Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Marco sipped at his coffee. “What’s driving me crazy is his voice. It’s almost like I recognize it. I keep worrying it and worrying it in my head, but I can’t get a handle on it.”

  “I know. I do the same thing.”

  Marco lifted his chin. “That’s right. You heard him too. I forgot that. He seemed familiar to you?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think you’re going to suddenly come up with it. I’ve been trying for weeks now.”

  “Except if we heard it again, we should be able to place it, right?”

  “Right.”

  Marco braced his elbows on the table. “Peyton keeps thinking it had to be someone in the precinct, but you and I would have heard that person and identified him.”

  “Yeah? So what are you saying?”

  “He’s not in the precinct. We’re looking in the wrong place.”

  “That doesn’t mean he isn’t a cop, Adonis.”

  Marco slumped back and they both fell silent. Jake reached out and touched his phone, staring at the display. He had a decision to make and it should be so easy. Life in Nebraska would be good. He’d be with his family. He’d get to watch his niece, Emily, grow up. He was missing out on most of her childhood. And he could go back to working at the bank – the safe security of working with other people’s money.

  “So, was that call from your sister?” asked Marco.

  “How did you know?”

  “Detective.” He gave Jake a lift of his brows.

  “Yeah. She was calling about the job. They did a phone interview and they liked me. They want me to fly out in two weeks for a sit-down.”

  “Are you going?”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty confused right now. On the one hand, it would be nice to be near my sisters and my niece. On the other hand, it’s working in a bank again.”

  “I get wanting to be near your family, but is that the only reason you’re thinking of leaving?”

  Jake stared at the phone, running his fingers down the sides. “When Peyton went missing, it brought up everything about losing my wife. I don’t think I can stand to watch someone else close to me die, Adonis. I felt so helpless and sick while the Janitor had her, and if he’d killed her…”

  Marco didn’t respond. He held his coffee mug and stared into the dark liquid.

  “Your job is crazy dangerous. At some point, one of you may be seriously hurt or killed and I just don’t think I can go through that.”

  Marco looked up at him. “Are you saying that if you were in Nebraska and Peyton went missing again, it wouldn’t matter to you?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Then what good does it do you now, Ryder? As Peyton always says, that genie’s left the bottle.”

  He had a point.

  Jake sighed. Shit. It wouldn’t matter if he went to Nebraska. He would still be devastated if something happened to one of them and he wasn’t here.

  “Look, I’m not good with this shit, so don’t expect poetry or anything.”

  Jake frowned.

  “Why would you go do a job you’ve never liked, when you’ve got one here that you do? And one where you’re needed?”

  A smile curved the lines of Jake’s mouth. “Are you saying you need me, Adonis?”

  Marco shook his head. “Not me, but Peyton likes you for some reason and the truth is you add something to our investigations. You see things differently than the rest of us do. Sometimes that comes in handy.”

  “Which is why I’m finding this decision so damn hard.” He grabbed the phone and shoved it in his pocket. Easier to ignore it that way. “So I don’t get to talk to Peyton much anymore. How is she?”

  Marco took a sip of his coffee, then twirled the mug around a few times by the handle. “She wakes up every night in a panic. There isn’t a single night that goes by where she can sleep all the way through.”

  “That must be hard on her.”

  “It is. I feel so damn helpless. I can’t do anything about it.”

  “It’ll get better with time. You’ve just got to be patient.”

  Marco nodded, but he continued to sit brooding, staring into the mug. “When did you know Zoë was the one?”

  Jake shifted in his chair. “Pretty soon after we met.”

  “When do you think she knew?”

  “Not long after that. I think we both knew it was serious right away. Why?”

  Marco looked out the door. “I’ve had eight years to get to this point, but I don’t think Peyton’s there yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He held up a hand and let it fall on the table. “I just don’t think she’s at the same place as I am.”

  “She’s crazy about you.”

  “Crazy isn’t the same as where I am.”

  “Why are you saying this?”

  He dragged his teeth across his lower lip, then shook his head. “The sneaking around. At first, I thought it was just temporary, but she’s clinging to it and it’s making me crazy. Why doesn’t it bother her?”

  Jake had never seen Marco this vulnerable before. “I think you should talk to her about it. Especially if it bothers you.”

  “I have, but she’s insistent. I really didn’t think she’d be able to keep it from Defino this long. She has such loyalty to her, but...”

  “Maybe you’re pushing things a little too fast, Adonis. She just had a terrifying experience and she’s trying to cope with that, then everything changed between the two of you overnight. Give her a little space.”

  Marco looked away, nodding. “You’re right.” He pushed himself to his feet, picking up the mug and walking back to the coffee pot. He filled his mug and then turned, heading out the door without saying anything else.

  Jake stared at the papers before him. He probably should have said something more, given him more solace, but he wasn’t used to Marco opening up that way. In fact, if he thought about it, this was probably the longest conversation they’d ever had.

  He chuckled and began gathering his paperwork. You just never knew about people. Who would guess that someone like Marco D’Angelo felt insecure or had a weakness? Curious.

  * * *

  The funeral home in Santa Clara was a single story building with a round fountain in the front that gave off a comforting burble of water and an American flag, flapping in the early fall air. Everyone parked behind the home and climbed out of their various vehicles. Peyton pulled in behind Marco’s Charger and parked the Mustang beside Defino’s Town and Country.

  She climbed out and smoothed down her slacks, waiting for Tag to climb out also. Tag wore a navy pantsuit with Maria’s pink frothy scarf tied around her neck to hide her tattoo. She fussed with it uncomfortably.

  Peyton admired Marco’s form in his dark suit with his silver tie as he climbed out of the Charger. Jake had ridden with him and his pale blue tie was askew. Peyton walked over to him and straightened it, giving him a smile.

  “How’s Tater?”

  “He’s the cutest little doggy in the world,” said Jake in a silly voice.

  Peyton smoothed her hands down his arms and gave him a fond squeeze, then she waited as Marco moved around the end of the Charger. Defino was already headed into the building without waiting for them and Tag was hot on her heels.

  Marco briefly placed a hand in the small of Peyton’s back as they moved to the walkway. “How was the session with Dr. Ferguson?”

  “Frustrating. He wanted to talk about my mother and Cliff. What does that have to do with my PTSD?”

  Marco shook his head.

  “Maybe he thinks the stress from that relationship is making this situation worse?” suggested Jake.

  Peyton shrugged. She wanted to take Marco’s hand, but she resisted the impulse, contenting herself with walking as close to him as she could. It was getting harder to pretend there wasn’t something more between them.

  As they crossed into the foyer of the building, a hush fell over them. There was something about dea
th that commanded immediate obeisance, respect and genuflection. Cho and Maria were there, standing by Simons and his wife, Silvia. Defino was signing in on the guest book and Tag stood to the side, glaring at everyone.

  Peyton walked over to Silvia and exchanged hugs, giving her a grim smile. A moment later, Stan Neumann came through the door. He made a beeline to Peyton and rubbed a hand up and down her arm in what he intended to be a comforting fashion.

  “Hey, Peyton,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “Hey, Stan.” She glanced at Marco to find his eyes narrowed. She smiled at Stan, then moved to the table to sign her name in the book.

  A door opened in a corridor to their left and Rosita and a middle aged man came out. Rosita took in the gathering, then hurried over to Peyton and gave her a hug. Tears glimmered in her eyes.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  “Of course,” said Peyton, patting her hand.

  Rosita turned and held out her hand for the man. “This is Mr. Macbride’s son, William. This is Inspector Brooks from the San Francisco Police Department,” she told him.

  Peyton shook hands with him. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you for coming, and for bringing others to pay tribute to my father.”

  “We stand by our own,” she said, then she introduced everyone, starting with Captain Defino.

  William MacBride seemed pleased and a little relieved by their presence. He motioned to the room they’d just left. “Please come in. We’ll start the service in a few minutes.”

  Stan positioned himself at Peyton’s elbow as they entered the viewing room. William escorted Peyton down to the front of the long rows of pews where the casket sat on a table, draped with a cascade of roses and baby’s breath. Roy MacBride reposed on white silk, his hands clasped on his stomach, his face looking peaceful and waxy.

  Peyton knew she was expected to pay her last respects, but her heart had started pounding and she felt a little short of breath. Stan placed a hand on her elbow, trying to guide her forward, but she didn’t want Stan. She wanted Marco.

  Looking frantically over her shoulder, she caught sight of him, coming into the room next to Jake. He lifted his eyes and caught hers at the same moment, then he gently pushed his way between the people, moving toward her.

  He touched Stan in the back and leaned toward him, whispering something she couldn’t hear over the pounding of blood in her ears. Stan gave him an understanding smile and backed up, allowing Marco to move to her side and place his hand on her elbow.

  His touch grounded her and she forced herself to take a deep breath. She could do this. She could go up to a dead body and pay her respects.

  “Keep your eyes on the cross, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “Just keep your eyes on the cross.”

  She hadn’t noticed the stained glass cross or the statue of Mary right behind the casket. She focused on Mary’s serene face as Marco led her forward until they were standing just before the body. She glanced down at Roy MacBride and felt a rush of sadness. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “He was just telling us stories a few days ago,” she said softly, leaning against Marco’s side. She didn’t give a damn who questioned them right now.

  “I know,” he said, tightening his hold on her elbow.

  “I wish I’d spent more time with him.”

  He shifted a hand to the small of her back, the pressure of his touch giving her strength. She let him turn her away and guide her to the front pew. William and Rosita motioned for her to sit next to them and she sank onto the hard wooden seat, feeling exhausted and wanting to cry.

  Marco sat down beside her.

  She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned against his shoulder, watching the others as they filed up to the front and paid their final respects. A tear slid down her cheek, but she ignored it. Her petty mourning didn’t make up for the loneliness that had darkened Roy MacBride’s final days.

  After everyone had filed by the casket, a minister moved to the podium and opened a Bible. His voice was lyrical as he read and she allowed herself to be lulled by the beautiful words. Rosita handed her a tissue and she dabbed the tears from beneath her eyes. Behind her, she was aware of her entire precinct, paying their respect to a man they didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. At least they were here, at least Roy MacBride wasn’t going to his final rest alone and forgotten.

  * * *

  Marco and Smith entered at the General Admission Level of Golden Gate Fields. There weren’t many people inside, but in front of them were the windows looking out over the racetrack and behind them were the yellow painted betting windows.

  “You ever bet the ponies?” asked Smith.

  Marco shook his head. “I think it’s cruel.”

  “I didn’t ask if you ate them.”

  Marco glanced at him, then reached for his badge. “Same difference.” He saw a security guard standing at the white railing looking out at the track. Jerking his chin at the guard, he moved to his side and showed him the badge. “I’m looking for Ron Newton.”

  The guard eyed the badge, then eyed Marco. Marco stood more than a foot taller than him. “He do something wrong?”

  “Nope. Ex-cop. We just want to ask him some questions about the murder of a fellow police officer. He used to work with him.”

  The security guard turned around and pointed to a window almost in the center of the wall. “That’s him. Bald guy with the smoker’s breath.”

  Marco followed the guard’s arm. “Thanks.”

  Ron Newton was heavy and almost completely bald. He had wide set eyes and a weak chin. As Marco and Smith approached, he pursed his lips and swiveled on his stool. “Don’t bother to show me the badge. You ooze cop,” he said to Marco.

  Marco glanced at Smith. Smith shrugged.

  “We wanted to ask you about Simon Olsen.”

  Newton made a rude noise. “I’m working. You gotta place a bet.”

  “I don’t bet on horses,” said Marco.

  “Why?”

  “Vegetarian,” offered Smith.

  Newton made another rude noise. “You’re kiddin’, right?”

  “I know. Weird, huh?”

  “You said it.”

  Marco glared at Smith. “Stop helping.”

  Smith held up a hand in surrender.

  Marco faced Newton again. “Don’t bust my chops, okay? Cop to cop.”

  Newton swiveled again. “What’d you want to know?”

  “Did you work with Simon Olsen?”

  “Yeah, damn near five years. Hated that prick.”

  “Why?”

  “He was scum. If your mother came in, he’d be trying to mount her.”

  “Do you remember if anyone got upset about the way he was? Threatened him?”

  Newton picked up a pencil and tapped it on the counter. “Look, I was his supervising officer for a lot of that time. People was always getting hot about him. Not just how he was with women. Some guys thought that was funny, but the way he was with the guys too. He didn’t lift a finger unless it was absolutely necessary. He got people to do his paperwork, file his cases, lock up his perps. I even caught a rookie cleaning the bastard’s gun one time. Seemed like everyone was grumblin’ about him at one point or another.”

  “Any formal complaints?”

  “Naw, he was real slippery. Guys would get so pissed at him, then he’d get them tickets to a baseball game or something. Bottle of Jack, buy ‘em dinner. Except this one time. I got an anonymous complaint about him. He was trying to get into the pants of this young receptionist and she was bitchin’ about it to everyone. I got the complaint after she quit.”

  “You remember it?”

  “Hell yeah. You don’t forget something like that. A lot of guys liked that girl, hated to see her leave.”

  “What did the complaint say?”

  Newton pursed his lips and gave Marco a nod. “I remember that too, just like it was yesterday. It went on about how unprofessional Olsen was
, how he should be brought up on sexual harassment charges, but finally, it said...and I will never forget it...it said Simon Olsen should be castrated and strung up naked for all to see.”

  Marco straightened. “You have any idea who filed it?”

  “Got my suspicions, but nothing ever came of it.”

  “You didn’t follow up on the complaint?”

  “What was there to follow up on? The girl was gone and the complaint was anonymous. I wasn’t going to accuse good cops of making a death threat.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “I got no reason to rat out my brothers.”

  Marco glanced out at the racetrack. He could see the horses moving toward the starting gate. “Is the complaint still in Olsen’s employment file? We didn’t see it when we went through it ourselves.”

  “Naw. You’re gonna need a warrant for that file.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “Sealed it when Olsen became Councilman. We don’t protect our own the way politicians do.”

  Marco nodded in agreement.

  Newton scratched his head. “You gonna wanna know where I was the night Olsen died, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My supervisor’s upstairs. He can verify anything you need.”

  “Thanks.” Marco stepped away from the window.

  “I’m not kidding. You’re gonna need a warrant for those records.”

  “I know.”

  “Be careful. You never know what slimy shit might fall out.” And he peeled off into laughter.

  Marco gave him a commiserate smile and moved toward the escalator beside Smith. “Call and see if you can get a warrant going, while I talk to Newton’s supervisor.”

  Smith nodded, then caught Marco’s arm, stopping him. “You sometimes think this Janitor nutjob did the world a favor by offin’ Olsen?”

  “More and more,” said Marco, continuing toward the escalators. “But he still attacked our girl, Frank, and for that he goes down.”

  “When you’re right, you’re right,” answered Smith, reaching for his phone.

  * * *