Murder in the Presidio (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 6)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Marco simply gave him an aggravated smile.

  CHAPTER 5

  Peyton crept out of her bedroom and tiptoed toward the front door, but came up short when she saw Marco sitting up on his cot, tying his running shoes.

  She shifted toward him. “It’s five in the morning.”

  “I know. I didn’t think you were sleep walking, especially in your sneakers.”

  Jake grumbled and rolled over on the couch, putting a pillow over his head.

  She tied her hair back in a ponytail. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” Marco rose to his full height and stretched. “You mind some company on your run?”

  “Not if it’s you.”

  He smiled at her. “I wasn’t sure you’d go after self-defense class last night.”

  “Self-defense? That was mostly shouting no, sprinkled with female empowerment slogans. What I really wanted was to hit something.”

  “Well, I didn’t mind all the yoga pants.”

  She shoved him in the shoulder. “Apparently the female empowerment slogans were lost on you.”

  “So how far do you usually run?”

  “I head toward the park and go as far as I can before I get hungry. I love to stop at Peasant Pies on Irving for their blueberry pear pie and then I turn around.”

  He chuckled. “Sort of defeats the point of running.”

  She shrugged, bending over to stretch her thigh muscles. “At least I feel less guilty about it.”

  “Oh, for God sakes, go running already. I can’t take any more cutesy conversation,” scolded Jake.

  With a laugh, Peyton moved toward the door. Reaching for her gun felt strange. She’d never run with it before, but Marco had her scared enough not to take any chances.

  Marco rolled his shoulders to loosen them. “By the way, Jake snores.”

  “I know,” she said.

  He frowned. “How do you know?”

  “I can hear him through the walls.”

  A pillow came sailing over the back of the couch and hit her in the side. She picked it up and tossed it back, then pulled open the door. Fog always hovered over the City in the early morning, sometimes burning off as the sun rose beyond the houses. Closing the door behind her, she skipped down the stairs and then used the brick façade of the house to stretch her calf muscles. Marco stretched his upper body and she couldn’t help but notice the way his compression t-shirt pressed tight against his flat belly and molded to his sculpted shoulders.

  She deliberately looked away, thinking it probably wasn’t a good idea to compare him to the other men she knew. That was like comparing a Rolls Royce to a Buick.

  After they loosened up, she led the way and began running up 19th toward the park.

  Marco kept pace beside her and she found herself motivated to go past Irving and all the way to the park. She came to a stop at the entrance, eucalyptus trees rising around her, and braced her hands on her thighs, panting. She was pleased to see he was also winded.

  They walked a bit farther until they cooled down and could breathe easier. She enjoyed the quiet. Few cars were on the road this early and the only other people they’d seen had been a number of joggers and a couple walking their dog.

  Wandering beneath the trees in Golden Gate Park, she realized there was no one else who made her feel so comfortable. She and Marco could spend hours without talking and it didn’t seem awkward. How many hours had they spent on stake-out or working at their desks without having to fill each moment with sound? And whenever he was beside her, she couldn’t deny she felt safer.

  As they walked back toward the edge of the park, he glanced down at her. “Want your pie now?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I hate to add back the calories we just burned. You up for a return jog?”

  “You betcha,” he said, and they headed back the way they’d come. “You know Abe has plans for your birthday?”

  She nodded, not finding it as easy to talk as he did while they jogged.

  “He’s renting a limo.”

  “A limo?”

  “Yep, and he wants to take you to see the Chippendale dancers.”

  Peyton glanced over at him, her heavy ponytail bouncing against her back. “Who all is he inviting?”

  “The usual suspects.”

  That would be awkward with Marco and Jake there. “I don’t know about that.”

  “I vetoed the strippers.”

  “Thank you.” Then she remembered her other plans. “Wait. When?”

  “Either the Friday before your birthday or Saturday, unless you’re spending Saturday with your mom.”

  “It’ll have to be Saturday. I have a date with Stan Friday night.”

  Marco dropped down to a walk. “A what?”

  She slowed as well. “A date.”

  “With Stan?”

  “Yeah.”

  He glanced over at her. “You do know that means I have a date with Stan too, right?”

  She grimaced. “I didn’t think about that. This is gonna be pretty miserable for you, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not thrilled with dating Stan, no.”

  She laughed. “You don’t have to come into the restaurant. I’m sure Stan would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

  “I’m sure Stan would appreciate it if I never came around you again.”

  She pushed him in the arm. “He’s a good guy.”

  “He’s also completely smitten with you. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “It’s just dinner and when he asked me, I didn’t know what to say. My dance card hasn’t exactly been filling up lately.”

  Marco looked away.

  She knew he wasn’t comfortable talking about her love life or lack of it with her. She usually left such conversations to Abe. “So should I call Abe and tell him about Saturday or will you?”

  “I’ll call.”

  They arrived back at the house.

  Jake and Maria were still sleeping, so she crept into the kitchen and fixed Pickles his breakfast, while Marco took a shower. After taking the little dog out, she went into her bathroom and showered herself.

  When she emerged, Jake was making coffee and toast in the kitchen, Marco’s cot was folded, and Maria was in the bathroom. Marco didn’t seem to be in the house.

  “Where did Marco go?” she asked, taking a seat at the counter.

  Jake tossed Pickles a crust of bread and pushed a cup of coffee at her. “He went to wait in his car for you. He said to take your time.”

  She took a sip of the coffee, then glanced around. “Seen my phone?”

  “It’s on the coffee table under the newspaper.”

  After she retrieved it, she came back to the counter and Jake set a plate of toast in front of her. “Any jam?”

  He went to the fridge, while she thumbed on the phone.

  “Did Marco get anything to eat?” she asked.

  Jake settled the jam in front of her too, then passed her a knife. “Just coffee, which he grumbled about.”

  “What’s wrong with the coffee?” She glanced at her text messages. She was hoping for one from Defino about the Ballistics report, but there was nothing.

  “Too freakin’ fancy,” Jake said in a fair imitation of Marco’s deep voice.

  Peyton smiled and opened the jam jar, spreading a thick layer on her bread. “Did Maria come out in her nighty?”

  Jake shook his head. “She actually put a robe on. With me, I get a peep show, but with Marco, she’s all demure and proper.” He leaned on the counter. “What is it about me? Do I look like everyone’s asexual uncle?”

  “Asexual uncle?”

  “You don’t have one of those?”

  Peyton tilted her head. “No.”

  Jake shrugged. “I do. For years when I was little, I couldn’t decide what bathroom he used in public.”

  Peyton frowned. “Remind me not to go to the Midwest.”

  Jake gave her a bewildered look. “Says the native San
Franciscan.”

  She laughed. “Point taken.”

  “So, what is it?”

  She shook her head in confusion. “What is what?”

  “Do I look asexual to you?”

  She drew a deep breath and exhaled. “This has got to be one of our strangest conversations, Jake.”

  “Think about it. Everyone who looks at Adonis gets all hot and bothered, and not just women either, but when I come along, it’s like I’m invisible.”

  “You’re not invisible.”

  “Really? What happens whenever we go out? People can’t help but notice Abe. He’s usually dressed like Mardi Gras, and you, the hair stops them in their tracks. With Adonis, people just stare at him, or whisper, or wink, or simper…”

  Peyton touched his arm. “I get it.”

  “But me? Me, they just glance on past.” He pointed toward the hall. “For weeks, I can tell you exactly what panties Maria is wearing to work.”

  “This is getting a little creepy.”

  “Tell me about it, but this morning, she comes out in full make-up, her hair perfect, wearing a robe.”

  Peyton smiled. “I don’t know what to tell you. Marco just gives off this…” She shook her head.

  “This what?”

  Well, what? Sexuality, sensuality? She didn’t feel comfortable naming it. “This vibe, but you, you’re…”

  “Asexual.”

  “No, just safe, non-threatening.”

  “Asexual.”

  Peyton rubbed her temple. “Comfortable.”

  “Like an old, smelly shoe.”

  “Jake, please, do you really want to come across as dangerous? Women don’t like dangerous.”

  “I wouldn’t mind mildly threatening.”

  Peyton covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. She didn’t know what to tell him.

  “I’m vanilla, aren’t I?”

  Peyton’s brows rose. “Vanilla? There’s nothing wrong with vanilla. It’s everyone’s favorite flavor.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s the safe flavor they go to when they’re afraid to try something daring.”

  “What flavor do you want to be?”

  Jake thought a moment, then he picked up his coffee cup and punctuated his words with it. “Rocky road.”

  “Rocky road?”

  “Yep, I wanna be rocky road.”

  Peyton started to answer, but her phone rang. The captain’s name flashed across the screen. She snatched it up and thumbed it on, pressing it to her ear. “Captain?”

  “Brooks, where are you?”

  “Home.”

  “Good. Ballistics came back with the report.”

  Peyton felt her mouth go dry. Jake straightened across from her, giving her a worried look. “And?”

  “His gun was clean.”

  Peyton closed her eyes and released her held breath. She’d never really doubted him, but the threat of it had kept her on edge for days now.

  “Brooks?”

  “I’m here,” she said, giving Jake a nod.

  He also released his breath.

  “Is Jake with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take him over to Junior Walker’s house this morning. I’ve cleared you to search the house for evidence.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell Marco to stay back still, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Ballistics will deliver his gun today. I’ll release it to you.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “Call me if you find anything at Walker’s house.”

  “I will, Captain.”

  “Brooks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful. You better keep a weather-eye out, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Captain, I will.”

  Defino hung up without saying goodbye. Peyton put her head down on her arms and let the tension seep from her shoulders.

  “You knew he didn’t do it, Peyton.”

  “I know. I was just so scared.”

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  “Defino wants us to search Junior Walker’s house this morning.”

  “For what?”

  “A Clean-up Crew card.”

  “Okay. Let me grab my bag.”

  She nodded and reached for the phone again, pressing the icon for Marco’s number. “Jake,” she called over her shoulder as she put the phone to her ear.

  He leaned back around the corner of the kitchen. “Yep?”

  “Vanilla never waited for a ballistics report to clear him for duty. Vanilla is always steady and dependable.”

  He smiled at her and disappeared from view.

  * * *

  Peyton pulled the Corolla to a stop in front of Junior Walker’s house in the Sunset. The last time she’d been here, they’d helped Maria move her things out and Marco had threatened Junior’s life. The time before that, Junior had gotten the drop on her and nearly put her in the hospital. She couldn’t lie – she wasn’t sad he was dead.

  Still, they had a job to do.

  She shifted in the seat and gave Jake a pointed look, but Jake was searching the side-view mirror.

  “Is that what Defino considers inconspicuous?”

  Peyton glanced behind her and saw the sleek midnight blue Mustang pull up in back of them. The windows were tinted so dark she couldn’t see inside, but she knew it was Marco. “I think she was going for anything that wasn’t the Charger.”

  “Just what I was saying earlier. I get a gay pride float and he gets a freakin’ sex machine on wheels.”

  “A sex machine on wheels?”

  “I’m spit balling here.”

  “What sort of sex do they have in the Midwest?”

  Jake leaned his head back against the head-rest. “What’s with all this Midwest hate all of a sudden?”

  “You just keep saying such odd things lately.”

  “Are we going in or do I have to sit here and take more abuse?”

  “We’re supposed to wait for a uniform.”

  “Then turn on the radio.”

  Peyton pressed the button and a local talk show came on the air. They were discussing San Francisco’s earthquake preparedness.

  “No music?”

  “They don’t play country or western in the City.”

  Jake gave her an aggravated look, but she laughed and punched him in the shoulder.

  “I’m kidding. They do.”

  Jake shook his head, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

  “I know.” Her expression grew serious as a patrol car pulled into the driveway. A young, blond woman got out, adjusting her gun in her holster. Peyton and Jake moved at the same time, opening their doors and climbing out.

  Peyton approached her, taking her badge from her belt. “Inspector Peyton Brooks,” she said, holding out her other hand.

  “Officer Erin Tate,” the young woman said, shaking Peyton’s hand. “Inspector, huh? How long you been on the force?”

  “Almost nine years, eight as a detective.”

  “Pay better?”

  Peyton shrugged. “A little.” She motioned at Jake. “This is our CSI, Jake Ryder.”

  The two of them shook hands. Peyton shot a glance at the Mustang. “Full disclosure – my partner’s in the Mustang over there. He’s sort of laying low.”

  Officer Tate displayed her training by simply nodding and not asking a lot of questions. “Let me show you in.”

  They mounted the stairs, ducking under the crime tape, and Officer Tate pulled out a key to unlock the padlock the police had put over the doorknob to preserve the scene. Jake handed Peyton a pair of gloves on the landing and she pulled them on. She marked that Officer Tate did the same.

  They stepped into the dark entryway. Peyton felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, but whether it was the memory of her time here or the eerie quiet, she wasn’t sure. Jake reached over and flicked on the light.

  The first thing Peyton saw was the blood stain before the recliner where
Junior Walker had sat the second time they came here. Congealed brain matter and bits of bone could been seen swimming in the mix.

  Peyton grimaced and looked away.

  “We went over this scene pretty carefully. What exactly are we looking for?” asked Officer Tate.

  “A business card,” said Peyton.

  “White with red letters,” added Jake.

  Peyton glanced at the officer. “Says Clean-up Crew on it.”

  Officer Tate’s mouth dropped open.

  Peyton gave her a nod. “Yep.”

  “The serial killer?”

  “That’s the one.” She glanced toward the back of the house. She remembered the bedroom and the bathroom had been through the kitchen. “Let’s split up, so we can get this done faster. This place is making my skin crawl.”

  “If you find anything, give a shout and I’ll come,” said Jake.

  Officer Tate nodded. “Any idea where it might be?”

  “That’s the problem,” said Peyton. “I’ll take the bedroom, Jake will cover the living room, and you search the kitchen.”

  They dispersed to their various locations. Peyton figured the card was probably in the living room, where the body had been, but surely someone would have found it. Clearly Officer Tate knew of the Janitor. So would any other cop responding to a shooting. Still, it bothered her that the Janitor was deviating from form. Usually the cards were found on the bodies themselves. Serial killers were rigid in the methods they employed. She didn’t remember one going off the grid. If so, it would make this one a hell of a lot harder to catch, especially if it was someone on the police force.

  She searched all the visible surfaces in the bedroom, then looked under the bedding and crawled around on the floor, scanning beneath the furniture. She tried to ignore the pile of dirty clothes in the corner, but eventually she knew she’d have to search it. After garnering enough courage to handle Junior’s skivvies, she quickly searched through the clothes, even going through the pockets on his jeans and shirts.

  Leaving the bedroom, she peeked into the kitchen. Officer Tate was on her hands and knees, going through the cabinets and drawers. Peyton was pleased to see how thorough she was. Turning down the hallway, she went to the bathroom and again took it apart methodically, even dumping out the trash can and going through his garbage.