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

by M. L. Hamilton

  The man was sitting on the sidewalk, looking shaken. Black skid marks started in the street and went up and over the sidewalk.

  Officer Hodges touched the plain-clothes officer’s shoulder. “Tell him what you told me,” he said to Jake.

  The plain-clothes officer stood and held out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Logan.”

  “Jake Ryder. Look, my housemate is Inspector Peyton Brooks. She went for a jog a while ago and she hasn’t returned.”

  Sergeant Logan’s attention focused on him. “What does she look like? The name’s familiar.”

  “Short, maybe 5’4” if that, African American, her hair was in a ponytail…” Before he could finish, the man sitting on the sidewalk nodded his head.

  Sergeant Logan immediately turned away, speaking into the radio on his shoulder. Jake felt his knees go weak and he almost collapsed. Oh, God! What the hell happened? He searched around the area for a body, for some sign of her, but there was only the tire tracks.

  His hands shaking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, thumbing it on. Then he pressed Marco’s number and put the phone to his ear.

  A moment later, the phone stopped ringing, going to Marco’s voice mail.

  “D’Angelo, this is Jake. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. It’s important.”

  * * *

  Peyton realized she could move her hand. She lifted it to her head and pressed it against her temple where she had struck the closed door of the van. Her fingers came away damp.

  The van leaped over a rut in the road and landed hard, throwing her to her back. She moaned and lowered her hands to her side, pressing against the ache from where the probes had been torn from her flesh. More dampness covered the tips of her fingers.

  She carefully pulled her shirt up, trying to inspect the damage, but it was too dark to see anything. Still the wounds didn’t seem to be actively bleeding. She touched her temple again, grimacing at the ache all along the back of her skull, but that didn’t seem to be bleeding badly either. Another flesh wound.

  Carefully rolling to her side, she got her knees under her. Her limbs still felt wobbly and the bouncing of the van wasn’t helping. It was so dark in back, she couldn’t see anything, but she had the sense that they were traveling at a pretty good clip.

  Sliding to the back doors, she ran her hands along them, searching for handles, but nothing met her probe. In fact, she found two round metal discs where she figured the handles should have been. Pressing her shoulder to the doors, she pushed, hoping at the very least to break the seal and get some light into the cargo area, so she could assess the situation.

  They didn’t even budge. Then again, she couldn’t get any traction on the smooth surface of the cargo van floor. Another bounce of the suspension and she was thrown to her back. She closed her eyes and grappled with the pain, then rolled over again.

  Searching methodically on her hands and knees, she felt for anything she could use as a weapon. Tire iron, tools, anything that might give her an advantage when the crazy bastard inevitably brought this thing to a stop.

  She cursed herself as she went, furious that she’d gone running by herself without her gun.

  Suddenly she remembered her cell phone and she scrambled for her pocket to pull it out. Collapsing against the side of the cargo van, she let out a sob of frustration. Her cell phone must have fallen out of her pocket when he grabbed her.

  Feeling around until she located the doors again, she put her feet against them, then kicked as hard as she could. No use pretending like she was going to go easy, she decided.

  * * *

  Jake glanced at Sergeant Logan from the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t just stand around doing nothing. Peyton needed their help, but they were more concerned about keeping the public away from the crime scene. More cops had converged at this location and Logan was barking orders. Unable to help himself, Jake approached the man on the sidewalk, taking a seat beside him.

  “Hey, I’m Jake,” he said, holding out his hand.

  The man shook it. “I’m Jim.”

  “Hey, Jim, I guess you saw what happened?”

  “Yeah, he took that woman. Was she a cop?”

  “Yeah. Did you get a look at her attacker?”

  “He had a black ski mask covering his face.”

  “What exactly did you see?”

  “He shot her with a taser, then grabbed her. I yelled at him to stop, but he pointed a gun at me.”

  “What kind of gun?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know guns.”

  Jake nodded, trying hard to still the panic in him. “He put her in a car?”

  “Cargo van.”

  “Did you get a license plate number?”

  “It was a commercial plate. That’s all I remember.”

  “What about the color?”

  “White.”

  “Any idea the year?”

  “Old. I don’t know.”

  “Could you estimate how tall the guy was?”

  “Bigger than her.”

  “Right, but as tall as you?”

  Jim hung his head. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I thought he was going to shoot me.”

  Jake forced himself to take a calming breath.

  Sergeant Logan approached him. “Do you know if Inspector Brooks had her cell phone on her?”

  Jake’s heart leaped and he jumped to his feet, digging his own cell phone out of his pocket. “She did.” He started to call, then stopped himself. “Are you sure I should call it? What if it makes him mad and he hurts her?”

  Sergeant Logan’s expression grew grim. “I think that’s the least of our worries right now.”

  Jake’s fingers tightened reflexively on the phone and he went still. His brain wouldn’t work for a moment.

  “Ryder, make the call!” urged the sergeant.

  Jake eased his grip on the device and pressed the icon for Peyton’s phone. He didn’t bother to put it to his ear, just pressed the button for the speaker. The haunting play of music echoed somewhere behind them.

  Jake turned, staring into the undergrowth beneath the trees. Sergeant Logan walked over to the spot and bent, lifting Peyton’s phone out of the dirt. He carried it back to Jake and Jake disconnected the call, feeling his stomach clench.

  Pressing the button on the bottom of the display, Sergeant Logan stared at the screen. The phone didn’t go back to the home window. Instead it went to the contact’s list -- one contact in particular.

  Turning the phone so Jake could see, Logan gave him a searching look. “Who is Marco?” he said.

  * * *

  Marco couldn’t get the Mustang anywhere near Peyton’s house. Cops and news vans had 19th blocked off. He yanked the car over to the curb, shut off the ignition, and jumped out. Reaching back in, he hooked his cell phone and dug his badge out of his pocket, then he started running.

  He’d been calling Jake for a good half-hour now, frantically trying to get any information he could. Jake knew less than nothing, nothing more than he had when he’d first called Marco. The police radio wasn’t any better.

  They were searching the City for a white cargo van, early model, commercial license plate number, no marking on the sides, driven by a nondescript man who might or might not be wearing a ski mask. Marco still couldn’t believe this was happening. He kept thinking it was some joke, some cruel prank to make him finally confess his feelings for Peyton.

  Yet he knew it wasn’t.

  A cop tried to stop him, but he shoved his badge in his face and kept running. If they wanted to stop him, they were going to have to put a bullet in his back. Nothing was keeping him from her house.

  He made it to the walkway and dashed up the stairs.

  The interior crawled with cops. Defino, Cho and Simons, Stan with his computer set up in her window. Abe paced the kitchen.

  His gaze zeroed in on Ryder and he crossed the room in two strides, grabbing him by the throat of his sweatsh
irt and hauling him up. “What the hell happened?”

  Jake grabbed his wrist, trying to break his hold. Then Cho and Simons were there, pulling him off, stepping between him and Jake.

  “Calm down, D’Angelo!” said Cho, pressing his hands against Marco’s chest.

  “How the hell did this happen? She was in her room!”

  “She went for a run,” said Jake.

  “A run! Why didn’t you call me?”

  “She was insistent. I offered to go with her, but she got angry at me. Besides that, you weren’t exactly answering calls, were you?”

  “Where is she?”

  Defino moved up beside Cho. “We don’t know, D’Angelo, but you’ve got to calm down.”

  Marco took a step back. Everything fell into place, all of the horrible things he’d been thinking suddenly coalesced. “He’s got her.” The agony in his own voice shocked him.

  “That’s what we think,” said Defino.

  “He’s been watching her all this time.” He ran a hand through his hair and paced to the window. “Oh, God.” He realized he was hyperventilating and bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs.

  Abe came over and placed a hand in the middle of his back. “Sit down.” He guided him to the arm of the couch. “Keep your head down.”

  Marco tried to fight the black spots that danced in his peripheral vision, but he felt like he might pass out.

  “Take slow, deep breaths, Angel.”

  “How long has it been?” he said.

  “We figure it’s been two hours,” answered Defino.

  “He could be out of the City by now!”

  “I know.”

  He’d left as soon as he’d gotten Jake’s message, but that had been almost an hour after he called. He hadn’t heard the phone with the noise from the game and then he’d been clear across the bay. There just wasn’t a quick way to get back into the City once you left it, especially with two sporting events occurring on either side of it. Hours had passed and in that time, anything could have happened to her.

  “He was watching her. He knew exactly what she did.” He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid to leave her. All this time, she hadn’t gone anywhere without him, but the one time he left her, the one time he let down his guard…

  He realized he was clutching the middle of his chest, his heart was pounding so.

  “I’m going to give you a sedative,” said Abe. “Your pulse is racing.”

  “NO!” He pushed Abe off and stood. “We need to shut down all of the highways. Search every cargo van.”

  “We’re already on it,” said Simons, gripping his shoulder.

  “He was watching her,” he said again. “All this time, he’s been watching her.”

  Jake lifted his head and made eye contact. Marco knew immediately that he had something. “He has been watching her,” he repeated. He walked to the window and yanked back the curtain. “The house across the street.”

  Defino’s expression hardened. “Go!” she ordered Cho and Simons.

  They were moving even before she spoke. Marco started to go after them, but Defino stepped in front of him. “Not you!” she commanded.

  “Captain!”

  “Don’t screw with me right now, D’Angelo, or I swear I’ll have you arrested! I can’t have you messing up a crime scene!”

  “Captain, please!”

  “No! Sit your ass down or I’ll have Abe give you that tranquilizer.” She pointed to the couch, then looked over at Jake. “Get your evidence kit and go.”

  Jake met Marco’s eye, then he ran to grab his bag.

  Marco watched him race out the door, then he went to the window and watched as he ran across 19th and up the driveway. Dropping the curtain, he paced away. There was no way he was going to be able to stay still.

  “Can you get anything off her phone, Stan?” said Defino, moving over to him.

  “Just her text messages. She got one just before she left from Devan.”

  Marco looked over at them.

  “What does it say?”

  “Something about a jury.” He glanced up at the captain. “Jedediah O’Shannahan was acquitted.”

  Marco looked away. That was why she went for a run. Damn it, he’d known there was something wrong with her, something more than being hung-over. His gaze fell on Pickles. The little dog was hiding beneath the sofa table, trembling.

  Marco walked over to him and bent down, dragging him out. He pressed him close against his chest, stroking the little dog’s head. Oh, God, if anything happened to her, he didn’t think he could stand it. He closed his eyes and fought for composure. Who the hell was he kidding?

  If anything happened to Peyton, Marco knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t be able to survive it.

  CHAPTER 18

  Smith pulled up at the house across the street from Peyton’s in his police cruiser and waited with Jake, while Simons and Cho secured the house. Smith paced, but Jake stood still, gripping the evidence bag with both hands. He couldn’t help but relive his own nightmare of Zoë’s death. Looking into Marco’s anguished eyes brought back everything he’d felt – the helplessness, the despair, the desire to believe it wasn’t happening.

  “All clear,” came Simons’ voice over Smith’s radio. “You have to go around the back. There’s a lock box on the front door.”

  “Wait. Why is there a lock box?” Jake asked Smith. “I thought the house was rented.”

  Smith shrugged, then moved toward the side entrance to the backyard. Jake followed, his eyes scanning the yard, searching for any clues. It was very overgrown, neglected, something else he found interesting if the house was rented. Surely the rental company would have hired a gardener.

  The house was dark as he stepped over shattered glass and into a hallway. He marked that a pane in the back door had been broken out. He looked around for a light switch, but Cho appeared from the kitchen.

  “Don’t bother. Powers off.”

  “But the place was rented? How can the power be off and why is there a lock box?”

  “I don’t think it was rented. See the broken pane. We think he got into the house through there and has been squatting here ever since.” Cho walked across the living room and pulled back the curtains, letting light into the room.

  Peyton’s house was the first thing Jake saw.

  He swallowed hard and followed Cho into the room. Except for a folding chair right before the window, there were no other furnishings.

  Cho pressed the button on his radio. “Can we get the power company to turn on the power?” he asked.

  The radio cracked. “On it,” came Defino’s voice. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing. It looks like he’s been squatting here.”

  “Have Jake dust for fingerprints.”

  “We’ll do.”

  Cho gave Jake a pointed look.

  Jake walked over to the chair and settled his case on the floor, then he bent and began unbuckling it.

  “I’m going into the garage to see if I can find anything.”

  Jake nodded.

  Cho stepped beyond him and moved toward the kitchen door again.

  “Cho?” said Jake, shifting on his heels.

  Cho stopped and looked back.

  “Why would he hurt her? She hasn’t done anything to him.”

  Cho drew a deep breath and released it. “If we knew that, we’d be able to stop this bastard, Ryder. The best thing you can do is find us some evidence.” He glanced down the hallway. “Look, Simons is searching the bedrooms and Smith is looking over the backyard. Call if you need one of us.”

  Jake nodded, then went back to his case. Before he could get it open, his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, realizing his hands were trembling. “Ryder.”

  “Jake, it’s Stan.”

  “Yeah, Stan.”

  “Do you remember the name of the rental company who listed the house?”

  “Uh.” Jake rubbed a hand over his eyes
. “God, I can’t remember. Ask Marco or Maria, they might remember.”

  “Already did.”

  “Shit.” Jake glanced out of the window, trying to recreate the lawn sign in his mind. “It was listed in the paper. I remember seeing it. That’s how I knew the house had three bedrooms.”

  “Okay, I’ll look.”

  Jake started to hang up, then pressed the phone back to his ear. “Stan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was Bay City Properties.”

  “Got it. Thanks!”

  “Keep me informed.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  The phone went dead. Jake stared at it for a moment, then he went back to his case. He knew he wasn’t going to find anything in this house. The Janitor was too careful for that, but it gave him something to do. Inaction allowed all sorts of horrible thoughts to crowd his mind.

  * * *

  Exhaustion forced Peyton to stop her assault on the rear doors. They hadn’t budged and she was still sitting in complete darkness, her heart pounding nearly into her throat. She had crawled back to where she guessed the cab was, tenting her knees and resting her aching forehead on her folded arms.

  A few minutes later, she realized that the van had stopped moving. The engine was still running, she could feel it rumbling beneath her, but the violent swaying of the cargo bed had stopped. Fear crowded into her throat, making her want to vomit.

  What was he going to do to her now?

  She scrambled to the back doors and gave a few more kicks, but nothing happened. An answering bang started by the cab and continued all the way down the length of the van, heading toward the rear.

  Peyton crawled to the left of the cargo doors and pressed her back to the cold metal. If he came in, she hoped he’d be momentarily surprised not to find her huddled in the middle of the floor. Maybe she could get the drop on him. Either way, it was her only chance.

  The muted sound of voices reached her and she pressed her ear hard to the crack of the doors, straining to make out words. The voices grew louder, coming toward her, then suddenly something slammed into the back of the van, making her yelp with fear, followed by a strange gurgling noise and then silence. Complete and total silence.