it across the back of a chair.

  A round table had been pulled into the middle of the room with chairs tucked under it. She motioned them to sit. Marco and Peyton waited for the captain to sit before they did. Miller unbuttoned his jacket, but he didn’t take it off, sitting down next to his partner. It wasn’t lost on Marco that they were lined up across from one another, the three San Francisco cops against the DEA.

  “I don’t like asking questions twice, so understand that this will be it,” said Defino. “After this I call your superior.”

  “Go on. What do you want to know?”

  “Why are you calling down one of my cops, who, by the way, was put on administrative leave by your office?”

  “It pertains to the case,” said Alvarez.

  “And why aren’t you sharing information about the case with the liaison appointed to share such information?” She held out a hand to Marco.

  “Like what?”

  Defino crossed her arms on the table. “Like a background check on Daniela Ortega that apparently gave you some information that should have been shared.”

  “The background check on Daniela Ortega revealed that we didn’t have information on her that we should have. She has a driver’s license, but no birth certificate in her name.”

  “She’s probably married,” said Defino.

  “We figured that so we looked up her social security number, however, the social security number on her record doesn’t belong to her. Furthermore, neither does the social on her son and he also doesn’t have a birth certificate that we can find.”

  “What does this have to do with Inspector Brooks?”

  Alvarez looked over at Peyton. “We got a call last night around 5:00PM.”

  Peyton nodded to encourage her.

  “From San Quentin.”

  Marco and Peyton exchanged a glance.

  “San Quentin?”

  “Specifically, from the court-appointed lawyer of Luis Garza.”

  Peyton went still. Marco glanced at her to see a reaction, but there wasn’t one.

  “What the hell does he want?” demanded Defino.

  Alvarez clenched and unclenched her jaw. “To share information.”

  “Share information? About what?”

  “The Aztecas,” said Miller. Marco noted it was the first time he’d spoken in hours.

  “What specifically?”

  “He wouldn’t say. Garza refuses to talk to us.”

  Defino flattened her hand on the table. “Wait. You said he called to share information. How is he going to do that if he won’t talk?”

  “I said he refuses to talk to us.” Alvarez’s dark eyes shifted and pinned Peyton where she sat. “He said he’d only talk to you, Brooks.”

  * * *

  The ten pound weight shattered through the window, snapping the wire. Magdalena crouched on the landing, waiting to hear an alarm. Nothing sounded. It had taken her three tries before she’d figured out the right angle to heave the weight against the glass. She peered down both ends of the alley, listening to hear any sound, but there was nothing. The yellow security lights shown across the gutter, illuminating the dumpsters.

  She rose and peeked into the warehouse. If anyone was guarding the cargo, they would have come running when she broke the window, but she saw nothing. Carefully grasping the broken shards of glass, she pulled them out and tossed them into the warehouse, then drawing the arm of the sweatshirt over her hand, she eased her forearm into the gap in the window and over the wire. Her fingers were just able to touch the top of the deadbolt, but she couldn’t turn it. She tried and tried to stretch her arm, but it wasn’t going to happen.

  She descended the stairs and jogged to the cross alley, looking around the dumpsters for something she could stand on. She found a large paint can and dragged it out, wiping her hands on her jeans. She tugged it back to the warehouse and bumped it up the stairs. Bracing it against the door, she climbed on top of it and peeked inside again.

  Covering her hand once more, she eased it inside. She had enough height now to turn the deadbolt. Stretching even further, she turned the lock on the doorknob. Drawing back her arm, she caught her sleeve on the wire and carefully extricated herself.

  Hopping off the bucket, she pushed it to the side and turned the doorknob on the warehouse. Carefully she eased it open enough to slip inside, but she didn’t close it all the way behind her. The emergency lig
hts illuminated the cargo bay enough for her to see the truck.

  She worried there might be a silent alarm, so she knew she had to get in and get out quickly. Jogging down the stairs and running across the floor, she hid behind the truck. Studying the rolling door on the vehicle, she saw that it was locked with a padlock.

  She looked around the warehouse and spotted the glass fronted office. Running to it, she found the door unlocked and pushed it open. There was nothing on the metal desk and the only other furnishing was a desk chair. She pulled the chair back and looked under the desk. Shoved against the wall was a red tool box.

  Magdalena crawled under the desk and hauled it out. It made a screeching noise as she dragged it across the cement floor. Opening it, she searched through until she found wire cutters. Leaving the toolbox where it was, she carried the wire cutters to the truck, but the moment she held them against the lock, she knew they would never work. She set them on the tailgate and leaned against it.

  What now? Her heart was hammering and her palms were sweaty. She’d never done anything this bold before, but Reverend James’ admonishment wouldn’t give her peace. She thought about it all the time, it woke her in the night. The only way to get home was to atone for her sin and she had to be brave to face it. Like Joan of Arc, she had to be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for forgiveness.

  So how else could she get inside the truck to see what it contained?

  Closing her fingers around her cross, it came to her. Papa left car keys in the glove compartment. She jumped up and raced to the passenger side door. Thankfully, it was open and she dove for the glove compartment, pulling it open. Digging the manuals out, she dumped them on the floor. Staring into the empty glove box, she felt her hope fade.

  On an impulse, she climbed into the passenger seat and pulled back the car mat on the driver’s side. Feeling with her right hand, she touched on a small bit of circular wire. Lifting it up, she stared at the two small keys dangling from the ring.

  She jumped out of the truck and ran around back, fitting one of the keys into the lock. It opened and she pulled it off, throwing it on the ground. Then she unhooked the latch and struggled to push up the rolling door. Once she had it going, it rolled up on its own and she was faced with row after row of plastic wrapped bricks. Retrieving the keys, she hauled herself into the back of the truck and felt along the bricks.

  Using the edge of a key, she tore the plastic on a brick. A white powder puffed out of the rip, dusting over her fingers. She knew what it was and she didn’t want to get any of it on her. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she sank to her knees in the back of the truck.

  Staring at the bricks, she couldn’t believe how many there were. And each would be bundled into small packets that would go onto the street. Teenagers would get them, mothers and fathers with small children would purchase them before getting food for their children, young ones her brothers’ age would be tempted by them. Innocent people would be shot or stabbed over them, and more runaways would be forced into prostitution just to get a shot or a sniff.

  Reverend James had said she must turn away from sin, turn away from evil, but how did you turn away when it was all around you? Sinners went to hell, but sitting in the back of this truck, knowing what she knew now, Magdalena felt like she was in hell already. Walking away from this and knowing what was going to be done with it had to be a bigger sin than what she’d already done. People would die because of what was in this truck. It had to be destroyed.

  She climbed out of the back and looked around. She spotted the tires first. Once, when she was about ten, the dump near their house in San Benito had caught fire. It burned for months, but what burned were the tires. No matter what the fire department did, they couldn’t put them out.

  She grabbed the first one, ignoring the black that came off on her hands and the front of her shirt. She hauled it to the truck and pushed it inside. Getting it up on the tread, she could roll it as far as she could until it ran up against something and toppled over. She ran back to the tires and grabbed another. She did this until the small space in the truck was filled.

  She did pause once and wonder why no one was coming to investigate. If there was a silent alarm, it should have alerted someone by now. And why wasn’t there a guard with this amount of drugs on the premises? Maybe El Griego’s operation wasn’t as sophisticated as it seemed.

  Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out Venus’ lighter. She’d stolen it earlier in the night thinking she might try to burn the entire warehouse down, but burning the drugs themselves had to be a better way to absolve some of her sin. She flicked the lighter on and applied the flame to the tires. Nothing happened, except the caustic smell of burnt rubber.

  She surveyed the warehouse again, then spotted the gasoline cans. They were sitting next to the tires. That had to be a bad idea. It made her wonder how she’d ever allowed someone as stupid as El Griego get the better of her, but with a feeling of sadness, she realized she wasn’t as naïve as she’d been a few months ago.

  Grabbing two gas cans, she carried them to the truck and braced them on the tailgate, then she hauled herself inside. She was careful to pour the gasoline on the drugs and tires both, but she tried very hard to get nothing on herself. Even so, she saw gasoline splatter on her shoes. She really didn’t want to go up with the truck. The worst cardinal sin in the Catholic church was committing suicide. If she died, trying to stop them from distributing drugs, that was one thing, but to knowingly cause herself harm, well, that would send her directly to hell.

  She climbed out of the truck and looked around again for something she could use to light the fire. She saw a broom resting against the staircase that led to the emergency door. She grabbed it and a cleaning rag that had been draped over the banister. Tying the rag to it, she used a little more of the gasoline to douse the rag, then she lit it with Venus’ lighter.

  When it was burning well, she carried it to the back of the truck and threw it with all of her might into the interior. At first nothing happened and she was afraid the air generated by throwing it might have put the rag out.

  A second later, a massive cloud of fire came whooshing out of the back. Magdalena hit the floor, her heart in her throat, her face feeling sunburnt. Peering up between her arms, she could see the fire licking along the floor and roof, crackling and spitting in the middle where the drugs were.

  She scrambled to her feet and raced for the stairs, grabbing the banister. The wood bit into her fingers as she hooked it and used it to pull herself up the stairs. Throwing open the door, she let it slam back against the wall as she stumbled down the stairs and tore off running toward 16th Street.

  CHAPTER 16

  Rosa Alvarez pulled Peyton aside. They waited in the interrogation room at San Quentin for Luis Garza to be brought in. Alvarez’s face was set and cold, her eyes boring into Peyton. At her back stood Miller, an ever present statue. Peyton wasn’t sure she’d ever really heard the man speak.

  “Don’t let him bait you, Brooks. Don’t let him make you lose control. We’ll be recording everything he says in here, so don’t worry about remembering it. Just get him to talk.”

  “I know.”

  Alvarez narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know. Men like Garza are manipulators, cold-blooded, ruthless killers. There are only two rules in dealing with men like him.”

  Peyton lifted her brows, indicating Alvarez should continue.

  “Never surrender your gun under any circumstances and never let them see they’ve got you. If you do either of those, they own you.”

  The first didn’t seem like practical advice. San Quentin had made them surrender their firearms the moment they came inside, but Peyton had to admit the second was true. She’d let him own her the last time.

  “Thanks,” she said, trying to be charitable.

  “The other thing …don’t make a deal with him. We don’t deal with terrorists and a cop killer is deemed a terrorist.”

  “How am I going to get him
to talk if I don’t deal?”

  “He’ll talk because he’s hoping you’ll deal, but we don’t deal with terrorists in this country.”

  Although it seemed a bit cavalier, she’d heard that line before. She gave a polite nod and walked over to Marco. He stood with Defino and Javier. Peyton smiled at the Gang Taskforce cop. She liked him.

  He smiled back. “You’ll do okay. The shock is over. He can’t surprise you again.”

  Yep, she liked him. “Thank you.”

  She turned to her captain. “You’ll be fine. This…” Defino nodded to the interrogation room. “…is your specialty. Just focus on that and nothing else.”

  “I will, Captain.”

  Finally, she looked up at Marco. “No pep talk, no Marco pearls of wisdom.”

  His eyes rose toward the one-way glass as Luis Garza entered the room. Peyton didn’t even turn to watch him. When Marco looked back down at her, he gave her a worried smile. “Man up, Brooks,” he said.

  She smiled. “There it is.” Taking a deep breath, she turned for the door.

  “Remember. Keep him talking. The more he talks, the more information we get,” called Alvarez.

  “That’s usually how it works,” said Peyton back to her.

  Both DEA agents frowned.

  The guards came out of the room before she got there and one stopped like last time. “We’ll be right out here if you need us.”

  She noted the electroshock gun at his belt. She hadn’t noticed it the first time. Maybe that meant she was calmer. “Thank you,” she said and reached for the door.

  As she walked into the room, El Guerrero lifted his head and looked at her. His hair slid back from his face and she could see bruises on his neck above the tattoo. Her fingerprints where she’d tried to throttle him. For some reason, she didn’t feel ashamed of that.

  She sank into the chair at the head of the table. He was chained to the one directly facing the mirror, which put them at an angle to each other.

  “I thought the police had a height requirement, little jefe,” he said, smiling and showing her his gold caps.