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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “What about working at the jails?” asked Simons.

  Jake searched. “He worked at County Jail 5 for two years before he got the job with the precinct.”

  Tag passed him the letter. Jake positioned it next to the job application, comparing the handwriting. Cho looked as well.

  “Is it a match?” said Defino.

  “It looks that way,” answered Cho. Grabbing Jake’s shoulder, he turned him until they were face to face. “How the hell did you figure this out?”

  “I ran into him at the coffee shop.”

  “What?”

  “He came up to me when I was getting coffee. He asked me about Peyton and ordered a house roast.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he ordered!” shouted Cho. “He asked about Peyton?”

  “It’s important,” said Jake. “The coffee cost $2.25, so he gave the girl a $5 bill, but he said he had a quarter. He started searching in his pockets for the change and when he took his left hand out of the pocket, I saw the back of it. It was covered in a nasty bruise.”

  Cho glanced over his shoulder at Simons. “Okay, go back to when he asked about Peyton.”

  “He wanted to know if she was back at work and if she was pulling the all-nighter with us. I said no, that she was out of town.”

  Cho’s expression shifted to pinpoint focus. “You what?”

  “I told him she went to L.A. I was so freaked out I couldn’t think straight.”

  Cho nodded. “Okay, good. Then what happened?”

  “He went out the door. I followed him, but he disappeared around the side of the building.”

  “Going which way?”

  “West.”

  “Did he get in a car?”

  “I didn’t see. I followed him until he disappeared, then I ran over here.” Jake glanced around.

  Everyone had gone still. He recognized this. He’d seen it before. A second later, they would burst into motion.

  Defino broke the standoff. “Get an APB out on Charles Wilson. Post his picture on all the wires.”

  Tag hurried off.

  “Get some uniforms over to the coffee house and show his picture around. See if anyone saw him leave and what he was driving.”

  Simons moved then.

  Cho turned to go, but Jake caught his arm. “We’ve got to tell them,” he said.

  Cho hesitated. “No. Peyton will be on her way back here before you finish the call. Leave it alone. He asked about her. We don’t need her getting caught in the crossfire. Let them have their weekend.”

  Jake didn’t release him. “Then tell Marco. He needs to be warned.”

  Cho’s eyes went beyond Jake to Defino. Jake could see Defino’s nod from the corner of his eyes. “Fine. Text D’Angelo, but tell him to stay put. You got that?”

  “Yeah.” Jake released Cho and watched him hurry away, then he reached for his phone.

  * * *

  Bartlet skidded to a halt at the security desk. “You’ve got to let me in her apartment.”

  The security guard gave him that same slow look. “Why?”

  “Her neighbor rode up in the elevator with her father, but her father was white.”

  “That happens sometimes.”

  Bartlet slammed his hand down on the counter, making the guard jump. “Her father is black. I’ve seen his picture.”

  The security guard tilted his head the other way. “Did it occur to you that maybe he wasn’t her father? That maybe he was a date and he was embarrassed to be dating a younger woman? Or maybe he’s a married man?”

  Bartlet leaned on the counter. “I’m telling you something’s wrong. She left with this man. She hasn’t been out of that apartment in days. Who the hell would she have met? You’ve got to let me into that apartment. As a cop, I’m authorized to do welfare checks.”

  “You just told me she wasn’t in the apartment, so how can this be a welfare check? If you have a warrant…”

  Bartlet paced away from the desk. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Genevieve’s number. It rang a number of times, then went to her voice mail. He disconnected and stared at the screen. He could call Holmes. Holmes could bluster his way into the apartment, but then Bartlet would have to tell him he’d been seeing Genevieve against the express command of his supervising lieutenant. He could lose his job for this.

  He could also call D’Angelo, but that was a faster way to get fired.

  He looked over his shoulder at the security guard, then he walked back to the counter. “I think I heard a scream in her apartment. I might have to kick down the door. Probable cause, you know?”

  “You heard a scream from down here in the lobby?”

  “Maybe I heard it when I was outside her door. I guess I’ll just go back up.” He started to reach over the counter to push the elevator button, but the guard stopped him.

  “Okay, look, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll call the manager and see if he’ll come down, then he can decide whether to let you in the apartment or not.”

  “I’ll take it,” said Bartlet, curling his hands into fists.

  * * *

  Marco adjusted his tie in the mirror over the wet bar in their cottage. He hardly wore one of these and he never could seem to get it on straight. Reaching into his pocket, he made sure the ring was there. He thought he’d feel more nervous facing this monumental step, but he wasn’t. Spending the day with her, wandering through art galleries, had only affirmed what he already knew. No one made him feel the way she did. She made him laugh, she made him feel like he was the most important person in the world, and when she looked at him and gave him that secret smile of hers, he sometimes felt like he couldn’t breathe.

  His phone vibrated on the counter and he picked it up, thumbing it on. It was a text message from Jake. He stared at it, unable to process what it said.

  We figured it out. Chuck Wilson is the Janitor. Cho says to stay put, but be careful.

  Marco drew a breath. Holy shit! Chuck Wilson was the Janitor. It all clicked into place. The voice, the access, the way he taunted them.

  “Is something wrong?”

  His fingers tightened on the phone and he quickly closed the message, then scrolled up to Vinnie’s latest picture. He knew what would happened if he told Peyton. She’d be packing to get back to the City, but damn it, he was having this night. He was taking one thing for them.

  He pulled up the picture and turned to face her. “Vinnie sent another picture of Pickles and the kids.” He held it up, then stopped.

  She was standing just outside the bathroom. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, spiraling in curls down her back, the way he liked it, and she wore a blue dress that came to just above her knee with a pair of strappy black heels. The dress fit her curves perfectly and shimmered a little when she moved. She stole his breath again. He ached looking at her.

  “Wow! I am the luckiest man in the world,” he said, approaching her.

  She smoothed her hands over the lapels of his jacket. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Lieutenant.”

  He smiled and took her hand, stepping back from her. “You are gorgeous, woman. I don’t remember this dress.”

  “I can do some shopping myself. When I saw it, it reminded me of your eyes.”

  God, he loved her. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we order dinner in tonight?”

  She laughed and held him off. “We can’t keep doing that. What will they think?”

  He lowered his head toward her. “I don’t care what they think. I only care what you think.”

  She pushed away from him. “You promised me French.”

  “I did.” He straightened and slowly released her. “Well, then lady, your chariot awaits.”

  “The Charger awaits,” she said, grabbing her wrap off the bed.

  He took it from her and slipped it over her shoulders, letting her hair spill through his fingers as he settled it again. “In Medieval times a charger was
a knight’s horse, so I guess I’ll take that.”

  She laughed and turned to face him. “Where did you learn that?”

  “Stan.”

  She nodded and took his hand when he held it out to her. “Of course.”

  * * *

  Genevieve’s neighbor wandered down to the lobby and stood with him as they waited for the manager to arrive. The security guard chomped on his gum and read a magazine, completely unconcerned with Bartlet’s anxiety.

  But he knew something was wrong. Everything had been going great between them. Sure, she hadn’t let him spend the night yet, but everything else was good. They talked a lot, they went on dates, then a few days ago, she’d cut him off. Just like that. No explanation, no excuses, she was just done with him.

  It’s didn’t track. He might not be as good looking as Marco, but he wasn’t half bad himself and she seemed into him. She seemed to like spending time with him. Besides, she was too honest not to tell him that she wasn’t interested. She’d never said that. She’d never told him she didn’t want to see him anymore.

  The outer door opened and a man in a pale blue windbreaker and a navy blue polo stepped inside. Genevieve’s neighbor elbowed him and pointed at the man. The man moved behind the counter and talked with the security guard, then looked over at Bartlet.

  Bartlet reached for his badge and approached the counter, laying it on the surface. “I want to do a welfare check on Miss Genevieve Lake.”

  “Right.” The manager steepled his hands. “Here’s the thing. Jeff here doesn’t feel like you’ve provided sufficient reason for us to violate the privacy of our tenants this way. Now if you had a warrant…”

  Bartlet leaned over the counter. “I’m telling you I think something’s wrong. Now if I’m right and something happens to her, how is that going to look when it comes out you denied a police officer his right to do a welfare check?”

  “Mr…”

  “Officer.”

  “Officer…” He glanced at the badge. “Bartlet, please understand our position. If you had any solid evidence…”

  “This man rode in the elevator with a man who claimed to be her father. The man was white, but her father’s black.”

  “Yes, but that’s not really evidence. She left with this man of her own volition.”

  Bartlet paced away from the counter. Clearly there was no choice. He was going to have to call Holmes and get some help. Tipping back his head, he rubbed his neck. Shit. He was going to lose his job over this.

  His eyes chanced on the camera in the corner of the lobby.

  He whirled back to the counter. “Okay, how about this? How about you show me the video feed from earlier today when…” He motioned at the neighbor.

  “Greg,” the neighbor offered.

  “Greg got in the elevator with the man.”

  The manager and the security guard exchanged a look.

  “Listen, I get you can’t let me into her apartment in order to protect her privacy, but you can let me see the video feed. It’s public knowledge that you guys are recording down here.” He pointed to the sign behind their backs.

  “Fine,” said the manager, motioning to the guard. “Let’s look at the video feed.”

  “What time did you get in the elevator?” Bartlet asked Greg.

  “Around 3:30.”

  Bartlet held out his hand to the security guard. The man reached for his mouse and began clicking. While Bartlet waited, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and stared at the display. A text message from Holmes blinked at him. Call the precinct ASAP. He shoved the phone back in his pocket, ignoring it. If he was going to get fired, he might as well do it in style.

  The security guard motioned him around the counter. Bartlet and Greg both hurried to the end and peered over the guard’s shoulder. The black and white screen revealed the lobby, angling back toward the elevator. Bartlet could see a woman enter and cross to the security desk, followed by a man. The man kept his face down, avoiding the cameras.

  “There,” said Bartlet, pointing at him.

  “Looks like the guy I met. Same build.”

  “Can you zoom in on his face?”

  “We lose all acuity then. This is as good as it gets.”

  The man walked to the elevator, then paced out of sight. Bartlet looked toward the elevator. There was nothing back there, except a table and a plant. The man was trying to avoid the camera or the security guard or both.

  At 3:32 the door opened again and Greg entered. The woman hadn’t left the counter, but Greg waved a hand at the security guard and headed for the elevator. As soon as he arrived, the other man appeared, shaking hands with him. They climbed on the elevator together.

  “Fast forward it,” said Bartlet, motioning at the mouse.

  The security guard clicked the mouse and the video sped forward. The woman left the counter and went to the elevator, got in, and the doors closed, then nothing for a good few minutes. Suddenly, motion appeared.

  “What’s that?” asked Bartlet, pointing at the screen.

  The security guard backed it up to 3:47 and slowed it. The elevator doors opened and Genevieve appeared, Bartlet would recognize her anywhere, and walking at her elbow was the man, but he was turned into her so his face wasn’t visible. They made an awkward, stumbling scramble across the lobby and went out the doors.

  “Play it again,” growled Bartlet.

  The security guard’s back had stiffened as he watched, but he clicked the mouse.

  “Where were you when that happened?” the manager asked him.

  “I was trying to find Mrs. Greer’s package. That’s what she was at the counter for. I was in the back, searching for it.” He stopped the feed and pressed play.

  They all watched as Genevieve and her assailant made their awkward way to the front doors. Bartlet pointed at the screen.

  “Damn it! Do you still think she went willingly?”

  The manager shook his head, reaching for the keys attached to his belt. “Come on. I’ll let you into her apartment.”

  Bartlet wanted to pace in the elevator, but there were too many people now. He reached for his phone, but he didn’t have service. Then they were at Genevieve’s door and the manager was letting him in. He pushed past him and walked into the middle of her apartment.

  Behind him, the manager flicked on the light.

  Clothes were strewn across the furniture and floors, dirty plates and glasses lined the tables, and a lamp had been turned over.

  “Whew! This place is a mess.”

  Bartlet went to the lamp and studied it, then looked at the floor. The edge of the rug had been folded back, showing the matting. “There was a struggle.”

  The security guard made a rude noise. “Sorry to tell you, bub, but this wasn’t a struggle. Your girl’s a pig.”

  Bartlet whirled on him, pointing at the lamp. “Who the hell knocks over a lamp and doesn’t put it back?” His eyes fell on a bit of lace and silk fabric on the floor – women’s lingerie. He walked over to it and hunkered down.

  “I don’t think you should be messing with her skivvies, bub,” said the guard.

  “Shut up!” He wasn’t interested in the lingerie. He’d seen a corner of paper peeking out beneath the fabric. He lifted the scrap of clothing with two fingers, exposing the paper – a business card with the words Clean-up Crew typed in red ink.

  He dropped the lingerie, covering his mouth. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Oh, shit!” Then he reached for his phone.

  * * *

  The maître d’ showed them to a table, holding Peyton’s chair as she sat down. Bouchon was a little French bistro in Yountville, just outside of Napa. Abe had raved about it.

  Candlelight flickered in the center of the white linen table, and the floor was covered in thick blue carpeting that deadened the sound of the voices all around them.

  Once they were seated, the maître d’ clasped his hands behind his back and gave them a smile. “Can I get you a cocktail?”
He held out menus for them.

  “Dom Perignon,” said Marco without hesitation.

  “Marco?” said Peyton in concern.

  He smiled at her. “It’s okay.”

  “Very good, sir,” said the maître d’ and then moved off.

  Peyton slid her wrap off her shoulders. The thin straps of the dress exposed her shoulders and the barest hint of cleavage. Marco couldn’t stop looking at her.

  “You’re spending a fortune this weekend,” she said.

  He shrugged, feeling in his jacket pocket for the ring. “For the rest of the night, please don’t worry about the cost. After all, this is our first date.”

  She laughed. “You’re right.” She braced her chin with a hand. “Aren’t you supposed to have a date before you start living together?”

  “That’s usually the way it works.”

  A middle aged man arrived at their table in a crisp white shirt, black bow tie, and black vest. He had a white apron wrapped around his middle. “Good evening. My name is Jonathan and I’ll be your waiter tonight. Have you decided?”

  Peyton grabbed her menu. “I’m sorry. I haven’t even looked at it.”

  “May I recommend the Lapin Braise?”

  Peyton made an uncomfortable face. “Rabbit?” She smiled up at him. “I’m not feeling that brave. Do you have anything vegetarian?”

  “The Gnocchi A La Parisienne is delightful. It has a fricassee of vegetables in a brown butter sauce.”

  “I’ll take that,” she said, closing her menu.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Marco said. “You can have whatever you want.”

  “That’s what I want,” she answered. “I don’t think we’ll be having Lapin Braise in your kitchen anytime soon.”

  He laughed and glanced at the waiter. “I’ll have the same.”

  “Very good,” said Jonathan, moving away.

  The Dom Perignon arrived and Marco toasted their first date. As the rest of the courses appeared, they talked about the precinct and laughed about the adventures they’d had. Even though everything had changed between them in the last few weeks, so much remained the same. Marco couldn’t deny that he felt more comfortable with her than he did with his own family. When he thought of the things that reminded him of home, she was at the center.