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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “No, as soon as your ugly face leaves a room, I feel immensely better.”

  Holmes smirked at her. “Come on, sunshine. Let’s go.” He motioned for Bartlet to follow him.

  Bartlet met Peyton’s gaze. “How do you ever get used to it?”

  She smiled and rubbed a hand up and down his arm. “Sometimes you don’t, Jimmy, sometimes you don’t.”

  Marco walked a circle around the body. “Are these defensive wounds?” he asked Simons and Cho.

  Simons nodded. “Councilman Olsen did not go easily.”

  Peyton walked to the living room and peered around. “There are toys in here. Where are the kids?”

  “We’re trying to locate his family right now.”

  Jake appeared in the doorway, stepping into the townhouse. “Woowee,” he said in appreciation. “Nice digs.”

  “Yep.”

  He walked toward the body, settling his evidence case on the ground, then he frowned as he surveyed the victim’s face. “Who is this?”

  “Simon Olsen,” said Cho.

  “The councilman?”

  “Right.”

  Jake turned his attention to Peyton. “He was just in the newspaper on Thursday or Friday. I can’t remember.”

  Peyton moved back toward the dining room. “Why?”

  “His wife left him about a week ago. Packed up the kids and moved out. Then she filed for divorce.” He glanced around the circle of detectives. “There were accusations of domestic violence.” He tilted his head, studying the body. “Wasn’t he an ex-police officer?”

  “Commander of Ingleside a few years ago,” said Simons.

  Jake met Peyton’s gaze.

  She stepped closer to the body. “Did you mention anything to anyone at the office about the newspaper article?”

  Jake thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, but I didn’t read the article at home. It was sitting open in the break-room when I went to get coffee. It was open to that very page.”

  “Was anyone in the break-room when you went in there?”

  “No.”

  Peyton curved her hands around the cushioned top of a chair. “What day did you get the letter from the Janitor, Jake?”

  “Friday.”

  “What day did you read the newspaper article? Think hard.”

  “Friday.”

  Cho hit the back of a dining room chair. “He was in the precinct. He was right under our noses.”

  Marco shifted weight. “There’s a bigger problem here. He’s a councilman, which means he has direct ties to the mayor. We’re not gonna keep this one out of the papers.”

  “Uh, guys?” came Bartlet’s voice from the entryway.

  Peyton looked over at him.

  “Olsen’s wife is here. They’re trying to keep her in the lobby, but she’s demanding we let her up.”

  Simons placed a heavy hand on Peyton’s shoulder. “You should take this.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re better at questioning the victims,” said Cho.

  Peyton crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

  “You can relate better to her, especially if she starts crying.”

  “Really? Because I’m a woman?”

  “Yeah,” said Simons without hesitation.

  “Did the two of you take a sexist pill or something?”

  Cho gave Marco a bewildered look.

  “Do they have those?” asked Jake in feigned innocence.

  “Yeah, it’s called testosterone. All us women are hoping for a cure.”

  Jake frowned. “If it’s a pill, isn’t it supposed to be the cure?”

  “Shut up, Ryder,” she snapped, heading for the door. “You coming, partner?” she called over her shoulder.

  “Sorry,” she heard Cho say under his breath.

  “It is what it is,” replied Marco.

  Peyton stopped in front of the elevators, punching the button. Marco moved up beside her. “It is what it is,” she mimicked, glaring at him.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You’re pissed at Cho and Simons, and Jake, for that matter, but I get the brunt of it.”

  She turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. “You get the brunt of it? Bitchy female picking on a poor, innocent male?”

  He sighed.

  “What? I don’t have a point? They aren’t being sexist asses?”

  “You do and they are.”

  “And you’re just agreeing with me because you think that’s what I want, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m not as stupid as Devan thinks.” He gave her a pointed look.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They stepped inside and Peyton pushed the button for the lobby.

  “Jake told you why I threw Devan out?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m not taking it out on you, but did you have to agree with Cho about me?”

  He turned to face her. “Look, Peyton. They’re sexist assholes. You’re right, but they also have a point. You are better at questioning people than any of us. Is it because you’re a woman? Yeah, it probably is.”

  She thought about it for a moment. Maybe he had a point. Maybe they just wanted her to play to her strengths. “I don’t want them to think I’m not capable of being the same caliber cop that they are.”

  “You’re a better cop than they are and they know it.”

  She looked up at him. “Do you know it?”

  “You know I do.”

  She realized his approval meant more than anyone else’s. “I guess it isn’t bad that men and women are different.”

  “It’s one of the things I personally like best.” His voice took on a husky note.

  Peyton smiled. “Do you now?”

  He chuckled.

  The door opened and they stepped out. Holmes was waiting for them. “This way,” he said, leading them toward the security counter. A glass paneled conference room opened behind the counter and they could see a woman pacing back and forth, guarded by two uniformed officers.

  Peyton reached for her badge and stepped around the counter, entering the room. The woman whirled to face her. She was middle aged with a stylish bob haircut and a running suit that probably cost more than Peyton’s entire wardrobe.

  “I want to see my husband.”

  Peyton motioned for the uniforms to leave. They filed out around her. “Mrs. Olsen?”

  “I want to see my husband now. You can’t keep me down here.”

  Peyton held out her badge. “I’m Inspector Brooks of the SFPD and this is my partner, Inspector D’Angelo.”

  “Why are you keeping me down here?”

  “Would you please take a seat?” Peyton motioned to a chair at the conference table.

  “They said something happened to my husband. I demand to know what it is.” Her face clouded over and she started crying.

  Peyton placed a hand against her arm and gently directed her to the chair. She sat heavily and Peyton glanced around for a tissue. Marco retrieved a box from the security desk as Peyton sat down next to her.

  Taking the box from him, she offered the woman a tissue. She took it, but just sat, crying, holding the tissue crumpled in her hand. Peyton leaned toward her partner. “Can you find some water?”

  He left again.

  Peyton let the woman cry herself out, then offered her another tissue. She brought it to her face and blew her nose, then wiped the tears from under her eyes. Finally, she looked up at Peyton. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  She swallowed hard and fought to control herself.

  Marco returned with a glass of water and passed it to her. She took it, her hand shaking, and drank a sip, then set it on the table.

  “How?”

  “Hanging.”

  “Hanging? He committed suicide?”

  “No.”

  Mrs. Olsen gave her a bewildered look. “What do you mean no?”

  “I mean someone
hanged him. He fought back. He has defensive wounds and there are signs of a struggle in the living room.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re trying to figure it out.”

  “Is that why you won’t let me see him?”

  “Yes. We’re processing the crime scene right now.”

  She started crying again. Peyton waited patiently for her to stop, but Marco shifted uncomfortably. She glanced over at him. “Can you see if they have a video feed of the lobby and the elevators?”

  “Good idea,” he said and left.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said and rose, slipping out to the security desk to grab a paper and pen. She’d left her notebook at home. Coming back into the conference room, she found Mrs. Olsen calmer, sipping at the water and staring at a spot on the table.

  Peyton sat down again. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Mrs. Olsen?”

  “It’s Sally,” she said.

  “Sally. Do you mind if I take some notes while we talk?”

  Sally held out a hand, indicating she didn’t care. Peyton figured she didn’t care about much right now.

  “The first thing I need to ask you is if your children are safe.”

  Sally blinked at her, then released her breath in a shivery pant. “They’re with my mother.”

  “How many kids do you have?”

  “Two, boy and girl.”

  “And their ages?”

  “Samuel’s ten and Sarah’s twelve.”

  Peyton jotted it down.

  “I don’t understand how someone can hang another person, Inspector Brooks.”

  “I know. The M.E. should be able to give us some insight into that.” She shifted so she faced the other woman. “You and your husband were separated?”

  Sally nodded. “I left a week ago.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It wasn’t what I planned, but he left me with no choice.”

  Peyton looked down at her paper. “You filed for divorce?’

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  Sally met Peyton’s gaze. “I really don’t need anything else getting into the papers, Inspector Brooks.”

  “Believe me, Mrs. Olsen, I don’t want it in the papers either.”

  She swallowed and looked away. “Simon had a temper. He’d fly into rages and he couldn’t control it. He’s been in therapy for years.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  She met Peyton’s eyes. “Our entire marriage.”

  “For fifteen years?”

  “Yeah. The therapist said I was an enabler for taking it, but I didn’t know what else to do. I never finished college, I never held my own job, and then his political career started and he said I’d ruin him if I left.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I must seem like such a fool to you.”

  “Not at all. A lot of women don’t feel safe enough to leave, or feel that they can’t make it by themselves.”

  “Thank you for saying that. Too many people judge without putting themselves in anyone else’s place.”

  Peyton scratched some notes on her paper. “Sally, I have to ask you why you left though. A week ago, you took a huge risk and filed for divorce. Why?”

  She rubbed a hand across her forehead.

  Peyton waited. She didn’t want to push too hard and lose her cooperation.

  “He hit my son.”

  Peyton reached over and placed her hand on the other woman’s. “That was a brave thing to do, leaving him to protect your children.”

  “All these years I’ve thought about doing it, planning, scheming, praying, but in the end, it was so easy. I just walked out.” She wiped a tear away. “Still, I didn’t want him dead. He was the father of my children. We spent fifteen years together.”

  “Did your husband have enemies? Did he ever receive threats?”

  “He was a councilman. Before that he was a cop. He was bound to piss someone off.”

  “Did he receive any threats though?”

  “A couple times a year. Someone always investigated them and it always turned out to be nothing.” She scratched at the side of her face. “Why would anyone hang him? I can understand a gun shot or a knife attack, but hanging? Who hangs another person?”

  Peyton’s head lifted and her mind raced. Who hangs another person? Wayne Kimbro was shot execution style. Who was the second victim? What was his name? He’d died before she and Marco came on the case. It started with an A. Alfred, Albert. She racked her brain, trying to remember.

  Turning to the piece of paper, she scrawled an A. Shit. What was his name? Arnold. Alvin. Allen. Allen Brill. The man who was hanged by the Janitor.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” she said and jumped to her feet. Hurrying out to the security desk, she looked around for Marco. He was in another room across the lobby with computer monitors showing video feeds from all of the elevators and floors. A security guard was keying in the various feeds for him.

  She raced to the doorway and grasped the molding. Both men looked up at her. “He’s repeating his pattern.”

  Marco straightened. “What?”

  ‘The recent killings? They’re just like they were before. Wayne Kimbro was shot execution style. Then Allen Brill was hanged.”

  Marco’s expression sobered.

  “The third victim was the priest on Alcatraz, Marco.”

  He glanced down at the monitor.

  “Please tell me you’ve got him on video,” she said.

  He shook his head. “He knew where the cameras were and how to avoid a direct shot. He wore a hat, like the one he wore at Pier 39. We can’t even be sure of his height.”

  “But you can see him enter the building?”

  Marco drew a deep breath and released it. “Yeah, Peyton, we can see him enter. He came in with Simon Olsen and they were talking as if they knew each other. From the lobby to the area just outside his townhouse, Olsen never once indicated he was in trouble. It’s like he was talking to an old friend, someone he’d known his whole life.”

  Peyton ran a hand across her forehead. “What do we do now, Marco?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “We shut down Alcatraz.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “You want to do what now?” said Defino. Most of the time the captain squinted, but right now, if her eyes got any bigger, they might fall out of her head.

  Marco shifted weight and glanced at his fellow detectives. “We want to shut down Alcatraz to tourists.”

  They were all standing before Maria’s desk, filling Defino in on the councilman’s murder the previous night. Peyton wasn’t a fan of Mondays, but this Monday felt particularly bleak. She was going to be thirty in a week, and here she was trying to convince her captain to shut down one of the largest and most famous tourist attractions in the City.

  “And just how do you expect me to begin that conversation with the Chief of Police and oh, yeah, the Mayor, who right now isn’t our biggest fan? Then there’s the national parks department.”

  “It’s for public safety,” said Simons.

  “And what am I going to say is this safety risk? A serial killer?”

  “I think that genie’s out of the bottle, Captain,” offered Peyton.

  Defino exhaled. “They’ll never agree to shutting down Alcatraz, especially on a hunch, but we can beef up security. Did you get anything off the surveillance video?”

  “Not that we can see, except it appears Simon Olsen knew his killer,” offered Cho. “We took it to Stan to see if he can enhance it.”

  “Stan, the same Stan you two suspect?” She pointed at Marco and Peyton.

  “I never suspected him,” said Peyton.

  “It can’t be him. The guy on the video is too…” said Marco.

  “Too?”

  “Muscular.”

  “I see. Did Abe get our councilman’s body for autopsy?�
��

  “Yes, he said he’d get to it as soon as he could,” said Peyton.

  “Where’s Ryder?”

  “At his desk.”

  “I have his handwriting expert in the conference room.” She looked over at Maria. “Get the Chief on the phone for me, okay?”

  “On it.”

  She pointed at Cho and Simons. “You two, get down to Ingleside and pull Olsen’s employment records. Have Devan start working on a warrant.”

  Cho and Simons immediately left to do as she commanded.

  Defino pointed at Marco and Peyton. “You two sit with Ryder and the handwriting expert. See if you can figure anything out.”

  “I have to testify at Jedediah O’Shannahan’s trial today, Captain,” said Peyton.

  “That is just awesome.”

  Peyton glanced over at Marco, but he didn’t offer any help.

  “When?”

  “Whenever Devan calls me.”

  “Okay. You go prep for that. D’Angelo, you’re with Ryder.”

  Marco nodded, but as soon as Defino disappeared into her office, he caught Peyton by the arm. “When you have to go, you tell me, all right? I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that anymore, Marco.”

  “Have we caught the serial killer and I don’t know it?”

  “It just seems silly for you to keep following me around. He’s clearly not gone and he’s still killing.”

  “Which is why I need to be there.” He tugged her around to face him. “Do you remember the last time he used death by cop?”

  It hadn’t been out of Peyton’s mind for a moment. The minute her alarm clock woke her it was all she could think about, worry about, fear. He had used her to make Marco kill. Would he do it again?

  “Just tell me, okay, Brooks? Don’t try to outthink this crazy bastard. Not right now.”

  She nodded and he released her.

  * * *

  The handwriting specialist was a woman who looked like she came straight out of the Haight Ashbury. She had long, wavy blond hair and wore a flowing floral print skirt that brushed the floor. Her loose blouse was cinched at her waist with a belt made of rope and when she rose to greet them, Jake caught a glimpse of the flat sandals she wore.

  He shot a look at Marco and held out his hand. She grasped it in both her own, rubbing her thumb across his palm.