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

by M. L. Hamilton

  She eyed the Giants’ baseball cap. “Is that his hat?”

  “Yeah, I was just grateful it wasn’t a freakin’ fedora.”

  “I have a London Fog raincoat at home. I used to wear it when I worked at the bank.” Jake’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “You mean a flasher coat,” said Peyton wryly.

  Defino shook her head in disbelief. “You do know we’re meeting in this stupid diner to talk about a serial killer, right?” She braced her head with a hand. “God, I really need to retire.”

  The blond waitress appeared again. “Are you ready?”

  “Oh shit,” said Defino.

  Peyton grabbed the menu and flipped it open. “I’ll have…uh, the tuna melt.”

  “On sour dough?”

  “What else?” she answered with a smile.

  The waitress turned to Jake, dismissing Peyton. “What do you want?”

  “I’ll take your classic hamburger with fries.”

  Peyton glanced down at the menu and saw a tall, frothy confection at the bottom. “Oh, and I’ll take a chocolate milkshake.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Jake.

  Defino shook her head in disbelief.

  “And I’m the one you suspended,” said Marco.

  “What about you, blue eyes?” the waitress asked with a simper.

  Jake gave Peyton an I told you so look.

  “Just a coffee, black.”

  Peyton glanced over the menu again. Yep, didn’t seem to be anything vegetarian there.

  She waited for Defino.

  “Just give me a bowl of your soup du jour.”

  “Soup du what?”

  “I can feel my blood pressure rising just sitting here.”

  “Soup of the day,” said Peyton quickly.

  “Oh, okay.” She wandered off again.

  “Oh, yeah, she’s a woman to make you forget to grow old,” Defino said to Jake.

  Peyton fought her smile.

  “I’ve been thinking about the letter a lot, Captain,” he said, shifting the subject. “And I think the serial killer wants to make a connection. He wants to be caught. When I’ve researched other serial killers, they all have the same modus operandi.”

  “M.O. would have been fine.”

  “But less fun to say. Anyway, that letter is his way of connecting with someone.”

  “But what does it have to do with the people he kills?”

  “I don’t think we’ve gotten there yet. He’s trying to prolong the inevitable, so he’s gonna feed me the story a little at a time to keep us guessing.”

  “Then maybe I’m not the recipient of this sick, little infatuation,” said Peyton. “Maybe you are.” Although that made her almost as uneasy. She’d be responsible too if Jake was his target.

  “No, it’s you,” said Jake.

  Marco nodded as well.

  “He’s just connecting with me because I’m safe. I’m the only one of us not packing heat.”

  “Carrying a gun would have been fine,” said Defino. “Is there anyone in the department who’s made strange overtures of friendship toward you, Jake?”

  “Peyton, but…”

  She tried to kick him, but he moved his leg away.

  “Anyone else?”

  “No. Cho barely tolerates me, Simons treats me like his personal service dog. Maria thinks I’m a douf.”

  “She’s not the only one,” grumbled Marco.

  “Except Stan. He does seem friendlier than the others.”

  “We’re getting hung up on Stan,” answered Defino. “What about the street cops? Any of them try to talk to you? Make friends?”

  Jake shook his head. “They’re worse than Cho. It’s like they can’t even see me.”

  Shifting in the booth, Defino squinted at Peyton. “Look, Brooks, it’s Friday. Why don’t you take the weekend off?”

  “What? I can’t do that, Captain. We need to go over that letter with a fine tooth comb.”

  “We’ll have the lab do the combing, but here’s my thought. If you don’t come in, maybe he gets nervous and leaves us more evidence. Maybe he’ll try to make contact with Ryder again.”

  “I’m working the weekend too?” Jake whined.

  “No.” Defino was surprisingly good at talking through clenched teeth. “Let’s set up a surveillance camera on Jake’s desk. Maybe we’ll catch him.”

  “He’s too smart to be caught by that, Captain. We have surveillance cameras on all the entrances and we don’t have any idea who it is.”

  “If it’s someone in the precinct, how would we be able to tell? We’re all on surveillance when we enter and leave,” said Jake.

  “If someone’s messing around your desk, that might be a start,” reasoned Defino.

  “I think we need something bigger to flush him out,” said Peyton. “He’s gonna see us setting up the camera.”

  “I’m listening then.”

  “I don’t have it right now, but…”

  “Well, take the weekend to figure it out. You can report to me on Monday with a list of ideas. I still want a camera on Jake’s desk, and maybe we’ll have something back on the letter by then. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he left a fingerprint or DNA.”

  “I tell you he’s too careful for that,” said Peyton. “I’ll bet he wrote it in gloves.”

  “What about a handwriting expert?” offered Jake.

  “Good idea, Ryder. I’ll call one in for Monday.”

  “Do I have to stay undercover?” complained Marco.

  “At least through the weekend. He made contact while you were gone.” She gave him a critical look. “But can’t Abe help you find some better clothes?”

  “Abe, Captain? He’ll have me wearing a speedo in hot pink.”

  For the first time, Defino laughed.

  * * *

  Peyton slumped down on the couch across from Marco. “I don’t know what to do with a day off.”

  “Let’s go for a run.”

  She sighed. “I guess that’s a good idea.”

  After she changed, they took her normal path and for the second time in the same week, they made it all the way to Golden Gate Park. It was later than the previous day and the sun was peeking through the fog, but it was still pleasant jogging beneath the trees, along the lush avenues that wound their way through the one and a half miles of greenery.

  They stopped at Peasant Pies for a single serving fruit pie and ate it with a cup of coffee, sitting in the window seat so they could watch people walking past. Once they finished, neither of them seemed anxious to leave, so Peyton sipped at her coffee and let the traffic mesmerize her.

  “I can’t imagine living in another city,” she said.

  He nodded. “I’d like to see New York, but it’s the west coast for me.”

  “New York would be fun. I’d like to go to D.C. too.” She braced her chin on her hand. “I can’t believe how few places I’ve been. This job is so all consuming, I don’t even know what to do with myself when I get a day off.”

  “Well, New York is out, but is there anything in this city you haven’t done?”

  She thought for a moment. “You’re gonna think this is crazy, but I’ve never been to the deYoung Museum.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head.

  He rose to his feet at once. “Let’s go home, grab a couple of showers, and go.”

  “Really? You wouldn’t want to go someplace more exciting?”

  “What’s more exciting than doing something you’ve never done before?”

  “Okay,” said Peyton, pushing out her chair.

  An hour later they were wandering the brightly lit halls of the museum, looking at the exhibits and studying the works of art. Peyton enjoyed reading the placards that explained about the art, since her experience with art was limited to what she’d learned in a mandatory art class in high school.

  She liked the Renoirs and Cézannes, and she was particularly fond of the van Gogh they exhibited, but some o
f the more modern pieces escaped her. A swatch of red color splashed over a sea of black didn’t seem very hard to accomplish. She figured Pickles could knock over a bucket of paint about as well as this fellow did.

  Taking a seat on a bench in front of it, she tilted her head. “I like the French guys, but I think maybe some of this modern art is beyond me.”

  Marco chuckled, sitting down beside her. “That’s the beauty of art. It’s subjective. There’s no right or wrong answer. We react to it on an elemental level, a gut level. You can’t rationalize it or attack it with logic – it just is.”

  Peyton glanced over at him. “That’s pretty deep, D’Angelo.”

  He smiled. “I like art. I like that no two people see it the same way.” He nodded at the piece in front of them. “When I look at this, I see a statement about humanity. We’re all fumbling around in the dark, alone in a violent, angry world.”

  Peyton looked back at it. “Hm. Sort of bleak.”

  “Yeah, but that one.” He pointed at the one next to it. “The bright colors, the geometric patterns – that one is trying to make sense of a chaotic world, finding light and order in all the muddle.”

  She studied him. She realized she hadn’t seen him this relaxed in a long time, probably as far back as Alcatraz.

  He bumped her with his shoulder. “Full disclosure. If I had any inclination toward going to college, this is what I would have studied.”

  “Art?”

  “Art history.”

  “Really?”

  “Crazy, huh?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Not sure how I would have paid the bills, but it would have been fun to study.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  He shrugged.

  “How is it you can know someone for eight years and still learn something new about them?”

  “That’s probably a good thing. Otherwise, people would get boring. So tell me something about you that I don’t know.”

  She thought for a moment. “This is a little embarrassing, but I love to read romance novels.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. The really cheesy ones where the woman gets rescued by the guy on a white horse.”

  “Whew! I thought you were gonna tell me you were into that Mommy porn stuff.”

  “Oh God, no.” She gave a shudder. “Any man who tried to spank me would wind up on the receiving end.”

  “I know. I heard about Junior Walker.”

  She laughed. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, kicking her feet beneath the bench. “I’m fully capable of rescuing myself. I should definitely not enjoy anything that sexist.”

  “How is it sexist?”

  “That a woman can’t rescue herself, she needs a man.” She shook her head. “I’m embarrassed just thinking about it.”

  He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Everyone needs to be rescued sometimes, Peyton.”

  She slid closer to him and wrapped her arms around his bicep, laying her head on his shoulder. “I have to admit as days-off go, this one ranks right up there at the top.”

  He laid his cheek against her head. “I agree.”

  * * *

  Jake went to the kitchen to retrieve two beers, but as he headed back toward the living room, the doorbell rang. Pickles set off barking, leaping down from the couch and running to the entryway. Jake looked to Marco for direction. Marco hoisted himself out of the recliner, moving toward the army cot where his gun lay, but Peyton appeared in the hallway.

  “It’s Devan,” she said, crossing toward the front door.

  Jake followed her with his eyes. She had her hair down and had discarded her Saturday sweats for a pair of jeans and a floral sleeveless blouse that showed off her toned arms. All day she’d puttered around the house, cleaning things and complaining that there was nothing to do, but now she appeared looking like she was meeting a date.

  He moved toward the couch and held the beer out to Marco. Marco ignored it, watching her cross to the door.

  Clearing his throat, Jake gave him a pointed look.

  Marco grabbed the beer and threw himself down into the recliner, his jaw clenched.

  Peyton scooped up the little dog and opened the door, stepping back so Devan could enter.

  “Hey,” he said, then bent and kissed her cheek. He held a bottle of wine in one hand.

  “I thought we were working,” she said, scratching Pickles’ ears.

  “No reason we can’t have a glass of wine while we work. It’s from Napa.” He offered it to her, then noticed Marco and Jake. “Oh, I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

  “Join the club, buddy,” muttered Jake, shifting back around so he could see the television.

  “D’Angelo,” Devan said.

  “Adams.”

  Devan moved to the end of the couch and held out his hand for Jake. “Ryder.”

  Jake gave him a quick shake. “District Attorney.”

  Peyton set Pickles down and walked into the kitchen. The little dog ran and leaped into Marco’s lap, settling down in a proprietary manner.

  “Baseball, huh?” said Devan.

  “Yep.”

  “Giants?”

  “Yep.”

  “How they doing this year?”

  Jake looked up at him.

  He shifted uncomfortably. He wore a pair of black slacks and a polo shirt, but the shirt was tucked into the slacks.

  “Holding their own.”

  Devan nodded. “Don’t watch much baseball myself.”

  Jake acknowledged that with a lift of his chin.

  “I like tennis.”

  “Tennis?”

  “Yeah, went to Wimbledon once.”

  “All the way to England, eh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wimbledon’s in London,” Jake told Marco in a slow, simple voice just to goad him.

  Marco didn’t respond, just continued to stare daggers at Devan.

  Peyton returned with two glasses of wine and passed one to the D.A. “Let’s work at the counter.”

  “Sure. Well, enjoy the game.”

  Devan followed her toward the kitchen. Jake shifted on the couch until he was at the farthest end, closest to the recliner. “Might have been less embarrassing if you had a pissing match right on Peyton’s floor.”

  “Shut up, Ryder.”

  “Fine. Stew in your own self-imposed misery.”

  Marco looked at the television.

  The rumble of Devan’s voice reached them, followed by Peyton’s laugh.

  Marco glanced over. “What the hell is he doing here anyway?”

  Jake kept his eyes glued to the television. “He’s going over her testimony for the O’Shannahan trial.”

  Peyton laughed again.

  “Trial or comedy act?”

  Jake frowned at him. “Comedy act?”

  “What’s so damn funny?” He placed his hand on Pickles’ head and stroked him, rather hard.

  “Don’t break her dog. That won’t earn you any points.”

  Marco gentled his touch. “I don’t need points.”

  “You need something.”

  “If he’s going over her testimony, why do they need wine?”

  “You could ask them.”

  “I’m not asking them.”

  “Then you could sit here and growl about it all night.” Jake leaned on the arm of the couch. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you two only work partners? Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “Do you have to be an ass?”

  “I’m not the one sitting over here stewing.”

  “I’m not stewing.”

  “No, you’re about to explode. That ought to be entertaining. How are you going to explain getting so worked up over another man?”

  “He’s supposed to be engaged.”

  “Well, obviously, he’s uncertain about it.”

  “What kind of man does tha
t? He tossed her away, then he gets engaged to another woman, but here he is again, sniffing around.”

  Jake took a sip of his beer. “What exactly did you think would happen, Adonis? Did you think no other man would find her attractive?”

  Marco’s gaze lowered to him. “What does that mean, Ryder?”

  “Look, I’m still not over my wife, but I’m not gonna lie to you, if I thought I had a chance in hell, I’d be bringing her wine too. Problem is she sees me as her brother and that ain’t never gonna change, but if you think I’m the only man who sees how great she is, you’re a freakin’ idiot.”

  Marco’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not helping right now.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. She’s smart and funny and…”

  “I don’t think you better finish that and.”

  “All I’m saying is someone’s gonna come along and see exactly what she is, and then it’ll be too late.”

  “Someone like him?”

  “She’s not gonna be a fool for him again. And you don’t have to worry about Stan either, but if this bothers you, what are you going to do when it’s someone who is willing to take a chance and isn’t afraid to tell her what he feels?”

  Marco moved suddenly, setting the beer on the table and depositing Pickles next to Jake.

  “Adonis?”

  “I need some air,” he said and walked to the front door, yanking it open.

  Peyton swiveled around on the barstool and gave Jake a questioning look.

  “He’s gotta make a call,” he said, then went back to watching his game.

  * * *

  After Marco walked out the front door, Peyton figured they should probably get down to business. She pushed the wine away. “So what’s first?”

  “The first and most important thing is to not let O’Shannahan rattle your cage. He’s gonna try that, and let me tell you, rattling cages is in Elizabeth Brown’s wheelhouse.”

  “When does the trial start?”

  “It starts Monday. You’re first on my list to call.”

  “Okay.”

  “Elizabeth Brown will try to discredit you. She’s gonna bring up everything you’ve ever done. You need to be on your toes because she’ll probably ask you some of the same questions that came up at Claire Harper’s trial.