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

by M. L. Hamilton

  The Nova man was my first kill.

  It’s surprising how easy it is. To kill, I mean. Once you determine you have no other choice, humans are easy to eliminate. Even though he was big, I was bigger and muscular thanks to football. I knew I had twenty or thirty pounds on him. When he went to get in his car, I was waiting on the side of the house.

  I grabbed him around the throat with my forearm. I figured that would keep him from screaming. Then I just squeezed. He fought me, but he wasn’t big enough or else I was more determined than he was. Eventually I think I broke his neck, because he just stopped fighting. I made sure he wasn’t breathing and I threw him in the backseat of his car.

  I had a moment of panic then. What do you do with a body?

  I went back to my house and grabbed some old baseball gloves, then I took his Nova and drove him into the City. I figured if I left him in Hunter’s Point or the Tenderloin, no one would look too far to find his killer. And they didn’t.

  I think they came out once to question Missy’s family, but they didn’t know anything, so the cops went away. Eventually I went to the Marines, but that’s a story for another time.

  Right now, I think I’ll take a walk and meet up with a friend who recently got out of jail. Ironic, really, this friend of mine, he was like the Nova man. He liked having sex with sixteen year old girls too.

  Well, who knows? It’s always good to get some fresh air, especially at noon. Something about San Franciscan architecture has always fascinated me. So eclectic, so unique. In one spot you have the beauty of an old Victorian mansion and in another Greco-Roman colonnades – such diversity in one city.

  What’da ya say, Handsome, interested in round two!

  Peyton dropped the letters and jumped to her feet. “The Palace of Fine Arts,” she told Marco. “He’s going to strike at the Palace of Fine Arts.” She reached for her phone and looked at the display. “It’s almost noon.”

  Jake’s mouth dropped open as they went into motion. He’d seen them muster out before, but nothing like this. The precinct exploded in a flurry of activity as uniforms were dispatched and the detectives suited up in flak jackets and weaponry.

  Jake didn’t even have a chance to warn Peyton to be careful before she was running toward the front doors. He followed behind in a haze as they spilled out into the parking lot, sirens blaring in the foggy August day. At the door, she paused and looked back, giving him a lift of her hand, then she was gone. Jake sagged against the counter, his heart pounding a frantic tattoo beneath his ribs, wondering again why he hadn’t jumped at the chance to go home to Nebraska where things moved at a comprehendible pace.

  * * *

  The man was about thirty, African American, dressed in a navy blue hoody and a pair of baggy jeans. His hair was combed out in a huge afro and he had a tattoo on his neck. He stood beneath the dome in the Palace of Fine Arts, both hands in the air, but in one he held what looked like a Colt revolver.

  Peyton and Marco crept up next to Holmes and Bartlet. They were hiding behind a large planter box on the edge of the trail leading up to the dome. “What’s going on?” she said.

  “He’s been like that for fifteen minutes. Calls started coming in from civilians, and when cops arrived on scene, he threw up his hands and started shouting. He gets quiet for a while, then he starts shouting again. Whenever they try to get close to him, he puts the gun to his temple,” said Holmes.

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t think anyone’s asked.”

  Simons ran over, keeping his head down. “Defino wants you to try talking to him, Brooks.” He handed her a megaphone. “See if you can talk him down.”

  “I’m not a hostage negotiator, Bill.”

  “They’re more than an hour away, Brooks. You’re all we’ve got right now.”

  Peyton glanced around. They were on the path leading into the Palace of Fine Arts, just off the parking lot. There was plenty of cover, but there were also plenty of places for a gunman to be hiding. She surveyed the houses around the reflecting pool. They were a distance away, but that didn’t mean the Janitor wasn’t watching from one of them.

  Her eyes caught on Cho, shielding himself to her left behind a colonnade. A number of uniforms were positioned around the reflecting pool, all with their guns drawn and pointed at the man pacing beneath the dome.

  “We need to search every single house,” she said, nodding at them.

  “We gotta get a lot more backup in here for that. Cho’s requested a helicopter.”

  Bartlet was also looking around, his young face anxious. “Do you think the Janitor’s watching us right now?”

  “Probably,” said Peyton. “Keep your head down.” She glanced at Marco. “This is just like Alcatraz.”

  “And yet it’s not. Get him to put the gun down, Brooks, and maybe we end this without him dying.”

  Peyton nodded and took a deep breath, then she lifted the megaphone to her lips. “This is Inspector Peyton Brooks from the San Francisco Police Department,” she said, her voice echoing back at her. “Put down the gun and we can talk.”

  The suspect wheeled around toward her voice, both hands pressed to the top of his head, the gun pointing upward. “I don’t want to shoot anyone! I don’t want to shoot!”

  “Okay, put the gun down and no one gets shot.”

  “I can’t! I can’t! He’ll kill me!”

  Peyton shared a look with Simons. “Who? Who will kill you?”

  “Don’t shoot me! Please, don’t shoot me!” His voice was pitched at a level of absolute panic. Peyton could tell he wasn’t going to be able to stand this much more.

  “We won’t shoot you if you put the gun down.”

  “I can’t! I can’t put it down!”

  Peyton closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. He was beyond the point of actually listening to her. Panic had taken over and he was in flight or fight mode. Either outcome would get him killed.

  Suddenly her phone rang in her pocket. She grabbed for it and glanced at the screen. Defino’s number flashed at her as she pressed it on. “Captain?”

  “Peyton, it’s Jake.”

  “Jake, not a good time right now!”

  “Peyton, Handsome is Marco.”

  “What? What the hell are you saying? Handsome is Marco?”

  Marco looked over.

  “The letter. The Janitor’s letter said what’da ya say, Handsome…”

  “…interested in round two,” Peyton finished. Oh God, it was Alcatraz. She met Marco’s eyes. For some reason, she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. “How do you know? How do you know he means Marco?”

  “That’s what he called him when he talked to me at Pier 39. I’ll never forget it. He was surprised Marco had thought up the sting and he called him Handsome.”

  Peyton shook her head. This couldn’t be happening again.

  Marco’s jaw hardened and he lifted his gun, checking it. Peyton reached over and grabbed his shirt sleeve.

  “No,” she managed to get out.

  “Brooks, this has to end. He’s either going to shoot himself or the Janitor will. I’m sick of picking up his dead bodies.”

  “Marco, no!”

  “I’m not going to take any chances. I promise you.”

  “Marco!” She started to grab for him, but Holmes stopped her, then she felt Simons’ hand encircle her upper arm, holding her back.

  Marco rose to a half crouch and moved around the planter box, then he ran over to the first colonnade and slipped behind it. Peyton grabbed Simons’ hand and tried to push it off. “Let me go!” she ordered.

  “Brooks, think! Talk him down. Get him to lower the gun!” hissed Simons in her ear.

  She watched as Holmes followed the same path as Marco, moving toward the dome, and a moment later Bartlet went after them, fanning out to cover more area.

  Peyton lifted the megaphone, her hand trembling. “We want to help you! Help us! Tell me your name!”

  The man paced back
and forth, doing a strange shaking motion with his head. “I don’t want trouble! I don’t want to shoot anyone!”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Irving, Irving Jones!” he shouted.

  Simons turned away and began talking into his radio, but he still kept a hand firmly latched around Peyton’s arm. Peyton struggled against him, trying to see where Marco was. He had slipped around a column and was out of her line of sight.

  “I can’t see him, Simons. I can’t see Marco.”

  Simons ignored her, still talking into the radio.

  Overhead she could hear the sound of the helicopter coming, the rotors cutting through the dense late summer fog. Once the helicopter arrived it would make communicating more difficult. Not to mention the sirens echoing in the distance. She was running out of time.

  “Irving! Put down your gun and we’ll talk. I promise you. Please, just put down your gun!”

  “He said he’d kill me. He’s got a gun on me right now. I don’t know where he went, but he’s got a gun on me right now!”

  “What direction did he go, Irving? After he left you, what direction did he go?”

  Irving said something, but his voice was swallowed up by the sirens as more police cars arrived. Peyton wrenched Simons’ hand free and started to crawl toward the end of the planter box. She had to get closer to them.

  Simons reached out to grab her, but she evaded his grasp and ran to the first column, throwing herself behind it. The helicopter wheeled in overhead and Irving began screaming, waving his hands in the air.

  Peyton lifted the megaphone to tell him to stop, but suddenly Marco lunged out from behind a column and tackled him. At the same time, gunshot ricocheted off the colonnade around the dome and sent pieces of concrete flying.

  Peyton hit the deck, covering her face with her hands. The sound of the helicopter was deafening and the sirens continued to wail as she closed her eyes and prayed it would soon end. After a few moments, she heard the helicopter begin to fade away and someone was grabbing her under the arms, hauling her to her feet.

  She briefly marked that it was Cho, then they were running toward the safety of the parking lot, keeping their heads down. As soon as they were beneath the cover of the eucalyptus trees, she shook off Cho’s hold and turned back toward the Palace of Fine Arts.

  Police were swarming the area, uniforms racing everywhere. She searched frantically for Marco, but the area was covered in cops, closing everything down, securing the location. She started up the path again, but suddenly he was there, surrounded by uniforms who were urging him to safety. At his side was a traumatized and weaponless Irving Jones, very much alive.

  * * *

  “I was just going to get some cigarettes, and he come up behind me, stick something in my side. All a sudden I can’t move, like I’m jelly or something. Next thing I know he throws me in this van.”

  “What’d the van look like?” asked Cho.

  A male paramedic was taking Irving’s blood pressure while he sat in the back of the ambulance. Peyton hugged her arms around herself, trying to hide the fact that she couldn’t stop shaking.

  “I don’t know. I was whacked out, man. He hit me with something.” He turned and pushed up his hoody, showing them two burn marks on his side.

  “Taser,” said Simons.

  “Yeah, he tazed me, crazy bastard. He tazed me.”

  “Where did he park the van?”

  “I don’t know. I was banging on it and banging on it. Then he throws open the back and tells me to get out. I can’t even see the crazy bastard, but he tells me he’ll kill me if I don’t get out. Then he makes me start walking. We walk forever. Every time I try to get a look at him, he hits me on the back of the head and tells me he’ll kill me if I turn around again. He stays right on my back. I ask him if he’s gay or something and he hits me so hard I almost black out.”

  Cho scratched his cheek. “What race was he?”

  “I don’t know. I never looked.”

  “Did you see his hands? Anything?”

  “No, man, he’s got gloves on. The whole time the freak’s got gloves on.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “I don’t know. I was practically shitting myself I was so scared. We just keep walking and walking and we get to that crazy Greek place. He shoved me in the back and knocks me down, then he leans over me and puts the gun in my hand, tells me if I drop the gun, he’ll shoot me in the back. Then he tells me not to get up for five minutes.”

  “Did you kneel there for the whole five minutes?” asked Simons.

  The paramedic cut the sleeve of Irving’s hoody, searching his inner elbow. Peyton figured he must be looking for signs of IV drug use. Tattoos ran down the length of his arm. Peyton looked over at the parking lot. Cops still swarmed the area, searching every inch of it, cataloguing evidence. She knew more searched the houses, but she was fairly sure the Janitor was gone. She caught a glimpse of Jake with his camera snapping pictures. Standing to the side was Marco and Defino, having a heated conversation. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but it was just as well. She wasn’t sure what she’d say.

  She shivered and hugged herself tighter. One of these times she was going to watch him get shot and she didn’t think she could stand it. Too many close calls, too many narrow escapes. One of these times his number was going to come up.

  “I sat there, counting Mississippis forever. I damn near shit myself again. I didn’t plan on ever moving again, but this guy comes up and asks me if I’m okay. I lost it. I grabbed the gun and I jumped to my feet, then I don’t remember too good what happened. I musta stood there for hours, just screaming that I wasn’t gonna shoot no one.” He looked around. “Where’s that cop?”

  “What cop?”

  “The one who took me down?”

  “He’s busy,” said Simons.

  “He saved my life, man. He saved me. The crazy bastard shot at me. He was gonna kill me. I felt the bullet go past my face. I felt it!”

  Peyton flinched and looked away.

  Cho and Simons exchanged a look. “Do you have any idea where the shot came from?”

  “No. I couldn’t see or hear anything. That cop was all over me, but I felt it. I felt the bullet.”

  “I’m ready to transport, Inspector,” said the medic.

  “We’ll get you a police escort. Hold on.” Cho walked away to make the arrangements as the medic helped Irving climb into the ambulance.

  Simons lumbered over to Peyton and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

  She nodded up at him. “I’m fine, Bill.”

  “He did good, Brooks, you know that, right?”

  “Who?”

  “D’Angelo. He saved that guy’s life.”

  She glanced over at him. “He could have been killed.”

  “We can all be killed, sweetheart. That’s the job.” He chucked her under the chin. “You did good too. You got old Irving Jones talking.”

  “And the Janitor got away again.”

  “Yeah, but one of these times we’ll get him. Don’t you worry. And today, today we saved a life.”

  She nodded and forced a smile. Simons gave her a smile in return and walked back to the ambulance, hoisting his bulk inside.

  Peyton watched as Marco disengaged from Defino and came toward her. He walked with that long, loose gait of his, almost a swagger. She studied his features, searched his face, and she realized she didn’t want to talk to him right now. Her emotions were too raw, sitting on the surface, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to scream at him or punch him or throw her arms around him and hang on for the rest of her life. For the last eight years, he’d been a permanent fixture in her life, her rock, her support, her best friend, but since he’d moved in to watch over her, she found herself seeing different things about him, things she couldn’t process right now and the thought that he’d almost been shot created even more confusing feelings inside of her.

  She swallowed hard
and tightened her hold on herself. “Are you suspended again?”

  He shook his head, stopping in front of her.

  “Good.” She looked at a spot above his shoulder. She couldn’t meet his eyes just now.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “You’re shaking.”

  “I always shake after a shoot-out.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you take the Mustang and go back to the precinct? I’ll finish up here.”

  She met his gaze. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  He blinked and held out his hand. “I wasn’t doing that, I just thought…”

  “What? That the stupid woman couldn’t handle the action. That I was about to fall apart.”

  He narrowed his eyes on her. “Are you?”

  “Go to hell, Marco.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Brooks, look I don’t know what’s going on, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. I just want this to be over.”

  He took a step toward her, but she held out her hand, stopping him. “Please don’t. If you touch me right now, I don’t know whether I’ll coldcock you or hug you.”

  “Fair enough.” His lips lifted in a wry smile. “I appreciate the warning.”

  A nearly hysterical laugh escaped her and she pressed a hand to her forehead. “We missed him again, Marco.”

  “I know.”

  She looked into his eyes. He did know. He understood what she couldn’t put into words. He wasn’t like the other men she worked with who felt the need to give her platitudes and pat her on the head as if she were a puppy. He understood. No one had ever understood her the way he did, and it suddenly struck her that without him in her life, she wouldn’t know what to do.

  She loved her mother and her friends, but Marco, Marco had a special place in her life, a special place that belonged to him alone. Still hugging her arms around herself, she stepped forward and pressed her forehead to his chest, closing her eyes. The familiar scent of his aftershave enveloped her and she released her held breath.