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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Why?”

  “This job. I’m scared that eventually I’m going to stop seeing the good in anything and only see the bad. Peyton’s abduction spooked me, Captain.”

  “I see. I have to ask, was it Peyton’s abduction or the recent developments in her romantic life?”

  Jake chuckled. “I still miss my wife, Captain. Besides, Peyton sees me as a brother at most. Still, I’m not gonna lie. If she had any interest, I’d probably pursue it, but from the first time I met her and D’Angelo, I knew what was there between them. I’d never get in the middle of something like that. What they have is rare and...well, precious.”

  “You’re a poet, Mr. Ryder.”

  “A romantic, I guess.”

  “So, what would you do? Go back to working at a bank?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you think you could be happy doing that?”

  “I just don’t know.”

  “We need you here, Mr. Ryder. We need men like you with your intellect. Otherwise we don’t stand a chance. Without men like you on our side, you’re right – the bad will win.”

  “It feels like the bad wins most of the time as it is.”

  “Here’s how I look at it. You take a four way intersection where cars meet at the juncture at the same time. At first, there might be crashes. Someone might get hurt, some might even die. But eventually people figure it out. They learn how to coexist.” She flattened her hand against the table. “Still, at some point, someone’s going to come into that intersection that doesn’t give a damn about order or reason. That person’s going to want chaos and destruction. And he’s going to get it.” She lifted her hand, pointing at him. “We’re the stop light, Mr. Ryder. What we do here is try to impose order, try to employ reason and structure. Sometimes our light goes out, but then we repair it. We get back out there and direct traffic. It’s that simple.”

  Jake gave her a weary smile. “Whenever I think I’ve got my life planned out, I talk to one of you and you talk me out of it.”

  Defino rose to her feet. “If you’re talking to us, Mr. Ryder, you obviously aren’t sure about your decision in the first place.”

  Jake hadn’t considered that. He gave a laugh. “You must have been a hell of a detective in your own right, Captain.”

  “I was a damn good pole dancer as well,” she said, giving him a wink as she moved to the door.

  * * *

  Two homes made up the Napa Inn, both beautiful blue Victorians with porches overlooking the lush gardens. Red brick pathways meandered around the grounds, passing through white arbors and fruit trees.

  The middle aged woman who checked them in greeted them warmly and showed them to their room. Marco had reserved the Garden Cottage, a private retreat decorated in the French provincial style, which had its own enclosed flower garden.

  Peyton wandered around the room, while Marco listened as the woman explain the amenities. All of the linens throughout the room were covered in blue flowers: from the curtains to the bedspread to the table cloth on the small table by the door. A wrought iron stove took up one corner of the room, and the walls were painted a dusty rose color. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever been some place so lovely or romantic before.

  Wandering out onto the private garden, Peyton found a hot tub tucked into the back corner of the patio, next to a bistro table and chairs. A bottle of Napa Valley wine sat in the middle of the table with two wine glasses and a plate of fruit.

  After the woman finished telling Marco about breakfast in the dining room the following morning, she wished them a pleasant stay and backed out of the room, smiling as she went.

  Peyton walked back to the French doors and peered in at him. He was leaning against the wet bar in the living room.

  “How much is this costing us?” she asked him.

  He gave a careless shrug. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “This was Abe’s idea, wasn’t it?”

  “You know it wasn’t mine.”

  She smiled and stepped inside. “It’s so romantic and charming. I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

  He smiled back. “I’m glad you like it.”

  She moved closer to him. “You don’t?”

  “I like you.” He reached out and cupped her chin. “A lot.”

  She slid her hands up his chest. “I have an idea.”

  “Yeah?” He encircled her waist with his arms.

  “What if we order dinner in tonight and afterward, I’ll show you all the things I bought at the lingerie store today.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, opening his eyes wide.

  “Yes, ma’am?” she responded, moving her lips close to his.

  “Yes, ma’am, please,” he said, then he kissed her.

  CHAPTER 18

  Peyton and Marco wandered down to the dining room the following morning. It was earlier than they intended, but she’d woken them both with her violent thrashing. Even here, even in the idyllic solitude of their little blue cottage, the nightmares haunted her.

  They were told to select any table they wanted. Peyton picked one closest to the windows that looked out over the garden. The sun was shining and she wanted to feel it on her skin, chasing away the last vestiges of the nightmare. Marco signaled for two cups of coffee, pulling out her chair for her to sit down.

  She sank into it, removing the light sweater she wore over her sundress. She didn’t usually wear dresses, except to go out at night, but today she wanted to feel as if she was on vacation. Maybe if she dressed the part, she could stop worrying about what was happening at the precinct right now.

  A young blond woman behind her tapped her shoulder. Peyton looked back, her heavy hair sliding over her arm. “Are you on your honeymoon?” the girl said, motioning between Peyton and Marco.

  Peyton glanced at the girl’s companion. A handsome young man in a pink polo with a sweater draped over his shoulders. “No, we’re just getting away for the weekend. Are you?” she asked with a smile.

  The young woman showed her an enormous wedding ring. “We got married last Saturday. Right here on the grounds.”

  “It must have been beautiful.”

  “It was. So romantic.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Enjoy your stay,” the young woman said.

  “You too.”

  Peyton turned back to Marco. Their coffee had arrived and he pushed the sugar bowl over to her. She took a few spoonfuls, then sat stirring her coffee, staring out the windows. She liked the sunlight, the warmth that bathed everything. She could get used to waking to sunlight instead of fog.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She glanced over at him, resting her chin on her shoulder. “Just enjoying the moment.”

  “You’re thinking about work.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m thinking that I wish we hadn’t wasted eight years.”

  He leaned forward, moving his coffee cup out of the way. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we’re so good together, I wish we hadn’t waited. I’m happy right now, Marco, and I have to wonder why we waited so long for happiness. It scares me a little.”

  “Why?” He reached out and smoothed the hair off her shoulder.

  “Because it’s so good. I can’t help but be afraid that people only get a glimpse of happiness, that happiness is fleeting. I mean if it was going to be like this, why didn’t we take the risk before this? Why did we wait until now?”

  “Maybe because we needed to grow up before we could have this. Maybe we needed those eight years to mature.”

  She smiled at him and pressed her cheek to the back of his hand.

  “So, what do you want to do today?”

  “I want to find some art galleries and look around.”

  He dropped his hand. “Art galleries? You don’t want to go wine tasting?”

  “Maybe tomorrow. Today, I want you to show me art.”

  He returned her smile. “I’d like that,” he said.

  * * *


  “If it isn’t the banker turned CSI,” came a voice behind Jake.

  Jake looked over his shoulder, surprised to see Chuck Wilson, the retired CSI, moving through the crowd in the coffee shop. He stopped at the counter next to Jake and surveyed the cup holder slowly filling with specialty blends.

  Jake held out his hand and they shook. “How are you, Chuck? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I know.” He tucked his hand back into his jacket pocket, his thick grey hair mussed by the rising breeze outside.

  “You been traveling in the RV?”

  “Yeah, up and down the coast. Went north for a while. Actually drove through Oregon. Beautiful country.”

  “I’ll bet.” Jake turned and took the next coffee that the barista handed him.

  “What’s all the coffee for?”

  Jake laughed. “I drew the short straw. We’re pulling an all-nighter, so they sent me to get reinforcements.”

  Chuck laughed too. “I remember those.” He gave Jake a pointed look. “It’s only 5:30. They need coffee already?”

  “We were here until late last night too. It starts wearing on you. At this point, coffee’s the only thing keeping us upright.”

  “The serial killer case? The custodian or something?”

  “Janitor.” Jake glanced around, worried that someone might hear them. “Yeah, that one.”

  “I heard about Peyton. Is she okay?”

  Jake frowned. How had he heard about that? They’d been very careful to keep it out of the papers. “She’s doing better.”

  “What can I get you?” asked the young woman behind the counter.

  Chuck looked at the menu. “I’ll just have the house roast, little bit of cream and sugar. Just enough cream to color the coffee, not drown it.” He focused back on Jake. “So, she back at work now?”

  “Yeah. She came back the next week.”

  “Tough little gal.”

  “She is.”

  “She pulling the all nighter with you?”

  “No, she’s out of town for the weekend.”

  “Oh, good for her.”

  “Yeah.” Jake reached for another cup, pressing the lid down tighter.

  The barista passed Chuck his own coffee. “That’ll be $2.25.”

  Chuck settled the coffee on the counter and reached into his jeans pocket with his right hand, pulling out a five and setting it on the counter. “You said $2.25?”

  “Right.”

  “Hold on. I think I’ve got a quarter.”

  Jake took the next coffee and settled it in the holder, giving Chuck a friendly smile as he fished in his pockets. “I might have one.”

  “Nope, I got it.” He pulled his left hand out of the jacket pocket and slapped the quarter on the counter.

  The smile dried on Jake’s face as he fixated on Chuck’s hand. The entire back of it was colored black and blue, the edges yellowing.

  Chuck’s eyes shifted to him, then he reached over and rubbed the bruise with his right hand. “Nasty, huh?”

  Jake met his gaze. For some reason, he couldn’t find his voice.

  “I tell ya, when you get old the skin’s so damn thin. Even the slightest bump can make you look like a damn raisin.”

  The barista passed the change to him and he scooped it up, stuffing it in his pocket without taking his eyes from Jake. Lifting his coffee, he took a sip, grimacing at the burn.

  “So, you didn’t tell me. Where did Peyton go for her weekend?”

  Jake swallowed hard. “L.A.,” he managed to get out. “L.A.”

  “Good for her.” He patted Jake’s shoulder. “You better be careful. They make you pull all-nighters, pretty soon you start thinking you’re seeing ghosts.”

  Jake couldn’t respond. For some reason, just drawing enough air was damn near impossible. Chuck gave a laugh, then wended his way through the patrons to the door. Jake waited until he reached for the handle before he followed him.

  As soon as Chuck disappeared outside, Jake pushed through the people, grabbing the door and shoving it open. He searched up and down the street for any sign of him, but it was as if the man had disappeared. Oh shit!

  Fighting for composure, he started for the precinct.

  “Hey, what about your coffee?” shouted a barista behind him, but he ignored her, starting to run.

  * * *

  Bartlet paced the lobby of Genevieve’s apartment building. The security guard followed him with his eyes, but he hadn’t said anything to him yet. Bartlet pressed the button, buzzing her apartment again, but he received no answer.

  Grabbing the badge out of his pocket, he walked over to the security guard and showed it to him. “I need to do a welfare check on Genevieve Lake.”

  The security guard eyed him, chomping away on a wad of gum, but he didn’t move to help him.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you. Why do you need to do a welfare check?”

  “I’m concerned about her.”

  “Look, I’ll let you go up to her floor, but I just don’t see enough here to let you into her apartment. Knock on the door. Maybe her music’s blaring and she can’t hear the buzzer.”

  Bartlet put his badge away again. “Thanks.”

  “Hurry up. The elevator’s already here.”

  Bartlet jogged across the lobby and climbed inside. He pressed the button for Genevieve’s floor and paced the back of the elevator. Something was definitely wrong. If she didn’t want to see him again, all she had to do was say so, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more going on with her.

  The doors opened on her floor and he hurried down the hallway to her door, banging on it. Placing his hands on his hips, he stared at the carpet and listened for any sound. After a few seconds, he tried the door knob, but it was locked.

  This time he banged on the door with his fist. “Genevieve! Tell me to go away, but at least answer me! I’m worried about you!” he shouted.

  Still no response.

  The door next to her apartment opened and a middle aged man poked his head out. He had glasses perched on a hooked nose and a thinning crown. “She’s not home, bub. Mind not banging down the door.”

  Bartlet moved closer to him. “Did you see her leave?”

  “No, but I ran into her father when I was coming up the elevator. He came to take her to dinner. That was about an hour ago.”

  “Her father? Her father’s in L.A.”

  “So? There’s these things called planes, you know? Cars? Trains?”

  Bartlet held up a hand. “Okay.” He looked back at her door. Actually, that was good news. Maybe her father was also concerned about her and had come up to check out the situation on his own. Bartlet reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “Look, will you give this to her if you see her? Tell her Jimmy came by to see how she’s feeling. Tell her I’m worried about her.”

  The man took the card and studied it. “Cop, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She been sick or something? I haven’t seen her lately. We usually run into each other in the elevator.”

  “Yeah, she’s had the flu or something for a few days. That must be why her father came up to see her.”

  “Hm.” The guy placed the card on a table by the door. “Funny thing. Her dad wasn’t at all what I expected.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t get the wrong idea or anything, but I just didn’t expect him to be white.” He shook his head. “San Francisco really is a melting pot, I guess?”

  Bartlet narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “Like I said, it don’t matter none to me. Just, I didn’t expect that.”

  “Her father was white?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Her father’s black. I’ve seen pictures of him in her apartment.”

  The other man chewed on his inner lip. “Can’t be. The guy I rode up with was definitely white and he definitely said he was her father.”


  Bartlet didn’t wait to hear any more. He turned and started running for the elevator.

  * * *

  Jake burst through the doors of the precinct and threw open the half-door. “Give me that stack of files!” he shouted at Maria.

  She gave him a bewildered look. “What? Where’s the coffee?”

  “The stack of files! The ones on the cops we were researching!”

  Maria scrambled around on her desk, looking for them.

  “Cho!” Jake shouted. “Cho!”

  The conference room door opened and Cho stepped out. “Hold your water, Preacher. Why are you screaming at me?”

  Jake made an impatient motion with his hands at Maria as she struggled to put them together. “I went through those files myself, but I didn’t see his name.”

  Defino’s door opened and she stepped out.

  “Whose name?” asked Cho. “Where’s the coffee?”

  Tag and Simons appeared in the doorway behind him.

  Jake grabbed the files out of Maria’s hands and went to the counter, setting them down, then he frantically leafed through them. “How could I have missed that? I know I went through these files.”

  Cho moved to his elbow, looking over his shoulder. “What the hell are you babbling about, Ryder?”

  Jake’s fingers flew over the files. Osborn, Parker, Rodrigues, Sampson, Sharpe, Smith, Solomon, Turner...Wilson. Jake’s hands stilled. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Ambrose Wilson. “Ambrose? Ambrose Wilson?” He flipped the file open, scanning down the job application with his fingers. “Tight loops, rigid lines,” he mumbled.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  His finger stilled on the name. “Oh God, Ambrose Charles Wilson.” He turned the file so Cho could see. “Get me one of the letters he sent us.”

  Tag disappeared back into the conference room.

  Cho’s eyes lifted and speared Jake’s. “Chuck Wilson?”

  Jake nodded.

  “Did he serve in the military?”

  Jake turned back to the file and scanned down the application with his finger. Closing his eyes, he tried to slow his breathing. “Marines.”