Murder in Chinatown

A Peyton Brooks’ Mystery

Volume 5

ML Hamilton

Cover Art by Karri Klawiter

www.artbykarri.com

Photography by Jared Lugo

Murder in Chinatown

© 2013 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The joy of writing never gets old, but the joy of knowing people are reading cannot be beaten. Thank you to all of my readers who continue to follow Peyton’s adventures. Thank you as always to my family for your support and commitment to my dream!

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”

-- Marilyn Monroe

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER 1

Billy sat down on the edge of her desk, obscuring her view of the monitor. She sighed and looked up at him. With his mop of brown hair, his boyish looks, and his enthusiasm, he reminded her of a Golden Retriever puppy she’d had as a little girl.

“Why don’t you invite me over to your house for dinner?” he said, giving her the full force of his twin dimples.

She shoved him in the side, unseating him. “Not gonna happen.”

“Why not?” He turned the dimples into a pout. “If we’re gonna be partners, shouldn’t we know each other better?”

“No.” She began typing her email again, ignoring him.

He shuffled back to his desk and slumped into the chair, swinging it back and forth. “I’m bored. Half the time we just sit around waiting for something to happen.”

“Call the lab and see if we got a hit on that missing person, Lois Clearwater. They should be done processing the hair from that brush by now.”

He grumbled something, but swung the chair around to face his monitor, reaching for his desk phone. Gabby tried to ignore him as she worked. She hadn’t wanted to train anyone, but she realized that there were just too many cases for her to work by herself. Still, she’d have preferred an older, more seasoned cop, not one who was still wet behind the ears. Billy Lucott had served four years as a beat cop before switching to homicide. Now he was taking classes to be a detective. The captain assured her he was a quick study, but he hadn’t done much of anything to impress her yet.

“Hey, Gabby.”

Gabby looked up to see Rick Montano, the victim’s advocate, approaching her desk.

“Rick.”

“Got a woman out front. Name’s Janet Messette. Says she wants to see Buck Reiter.”

“You tell her he’s retired?”

“Did. Says it’s important.”

Gabby glanced at her unfinished email. “Okay. I’ll be right out. Just let me finish this.”

“I’ll let her know.” He turned and walked back the way he’d come.

Gabby finished her email, half listening to Billy’s call to the lab, then she hit the send button and rolled her chair back from her desk. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she told him.

He hung up the phone. “Can I come?”

“Not right now. What’d you find out?”

“They’re still working on it. Could be another day or two. Why can’t I come? I’m supposed to shadow you.”

“Ain’t nothing to shadow yet. Just sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

“What if it’s a case?”

“It’s an old Reiter case. Probably nothing there. I’ll let you know if it’s something.”

He slumped down in his chair, then reached for the mouse, pulling up a game of solitaire. “When they told me I’d be working Cold Case, I didn’t know they meant the detectives,” he grumbled.

Gabby smiled as she walked away. Maybe if he complained enough, they’d move him to something more exciting, like the Gang Task Force. Despite the caseload, she just wasn’t convinced she needed help from a boy who still needed someone to tie his shoes for him.

When she reached the lobby, she found a young woman waiting for her. She had to be about twenty-five, maybe thirty at the outside. She had brown hair, pulled back in clips, and wore jeans and an embroidered peasant blouse with a pair of wedged espadrilles. She held something in her hands, but Gabby couldn’t see it clearly.

“Ms. Messette? I’m Detective Gabriela Acosta with Miami’s Cold Case Squad.” She held out her hand.

The young woman took it with one of her own. Her touch was cool despite the late summer Floridian weather. “Detective, pleasure to meet you.”

“Officer Montano said you were looking for Detective Reiter?”

“Right, but he said he retired about three years ago.”

“He did. I took his place. Is there something I can help you with?”

She looked down at the thing in her hand. Gabby could see it was an envelope, bound up with rubber bands crisscrossed over the entire surface of it, except for a perfect square that said Detective Reiter in thick permanent marker. She gave Gabby a sheepish smile. “My grandmother loved her rubber bands. They’re on everything…” Her voice choked off and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding up a hand. “It’s been eight months, but it still hurts.”

“I understand. I’m sorry for your loss.”

She nodded and swiped a tear away. “Anyway, I think this was very important to her.”

“She didn’t tell you what it was?”

“The last year and a half she couldn’t really communicate effectively. She had a stroke and it destroyed her ability to talk.”

“I see. Do you know if there was a case that Detective Reiter was working on for her?”

Janet gave a heavy sigh. “That’s the problem. The only thing I can think of was my aunt and uncle. They were killed in a home invasion robbery about twenty years ago.” She gave the envelope a sad smile. “She didn’t like to talk about them, so I never brought it up, but I can’t think of anything else it could be.”

Gabby also studied the envelope. “If I can ask, Ms. Messette, why didn’t you open it?”

“Call me Janet, please. I don’t know. It was addressed to Detective Reiter. I guess I wanted to honor my grandmother’s last wish.”

Gabby motioned into the precinct. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll find a quiet place to open it. Then you can tell me whatever you know about your aunt and uncle.”

Janet nodded. “Sounds good.”

She followed Gabby as they wound through the precinct. When they passed Gabby’s desk, Billy spun around to watch, but she motioned him back down. He slumped again. She knew she was going to have to do something with him. No matter how much he reminded her of her past dog, she couldn’t keep treating him like one.

She led Janet to a small conference room and offered her a chair. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water would be wonderful.”

Gabby stepped out and filled two paper cups with water from the water cooler outside the door, then carried them back inside and set one in front of Janet. She went back out and snagged a pair of scissors off the closest unoccupied desk, then she took a seat opposite her.

The young woman had placed the envelope flat on the desk. Gabby wasn’t sure of the size because it was so done up with rubber bands, but it couldn’t hold anything of monumental importance, she felt sure.

Glancing up, Janet pushed the envelope across the table to her. “I’d feel better if you opened it.”

Gabby picked up the envelope and turned it over, studying the intricate webbing of rubber, layer after layer across the entire surface. Madness this, she thought. Lifting the scissors, she gave Janet a sheepish look. “Do you mind?”

Janet gave a laugh, then covered her mouth, her eyes shimmering with tears. “No. You’ll never get it open otherwise.”

Gabby slipped one edge of the scissors beneath a layer of rubber band and began the tedious chore of cutting them away. “Why don’t you tell me what you know as I work on this?” she suggested.

Janet lifted the cup and took a sip. “Like I said, I don’t know much. I didn’t even meet my grandmother until I was twelve.”

Gabby stopped cutting and met her gaze. “Why?”

“Both of my grandparents were professors at the University of Miami.”

“Wow!” whistled Gabby.

“Yep. Granddad was a physics professor and Grandma taught American Studies. They had two children, my aunt Carol and my father. Aunt Carol followed in their footsteps and became a doctor of oncology. Dad wasn’t like that. He barely graduated high school and definitely had no interest in college. He moved to Texas, met an exotic dancer, and became a truck driver. When I was born, Granddad disowned him and wouldn’t let Grandma have anything to do with us.”

“Not to be judgmental, but that was a bit harsh, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t much care. He didn’t have very many happy memories about his childhood. He was the youngest and never could live up to Aunt Carol’s accomplishments.” She tilted the cup and looked inside. “My mom left shortly after I was born, so my dad raised me. Like I said, I met my grandmother when I was twelve. She came out to Texas to reconcile with my father. My aunt and uncle had been killed and Granddad died about four months later. Heart attack, but Grandma always thought it was the grief of losing his favorite child. I don’t know. Two years later, Dad was killed in a trucking accident. Grandma came and got me and moved me to Miami. I lived with her ever since.” She set the cup down. “She was so good to me. Helped me get through high school, then college. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

“What a tragic life she had,” said Gabby, struck by the number of deaths surrounding her. She’d buried both children and a husband.

“Yeah, it was. Then about a year and a half ago, she had her stroke. It crippled her and took away her ability to speak. I tried to take care of her for about six months, but it was so hard lifting her in and out of bed. She eventually demanded I put her in a home, even pulled up the one she wanted on the computer to show me.”

Gabby smiled and went back to cutting. “Sounds like a remarkable woman.”

“She was. We got her a private room, but it was small. She couldn’t take many possessions with her, but she picked out a few photos and one music box. I didn’t understand the music box, but it was important to her. She’d point to it and ask me to bring it to her, then she’d just sit and hold it.”

Gabby had half the envelope free of rubber bands by now. She made a little pile in the middle of the table and turned the envelope, going to work on the opposite end. “Did you ever figure out what was special about the music box?”

Janet gave the envelope a pointed look. “One day when I was visiting, we were watching television. Some reality show or something. Suddenly, she gets very agitated, starts pointing at the screen, then she points to the box. I got it for her, but this time, instead of holding it, she starts pointing at the keyhole, trying to tell me something. I searched all over her room for the key, I even tried to jimmy it open with paperclips and a nail file, but nothing worked. As soon as the show went off, she fell asleep and I never thought of it again, until yesterday.”

Gabby stopped cutting. “Yesterday?”

“I finally decided to clean out her room at our house. Actually, I finally got up the courage to do it. It’s been eight months since she died and I haven’t been able to go in her room ever since.” She lifted the cup and drained the water.

“Can I get you more?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She pushed the cup away from her. “Yesterday, as I was cleaning out her dresser, I found the key to the music box on a bunch of other keys. She’d stuffed it into a sock and bound the whole thing with…”

“Rubber bands.”

Janet laughed. “Yep.”

Gabby smiled and went back to cutting. “And when you opened the music box, you found the envelope?”

“Right. So here I am and there it is and I have no idea what it contains.”

Gabby applied the scissors again. She cut the last of the rubber bands away and found a full sized letter envelope folded in half. Running her fingers across the surface, she could feel a hard edge. “Do you want to open it?”

Janet shook her head.

“I have your permission?”

“You have my permission.”

Gabby tore the envelope open on one end and shook the contents into her hand. Janet leaned forward and they both stared. A business card had been wrapped around a key and bound up with rubber bands. Janet let out a bark of laughter and covered her mouth again. Gabby smiled at her and reached for the scissors, cutting the bands away. Folding open the card, she picked up the key.

“It looks like a safe deposit box key.” Setting it aside, she pressed the business card flat on the table. The words Coconut Grove Bank was embossed on the front in red letters with a Miami address. On the other side was the number 87 in black permanent marker.

“A safe deposit box?”

Gabby shrugged. “Did she have any valuables that you know of?”

“No. She never liked jewelry and they were very frugal with their money. She had a few art pieces, but those are all at the house. Everything else she left to me in her will.”

“Hm. I need to look up your aunt’s case. As far as you know, it was never solved.”

“That’s right. When I was in high school, some kids mentioned it, so I did some research, but there wasn’t much to find. The police had nothing to go on, no suspects and no motive. Except for a little petty cash, nothing was stolen from my aunt’s house.”

“Who found your aunt and uncle’s bodies?”

“Their daughter. She was at her senior prom that night and she found them when she came home.”

“Where is she now?”

Janet shook her head. “No one knows. She stayed around for about six months or so after they died, living in that house, but she couldn’t take it. Once the case went cold, she took off. I don’t think my grandmother ever knew where she went.”

“Okay. I’ll need your aunt and uncle’s names and the address to their house. I can go with you to the bank to look at the safe deposit box if you’d like.”

“Will you do it? It’s hard enough for me to go through her stuff. I don’t think I can stand to see what’s in the safe deposit box.”

“I understand. I’ll need you to fill out some papers, giving me permission to open the box, but it shouldn’t be hard to get a judge to give us a warrant.”

“I’ll fill out whatever you need.” She glanced down at the table. “I don’t want to go to the bank, but I do want to know what you find. Will you keep me in the loop?”

“Of course I will.”

“I’m sure you have other cases you have to work, but I appreciate anything you can find out.”

Gabby smiled and reached across the table to touch her hand. “That’s what we do in Cold Case. We get a lead and we follow it. You just gave us a lead.”

Janet smiled in return and covered her hand with her free one. “Thank you, Detective Acosta, I know my grandmother would be grateful.”

*    *    *

Captain Katherine Defino liked to think she navigated the difficult waters of a predominantly male profession with finesse. She ran a tight ship, she kept her cops in line, and she was fair. She tried not to have favorites and she never asked her people to do something she wasn’t willing to do herself. And yet, here she was faced with the most difficult dilemma of her career and it annoyed her that she didn’t know what to do.

She leaned on the wall beside the conference room and watched the four detectives and the crime scene photographer as they talked about their latest case. Marco D’Angelo, handsome as a male model but tough as nails, lounged in his desk chair. Bear-like Bill Simons sat backwards in an office chair next to him, his arms crossed over the top of it. Nathan Cho, quick and deadly, stood in the middle of the floor, his hands waving in the air as he told his story. Jake Ryder, the murder suspect turned crime scene photographer, sat at the juncture of the two desks where they pressed nose to nose against each other. His legs were swinging as they usually were whenever he perched on something. And directly across from Marco sat Peyton Brooks, the little 5’4” dynamo that couldn’t work a damn case without getting personally involved with the suspects.

“So this is what we find,” said Cho. “19 year old kid been caught messing with a 16 year old. Parents find out, press charges. Kid gets convicted for statutory rape. Now he’s a registered sex offender.”

Peyton and Marco both gave groans of dismay. Jake kicked his feet, refusing to look up. By the look on his face, Katherine felt sure he was somehow the butt of this story.

“Two nights ago, someone throws a rock through the kid’s front window. Mom freaks. She’s heard about our serial killer and is sure he’s coming for her son.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Uniforms go out and calm her down, but by the next morning, they’ve been out there three…four times.”

“Why’d you go out?” asked Marco.

“Media gets wind of it and really gets the mom going. Your girlfriend is leading the pack, that Lake chick.”

“Free-lance?”

“That’s the one.”

“Her name is Genevieve,” corrected Peyton.

“Whatever.” Cho rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we get a call to go calm things down.” He focused his attention on Jake. “We text the Preacher here the address and tell him to meet us. Might as well get some pictures of the crime scene, right?”

Jake lifted his head enough to glare at Cho.

“We go up to the house to talk to the mother. It’s a walk-up, so we gotta climb hella stairs to get there. She invites us inside, but Preacher, here, he’s messing around in that Gay Pride Float he drives, playing with his camera or something.”

Peyton gave Jake a sympathetic smile.

“A truck pulls up on the street and a man is staring up at the house. Preacher sees him and wigs out, thinking it’s the Janitor come to off the baby-boy sex-offender.”

“I didn’t think that. I just didn’t know who he was.”

“Right. Anyway, he jumps out of the Daisy and starts running for the house with his camera strapped around his neck. Simons and me, we hear him clear inside the house, shouting for us. This spooks the guy in the truck, so he starts to speed away, but he loses control and slams the truck into a parked car.”

Peyton and Marco laughed. Bill’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

“He gets the bumper of his truck hooked to the bumper of the other car and can’t get loose. Simons and me, we come out of the house, but we’re way up on top of those damn stairs. Guy jumps out of the truck and starts running up the street. What does the Preacher do? He starts chasing after him.”

“No?” exclaimed Peyton.

“Yep, camera and all, but while the guy is on the other side of the street, Preacher stays on our side. I come tearing down the stairs and cross the street. There’s people all over the freakin’ place, diving out of the way, jumping into the street, and I don’t know if the bastard’s armed or not, plus I got an idiot with a camera chasing after him.”

“Where was Simons?” asked Peyton, leaning forward in her chair.

“I was right behind him.”

“Hell you were,” said Cho, shooting him a look. “Guy turns up Market.”

“Oh, shit,” said Marco.

Cho nodded. “I know I gotta catch him before he gets too far up Market, but all a sudden, he just stops running and sits down in the middle of the sidewalk. People just walk around him and he just sits there. I slow down and draw my gun, but he’s done. He holds up his hands and tells me to arrest him. He says he’s spent, can’t run anymore. I get the cuffs on him and look up. There’s the Preacher across Market, snapping pictures like a damn fool and next thing I know, I got Simons here, dropping down next to the guy, blocking the whole friggin’ walkway. Thought he was gonna have a heart attack and die on me.”

Simons made a swiping motion with his hand.

“Who was the guy?”

“Not the Janitor, that’s for damn sure. Apparently getting brought up on statutory rape charges wasn’t enough to cool off the horny kid. He goes and gets the stupid girl pregnant. She finally confesses to her dad and he ties one on, goes over in the middle of the night to the kid’s house and launches a rock through his window.”

“Why the hell did he go back then?”

“After he got sober, he felt guilty and went back to see how much damage he’d done. He didn’t expect us to be there.”

Peyton leaned over and punched Jake’s shoulder. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Jake rubbed the spot and glared at her. “I was thinking I didn’t want him to get away.”

“And that wasn’t gonna happen as long as you covered the opposite side of the street?” joked Marco.

They all peeled off into laughter, except Jake. “Freakin’ assed cops,” he muttered under his breath.

Katherine found herself smiling. She immediately schooled her features and crossed her arms. Oh, she tried not to have favorites, and that was why these last few days had been so hard. She had to make a decision, and she knew what decision she should make, but make it…well, that was nearly impossible. The thought of breaking up one of her best detective teams made her feel physically ill.

“Brooks, D’Angelo, my office. Now!”

The laughter broke off immediately and everyone turned to look at her. She didn’t wait to see if they’d obey, she knew they would, so she walked back to her office, keeping her back as straight as possible.

*    *    *

Peyton unfolded herself from her chair as Marco stood up. “Eight years and that command still gets my heart pumping a bit.”

Marco dropped an arm across her shoulders and directed her toward the captain’s office. “That’s ‘cuz it usually means you’re in trouble.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“It’s always you, Brooks.”

As they passed Maria’s desk, Peyton was surprised to find it empty…again. Maria hardly ever took a day off and this was three days in a row. She entered Defino’s office before Marco and found the captain already seated at her desk.

“Sit down,” Defino ordered, motioning at her painfully hard melamine chairs. Her eyes lifted and she squinted at Peyton. “And don’t touch anything!”

Peyton held up her hands. “Captain, where’s Maria?”

“Sick.”

“Three days? She never misses work.”

“People get sick, Brooks.”

Peyton took the chair closest to the door and Marco maneuvered his six foot four inch frame into the other one. Defino’s office was dark as always, the blinds pulled down over the window. She sat in her chair, staring at the blotter on her glass topped desk, but she didn’t speak. It made Peyton fidget. A photo of the Golden Gate Bridge occupied the wall behind Defino’s head, so she focused on that to resist the impulse to play with the captain’s clear, crystal stapler.

She liked the photo. A faint layer of fog obscured just the top part of the bridge, but you could still see the rust-red towers shooting upward. Funny how most San Franciscans had some sort of artifact of the iconic structure somewhere in their personal space. She herself had a brass paperweight on her dresser at home. It didn’t hold down any papers, but she liked the heft of it.

“We have a case.”

Peyton’s eyes snapped to Defino’s. “Right? The Clean-up Crew case?”

“No, I’m taking you off that case. The serial killer hasn’t struck in a month, and it’s Cho and Simons’ case anyway.”

Peyton slid forward in her chair. “But, Captain, we still have to find him.”

“We will, but I need you two for something else.”

“Captain?”

“Brooks, stop.” She held up a hand and closed her eyes.

Peyton sank back in her chair as Marco put a hand on her wrist in warning.

Defino reached for a file on her desk and opened it. “Are you familiar with Meilin Fan?”

Peyton exchanged a look with her partner. His expression was as blank as her own. “Should we be?”

“Meilin Fan from Food Battles?” When they still showed no recognition, she held up a hand. “The reality show?”

“Reality show?”

“Yes, the cooking competition? Set in New York?”

Peyton shook her head. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve never seen it.”

“Everyone’s seen it. It’s the most popular cooking show out there.”

Peyton felt Marco’s eyes on her. Defino looked like she expected them to suddenly remember the show, like they were holding out on her or something.

“Forget it.” She waved them off. “Anyway, Meilin Fan won the competition last year. The prize is half-a-mil to open a restaurant in a city of your choice. She picked Chinatown. Her restaurant, the Yellow Lotus, is on Stockton, and she lives in the flat directly above it.”

“Okay?”

“Last night she returned to the flat after the restaurant closed to find her boyfriend shot in the chest. She called 911 and he was rushed to the hospital. He died this morning, so the case is ours.”

“Any witnesses?”

“No, and no one heard the gunshot either. Last I heard, Meilin didn’t have an opportunity to check the flat to see if anything was stolen. She’s pretty distraught, so I don’t have a lot to go on, but the boyfriend, Matt Jensen, worked as a produce manager at a local grocery store. They’ve been a couple for about three years, came out from New York together. He was on the show a few times, good looking fella, a few years younger than Meilin.” She passed a slip of paper across the desk to Peyton. “Here’s the address.”

Peyton glanced at it, then folded it in half. “Captain, about the Clean-up Crew case?”

“Brooks, I already made my decision.”

“I just feel like we can’t give up now. He’s still out there and I know he’s going to strike again.”

Defino’s expression hardened. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re Homicide, right?”

“Right.”

“And we investigate homicides still, right?”

“Right.”

“And in your hand you have a current homicide, right?”

Peyton exhaled and nodded. “Right.”

“Do your job, Brooks, or I’ll find someone who can.”

Marco reached over and grabbed the paper. “We’re on it, Captain.” He pushed himself to his feet.

Peyton started to rise as well, but hesitated. “One last thing, Captain.”

Marco stopped in the doorway, shifting around to give her a panicked look.

Peyton ignored him, but Defino’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Did Maria say what she had?”

“I didn’t talk to her. I talked to her boyfriend.”

Peyton frowned. “Boyfriend? I don’t remember Maria saying anything about a boyfriend.”

Defino folded her hands on her blotter. “Unlike some people around here, Maria chooses to keep her private life private.”

Peyton knew the jab was meant for her. Something sure had the captain’s panties in a bunch today.

Defino let out a heavy sigh. “They’ve been seeing each other for about six months. They just moved in together three weeks ago.”

“Really? I thought she lived with her mother and sisters in Daly City.”

“Not anymore. Anything else you’d like to know, Brooks?”

Actually there was, but she didn’t think Defino would appreciate her asking why she was in such a bad mood. “Not a thing, Captain,” she said.

“Good. Shut the door on your way out.”

Peyton backed to the door and followed Marco into the precinct, closing the door behind her.

“Why do you have to push it?” scolded Marco under his breath.

“Why do you think she was in such a bad mood?”

“Because you wouldn’t let it go about the serial killer.”

“Yeah, but come on, Marco, that’s gotta frustrate you too. This other case is nonsense. A uniform could handle it. We need to stay focused on the Janitor.”

Marco glanced at Defino’s door, then leaned closer to Peyton. “We do what we’re told, but you’re right. This case is a burner.” He held up the paper. “Still, we have our orders. Let’s get Jake and head out there. The faster we wrap this one up, the quicker we can be back on the other one.”

“You get Jake. I’ll wait here.”

Marco gave her a suspicious look.

“I’m not gonna bother the captain. I just don’t feel like facing Simons and Cho right now. It’s kinda embarrassing to get pulled off the biggest case of our career, don’t you think?”

Marco shook his head at her, but he turned back toward their desks.

Peyton waited until he was out of sight, then went over to Maria’s desk and quickly rummaged through the papers on top. Sliding open the pencil drawer, she found an electric bill with a yellow forwarding address attached to it. She looked around for a phone number, but she didn’t find anything. She and Maria had never been close, never exchanged phone numbers or anything, but still, she had no memory of Maria missing three consecutive days before, except when she took a formal vacation. Closing the drawer, she moved to the counter and leaned against it, mulling over why Maria wouldn’t have mentioned a relationship so serious that she’d moved out of her mother’s house.

A moment later, Marco and Jake appeared.

“I’ll drive,” said Jake, jogging to catch up to Marco’s longer gait.

“The hell you will,” said Marco, shoving open the half door.

“Then I call shotgun.”

“Not even for a moment, slick,” said Peyton, pushing him in the side. “And if someone starts running away from the scene, you stay put, you hear me? Under no circumstances do you give chase.”

“Freakin’ assed cops,” Jake muttered.

CHAPTER 2

Gabby and Billy were directed to the manager of the Coconut Grove Bank, a severely thin woman with wispy hair. She motioned them into the chairs before her desk and held out her hand for the warrant. Gabby passed it over.

No nonsense. She liked that. It made her job easier if she didn’t have to make small talk with people.

The manager passed the warrant back with a snap of her wrist. “Everything seems to be in order. Do you have the key?”

Gabby held it up.

Rising in one swift motion, the manager pointed to the far left corner behind the counter manned by the tellers. “This way.”

Gabby and Billy followed her across the tiled entrance to a locked half-door. The manager pulled out a ring of keys from a zip-line attached to the belt on her slacks and unlocked the door, motioning them behind the counter. Then she walked into a short hallway and stopped before another door with a reinforced glass window in it. She found the key for this one and unlocked it, motioning them into a well-lighted room with rows and rows of metal boxes on three of its sides. The boxes went from the floor to the ceiling. Directly in the center was a tall, stainless steel table and a few padded stools with no backs.

She held out her hand to Gabby. “Key?”

Gabby placed it on the woman’s palm, tucking the warrant into her back pocket. Billy was making faces behind the woman’s back, mouthing her crisp commands, but Gabby ignored him, watching the manager walk to a wide, thin box on the wall labeled 87 and insert a key from her ring. She drew the entire box out of the wall and carried it to the table, then inserted the key Gabby gave her into a second lock, but she didn’t lift the lid.

“Take your time. The warrant indicates you may remove whatever’s in the box for your investigation, but please check with me before you leave.”

“Done.” Gabby watched her walk out of the room, her stride never breaking. This was a woman who took command. She had to admire that.

She approached the table and reached for the lid, but Billy placed both of his hands over it, holding it down.

“What do you think’s in there?”

“What?” She frowned at him.

“Before you open it, tell me what you think’s in there.”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, just think about it. Maybe it’s a treasure map.”

“It’s not a treasure map.”

“Maybe it’s jewels.”

“It’s not jewels.”

“Maybe it’s a serum for immortality.”

Gabby let out her breath in an aggravated sigh and closed her eyes. “What are you, ten?”

“What if it’s a severed head?”

That rocked Gabby back on her heels, but she gave the box a critical look. “How could it be a severed head?”

“Foot?” Billy looked so pleased with himself, she had to smile.

“No.”

He gave a dramatic nod of his head, biting his lower lip. “Finger.”

Gabby lifted her hands off the box. It could be a finger. She shot a look around at the other boxes.

“You know that show where they go out to the storage units and bid on them? Do you know the freaky crap people have found in those things?”

“You’re messing with me.”

He held up his hands, feigning innocence. “I’m not. Just think about it. Think about all the strange and random crap people collect. What if it’s a jar filled with kidneys?”

“Kidneys? Why kidneys?”

“Organ trafficking.”

“She was an American Studies professor.”

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t have something on the side.”

“Stop it. Besides the box isn’t deep enough to contain a jar of kidneys.” Gabby reached for the lid again. Billy leaned forward, his face alive with excitement as she lifted it. Inside was an album of some kind. She picked it up and set it on the table next to the box.

Billy groaned. “Pictures? That’s what she keeps in a safe deposit box? What the hell?”

A big rubber band held the entire thing closed. Gabby smiled to herself as she pulled it off, then she opened the cover. A few pictures of a bright eyed brown haired girl filled the page, and as she turned it, she found newspaper clippings with the name Carol Messette highlighted on them. They were announcements about contest won at an elementary school or spelling bees or honor roll. One had a grainy picture of the same little girl standing with others, holding up a certificate and beaming proudly for the camera.

Billy pushed away from the table in disgust and began wandering around the room, fingering the front of the boxes. Gabby ignored him and continued to turn pages. As she went, the little girl grew up and her accomplishments were more profound. She found a high school diploma, a certificate stating she was valedictorian, articles from the University of Miami where Carol had participated in some research paper or another, an article with a picture of a grown Carol indicating that she’d graduated Summa Cum Laude.

“She was something, this Carol Messette or Witan or whatever.”

“Yeah?”

“Valedictorian, Summa Cum Laude.”

“One boring bitch if you ask me.”

Gabby glared at him. “I didn’t ask you.”

“Just saying.” He bent over and stared at one of the larger boxes lower on the wall. “This could hold kidneys.”

Next was an engagement announcement with a picture of Carol standing beside a studious young man in a huge pair of glasses, wearing a bowtie. A few pictures of the wedding showed a beaming Carol with her new husband, David Witan, and then a birth announcement for a baby girl they’d named Lily.

Gabby turned a page, then caught her breath. She flipped back a few pages, then turned forward a number more.

Billy looked over his shoulder at her. “What?”

Gabby leaned closer to the book, inspecting the binding. She could just make out the tattered edge where a number of pages had been ripped out. “Janet’s grandmother Dana, Carol’s mother, kept up with her through the birth of her daughter, but then a number of pages have been torn out.”

Billy wandered back to the table. “Torn out? Could they be in the back of the book?”

Gabby flipped to the back, but found no loose pages, and the safe deposit box was empty. “No, they’re gone.” She turned back to the page about Lily. “Here’s the birth announcement, then it goes to here.” She placed her finger on an article about Carol and David’s murder. “No baby pictures, nothing on the daughter.”

“Huh.”

Gabby closed the album and ran her hand over the cover, then she reached for the rubber band and replaced it. “I need to spend more time looking at this. Let’s go back to the precinct. While I’m going through it, you can search the archives for Reiter’s file on this case.”

Billy groaned and threw his head back dramatically. “Not the archives. I hate going through that place.”

Gabby closed the lid on the safe deposit box, locked it, and pulled out the key, slipping it into her pocket. Then she picked up the album and turned for the door. “Now in those boxes, you might find something severed, or other pieces of disgusting stuff some cop thought was evidence.”

“What about a treasure map?” His eyes gleamed.

Gabby chuckled. “Sure, I’m sure there are all manner of treasure maps in the archives just waiting for you to discover them.”

*    *    *

Chinatown in San Francisco was the largest Chinese community outside of Asia and the oldest Chinatown in North America. Covering twenty-four square blocks in the heart of the City, it centered around Grant and Stockton Streets.

Hawkers called out from the street corners, trying to entice tourists into their shops or restaurants. Performers played the moon guitar or yueqin, sitting on camp stools beneath the intricately carved dragon street lights. Crisscrossing overhead were lines of bright red lanterns, giving the streets a festive appearance.

Marco and Peyton pushed through the late morning crowds, walking briskly toward Stockton. Jake trailed behind them, looking around with such wonder Peyton felt sure he’d never been to Chinatown before.

They’d parked the Charger in St. Mary’s Square, hoping to avoid the crush of tourists, but it was nearing lunchtime and the streets were already filling with people snapping pictures or looking at the curios that lined the sidewalk.

Glancing over her shoulder, Peyton marked that Jake was no longer following them. He was staring into the window of a shop, looking at a display of swords and ornate silver daggers. Peyton touched Marco’s elbow and the two of them backtracked to him.

“In need of some weaponry?”

He glanced up at them, his eyes wide. “They can just sell it like that on the street?”

“They sell guns on the street, Jake. Come on. Stop acting like a bumpkin.”

He pointed to something on the lowest shelf of the window display. “Why does anyone need one of those?”

Peyton squinted at it, then felt her face heat with embarrassment. A very largely endowed phallic symbol stood next to a statue of two people in the throes of passion. “You don’t need that either,” she said, tugging on his arm.

Marco burst out laughing.

“Why would they sell that though?” asked Jake, following her back onto the sidewalk.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looked up at Marco. “What’s it for?”

“The statue or the real thing?”

Jake gave him an arch look. “The statue.”

“It’s a fertility totem.”

Peyton frowned at him. “How do you know that?”

“I know things.”

“I’ll bet you do,” she muttered darkly.

A few minutes later, they found the Yellow Lotus. The restaurant was closed, but a uniform stood guard at the entrance. Peyton took out her badge and showed it to him.

He pulled open the door. “Go toward the bathrooms. There’s a door at the end of the hallway that leads up to the flat. It should be open.”

“Thanks.”

The Yellow Lotus sported an elegant, up-scale atmosphere with black lacquered tables and red cushioned chairs. Finely drawn painting of lotus flowers adorned the walls and ornate silk lanterns hung from the ceiling.

A few uniforms were seated at a table, but rose as they entered. Peyton motioned them back down, then pointed to the silk screen that marked the entrance to the bathrooms. They found the door at the end of the hall and climbed the stairs to the upper level, coming out on a landing with a narrow window that overlooked the front of the restaurant.

Officers Holmes and Bartlett met them on the landing. The front door was open and Peyton could see a blood stain on the marble floor in the entrance of the flat. She glanced back down the stairs.

“The shooter had to come through the restaurant to get up here, right?”

“Right,” said Holmes, rubbing a hand across his short-cropped, thinning crown.

“Was the lock jimmied on the door at the bottom of the stairs?”

“Nope, but the victim’s girlfriend said they rarely kept it locked, except after the restaurant closed for the night.”

Jake set his case down and took out his camera, beginning to snap off pictures.

“No one heard anything?”

“No, according to the girlfriend, the restaurant was busy and with the background music and the patrons talking, it was real noisy.”

Bartlet leaned in close, his young face awash with excitement. “You know the girlfriend is Meilin Fan, right?”

“Right.” Peyton exchanged a look with Holmes.

“From Food Battles? She won last season.”

Holmes gave him a withering look. “Really?”

“You don’t watch it?”

“No, I don’t watch it.”

“It’s the hottest reality show on TV right now.”

Peyton cleared her throat. “Our reality star didn’t hear anything either?”

Holmes shot another glare at his partner before focusing on Peyton. “She was in the kitchen which is in the back, so no, she didn’t hear anything.”

“Did the shooter come out the same way? If the patrons and staff didn’t hear anything, they didn’t see anything either?”

“We think he went out the fire-escape. It’s on the other side of the building. There’s a bloody footprint on the window sill,” said Bartlett.

“Is the girlfriend inside?” asked Marco, motioning to the flat.

“Yeah, she’s sitting on the couch, just staring at the blood. She’s not saying much.”

Peyton and Marco moved to the door. A large pool of blood covered the entrance, so Marco steadied Peyton with a hand on her elbow as she made the leap across it and into the flat, then he followed behind her with his longer stride. Jake remained outside, continuing to take pictures of the landing.

The entrance hall opened into a large living room. Directly across from the door was a bank of bay windows, overlooking the alley behind the restaurant. Late morning sun shone through, illuminating the understated furniture. An attractive Asian woman sat on a low slung red couch, her hands folded in her lap. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was streaked with tears. Peyton guessed she was in her mid to late thirties, slight of build and around her own height. She lifted dark eyes to them, her expression bleak.

Peyton pulled out her badge again and showed it to her. “Meilin Fan?”

The woman nodded, glancing at the badge.

“I’m Inspector Brooks from the San Francisco Police Department and this is my partner, Inspector D’Angelo.”

“Inspectors.”

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”

“Not at all. Please have a seat.” She motioned to two black bamboo arm chairs with turquoise cushions situated directly across from the couch. A low, boxy black coffee table lay before them. Peyton and Marco sat down where she indicated and Peyton reached for her notebook.

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

“Not at all.”

“First of all, let me start by saying how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” Tears spilled over and she reached for a tissue on the coffee table, blotting it beneath her eyes. “I’m still in shock.”

“I’ll bet.” Peyton motioned at the window. “Is that the window that the shooter used to escape?”

Meilin nodded. “The officers found a bloody footprint on the window sill.”

Marco rose and walked over to it, pulling back the sheer curtains to inspect it.

“What time did the restaurant close last night, Ms. Fan?”

“Meilin, please. It closed at 10:00.”

“Did you come up here directly after it closed?”

She pressed the bunched tissue to the corner of her eye. “No, I helped the staff clean up and checked the receipts.”

“What time did you come upstairs?”

“About 10:40 or so.”

Peyton jotted a note in her book. “And you found your boyfriend…ah, Matt Jensen at that time?”

She gave a delicate shudder. “He was lying in the doorway. The door was open. At first, I thought he was dead, but he was still breathing.” She gave a hitching sob. “I still can’t believe this happened.”

“So you called 911?”

“Yes, then I tried to stop the bleeding.”

“Was he conscious at the time?”

“No.”

“Did he ever regain consciousness?”

Her face screwed up and she started crying, pressing the tissues to her eyes. Marco shot an annoyed look at Peyton. Suddenly a sharp whistle echoed through the flat. Both Marco and Peyton jumped. In the entrance hall, Peyton could hear Jake mutter, “Shit!”

“Excuse me. That’s my tea,” said Meilin, beginning to rise.

“Let me,” offered Marco and he beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Peyton forced herself to wait, while Meilin wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“I’m sorry, Inspector.”

“That’s all right.”

“What were you asking?”

“Did Matt ever regain consciousness?”

“No, he died in the emergency room.”

“I know this is hard, but did Matt have any enemies? Anyone who might want to do him harm?”

“No, Matt was the most generous, loving man I’ve ever met. He was my soul mate.”

Marco returned and handed her the cup of tea. She gave him a watery smile as she accepted it, her hands curving around his as he released it. Peyton marked the motion, but kept her features neutral.

“Do you know if anyone noticed a strange man lurking around the bathrooms? Maybe you yourself saw someone acting strange, edgy?”

“I stay in the kitchen. I rarely leave during the dinner rush.”

“How many other people are with you in the kitchen during a shift?”

“There are five of us every night.”

“I’ll need their names.”

“Of course.”

“Did you happen to notice if anything was missing in the flat?”

“Missing?”

“Jewelry, money, electronics?”

“No, but in the bedroom, someone smashed a picture that Matt and I took in Hawaii last year.”

Peyton glanced at Jake. He gave her a short nod to indicate he’d heard as he made his way to the window. “Do you have family we can contact?”

“No, I was an only child. Both of my parents are dead.”

“I see. What about Matt’s family?”

“His mother lives in Fremont. I called her from the hospital. But that’s all he had left.”

Peyton leaned forward in her chair, bracing her forearms on her thighs. “Meilin, is there anyone who would want to do you harm?”

“Me?”

Peyton glanced toward the door. “I’m guessing a lot of people know about the contest on Food Battles, right? Have you ever gotten hate mail or did anyone ever contact you during the show to threaten you in any way?”

“No, never. You think I was the target?”

“I’m just covering all the bases. You won a large sum of money. Sometimes people get jealous, especially as it put you in the public eye.”

“I’ve never gotten any threatening letters or emails, Inspector Brooks, no.”

“What about the other contestants? Were any of them upset that you’d won?”

“The competition runs for two months at a time, so you get very close with the other people on the show. Even though you’re competitors, they become your friends. None of them would do this. Besides that, why target Matt? Why not come after me in the kitchen?”

Peyton gave a nod. “I just have to ask these questions. The restaurant isn’t opening tonight, is it?”

“No, I can’t think about that right now.”

“I understand. You aren’t staying here, are you?”

“No, I have a room at the Marriott. Your captain was kind enough to give me an officer to escort me there as soon as we’re done here.”

“Good.” Peyton reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call. We’ll also be in touch if we find out anything.”

Meilin’s attention shifted to Marco. “Can I have your card as well?”

Marco glanced at Peyton. “My card? I don’t have one.”

“Will you write your contact number on the back then?” she said, holding out the card to him.

He took it, looking around for a pen. Peyton marked the exchange with a frown.

“I’m so shaken up, I’d just feel better if I have both of your numbers. If what you say is true, Inspector Brooks, that I could be a target, I’ll feel more secure knowing I have a way to get a hold of one of you if I need to.”

Jake passed a pen over Marco’s shoulder, giving him a speculative look. Marco grabbed the pen and jotted down his number on the back, then held the card out to Meilin.

“Thank you,” she said, her fingers gliding across his as she accepted it.

Peyton pushed herself to her feet. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” Meilin rose as well and held out her hand. Her grip was light and she immediately released Peyton, turning to Marco instead. This time she clasped his hand a bit longer and gave him a surprisingly sultry smile. “I appreciate you coming out.”

Marco gave her a tense smile in return.

“You ready, Ryder?”

“I just have a few more things to do.”

Peyton moved toward the door. “We’ll be downstairs.”

“Got it.”

She found a narrow spot to cross over the blood without touching it. Bartlett and Holmes were waiting on the landing. “Are you escorting her to the Marriott?”

Holmes nodded.

Bartlett moved close to Peyton and lowered his voice. “Isn’t she something?”

“Yeah, an absolute delight.” She looked up as Marco left the flat. “You don’t even have to say anything and women act the fool around you,” she groused.

Marco held out his hands. “What did I do?” He turned to Holmes.

Holmes shrugged, but Peyton walked to the stairs and descended. Once in the restaurant, she looked around again, marking the layout in her notebook.

Marco appeared a moment later, going to the uniforms. “Where’s the kitchen?” he asked.

They motioned toward a swinging door at the back of the restaurant and led Marco toward it. The three of them disappeared inside. Peyton wandered over and pushed the door open. A large, gleaming stainless steel kitchen stretched before her. At the very far end was a door. Marco pushed it open, revealing the alley they could see from Meilin’s living room. Marco and the uniforms stepped out, leaving the door open.

Wandering into the kitchen, Peyton tried to imagine it bustling with people. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to orient the location of the kitchen with the location of Meilin’s flat above them. Square acoustical tiles lined the ceiling, providing a noise barrier between the restaurant and the flat upstairs. She probably didn’t hear anything after all.

Walking back into the main part of the restaurant, Peyton’s attention was captured by the lotus paintings again. They were ethereal, the light catching on the petals in an enticing way. She walked to the hostess podium and picked up a menu. A similar painting adorned the cover.

Opening the menu, her eyes scanned the intricate lines of Chinese characters, describing the dishes. Below each line of characters were lines in English, each done in calligraphy so beautiful, the menu itself was a work of art. She flipped through the pages, then looked at the painting on the front again. Faint brush strokes on the bottom corner in white paint said Hui Bai. Walking over to one of the paintings on the wall, she looked in the same spot. Hui Bai. She liked his work.

Jake appeared around the silk screen. “All done.”

Peyton nodded.

“Ordering take-out?” He motioned with his chin to the menu.

“Just looking. Ms. Fan charges some hefty prices for her fare.” She opened the menu and showed it to Jake.

Jake let out a whistle. “Hey, the whole thing is written in calligraphy, not word processed.”

“I know. The menu itself is art.”

Marco pushed open the kitchen door and came out.

Jake immediately focused on him. “Can I have my pen back, Adonis? Or are you too busy giving out your phone number to every woman in Chinatown?”

“I know, right?” said Peyton.

“What?” He handed the pen over. “What the hell did I do? She asked for it. What did you want me to say?”

“You didn’t say a damn thing, but she couldn’t stop drooling,” groused Peyton.

Jake shook his head. “You are a piece of work, D’Angelo.”

“Why are you both busting my chops? I didn’t do a damn thing. She’s just scared and wants to make sure she can get a hold of someone if she needs them.”

“Right,” said Peyton, turning for the door and setting the menu back on the podium.

Jake chuckled.

“What is it you think I did?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just give them that false sympathetic look from those blue eyes and they go all weak kneed,” Jake teased, holding open the door. “It’s not fair.”

“How so?”

“Guys like you don’t have to do a damn thing to get a woman, but guys like me, we gotta be all charming and suave.”

“You are not suave.”

“My point, exactly.”

“Maybe you do need one of those fertility things we saw in the window.”

Jake held out his hand. “Why do you think I was asking about it?”

Peyton burst into laughter.

*    *    *

When they arrived at the precinct, Devan was waiting for them. It was late afternoon, the sun angling in the front windows and lighting the counter. Peyton slowed as the D.A.’s attention focused first on her, then Jake.

It had been a good eight months since they broke off their relationship, but Peyton couldn’t deny seeing his handsome face and clean-cut style still made her heart flutter a bit. And it still stung that he’d broken off with her so suddenly.

“Peyton,” he said with a smile, then gave Marco a tight look. “D’Angelo.”

“D.A.,” said Marco. There was no love lost between the two of them. They’d butted heads a number of times since the break-up.

“I’ll just go process these pictures,” said Jake, beginning to sidle between the two men.

“Actually, I’m here to talk to you.” Devan’s attention shifted to him.

Jake stopped dead and looked at Peyton with a flash of panic. Peyton put her hand on his arm. She knew he still hadn’t recovered from being a suspect in his wife’s murder and he would never feel comfortable around the district attorney.

“I’m gonna call Abe and see if he got Jensen’s body,” said Marco, motioning toward their desks.

Peyton nodded as he walked away. “I’ll be in the break-room if you need me, Jake,” she said.

Jake caught her hand. “Stay. Please.”

She gave Devan a speculative look.

“It’s not a secret,” he assured her, then turned to Jake. “Claire Harper’s trial starts Monday.”

Jake’s fingers tightened and he swallowed hard. “Monday?”

“I wouldn’t be worried. It’s an open and shut case. I have all the evidence I need and the motive is pretty clear. With Peyton’s testimony, I should be able to lock in a conviction for sure. I don’t even think the trial will be more than a few weeks at the outside.”

“Peyton’s testimony?” Jake gave her a worried look.

“It’s nothing. I’ve done it a million times. I’m a pro.” She offered him a comforting smile.

“Will I have to testify?”

Devan shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary, but it wouldn’t hurt if you could be in the courtroom some of the time, let the jury see you. And…” He hesitated and straightened the lines of his suit. “I could really use Zoë’s journal.”

“Zoë’s journal?”

“I have the copies we took, but it would be much more effective to have the actual thing.”

“Zoë’s journal? That’s all I have left of her.”

“I know, Jake, but we want to get the jurors on our side, don’t we?”

He looked at Peyton with a desperation that made her ache for him.

She gripped his arm with both hands. “He’ll give it back as soon as the trial’s over, Jake.”

“Definitely,” reassured Devan. “And I’ll never let it out of my sight.”

Jake’s fingers tightened on his evidence bag. “All right. I’ll have it here for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

Jake nodded and started to walk back toward his desk. Peyton moved to follow him, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I’m all right, Peyton. I just need a little time to myself. I’m gonna drop off the evidence I took from the scene, then I’m going home.”

“Jake?”

He turned to face her, squeezing her hand. “I’m all right. Just give me a little space, okay? I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

Peyton nodded and released him, watching him as he turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

“Actually, Peyton, there’s something I needed to talk to you about,” said Devan behind her.

Peyton shifted to face him. “I know you’ll want to go over my testimony before the trial, but I’ve got this.”

“It’s not that.” He took a step toward her, scraping his teeth across his bottom lip. “It’s something else.”

Peyton frowned. “What?”

He looked down at his polished dress shoes. “God, this is hard.”

“What’s hard?”

His eyes lifted and pinned hers. “I’m getting married.”

Peyton blinked at him. “Say what now?”

“I’m getting married, Peyton, in October.”

“You’re getting married?”

“Right.”

“You’re getting married?”

“Yes.”

Peyton looked away, her mind unable to process what he was saying. “In October?”

“Right.”

Peyton’s gaze snapped back to him. “That’s two months away.”

“I know.”

“Who is she?”

“The daughter of a partner in my father’s law firm.”

“I see.”

“Peyton, I know this is awkward. I didn’t know how to tell you. I mean I never expected this to happen after you and I…I mean…”

Peyton gave him a grim smile and shook her head. “Please stop.”

“I think you’d like her.”

That made Peyton blink again. “You think I’d like her?”

“She wants to meet you.”

“She wants to meet me?”

Devan seemed to be at a loss for what to say. He glanced over her shoulder into the precinct. “It’s not like that.”

“Then how is it? You talked about me to her?”

“Of course. You were my most recent significant relationship. I had to tell her about you.”

“And she wants to meet me?”

“She’s not threatened by you in any way, Peyton.” When Peyton’s back straightened, he held up a panicked hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean she understands about us.”

“She understands what?”

Devan looked over her shoulder again as if he thought the cavalry would come to his rescue or something.

“What are you looking for?” she said, glancing behind her as well.

“I…just thought…”

“What?”

“That Marco might…”

“Marco might what? Save your ass?”

“No, just…he…”

“He what?”

“You listen to him, he calms you…”

“Controls me?”

“I didn’t say controls you.”

“But you meant it.”

“No, no, Peyton, I just…”

“Save it, Adams. I don’t want to hear anymore.” She closed her eyes and held up a hand. “Look, I wish you all the best in the world. I hope this marriage is a success.”

Devan drew a deep breath. “Thank you for saying that, Peyton. That means a lot.”

Peyton gave him a tight smile. “You deserve it,” she said, then she pushed past him and headed for the door.

“Peyton?” he called after her, but she ignored him, throwing open the half-door and letting it slam behind her.

*    *    *

Abe lived in a trendy condo in the SOMA as the locals called it, or south of Market for everyone else. The ten story building was built in the 1920s and sported an eclectic art deco design that Abe just loved. It wasn’t as upscale as Devan’s condo had been, but it was certainly a lot more luxurious than the little house she had on 19th.

She stared at the geometric patterned numbers above the elevator door as it climbed, trying hard to still the anger inside of her. Her phone had been ringing for the half hour it took her to drive over here, but she refused to answer it. She didn’t need Marco’s sympathy right now. He wouldn’t know what to say, and he was sure to bungle it, making her mad at him too.

But Abe would know what to do. Abe would have the perfect platitude to give her and help her work through this hurt without shooting someone.

The elevator opened and she crossed the hall to his door. He had deliberately chosen the apartment right across from the elevator. He was such a busybody that he loved to know who was coming and going on his floor.

She rang the bell and listened for the beautiful chimes as they sounded. A moment later Abe threw open the door. He wore a purple pair of slacks with a lime green silk shirt and pointed toed cowboy boots. His dreads sported purple and green beads on the ends of them.

“You know, I absolutely love when Marco calls me, but it’s never the way I dream it. Whenever I get a call from him, he’s always calling about you, little soul sista, and it just pisses me off.”

Peyton felt a catch in her throat and the next thing she knew, she was crying.

Abe’s expression shifted from mock anger to panic. “Whoa, whoa, little bits, what the hell is this about?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the condo, guiding her through the entrance and to the living room. He handed her down onto the couch, then disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a handful of tissue.

Peyton took it and pressed it to her face, struggling to regain control. She hated breaking down emotionally in front of people, even Abe.

He sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back against his shoulder. “Tell me what happened and who I have to kill.”

She laughed through her tears, and pressed her face into his silk shirt. “Devan’s getting married.”

“Ah,” he said. He wrapped the other arm around her and held her while she fought to calm herself.

Pulling herself together, she let out a long sigh and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I probably ruined your shirt.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, brushing a stray curl off her cheek. “I’ve got just the thing to fix this.”

She leaned back to let him up and he headed off to the right where his state of the art kitchen lay. Shifting on the couch, she looked around his condo. Abe might have wild personal style, but his taste in home décor was exceptional. The eggplant colored walls weren’t something she would have chosen, but they gave an elegant air to the room. Coupled with his sleek black furniture and modern couches in burnt orange fabric, she always felt like she was in the home of an interior designer.

“That’s right, Angel’D, she’s right here with me,” he said, coming out of the kitchen with a phone pressed to one ear. In his other hand, he held a carton of something. “No, I got this one. This takes a gentle touch, D’licious, and much as I adore you, you just don’t have that.” Abe handed her a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon. “I’ll tell her. That’s right. Don’t you worry your pretty head none. Talk to you soon, Angel, bye.” He gave Peyton an amused look. “He says to call him if you need him.”

“Does he know what happened?”

“Just the basics.” He motioned at the carton with his chin as he laid the phone on the table. “Start on that, sweetie.”

She tore the top off and tossed it on his coffee table. Then she dug the spoon into the carton and pulled out a heaping serving, shoving it in her mouth.

Abe retreated to his kitchen, but he came back, holding a bottle, and unscrewed the cap. “Slow down, sweetie, you need to add something to it.” Leaning over, he poured it on top of her ice cream.

She tilted her head sideways and read Baileys. Yep, she definitely needed to add something to it. She took another scoop and tasted it. Perfect blend of sweet and spicy.

Abe settled the bottle on the coffee table and sank down beside her.

“You need a spoon too,” she told him.

He held up a golden spoon with a line of glittering beads snaking down the handle. “Got one.”

“What the hell is that? That’s not a spoon.”

“The hell it isn’t.” He waved it in front of her. “Every spoon should have embellishments.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s prettier.”

“Glass baubles make it prettier?”

“Glass baubles make everything prettier.”

She looked at her own plain spoon. “Why doesn’t mine have baubles then?”

“Because you’re depressed and baubles won’t help.”

She dug the spoon into the ice cream and then passed the carton to him. He took a spoonful as well.

“So D.A. Delicious is getting married? His loss.”

Peyton slumped back on the couch and licked the Baileys off her ice cream. “Sure, his loss. That’s why he’s moving on with his life and I’m not.”

Abe took some more ice cream. “Who’s he marrying anyway?”

“The daughter of a partner in his father’s law firm.”

“Ah, a trust-fund baby, eh?”

“Yep. Never held a job in her life. I’ll bet she looks like a Barbie doll.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have worked out between you two anyway.”

“What do you mean?” She shifted on the couch, folding her leg under her.

“How would he have fit into your life? Which one of us are you going to give up? Jake, me, Pickles…Marco.”

“Why would I have to give up any of you?”

Abe gave her a skeptical look.

She reached for another scoop. “I am never going to get married.”

“Never’s a pretty long time.”

“It’s true. I’m just not what men want. They want quiet, demure women who sit at home and wait on them. I’m not that.”

“Not every man wants that, sweets. Some men aren’t threatened by strong women.”

“Gay men.”

He laughed and ate another bite. “Not just gay men.” He held up his spoon and studied it. “You just aren’t looking in the right place.”

“You wanna tell me where that is. Come on, Abe. I’m gonna die alone.” She laid her head on his shoulder and scraped the ice cream with her spoon.

“You’re not gonna die alone. You’ve got me.”

“How do you do it? Stay so optimistic all of the time.”

“I just do. It’s built in.” He thought for a moment, licking the ice cream on his baubled spoon. “It’s too bad I’m gay, really?”

“Why?”

“We’d make such an awesome couple.”

“Yeah, we would.”

“But the fates just couldn’t allow that.”

“Why not?”

“Too much awesome. The world couldn’t handle it.”

She smiled. “It’s tiring, being awesome all the time.”

He rested his cheek against her hair. “It sure is.”

She pushed the spoon into the carton he held. “We need more Baileys.”

“We always need more Baileys, baby.”

CHAPTER 3

Gabby set her coffee cup on her desk and started her computer. Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the precinct, bathing her in a soft glow. Looking up, she watched the palm trees swaying in the lazy breeze. Already the humidity was rising and she knew it would get sticky and unpleasant before lunch.

She checked her emails and answered the few that couldn’t wait, then she pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and lifted out the scrapbook from Dana Messette’s safe deposit box. She lifted the mug and took a sip as she slowly and methodically went through every page. Dana had chronicled everything about her daughter’s life, from her smallest accomplishments to the one that should have been the biggest, the birth of her own daughter.

She came to the torn out pages and leaned back in her chair. No pictures of the baby, nothing about her growing up. Janet Messette had said her cousin was at her senior prom the night her parents died. She had to be 17 or 18 – a lot of life that would fill out a number of pages in a scrapbook, so why had they been torn out and where were they now?

Flipping to the next page, she found the newspaper article about Carol and David Witan’s murder. Behind it were many more articles, all cut out meticulously and glued into the scrapbook with an almost manic attention to detail. She glanced over each one, but they all pretty much said the same thing. Tilting the book, she found the longest article and took another sip of her coffee as she skimmed it.

NO LEADS IN WITAN MURDER CASE

The deaths of prominent Cardiologist David Witan and his wife, Oncologist Carol Messette-Witan, remain a mystery. Ruled a murder by Miami homicide detectives, the two physicians were found shot to death in their up-scale home by their daughter, Lily. No suspects have been identified and no witnesses have come forward. Neighbors remain on high alert. Anyone with information is urged to contact the Miami Police Department.

Scanning the other articles, she found no more information and for some reason, there were only photos of the house. Never a photo of Lily. Gabby wondered if the police had deliberately protected her from the media.

Turning to the last page, she found one last article more than two years after the Witan murders. It named Buck Reiter as the detective currently handling the investigation. The article was brief, and although the reporter didn’t state it had become a cold case, she did indicate that no new leads had been discovered.

The corner of this article hadn’t been glued down as carefully as the others and had folded over when someone closed the scrapbook. She smoothed it out with the pad of her index finger, but as she did so, she realized that it was thicker than typical newsprint. Easing back the corner, she peered under it and saw another scrap of paper slipped behind the first one.

Reaching into her top desk drawer, she pulled out a pair of tweezers and used them to carefully separate the newsprint from the cardstock of the scrapbook. Once she had it pulled back enough, she slipped the tweezers into the gap and pulled out a folded wad. Unfolding it, she found it was an obituary for a teenaged boy, only 17. He’d hung himself in his bedroom closet, leaving a note telling his parents how sorry he was. His name was Grant Sanderson, and the picture showed a smiling, young Caucasian male holding a basketball.

Gabby looked at the date of the obituary, then turned back to one of the articles on the murder. The obituary was dated about a month after the Witans were killed. Who the hell was this boy and why had Dana thought it was significant enough to include his death notice in Carol’s scrapbook?

“Hey, lady,” came Billy’s booming voice as he entered the precinct.

Gabby lowered the obituary and glanced up at him, taking another sip of her coffee. “Hey. You’re here early.”

“Yeah, you gotta look far to find someone as dedicated as I am.”

“I’ll bet.” She set her mug on the corner of her desk. “You got that file I asked you for last night, Mr. Reliable.”

He threw himself into his chair and swiveled around to face her. “Funny thing about that. The box is gone.”

“Gone? How can that be?”

“Currently, it’s in New York City.”

Gabby frowned. “Why?”

“Someone requested it about a year ago.”

“A year ago? Why the hell would New York want a Miami cold case?” It wasn’t lost on her that a year ago Dana Messette had suddenly wanted to open her music box.

“How much do you love me?”

“Not much at all.”

He waved her off. “I already put in a request to have the box shipped back to us. It should arrive in a day or two.”

Gabby gave him an approving smile and nod. “Now that’s taking initiative.”

“Really? That’s what it’s called?”

Gabby laughed. “You might make a Cold Case Detective yet, bud.”

Billy placed a hand over his heart and feigned tears. “That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Nothing’s more important than Cold Case.”

Gabby glared at him. “I take it back. You suck.”

*    *    *

Marco glanced up as a door down the hall opened. Peyton appeared around the corner of the living room, her hair in loose, damp curls around her shoulders. Pickles lifted his head from his food bowl long enough to wag his tail at her before he went back to eating.

“Hey, partner,” she said, slowing her stride. She came to the counter and climbed on a stool, leaning over to see what he was doing. “Are you making breakfast?”

“Omelets.” He reached for a paper cup and handed it across the counter to her.

“Mocha?”

“You got it.”

“With whipped cream?”

“Of course.”

She took a sip, closing her eyes in pleasure. “Do you know how much I love you right now?”

He didn’t answer that.

Pickles finished his bowl and came over to her, pawing her leg. She scooped him into her arms and settled him on her lap. “Are eggs allowed in a vegetarian diet?”

He picked up the whip and began beating them. “Usually no, but I make an exception for these eggs. They come from a little farm up north that allows the chickens to be completely free range.” He held up a block of cheese. “Cheese too. It’s goat cheese and the goats not only produce milk, but they’re also used for fire abatement to eat down the overgrown vegetation.”

Peyton smiled as she lifted her coffee for a sip. “I’m guessing no bacon, right?”

“Right. Pigs don’t just drop the bacon as they graze.”

“Too bad.”

He added a dash of soy milk and set the bowl aside, turning to the cutting board. Grabbing a tomato, he began chopping it. “Look, Peyton, about yesterday.”

She lowered her coffee cup. “I suppose Devan told you as soon as I left?”

He nodded.

“Great. It wasn’t enough to humiliate me, but he had to tell my partner too.”

“It wasn’t like that.” He glanced up at her through his lashes. “This isn’t easy for me to talk about, but…” He met her gaze directly. “Devan wasn’t right for you.”

She curled her arms around Pickles and rested her cheek on his head. “Who is, Marco? Is there anyone right for me? Anyone that can handle me?”

He set down the knife. “Of course there is. You just keep looking in the wrong places.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe cops should never marry. Maybe we’re just not cut out for the give and take of a real relationship.”

He leaned closer to her. “That’s not true. You have plenty to give. You just need a man who is secure in himself, who doesn’t want to dominate you, who doesn’t feel threatened by your strength and independence.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “As I told Abe last night, you’re talking about gay men.”

Marco’s eyes rose and pinned hers. “Not entirely.”

She went still, her gazing narrowing on him.

“Would you look at this? Adonis cooks? Who’da thunk it?” said Jake, coming around the corner. He climbed on the stool next to Peyton.

Marco broke her stare, then reached for a second paper cup and passed it over to him.

“Thank you. So what are you cooking?”

“Omelets. How do you like yours?”

“Omelets? We get real eggs?”

“Yep.”

“And cheese?”

“Yep.”

Jake leaned forward. “Bacon?”

“No pig.”

Jake looked over at Peyton. “I love pig.”

She gave him a half-smile.

Marco picked up his bowl and carried it to the frying pan on the stove.

“And you brought us coffee? You’re spoiling us, D’Angelo,” he said, lifting it to his lips. He took a sip, then groaned in pleasure. “Lord, I haven’t had coffee this good since Zoë…” His voice caught and he lowered the cup.

Marco looked over his shoulder and watched Peyton run a hand across Jake’s back.

“Sorry,” said Jake, shaking his head in embarrassment. “This trial thing just brought up all of the old feelings.”

“I know, but it’ll be good to get closure, won’t it?”

Jake gave her a wounded smile. “I hope so. I’m just afraid it’ll start the nightmares again.”

Marco forced his attention back to the omelets. He didn’t have anything to say to that. He couldn’t even fathom the devastation of such loss – it made his stomach knot.

“Abe said he’d do the autopsy this morning,” said Peyton, shifting the conversation.

“I know.” Marco added the vegetables to the eggs, then sprinkled shredded cheese on top.

“I guess we should go over there before we go to the precinct.”

He folded the omelet over and then slid it onto a plate, carrying it to her. Setting it on the counter, he passed her a fork. She was watching him with those dark, exotic eyes of hers, searching him. Pickles lifted his head, his nose sniffing frantically.

“What do you say?” she asked.

“I say that’s a plan. The morgue after breakfast.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

Jake looked longingly at her plate. “I get one of those too, right?”

*    *    *

Abe glanced up as they entered his autopsy room, his dreads sliding back over his shoulders. A smile stretched the width of his face, his teeth barely constrained in his mouth. He wore a white lab coat, but Peyton could see a brilliant hot pink shirt peeking out at the collar.

“If it isn’t my favorite two people…and Jake.”

Jake gave him a sarcastic smile. “The street runs both ways, buddy.”

Abe chuckled and turned, slapping an x-ray onto the light box. Peyton was glad his examination table was empty, but the damp floor beneath it still made her feel queasy.

“Did you finish the autopsy on Matt Jensen?”

“About ten minutes ago. Just doing a final check,” he said, squinting at the x-ray. “He’s in the cold room if you wanna get some pictures, Jake.”

“Got it.” He turned on his heel and went back out the door. It always surprised Peyton how quickly Jake had taken to his new profession. None of it seemed to bother him, except, well…decapitated heads, but she figured that was understandable.

“What’d you find, Abe?”

He turned and studied her. “How are you this morning?”

“Fine. The Baileys and ice cream did the trick.” She shot a look at Marco, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. She wasn’t sure what had happened this morning, but it had been one of the strangest exchanges between them in eight years. She hadn’t really had time to process it yet.

Abe moved to the stainless steel table and leaned on it. “You sure?”

“Yeah. About Matt Jensen?”

His attention shifted to Marco. “Mmm mmm mmm, you look as fit and fine as ever, my Angel’D. Love the black jeans.”

“Thanks.” Marco shifted uncomfortably.

“Abe!”

“Right, Jensen.” He splayed his elegantly long-fingered hands on the table. “He was shot at close range, .22. Cheap ass bullet, but even so, it was enough to knick his heart, pierce a lung and lodge in his spinal column, severing his spinal cord. Poor bastard would have been instantly paralyzed and unable to call for help.”

“How’d it do all that?”

“Close as I can figure, the shooter put the gun right up to his sternum and pulled the trigger. He bled out slowly. Must have been excruciatingly painful.”

“How long would it take you to bleed out like that?” asked Marco.

“Report says his heart was still beating when the medics arrived, so he couldn’t have been down more than 15 minutes or so.”

“Meilin said she found him around 10:40 and the restaurant closed at 10:00.”

“So that means he was shot after the restaurant closed. How could no one have heard anything?” asked Marco.

Peyton chewed her inner lip. “When I went into the kitchen, I noticed acoustic tiles on the ceiling. Maybe they blocked the sound?”

“Maybe.”

“Just one shot?” Peyton asked Abe.

“Just the one. More than enough, though.”

“And it’s been sent to ballistics?”

“First courier of the morning.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing. He was the picture of health. Young, fit, great build. Not as great as yours, Angel, but…” He winked at Marco.

Marco gave him a sarcastic nod.

“How young?”

“Late twenties at the outside.”

“Younger than Meilin.”

“Yeah, but she’s a good looking woman.”

Peyton frowned at him. “You’re gay.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize good looking women, does it?”

“No, but how do you know what she looks like?” Peyton asked, although she felt sure she knew the answer.

“Food Battles. Come on, really, you didn’t watch last season?”

“I didn’t watch any season. The only thing worse than watching people cook is watching people golf.”

“You have no taste whatsoever.” He swatted a hand at her. “There’s drama and tension, back stabbing and cattiness. It has everything a really good reality show should have.”

“Back stabbing?”

“Not literally, no, but you know…” He gave her a sultry look.

“Did Meilin have any enemies on the show? Anyone who was particularly competitive with her?”

“They were all competitive, but everyone seemed genuinely happy she won. I think she was the most well liked contestant on there. She sure was a fan favorite.”

“We probably need to get the names of everyone on the show,” she told Marco.

He nodded.

“How many people compete each season?”

“You start with five. A person gets eliminated every two weeks, until there’s only two left. Then they have two weeks to impress the public and the judges before the final votes are tallied.”

“So what? Eight weeks? She was bound to piss someone off in that time, right?”

Abe held up his hands. “Like I said, she was one of the most popular people on the show.”

*    *    *

They got back to the precinct around noon. Peyton hesitated in the entrance, marking that Maria’s desk was still empty. Defino poked her head out of her office when she heard them.

“Brief me,” she said.

Peyton followed Marco through the half-door.

“I’ll just go print pictures,” said Jake, hurrying toward the back of the precinct.

Peyton glanced after him, then faced the captain. “We met with Meilin yesterday afternoon. She swears she didn’t hear or see anything. We talked with Abe this morning. He pegs the shooting at around 10:30 or so, since the victim bled out. He estimates she had to find him within 15 minutes of the gunshot for him to still have a heartbeat. The restaurant closed at 10:00 and she didn’t come upstairs until 10:40, so the shooting happened after the restaurant closed, which means the shooter was in the building once the front doors were locked, but no one saw him.”

“That’s strange. Was anyone else with Meilin when she found the body?”

“No, but apparently, she never leaves the kitchen once they open until they close. It ought to be easy to verify that with the rest of the employees. Also, there was a bloody footprint on the window sill in her flat, leading out to a fire escape. We think the shooter left that way. Meilin is about my height, so the footprint is too big to be hers. Someone was in that flat.”

“Did Jake dust for fingerprints?”

“He did,” said Marco. “We should get the results today, but Meilin also mentioned that a photograph of her and Jensen was broken in her room.”

“Lovers’ triangle?”

Peyton shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

“What’s your next move?”

“Talk with the other employees. See if any of them remember Meilin leaving for an extended period of time. Wait for the analysis from the crime lab on the fingerprints. We should probably search to see if Meilin or Jensen bought a gun recently. Abe said it was a .22.”

“The restaurant is opening again tonight for business,” offered Defino.

“Is Meilin working?”

“No, she’s still too shaken up, but the employees asked me if it would be all right. I told them to go for it.”

Peyton held up a hand. “That’ll be the perfect time to talk to them, then.”

“I’ll go look for a gun permit before we go back out there,” said Marco, moving toward their desks.

Peyton hung back. “Captain, is Maria still sick?”

Defino’s brow knit. “Yeah, she says the doctor told her to stay out the rest of the week.”

“Did you actually talk to her or her boyfriend?”

“I talked to her this time. She doesn’t sound well.”

Peyton gave her a nod. “Anything on the Clean-up Crew case?”

“Brooks.”

“I know, it’s just hard to let it go.”

“Well, do so. You need to focus on this murder and forget about that one. Besides, I’m beginning to think our last encounter spooked him. Maybe he’s moved off to greener pastures.”

“You don’t hope that, do you?”

“I don’t want him killing more people, but yeah, I hope like hell he’s gone from the City. I’d be lying if I told you differently.” With that, she went back into her office and shut the door.

Peyton waited a few seconds, then she hurried around Maria’s desk and pulled open the top drawer, locating the electric bill with the yellow forwarding address label. Glancing around, she made sure no one was looking, then she pulled out her notebook and wrote the address inside, replacing the envelope in the desk and shutting the drawer again.

She slipped the notebook back in her pocket and went in search of her partner.

*    *    *

The Yellow Lotus wasn’t open yet when they arrived, but a teenage girl came to the door and unlocked it when Peyton showed her badge. She wore a pair of black slacks and a crisp white collared shirt. Her long black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.

“Inspector Brooks with the SFPD,” Peyton said, stepping inside. Marco followed behind her.

The girl gave her a grim smile. “Meilin said you might be out again.”

“We heard you were opening tonight.”

“Yeah, at 5:00.”

“Do you work here every night?”

“Pretty much. Saving for college, you know? My aunt is one of the cooks and I wait tables.”

“Were you here two night ago when the shooting happened?”

“I might have been. I left around 8:00.”

Peyton could hear people banging pots in the kitchen. “Is everyone here that was here that night?”

“Except Meilin. She’s still too upset to come to work.”

“I’m Peyton, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Leah.”

“Leah, can I talk to your aunt?”

“She doesn’t speak English very well, but I can translate.”

“Sounds good.”

The girl motioned toward the kitchen. Peyton and Marco followed her. At least seven people bustled about, prepping dishes, folding tablecloths, or chopping vegetables. All motion ceased as they entered.

Leah went over to an older woman and touched her shoulder. Bending close, she began talking in rapid Chinese, pointing at them. The woman put down her knife and followed Leah over, clasping her hands in the folds of her apron.

“This is my aunt, Inspector Brooks, Lin Chu.”

“Nice to meet you.” Peyton pulled out a business card and passed it over. Leah translated for her. “Two nights ago, you were working here in the kitchen?”

Lin nodded.

“Do you remember Meilin being here as well?”

The older woman talked rapidly to the younger one, her hands gesticulating.

“She says Meilin is always here, watching everything they do. She manages everything.”

Peyton and Marco smiled at that. “Was there ever a time that Meilin wasn’t here? A time when she went to the bathroom or something?”

Leah translated. Lin’s eyes grew wide as she talked and she motioned even more expansively. Leah gave Peyton a wry look. “She says the woman has a bladder of iron. She never goes to the bathroom. If she absolutely had to go, she’d probably squat in the corner so they wouldn’t be out of her sight.”

“Not a fan, eh?”

Leah shrugged.

Marco wandered away, headed toward the back door.

Leah followed him with her eyes, then she looked back at Peyton. “Cute,” she said, giving Peyton a sheepish grin.

Peyton smiled back at her. “He’s heard it before. Too many times, in fact.”

“Bet Meilin liked him.”

Peyton cocked her head. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said it. She’d probably fire me if she knew.”

Peyton motioned to the kitchen door. “You wanna step out here, away from prying eyes and ears?”

Leah shrugged again, but she followed Peyton as she backed to the door, Aunt Lin on her heels.

Going to a table, Peyton pulled out a chair and sat down, waiting for the two women to do the same. “Do the rest of the people in there speak English?”

“Some. Enough to get by.”

“Are they loyal to Meilin?”

“She pays our wages. We’re loyal enough.”

“I get the sense she’s a difficult employer.”

“She likes things just so.”

Aunt Lin added something, tapping Leah’s forearm.

Leah nodded.

“What’d she say?”

“Controlling. That’s Meilin. Oh, not where anyone else can see, but behind the door…” She gave Peyton a meaningful look.

“I got you.” Peyton braced her arms on the table, lowering her voice. “What did you mean when you said you bet Meilin liked my partner?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nothing you tell me will get back to her. I promise you that.”

Leah glanced at her aunt. “Don’t get me wrong. Meilin is good to us, pays us well, it’s just she watches everything we do. She doesn’t trust her own people.” She gave Peyton a pointed look. “It’s annoying.”

“Understandable. I still need to know what you meant about my partner.”

“Meilin likes men. She especially likes them young, hot and white…like your partner.”

“Was she having an affair?”

“I don’t think she was cheating on Matt physically. She just likes the attention. She can get men to do anything for her and she likes that power.”

“I see.”

Aunt Lin spoke, patting Leah’s arm. Leah gave her a nod of agreement.

Peyton waited for the translation.

“She wants you to know that Meilin is a good boss. She could have gone anywhere to open a restaurant, but she picked here. We appreciate that.”

Peyton nodded, offering the aunt an understanding smile. “Leah, I get that Meilin liked male attention, but how was she around Matt? Did they ever fight?”

“Not that I saw. Meilin always talked about him like he meant the world to her.”

“The restaurant’s been open how long now?”

“Not quite a year.”

“Have you worked here that long?”

“Since the grand opening, yes.”

“In all that time, have you ever seen anyone get upset at Meilin or Matt? Did she ever fire an employee or piss off a customer?”

“Nothing that stands out with me.”

“What do you know about Matt?”

“Not much. I saw him a few times, but that’s about it. He always said hi, but not much else.”

Marco pushed open the kitchen door and stepped out. Peyton glanced over at him, then gave Leah a smile. “If you think of anything else, anything at all, will you call me?” She nodded at the card clutched in Aunt Lin’s hand.

“We’ll call you,” said Leah.

Peyton rose to her feet and shook hands with both of them. “Thank you for the information.”

Leah shrugged. “Ain’t no thing.”

*    *    *

Marco drove her back to the precinct. She climbed out of the Charger and waited for him to cross around the back of it.

“I think I’m going to head out,” she said. “It’s almost 5:00.”

He frowned at her. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I’m just feeling like a hot shower and a night in front of the television.”

He dropped his gaze and stared at the toe of his work boots. “We could get a drink.”

She touched his arm. “I just need to work through this on my own, Marco. I’m fine, really.”

He nodded.

“Will you debrief Defino for me?”

“Of course.”

She pulled out the key to her Corolla and started to turn toward it, but she stopped and turned back around. Stepping up to him, she lifted on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then she backed away. He gave her a smile and held up a hand, then he shifted toward the precinct.

Peyton waited in her little green Corolla until he climbed the stairs and disappeared inside. She felt guilty lying to him, but she didn’t think he would understand where she wanted to go next. He’d think she was meddling and wouldn’t understand the strange feeling she had. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her notebook and flipped to the page where she’d written Maria’s new address. Maria’s new locale was in the Sunset District on the edge of the City, bordering Highway 1.

Starting the Corolla, she pulled out of the parking lot. As she drove through the commute hour traffic, she played their current case over in her mind. Abe had said Meilin was the most well liked of the contestants by both the public and her competitors, but the people who worked for her now had conflicting feelings. Which one was the true Meilin? And what about Leah’s comment about her liking attention from men? That could certainly turn into a problem if she did more than flirt with them.

She’d definitely noticed Marco’s looks, but that meant less than nothing. All women, and a good number of men, noticed him. Still, a lover’s triangle would give the shooter a motive, but why attack Matt and leave Meilin alone? A killer so bold as to enter the victim’s house when others were around probably wouldn’t hesitate to attack Meilin too. And if that were true, it meant Meilin might still be in danger.

Peyton pulled out of traffic and reached for her phone, pressing the contact list for Marco’s number. She watched the traffic surge around her as she waited for him to pick up.

“Hey,” came his voice on the other end.

“Hey, did you find out if Meilin or Matt had a gun registered in their names?”

“Yeah, nothing.”

“I’ve been thinking. If this is a lover’s triangle, like Defino suggested, Meilin may be in danger. Who’s on duty tonight?”

“Hold on.” She could hear the click of a mouse. “Holmes.”

“Is Meilin still at the Marriott?”

“Yeah, she booked it for the whole week.”

“You might alert Holmes to be on the look-out and have any calls from her patched directly through to him.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks, partner.”

“No problem. Enjoy your TV. I hear there’s a great reality show on about cooking.”

“Ranks right up there with growing grass.”

He laughed. “Later, Brooks.”

“Later, Marco baby.” She hung up and pulled out into traffic again.

She arrived at Maria’s address close to 6:00. She parked the car in front of a single story house that squatted over the garage and stared up at the front windows. Like so many homes in San Francisco, a long enclosed staircase led up to the front door. She couldn’t see any lights on inside and the porch light was out. Maybe no one was home?

Still, it didn’t hurt to check it out.

Climbing out of the car, she started to reach for her jacket, then stopped. Although the fog perpetually lay over the Sunset, it wasn’t really cold. Adjusting her shoulder harness, she wondered if she should lock her gun in the trunk. Naw, she didn’t intend to stay. She just wanted to check on Maria and go. The idea of a hot shower and television actually sounded enticing.

She locked the car and stepped up on the sidewalk. Jogging up the stairs, she hesitated at the top and pressed her ear to the door, listening. She didn’t hear anything on the other side – no voices, no television, no sounds of habitation.

She knocked loudly three times, the sound echoing away into the fog. The square tiled landing had no windows, just the solid oak door with its peeling green paint. A splattering of mildew darkened a corner of the white stucco and the threshold was split and warped.

She placed her hands in her back pockets and rocked on her heels. She wondered how long she should wait. Maria wouldn’t be thrilled to see her, true, but she would just express her concern, then leave. No harm, no foul.

Noticing a doorbell beside the door, she reached to push it, but the bare-bulb porch light suddenly went on. A lock turned on the door and the door creaked open a crack. Maria peeked out, her hair in a messy ponytail, her face naked of the usual make-up she wore.

“Brooks, what the hell are you doing here?”

“You haven’t been at work in four days. I was worried. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. How did you get my address?”

“Detective,” said Peyton with a forced smile. She’d expected Maria to be less than pleased, but she was downright hostile about it. Tilting her head, Peyton tried to get a better look at her. “Is that a black eye?”

“Just go away, Brooks, all right? Everything’s fine. I’ll be at work in a day or two.”

Peyton put a hand against the door. “Let me come in, Maria.”

“Just go away, Brooks. You have no right to come here. I don’t want you at my house.”

“Look, if you’re in trouble…”

“I’m not in trouble. I just need you to get the hell out of here.”

Peyton could hear someone moving in the house behind her. Maria did too and her expression grew panicked.

“Please go,” she whispered.

“I told you to get rid of her!” came a loud male voice.

Peyton’s jaw firmed and she applied more pressure to the door, but suddenly a hand snaked out and grabbed Maria’s ponytail, yanking her backward. Maria uttered a sobbing cry, then disappeared as the door was slammed shut.

Peyton leaped for it and turned the handle, shoving it open. She caught sight of Maria crumpled against the wall with a man looming over her, his fists raised.

“Hey!” Peyton shouted, starting forward, but before she could get to Maria, the man swung his leg around, his foot connecting with her jaw. Stunned, she staggered and nearly lost her balance, but he came back with his other foot and slammed a kick into her ribs.

Pain exploded in Peyton’s side and the breath rushed out of her. A moment later, he slammed into her, taking her back into the wall next to the door, her head smacking against the molding. Bracing his forearm across her throat, he leaned his whole weight into her. Peyton gasped for air, scrambling for her shoulder harness. He was so intent on choking her that he didn’t notice.

She tore the gun free, thrusting the barrel against his temple. “Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking brains out!”

The man’s eyes widened, then he eased off the pressure on Peyton’s throat.

“Maybe Maria didn’t tell you that she works with cops, asshole.”

He held up his hands on either side of him, but he still had her pinned with the weight of his body.

“Back your ass up and keep your hands where I can see them.”

He backed up and Peyton shifted the gun so it pointed directly at his forehead. She braced it with her other hand to hold it steady. She could feel her jaw already beginning to swell and it felt like someone had shoved a hot poker under her ribs.

“Now get on your knees real slow. You make any funny moves and I will put a bullet in you.”

He kept eye contact with her as he lowered himself to his knees. He was about five ten, not overly bulky, but he had a lean musculature and a good fifty pounds on her. He was Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes. He might have been handsome, except there was something cruel about the close-set eyes and the thin-lipped mouth.

Peyton stepped closer to him, bracing her legs. “Now get on your stomach and put your hands behind you.”

As he complied with her orders, Peyton glanced at Maria where she huddled on the floor, clutching her right shoulder. “Get my cuffs, Maria.”

She struggled to pull herself up and limped to Peyton’s side, taking the cuffs from her belt. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, but she gave Peyton a determined look.

“Put them on him, tight.”

Maria sank down beside him and snapped the first cuff on his wrist. He didn’t resist, but glared up at Peyton the entire time. Reaching into her belt, she pulled out a zip tie and held it out to Maria with one hand, the other on her gun. “Tie up his feet as well.” No way was she letting this bastard kick her again.

Maria struggled to get it pulled tight, but she finally had it, then she slid back from him and huddled against the wall once more. Peyton let out a pant of relief and lowered the gun, stepping over him and going to Maria. She sank down beside her, holding the gun in one hand and reaching for her phone with the other.

Maria was breathing rapidly in shock or pain, Peyton wasn’t sure, and the tears kept streaming down her cheeks. “Look what he did to your face,” she whispered.

Peyton touched her left cheek with the back of the hand that held her phone. “Is your shoulder dislocated?”

“I think so. My stomach hurts too.”

Peyton nodded and thumbed on the phone.

Maria reached over with her good hand and covered the display. “What are you doing?”

“Calling for backup, then an ambulance.”

“Please don’t call Marco.”

Peyton frowned at that. “Why?”

“Please don’t. He’ll go crazy and this is bad enough without him knowing.”

“Okay. What about Holmes? He’s on duty tonight.”

Maria nodded, reaching for her shoulder again. “Holmes is fine. Just not Marco.”

Peyton wasn’t sure what the hell to make of that, but she didn’t argue, dialing Holmes’ number. He picked up on the second ring. “Drew, I need your help.”

He gave a laugh. “I always knew you’d call me one of these times. What did you screw up now?”

“This is serious, Drew.” She briefly told him what happened and gave him the address. “Can you call an ambulance?”

“I’m on it. Sit tight and I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” she said and released the call, leaning back against the wall beside Maria. Her jaw ached and her ribs were on fire. Damn it all, what if the rat-bastard broke something? For some reason, she desperately wanted to call Marco. No matter what Maria said, she wished he was here with her.

Rolling her head on the wall, she gave Maria a faint smile. “How you holding up?”

Maria swallowed hard, the tears dropping off her chin. “I feel like such a damn fool. I really thought this was going somewhere.”

“Oh, he’s definitely going somewhere. It’s called jail.”

Maria gave a bark of laughter, then moaned in pain. “Don’t do that.”

Peyton smiled. “This is why I’ve always thought you’d be better with a woman.”

Maria moaned again, choking on a laugh. She bumped Peyton’s shoulder gently with her own. “Please stop, Brooks. Haven’t I been through enough?”

“I suppose,” said Peyton, “but in a few minutes, Drew Holmes will be coming through that door and I can already imagine the shit he’s gonna give us.”

“That ain’t nothing,” said Maria quietly. “Just you wait ‘til Marco gets a look at your face.”

CHAPTER 4

Rick Montano set a box on Gabby’s desk and looked up at her. She was returning from the file room.

The DNA from the hairbrush in Lois Clearwater’s car had come back inconclusive, no match in the system. They were no closer to finding the mother of three than they had been two weeks ago.

“Is that the Witan case?” she asked.

“Sure is. Just came in. What’s it doing in New York?”

Gabby shook her head. “Cold Case up there asked for it. Didn’t really tell Billy why.”

“Where is Boy Wonder?”

“Searching for any information we can find on the Witans – traffic tickets, jury summons, lawsuits, anything at all that might explain why someone wanted them dead.”

“Have you contacted Buck Reiter yet?”

“Yeah.” She flattened her hand on the cover of the cardboard box. “He’s on an Alaskan cruise with his wife for another three days.”

“Must be nice.”

She smiled. “I know. First I couldn’t wait to be 21, now I can’t wait to retire. Something wrong with that.”

Rick shrugged. “Want me to help you with this?”

“Sure.” She hooked Billy’s chair and pulled it over, then sat down in her own. Lifting the lid, she pulled out a brown file and set it on her blotter.

Rick looked over the top of the box and pulled out some folded clothes in a sealed plastic bag. She could see the blood stains on the fabric even from where she sat.

“Carol or David’s?”

“Carol,” said Rick, setting it aside. He pulled out another bag and set it on top of the first. “This is David’s.” He reached in again and added a third set to the pile.

Gabby could see the pale blue of taffeta with beading along the sleeve. “Lily’s prom dress?”

“Apparently.” He tilted it, so Gabby could see the blood stain on the bodice.

“Can you imagine how hard it would be to find your parents like that?”

“No, I can’t.”

Gabby opened the file. It was broken into sections. CSI reports, lab reports, photographs of the crime scene, and then an entire section of interviews Buck Reiter had conducted. He’d talked to Dana Messette and the neighbors of the Witans, but one name in particular caught Gabby’s attention. Sanderson.

“Hmm.”

“What?” said Rick, leaning over to look at the file.

“Sanderson.” She pulled open her lower desk drawer and took out the scrapbook, flipping it open to the page with the final article about the case. She’d placed the obituary in the binding to keep it from slipping out. She passed it to Rick. “This kid killed himself about a month after the Witans were murdered. He was one of their neighbors, apparently. Reiter interviewed the parents, but they were so distraught, they didn’t really have much to tell him.”

“Weird. A lot of tragedy for one neighborhood.”

“Yeah.” She turned to the pictures, studying the gruesome images of a dead Carol and David, lying in their own blood. David had been shot in the chest, but it looked like Carol had been hit in the forehead, her brains splattered on the wall behind her. There were photos of the blood stains, photos of the bodies, photos of the room where they died. There were even photos of a broken glass one of them had dropped as they were shot, but there were no photos of their daughter, Lily – not a single one.

“This is so strange.”

“What?”

Gabby tapped a finger on a picture of the room. “The scrapbook has missing pages right where you’d expect to find images of the Witans’ daughter Lily. And in this file, with all of these pictures, there isn’t a single one of her. Since she had their blood on her dress, wouldn’t someone have thought to take her picture?”

“You’d think so.”

Gabby thought for a moment. “I really want to see a picture of this girl.”

“What about the granddaughter? What was her name?”

“Janet? Yeah, I’ll give her a call and see if she can find anything for me.”

Billy came around the corner of the building, holding a piece of paper in his hands. “How much do you love me?” he said to Gabby, beaming from ear to ear.

“Not much at all,” she answered. “Did you find out anything about the Witans before they died?”

“Not the Witans. The Messettes. Three week before the Witan murders, Philip Messette, Carol’s father, reported a stolen gun – a Colt M1911.”

“Nice gun,” said Rick.

“I know, right?” answered Billy.

Gabby flipped over to the ballistics report. “Well, shit. The Witans were both shot with a .45.” She lifted her gaze to the two men. “Gentlemen, I think we’ve just identified our murder weapon. Wonder how Buck missed that?”

“Did they ever find the gun?”

Gabby ran her finger over the report as she read. “No. They never did,” she answered. “Well, now that is a problem.”

*    *    *

The curtain was violently thrown back and Marco loomed in the entrance. Peyton flinched at the expression on his face, curling her arm over her ribs. She’d been trying to put on her boots, but that was proving a hell of a lot more difficult than she’d thought.

“They tell you to get dressed, they just don’t tell you how,” she said, trying to be light.

He moved into the make-shift exam room, filling it with raw, male tension. Behind him Peyton could see the emergency room nurses rushing back and forth. He extended a hand and placed two fingers under her chin, turning her face and looking at her swollen left cheek and jaw.

“They give you any ice?”

She patted the bag next to her.

“He punch you?”

She was surprised at the calmness in his voice. It scared her a little.

“Kicked me. He’s some kind of martial arts idiot.”

“How’s Maria?”

“Dislocated shoulder, cracked a few ribs. They’re keeping her overnight for observation.”

He grabbed the only chair in the room and pulled it up beside the bed, taking a seat. Then he grabbed her foot and braced it on his knee, while he reached for her boot.

“Marco?”

His eyes rose and met hers. They looked smoky and dark in the brilliantly lit emergency room.

“I know you’re angry.”

“Why am I angry, Peyton?”

She winced at his use of her first name. “Because I didn’t call you, but Maria asked me not to.”

“Maria told you not to call me? Why?”

“She was so embarrassed. I don’t think she was thinking straight.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Late.”

“Early. It’s tomorrow already. Do you know how I found out?”

“Holmes.”

“He called wanting to know why the hell I wasn’t down here.”

Peyton swallowed and looked away. “Marco, please…”

“Please what? What made you go to her house?”

“I was worried about her.”

“And you couldn’t tell me that?”

She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. She was so damn tired. She didn’t want to go around and around with him. He slid her boot on her foot and began to lace it.

“I thought you’d tell me I was meddling.”

“You were.”

“I thought you’d tell me not to do it.”

“I would.” His eyes rose to hers. “And then I would have gone with you.” He released her foot and grabbed the other one, reaching for the second boot. “At least tell me you pulled your gun on the bastard.”

“Shoved it right up against his brain.”

“That’s my girl,” he said.

She felt a flush of warmth at his words. “I’m sorry, Marco.”

He didn’t answer, just worked at the lacing of her other boot.

“Marco?”

“Let it go, Brooks, okay?”

“Okay. I just don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen.” He leaned back in the chair. “You do this shit all the time. You never think anything through all the way and you don’t feel like you have to answer to anybody. I’ve known this for eight years.”

“This is why I couldn’t make it work with Devan.”

“Yeah.” He gave her a pointed look. “It is.”

She pushed him with her foot, then winced as it jarred her ribs. “You’re supposed to tell me that’s not true, that it was all his fault.”

“No, I’m not. That’s Abe’s job.” He nodded at her side. “Anything broken?”

“No, just bruised.”

A male nurse entered. “All right, Inspector. Here’s your pain medication and your release papers. Follow up with your own doctor tomorrow, okay?”

She accepted the white paper bag he gave her and signed where he indicated on the clipboard.

He passed a copy to her and gave her a big smile. “Hopefully we won’t see you for another month.” Then he was gone.

“Cute,” she said, then watched as Marco climbed to his feet.

He placed a hand under her arm and helped her slide off the bed. She sucked in a breath as her feet hit the floor. Everything hurt. Every inch of her was sore.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he reached back and grabbed the ice, passing it to her. “At least put this on your face. You look like you’ve been brawling down by the docks.”

She gave a laugh, then gripped his arm hard as pain speared through her. “Are you punishing me, D’Angelo?”

“Sweetheart, that wouldn’t do me a damn bit of good, now would it?”

She choked on another laugh, gasping in pain.

“Man up, Brooks,” he said, helping her walk beyond the curtain.

*    *    *

Jake met them in the entry way the moment they opened the door. Wearing a tank top and a pair of sweats, he held Pickles under his arm, his hair mussed from sleep. His expression shifted from concern to alarm and he reached for Peyton’s arm.

“What the hell happened?”

“It’s a long story, Jake, and I really need to go to bed,” she said.

Marco closed the door behind him and helped her walk toward her room, shoving the paper bag against Jake’s chest. “Get her a glass of water and one of these.”

He grabbed for the bag, then hurried into the kitchen.

Marco guided Peyton around the couch and into the hallway, reaching around her to open her bedroom door. He got her to the bed and she sank down on it. Kneeling in front of her, he began to unlace her boots.

Jake arrived with the water and a pill. Pickles followed him into the room, his tail between his legs. Jake handed both to her, then took a step back as she swallowed the pill. Marco pulled off her boots, then gently lifted her legs to the bed. She sank back against the pillows, grimacing as she lay down.

“Where’s my dog?” she said through clenched teeth, passing the glass of water to him.

Marco placed the water on the nightstand, then picked up Pickles and settled him on the bed beside her. The little Yorkie curled against her side, resting his head on her hand. Reaching for a blanket on the end of the bed, Marco pulled it over her.

She caught his hand as he started to pull away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Shut up, Brooks,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

She gave him a faint smile as he pulled away, then closed her eyes. He backed from the room, carefully pulling the door closed, then turned to find Jake waiting for him.

“What the hell happened to her, D’Angelo?” Jake demanded.

Marco motioned him back into the living room. “She went to Maria’s house to check on her. Maria’s boyfriend didn’t appreciate the interference and went after Maria. When Peyton tried to defend her, he attacked her.”

“Attacked Peyton?”

“Yeah.”

“She needs to be in the hospital.”

“Where do you think she’s been, Ryder?”

“Why did they release her?”

“She’s banged up. Nothing serious.”

“Looks serious to me. What about Maria?”

“They kept her overnight for observation. She’s a little worse off.”

“How did Peyton stop him?”

“She pulled her gun.”

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “Where were you?”

Marco let out his breath. “Obviously I wasn’t there, was I?”

“Why not?”

“Because she didn’t tell me she was going.”

Jake’s eyes went beyond him to Peyton’s door. “She can’t keep doing this.”

Marco rubbed the back of his neck. He was keyed up and exhausted. He didn’t need to deal with histrionics right now. “Doing what, Ryder?”

“This job. She’s going to get herself killed. She just can’t help but get involved and then this is what happens.” He held out a hand toward her door and his eyes tracked back to Marco. “You’ve got to get her to quit.”

“What?”

“You’ve got to tell her to quit.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” He started for the front door.

Jake shifted to follow him. “I’m not kidding. You’ve got to talk her into quitting or you’re responsible for what happens.”

Marco whipped back to face him, his eyes narrowing. “Sometimes you’re not very smart, Ryder, you know that?”

“You know I’m right.”

“How?”

“She won’t listen to anyone else, but she’ll listen to you. Tell her to quit, Marco. Ask her and she’ll do it for you.”

Marco took a step closer to him. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Why? Why won’t you? Do you like seeing her like this? Do you like seeing her hurt?” He slapped a hand against his thigh. “I don’t. I can’t stand it. How can you?”

“Because!” he shouted, then he closed his eyes to compose himself. “Because I don’t have any other choice.”

“What the hell does that mean? You can talk to her, you can make her see how dangerous this is.”

“You’re asking me to change who she is. You’re asking me to change Peyton.”

“I’m asking you to save her from herself.”

Marco started to answer. Jake was staring at him with such intensity, such conviction, but he just didn’t understand. He would never understand. “I won’t ask her to change herself for me, Jake. And if you care about her at all, you won’t ask her either.”

With that, he left the house, shutting the door behind him.

*    *    *

Peyton was surprised to see half the precinct in Maria’s room when she arrived at the hospital the next day. Flowers and balloons crowded every available surface, but one particularly enormous bouquet drew her attention and she walked over to it, sniffing a brilliant pink carnation.

“Wow,” she said, turning around.

Maria was sitting up in the bed, her shoulder in a brace, both eyes bruised, but she beamed a smile at Peyton. “That’s from Nathan.”

Peyton’s brows rose. “Trying to out-do me, Cho?”

He looked sheepish. Interesting, thought Peyton.

Defino watched her with an inscrutable expression. “You’re walking like everything hurts, Brooks.”

She briefly caught Marco’s eye, but he looked away. “Because it does, Captain.”

“Next time you’ve got a suspicion, you might want to take backup, eh, baby girl?” scolded Smith.

“I had backup. Drew arrived about five minutes after I called him.”

Holmes gave her a smile. “She already had him trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

Peyton moved to the side of Maria’s bed. “That was Maria’s doing.” She touched her hand. “We made a good team.”

To her surprise, Maria turned her hand over and clasped Peyton’s. “We did.” She glanced over at Marco. “You should have seen her whip out that gun and shove it up against his fat head.”

Marco gave a short nod and rose to his feet, walking to the window and looking out.

Peyton followed him with her eyes, but Maria patted the bed beside her. “Sit down.”

She took a seat on the edge, surprised at Maria’s sudden solicitude.

“Where’s the bastard now, Holmes?” asked Defino.

“Junior Walker is cooling his heels with the Special Victims Unit, Captain. Besides Domestic Violence, they’re tacking on Assaulting an Officer.” He gave Maria a rough pat on the shoulder. “You ain’t gonna have to worry about him anymore.”

Maria forced a smile, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you guys mind if I talk to Brooks alone?”

Peyton glanced around in surprise.

They all muttered in agreement and began to file out. Bill Simons patted Peyton’s back as he left and gave her a “Good job” grunt, but Marco would even look at her. She wanted to go after him, but Maria tightened her grip on her hand.

Once they were all gone, Peyton turned back to her. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday. I think he would have killed me if you hadn’t come.” The tears spilled over and raced down her cheeks.

Peyton reached for a tissue and handed it to her. “We watch out for our own.”

Maria pressed the tissue to her eyes. “I feel so stupid. I thought he was a good guy.”

Peyton shrugged. “A lot of women make the same mistake, Maria.”

“Yeah, but I rushed this. I just wanted out of my mother’s house so bad, I didn’t really know him well enough.” She gave a watery laugh. “Now, look at me. I’ll just have to go back to Mom’s like a damn fool.”

“Someone did notify her, right?”

“Yeah, she was here all night. She stepped out to get something to eat when the entire Homicide Squad arrived.”

Peyton tried to redirect the conversation. “Those are some gorgeous flowers from Cho.”

Her face scrunched up and she started crying in earnest. Peyton wasn’t sure what to do. She glanced behind her, but everyone had moved out of sight. Grabbing more tissue, she held them out to Maria.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need this. You’ve got your own problems.”

Peyton frowned at that. “My own problems?”

Maria didn’t seem to hear. “I just wanted a life of my own. I wanted something that I could call mine.”

“Okay?” This was awkward. She and Maria only ever exchanged insults with one another. Sure, it was always good natured ribbing, but she didn’t remember ever having a serious conversation with her.

“Do you know I’ve lived with my mother my whole life? I’m thirty-one, Brooks, thirty-one. Who still lives with their mother at thirty-one?”

“A lot of people.”

Maria glared at her. “I share a room with my five year old niece, Brooks.”

Peyton blinked at her. Well, that was…uh, odd. “Your niece?”

“Yeah, when my sister got a divorce two years ago, she moved back in and brought her kids. There was nowhere else to put her, so my niece moved into my room.” She held up a tissue filled hand. “Who am I kidding? It’s her room. I just get to sleep there.”

Peyton shifted uncomfortably.

“And when I go back, I’ll probably have to sleep on the couch. The couch, Brooks! Do you know what it’s like to be a guest in your mother’s home for thirty-one years, so I meet this guy, but instead of really getting to know him, I move in with him, but of course, he’s a wife beater and starts punching on me two days after we start living together.”

Peyton looked over her shoulder at the door again, but no help was coming.

“Martial artist, that’s what he tells me and I think it’s cool. Cool?” She slapped Peyton’s arm.

Peyton flinched.

“Cool? He goes around kicking people and it doesn’t even register that he might not be a good boyfriend for me. No, I move in with him. Then I’m so embarrassed, I can’t tell anyone, so I stay in the house, hoping the hell he won’t kill me.”

Peyton started to answer her, but Maria shook her head and burst into tears again.

“I’m gonna be living on a couch for the rest of my life. A couch in my mother’s house at thirty-one.”

“You can stay with me.” The words came out before Peyton knew she was going to say them.

Maria went still, her face buried in the tissue. Slowly she lifted her head, her eyes rimmed in red. “What?”

Peyton forgot how to talk. She gaped at Maria, unsure what the hell she’d just done. Oh, Marco was going to tear out his hair and Defino, Defino was going to have her committed. Padded rooms, backwards jacket – C.O.M.M.I.T.T.E.D.

She sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “You can stay with me…and Jake.”

“I can.”

“Yeah, it’ll still be a couch, I only have two rooms, but at least it won’t be your mother’s house.”

“You and I will share a bathroom?”

“Oh no, no, you and Jake will share a bathroom.”

She thought about that for a moment. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” A lot.

“Marco’s already pissed at you.”

“I know.”

“Defino’s gonna think you’re a lunatic.”

“She already does.”

“What’s Jake gonna say?”

She hadn’t thought about that. “I have no idea.”

“You and me, we don’t even like each other.”

“Well…” That was a bit harsh. “We’ll manage. It’ll only be until you get on your feet and find your own place.”

Maria turned and looked out the window.

Please say no, please say no, Peyton whispered to herself. If she started having people sleeping on the furniture, it really was going to look like she was nuts.

Maria’s gaze swept back to her. “I’ll take it.”

Peyton’s mouth dropped open again. She forced a really awkward smile and nodded. “Great. Great. As soon as you get out, we’ll get your things and move you in. I have a closet in the entry you can use. Jake and I keep coats in there, but…”

Maria took her hand, holding tight. “Thank you, Brooks. Thank you for everything. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me.”

Peyton patted the back of her hand. “It’s what you do for friends, Maria. That’s all.” And sure enough, she meant it.

*    *    *

“She’s what now?” said Jake, leaning close to Peyton.

Peyton bit her lower lip and looked at Marco over Jake’s shoulder. “She’s moving in with us. She’ll take the couch.”

“She’s moving in? She’ll take the couch?” He turned and faced Marco. “She’s moving in to our couch?”

Marco scratched at the back of his neck and sighed.

“You heard that? Right?” he asked incredulously, holding out a hand toward Peyton.

“I heard it.”

“What did you want me to do, Jake?”

“I don’t know, say no, say nothing, sympathize gently, then keep your mouth shut.”

“I took you in.”

“You also took in a hooker. How’d that work out?”

“What are you saying about Maria?”

Jake narrowed his eyes on her. “Don’t deflect this.”

She sighed. God, her body ached and she just wanted to go back home and sleep. “I’m sorry, all right? I should have asked you, but she had me cornered. She was crying and telling me how she was going to be living on her mother’s couch for the rest of her life…”

Jake didn’t look like he cared. “And when someone says that, it’s only natural that you offer them your own couch. Is that what you’re saying?”

Peyton shrugged.

Jake paced away to the windows in the hospital waiting room.

Peyton lifted her gaze to Marco. She couldn’t read his expression, but his posture said a lot. He looked like he might break if he moved too quickly. “What was I supposed to do?”

Jake turned and leaned on the window sill. “Say no. For once in your life, just say no. Whatever impulse comes into your head, stop yourself and say no.”

“This isn’t that big of a deal.”

“No, this isn’t, but this whole pattern, this whole episode…” He waved his hands in the air. “…is so Peyton.” He pushed away from the window sill. “You’ve got to stop doing these things, Peyton, or you’re gonna be hurt worse than you were last night.”

“Ryder!” said Marco in a warning tone.

“If you won’t be man enough, I will,” he growled at him.

Peyton gave them both a confused look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve got to quit this, Peyton,” said Jake.

Marco whirled on him, but he didn’t back down, glaring at him with such ferocity. “Go ahead and threaten me, Adonis, but I’m gonna say my piece.”

“Say what, Jake?”

He stepped around Marco and took her by the upper arms. “I want you to quit.”

“Quit what?”

“The job, Peyton. It’s too dangerous and you’re gonna be seriously hurt or killed. I hate it.”

“That isn’t for you to decide.”

“As your friend, I have to tell you what I think, don’t I?”

She was touched by his concern, but it wasn’t any of his business. “This is who I am, Jake, what I do.”

“And it’s going to kill you.”

She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not quitting. I hope you can accept that.”

He released her with a heavy sigh, but he didn’t respond. He glanced over his shoulder at Marco, then gave Peyton a weary smile. “And I hope you can accept that I’m not going to stop trying to get you to quit. As long as I’m around, Peyton, I’m going to keep asking it.” He moved to pass her, then stopped. “By the way, it’s fine with me if Maria moves in.” Without another word, he walked out of the room, leaving Peyton to face Marco.

“Is that what you think too?”

He held up a hand and let it fall. “What difference would that make, Brooks? You just told Jake the way it is.”

“Do you want me to quit?”

He walked over to an armchair and threw himself into it, picking up a magazine. Crossing one leg over his knee, he began to flip pages. “Clearly it doesn’t matter what I want.”

She took a seat on the coffee table before him. “What the hell does that mean, D’Angelo?”

He looked at her over the top of the magazine. “Let’s not do this dance. You’re hurt and you need to go home and rest.”

“How long are you going to freeze me out?”

“I’m not freezing you out, but I’m not happy.”

“Because I didn’t call you?”

He glared at her.

“Because I run off and do things impulsively?”

He returned to looking at the magazine.

“What do you want from me, Marco?”

He didn’t respond for a moment, then he closed the magazine and dropped his leg, leaning toward her. “I want…”

“Brooks!” came Defino’s voice from the doorway.

She reluctantly glanced over. “Captain?”

“What the hell is this about Maria moving in with you?”

She looked back at Marco, but he simply placed the magazine beside her and rose to his feet.

“Marco?”

“We’ll talk later, Brooks,” he said and walked past the captain into the hallway.

*    *    *

Peyton climbed painfully off the bed, holding her ribs. Reaching for Pickles, she set him on the floor and walked to her bathroom. Turning her face to the left, she looked at her swollen cheek and jaw in the mirror. A faint tinge of black showed through her natural brown, but the swelling was a little better than last night.

Shifting the other way, she fingered the faint white scars from the rock fragments when the priest had shot at her on Alcatraz. Turning on the water, she cupped it in her hands and pressed it against her swollen jaw, then wiped her fingers across her eyes to chase away the last of her nap. Gripping the edges of the sink, she closed her eyes and let the water drip off her chin.

Alcatraz. Everything had been screwed up since Alcatraz. She and Marco fought more now than they had in eight years, and Jake was becoming a problem. The longer he stayed the more he thought he had a say in what she did. Still, the thought of him leaving opened up a gaping hole of loneliness inside of her. Now Devan was getting married.

A knock sounded at the door and Pickles took off barking. She reached for a hand towel and wiped the water droplets from her face. Folding it and laying it on the sink, she padded from her room and across the living room, glancing out the front windows to see the late afternoon sun shining directly on the couch – a couch that would soon be occupied by Maria.

Wryly shaking her head, she unlocked the door and pulled it open, then blinked in surprise to see her mother standing on the other side.

“Oh my God, it’s true. You are hurt.”

Alice Brooks reached up and cupped her cheeks. Peyton caught her breath at the flash of pain and encircled her mother’s wrist with her fingers.

“I’m fine, Mama. What are you doing here?”

“Your roommate called and told me you’d been hurt.”

Jake! Oh, he was going to die a slow and very painful death. “I’m fine, Mama,” she repeated, stepping back to let her mother inside.

Pickles continued to dance around their feet, but when Alice didn’t immediately acknowledge him, he ran and jumped on the couch where he’d be more visible.

“It’s that job.”

Here we go, thought Peyton. “Actually, I didn’t get hurt on the job. I went to see a friend with an abusive boyfriend. I got caught up in a fight between them.”

“Is he in jail?”

“He will be. He probably made bail now, but he’s got a heap of trouble facing him. Assaulting an officer, even an off-duty one, is bad news.” She motioned to the couch. “Do you want to sit down?”

Alice made her way over to it, her eyes never leaving Peyton. Jake’s daily newspaper covered the seat, so she picked it up and dropped it on the table, giving Peyton an accusatory stare that only mothers could.

Peyton ignored it. She didn’t feel like explaining why her housekeeping habits weren’t up to par. Besides, it was Jake’s damn paper. He had a whole collection in a bin beside the trashcan.

The minute Alice sat down, Pickles jumped into her lap. Absently she reached for his ears and stroked them. “Why aren’t you in the hospital?”

“It looks worse than it is. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine. Come sit with me.” She patted the spot beside her.

Peyton eased between her and the coffee table, then carefully lowered herself onto the cushions, folding a leg beneath her.

“What did he hit you with?”

Peyton gave a short laugh. “His foot. He’s a martial artist.”

“Who has to use women as his punching bags?”

Peyton shrugged. “How are you, Mama?”

“I was doing just fine, until I found out that my daughter’s hurt and no one thought to call me, not even her.”

And sprinkle it with guilt. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Alice reached over and took Peyton’s hand. “I worry all the time, knowing what you do.”

“How’s Cliff?” she said to change the subject.

Alice’s face lit with a smile. “He’s fine. He’d like it if you came around more often.”

“I’ll bet,” said Peyton, rolling her eyes.

“He thinks the world of you, Peyton.”

“Really?” Cliff Martin might think the world of Alice Brooks, but he was less than pleased she had a mixed race daughter.

Alice tightened her hold. “I’d like it if you came around more often.”

“I know. I’m just so busy.”

“Right.” She released her hand and went back to stroking Pickles, who curled up on her lap. “Funny you should ask about Cliff.”

“Why?”

“He asked me to marry him.”

Peyton went still, her chin lifting.

Alice smiled over at her. “Don’t look like that. I told him no. I know how you feel about him and I wouldn’t betray your father’s memory like that.”

“You told him no?”

Alice shrugged. “What was I going to do, Peyton? You’re the most important person in my life and if you don’t approve, I’m not about to go against your wishes.”

Peyton looked down. What the shit? It was her fault if her mother didn’t remarry? What new circle of hellish guilt was this?

“So tell me about this roommate of yours? Jake, right? Are you two an item?”

Peyton’s eyes snapped back to her face. “An item?”

“Clearly you’re living together. Is it serious?”

“Jake? Serious?” Peyton swallowed hard. “Living together? No, Mama, we’re just housemates. He needed a place to stay and I needed the extra income.”

“But he obviously cares about you. He was so concerned when he called.” She leaned close and patted Peyton’s knee. “Maybe it’ll work into something more.”

Peyton laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Jake? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“He seems like such a nice young man…”

“He is.” Peyton placed her hand over her mother’s. “He’s a very nice young man, but he just lost his wife about a year ago.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“It was.”

“Well, is there someone else? Weren’t you seeing a district attorney or something?”

“I was. He’s getting married.”

“He’s doing what?”

“Getting married. To someone else.”

Alice’s expression fell. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mama.” She picked at a loose thread. “Look, about Cliff…”

Alice waved it off. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Peyton forced herself to look her mother in the eye. “Does he make you happy?”

“What?”

“Does Cliff make you happy?”

Alice stared at her without speaking for a moment, then she gave her a slow smile. “Yes, he does, Peyton.”

Peyton swallowed hard, forcing her jaw to unclench. “I think you should marry him.”

“What?”

Peyton took her mother’s hand in both of her own. “Dad’s been gone a long time, and it’s time you moved on. If Cliff makes you happy, you should marry him. You deserve to be happy.”

“What about you? I don’t want to do anything that would upset you.”

Peyton kissed the back of her hand. “I’m not upset. I want you to be happy.”

Alice reached up and cupped Peyton’s right cheek, leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead. “I love you, you know that?”

Peyton smiled at her. “I know you do.”

They made small talk for a bit more, then Alice left, admonishing Peyton to get some rest. Peyton locked the door behind her and wandered into the kitchen. She eased down and opened the cabinet next to the sink, pulling out the Jack Daniels. Reaching for a shot glass made her wince, but she took it out of the cabinet beside the stove and set it on the counter next to the bottle.

Pickles wandered into the kitchen and sat at the entrance, watching her. Peyton unscrewed the top on the bottle and poured a shot. “Did you hear that? Mom’s marrying a racist, Devan’s marrying a trust-fund baby, and I am alone as always.”

Pickles tilted his head.

“Con-freakin’-gratulations,” she said, picking up the glass and throwing back the shot. Fire blazed down her esophagus and she closed her eyes against the pain. A moment later, warmth spread through her belly. Pouring another shot, she saluted Pickles with it. “Don’t tell me. You and that little whore of a poodle on the corner are getting hitched, right? And you’re going to live in her doghouse, aren’t you?”

She heard the lock turn in the door, followed by the sound of keys hitting the bowl on the entry table. A moment later, Jake appeared at the counter. “Hey, roomie, how are you feeling?”

Peyton threw back the shot and slammed the glass on the counter. “You are in so much trouble, Ryder!” she said.

CHAPTER 5

Janet Messette opened the screen door. “Detective Acosta, thank you for coming out.” She stepped back to let Gabby into the bungalow. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.” The interior of the house was a lot cooler than outside. All the windows were open, allowing a breeze to blow through. Hardwood flooring spread from the entryway into the sunken living room on their left.

“Can I get you some lemonade? Grandma’s lemons are some of the best around.”

“Sounds great.” Gabby followed her down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was a large, open room with stone countertops and gleaming stainless steel appliances. A French door overlooked a screened-in porch.

Janet pointed to the porch. “Make yourself at home. I’ll bring the lemonade out.”

Gabby walked to the door and pushed it open. It was a little more humid on the porch, but bearable. A wicker table and four chairs occupied the space and beyond it was a fenced in yard with citrus trees lined up along the property line.

Gabby sat down in one of the chairs and clasped her hands in her lap, enjoying the moment of tranquility. Janet appeared, carrying a tray, and set it in the middle of the table. She lifted the pitcher and filled both glasses, then passed one to Gabby. The ice tinkled against the glass as Gabby brought it to her lips and took a sip. It had just the right mixture of tart and sweet.

“Very nice,” she said, settling it on the table.

Janet picked up a plate on the tray and held it out. “Homemade shortbread.”

Gabby accepted a cookie and placed it on a napkin beside her lemonade. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“I’m dying to hear what you found in the safe deposit box.”

Gabby broke a corner off the cookie and placed it in her mouth. It melted against her tongue. “It was a scrapbook chronicling the life of your aunt until her death.”

“Really? What was the reason Grandma kept it in a safe deposit box?’

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“It chronicled my aunt’s entire life?”

Gabby nodded. “Even articles about her death. Your grandmother even had your cousin’s birth announcement, but that’s part of the reason I’m here. Pages are missing just after the birth announcement up until the articles about the murder.”

“What do you mean missing?” asked Janet, setting down her drink.

“I mean torn out.”

“So there’s nothing left of my cousin?”

“Just the birth announcement.” Gabby broke off another piece of cookie. “There is an obituary for a 17 year old boy named Grant Sanderson. He lived on the same street as your aunt and committed suicide about a month after the murders. Is that name familiar to you at all?”

Janet thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not at all.”

Gabby placed the cookie in her mouth and chewed a moment in silence. Lifting the napkin, she wiped her lips. “Janet, we pulled the file Buck Reiter had on your aunt’s murder investigation. I searched through the entire thing. We have clothes from your cousin Lily and mention of her finding the bodies, but not a single picture of her. Do you have any that I could see?”

Janet frowned. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of her.”

“Did your grandmother keep any photo albums?”

“I haven’t come across any, but I haven’t begun to clean out the attic yet. Maybe we should look up there?”

“I’m game.”

Janet rose to her feet. “Let’s do it now before it gets any hotter.”

She led Gabby back through the bungalow and toward the bedrooms. A hanging cord marked the entrance to the attic and Janet pulled on it, releasing a trapdoor in the ceiling. As the door opened, a set of stairs folded down into the hallway.

Janet climbed up first, reaching over her head to tug on a lamp. Gabby followed and found herself in a stifling hot crawlspace filled with boxes and old, cast-off furniture. Dust tickled her nose and a cobweb caught in her short, dark hair. She brushed it away and pulled at the neck of her t-shirt, surprised at how hot it was in the tight space.

“I don’t know how long we’ll be able to stay up here,” said Janet, swiping her hand before her face to clear the cobwebs. “It’s like a furnace.”

“Let’s split up and look at the boxes.” Gabby motioned to the one beside her. “Thankfully your grandmother labeled everything.”

They fanned out to either end of the attic and began their search. In a few places, Gabby found boxes stacked on other boxes, but nothing seemed to be overly heavy. She shifted them away, wiping off the layer of dust that sometimes obscured the labeling. She found old clothes, winter bedding, and a number of boxes filled with books, but no photo albums.

Sweat beaded on her forehead and a drop ran down between her breasts. Pulling the t-shirt away from her damp skin, she tried to ignore the discomfort and pressed deeper into the low ceiling of the attic.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take the heat any more, Janet called out to her. “I think I’ve found something.”

She picked her way among the boxes and furnishings to the other woman’s side. Janet had pulled open a cedar-lined hope chest. A number of photo albums lay nestled inside, their spines pointing upward.

“My cousin was about five years older than I am. Grandma had these labeled by years, so if I calculate back correctly, this has to be the year Lily was born.” She placed her finger on the red leather spine. Lifting it out, she passed it to Gabby. “Let’s take a few out to the porch to look at them.”

“Good idea.”

Janet piled a few on top of the first, then grabbed a couple herself. Together they made their way back down the attic stairs and through the house to the back porch. Gabby settled the books on the table and reached for her lemonade, downing the remainder.

Janet used a napkin to blot the sweat from her face, then poured them each another glass. Finally they settled down and Gabby reached for the first photo album, flipping open the front cover. Family pictures filled the pages. Gabby recognized Carol and David. An older couple had to be the Messettes.

“Is this your grandmother and grandfather?” she asked Janet.

Janet smiled at the album. “It sure is.” She reached for another album and opened the front cover. “Hm. What the hell?”

Gabby glanced up.

Janet was frowning at the book.

“What’s wrong?”

Janet shifted the book to face Gabby. The first picture was of Carol and David and standing in front of them was a little girl, except for where the little girl’s face should have been was an empty hole.

“Her face is cut out?”

“Yeah, but why?” asked Janet. She turned the book back to her and began flipping pages. “Her face is cut out in every single picture.”

Gabby flipped into the middle of her book. A little girl holding a kitten dominated the frame, but like in Janet’s books, her face had been cut out, leaving behind a ragged hole.

“Who would do something like this?”

Gabby’s eyes rose to Janet. “I don’t know, but it makes me even more certain we need to see what this Lily Witan looks like.”

*    *    *

Marco picked Peyton up at her house late the next morning. Beyond a grunt of greeting, he didn’t say much as they got in the car and headed toward the precinct. Peyton let him have his silence. After eight years together, she knew when things were better left alone. The tense conversation in the hospital waiting room unnerved her and she wasn’t anxious to bring it up again.

Since Alcatraz, things had been difficult between them. He’d never been one to expose his feelings readily, but he was even more closed off now and she didn’t know how to deal with it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he started the ignition.

“Not as sore as yesterday, but getting dressed is a bitch.”

“When does Maria get out?” He pulled onto the street.

“This evening. I promised I’d help her get her things out of Junior’s house.”

He didn’t respond.

She glanced over at him. “Will you come with us?”

“Yeah.” He reached for a pair of sunglasses on the dashboard and slipped them on. It was as near to a dismissal as Peyton had ever gotten from him.

She blew out a frustrated breath and turned to the window. Sunlight was seeping into the City, casting everything in a warm glow. She braced her chin on her hand and watched the cars go by. She wanted to tell him about the visit from her mother, but she didn’t want to open herself up for criticism from him. He’d had plenty to criticize about her lately and it scared her a little. If there was ever anyone she wanted in her corner, it was Marco D’Angelo, but he seemed so disillusioned with her lately.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out, thumbing it on. A text message from the captain appeared on the screen. Meilin Fan going back to work. Bad idea. Talk to her.

Peyton sighed.

Marco glanced over, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored glasses. “What?”

“Meilin’s going back to work. Captain wants us to talk her out of it.”

“Why?”

“I told Defino about our conversation with the employees the other day and she agrees with me.”

“Agrees with you about what?”

“Meilin has a thing for men. She likes the attention they give her.”

“Okay?”

“We both think she may have been involved in a love triangle. If so, the guy who killed Matt Jensen might just go after Meilin too.”

Marco pulled the Charger into a left turn lane, flipping on his signal. “Chinatown it is, then.”

The restaurant was closed when they arrived, but Leah met them at the door and let them in. Peyton smiled at the girl and gave a nod to her aunt who was folding napkins at one of the tables.

“How are you, Leah?”

“Good.” She gave Peyton a critical look. “How are you, Inspector?”

“A little bruised up, but I’m fine.”

“Going after a perp?”

Peyton smiled at her youthful enthusiasm. “Something like. Is Meilin here?”

Leah nodded toward the kitchen. “Do not know how we managed two days without her.”

“That bad, huh?”

“See for yourself.”

Peyton and Marco crossed the restaurant and pushed open the door to the kitchen. The entire room was in motion, people running here and there, Meilin standing in the middle, barking commands in Chinese.

She turned and saw them, her eyes passing over Peyton and coming to rest on Marco. “Inspectors?” she said, her demeanor changing immediately.

Peyton and Marco shared a look.

“Tell me you have a suspect in custody,” she said, meeting them near the door.

“Not yet.”

She gave Peyton a critical stare. “What happened to you? You look horrible, Inspector Brooks.”

“I fell.”

Meilin frowned at that, then let it go. Glancing over her shoulder, she shouted something at an older man and pointed to a pot bubbling on the stove. He hurried over to take care of it. Facing them again, Meilin clasped her hands at her waist and gave them a smile. “What can I do for you? As you can see, we’re very busy.”

“Our captain told us you plan to work tonight?”

“Right. I have a business to run.”

“Did Officer Holmes inform you that you might be in danger?”

“He made a comment about it, but I wasn’t sure why he thought that.”

Many of the employees were obviously listening to the conversation, but Peyton didn’t want them knowing much about the case. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

“I’m very busy, Inspector Brooks,” Meilin repeated. “Can’t this wait?”

“I’m afraid it can’t.”

Meilin’s shoulders dropped in frustration. “Fine. I’ll meet you in the restaurant in a moment. I just have to finish up something in here.” With a flip of her long ponytail, she hurried over to the stove, grabbing the spoon from the older man.

Peyton and Marco retreated into the restaurant.

“I’m gonna take a look around the bathrooms,” he said, pointing toward the silk screen.

Peyton nodded, then she wandered over to one of the lotus paintings and studied it again. As strange as it seemed, there was something melancholy about the single white flower on a velvet black background, as if it were the last flower in the world, soon to wither and blow away as dust. She so lost herself contemplating it that she was startled when Meilin threw open the restaurant door and shouted at both Leah and Lin in Chinese.

The two women scurried to do as she commanded, disappearing into the kitchen without a word. Peyton shifted to face her as Marco appeared from behind the screen.

Meilin wiped her hands on her apron as she came up beside Peyton, staring at the painting herself. “You like my lotuses, Inspector Brooks?”

“There’s something about them that always captures my attention.”

“Do you know the Greek myth about the lotus?”

“I’m not sure.”

“During Odysseus’s journey home from the Trojan War, he landed on the island of the Lotus Eaters. It is said that those who ate of the lotus forgot all that was important to them and sought only to lie about the beach, eating lotus petals for the rest of their lives.”

Peyton felt a strange shiver race up her spine.

Meilin’s eyes shifted and fixed on her. “We all have things in our pasts that we want to forget. What is yours, Inspector Brooks?”

Peyton narrowed her eyes. “The death of my father.”

Meilin gave her an accommodating smile, then she glanced over her shoulder at Marco. “And you, Inspector D’Angelo? What would you forget?”

Peyton’s attention shifted to him.

He met her gaze. “Nothing.”

Meilin inclined her head.

“What would you forget, Meilin?” asked Peyton pointedly.

“The death of Matt.”

Somehow the words sounded contrived. “Were you having an affair?”

Meilin opened her mouth in surprise. “An affair? No, Inspector Brooks, I was completely and devoutly faithful to Matt.”

“It’s not a good idea to hide anything from us, Meilin. If you were having an affair, it may explain the reason for Matt’s death, and if so, you may be in danger.”

Meilin faced her, her expression hardening. “I was not having an affair, Inspector Brooks.”

Peyton sighed. “It’d be better if you didn’t work tonight.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Then I suggest you keep our number close. If there are any problems at all, you should call us immediately.”

“That will be my first priority. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an entire menu to prepare. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.” Without waiting for a response, she started back toward the kitchen, giving Marco one last look as she went.

They waited until she disappeared, then Marco went to the door and pulled it open. Peyton followed him onto the street, surprised when he started toward the car without a backward glance. Meilin’s words about forgetting past events weighed heavily on her and she stopped at the entrance of the restaurant.

“I lied.”

Marco turned to face her, slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes. “What?”

“I lied to her in there.”

He glanced at a passing tourist, then moved closer to her. “What are you talking about?”

“The memory I’d forget – I said I would forget my father’s death, but I lied.”

“Peyton, I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Alcatraz. I’d forget Alcatraz.”

He went still and his head lifted. She wished he wasn’t wearing his glasses so she could see his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t.”

“It changed everything between us. Since it happened, you’ve been so distant, so unapproachable. Tell me how to fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Peyton.”

“There is.” She grabbed his arm. “I can’t stand the distance, I can’t stand that this is always between us.”

“It’s between us because you keep it there, Brooks.”

“What?”

He drew a deep breath and exhaled. “You are the one putting up barriers between us. You’re the one who can’t let it go.” He reached up and took off the glasses, his blue eyes tormented. “What is it you see when you look at me, Brooks? Do you see a killer now?”

Peyton felt her heart begin to pound and her mouth went dry. “What? God, no.”

“Then why can’t you let it go?”

Peyton’s eyes filled with tears. “It isn’t me, Marco. No matter what you say, I’m not the one pushing you away. It’s you. You’re keeping me at arm’s length and it scares me. I don’t know what I did or how to fix it. Please, just tell me what you want.”

He searched her face, then he reached up and gently touched her wounded cheek with his palm. “Maybe we just need to give it time, okay? Maybe we just need to leave it alone.”

A tear spilled over and raced down her cheek. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. “Come on, partner,” he said, giving her a weary smile. “We’ve got a murder to solve and this isn’t getting it done.”

She nodded and let him pull away, but inside it felt like a knot had formed directly in the middle of her.

*    *    *

“Hey, Jake,” said Stan Neumann, the precinct’s tech god, leaning on the partition separating Jake’s desk from the rest of the officers. “This just came in for you.” He handed over a full-paged envelope.

“Thanks.” Jake tore it open and pulled out the single sheet of paper. It was the report on the fingerprints taken from the doorjamb and window frame in Meilin’s flat. “Hm.” He covered his chin with his hand as he studied it.

“Anything interesting?”

He glanced up at Stan. “Just that there were three sets of prints. One was the victims, one Meilin’s, but the third doesn’t register in the system.”

“Think it belongs to the murderer?”

“Could be. Wonder why it’s not in the system?”

“Well, that would mean he or she doesn’t have a driver’s license or any other form of legal ID, ‘cause they take fingerprints for all of those.”

“Right. Hm.”

Stan shifted weight. “Hey, I couldn’t go to the hospital yesterday to see Maria. How’s she doing?”

“She’s better. They’re releasing her today.”

“What about Peyton? How is she? I heard she got hurt too and I haven’t seen her yet to find out if she’s okay.”

Jake glanced up from the report. “Huh?”

“Peyton? How is she?”

“Oh, she’s not speaking to me right now.”

“Why?”

“Long story.”

“Was she hurt bad?”

“She’s banged up pretty good, but nothing’s broken.”

“That’s good.” He curled his arms around his stomach. “Must have been something to see her pull her gun, huh?”

Jake fought a smile. “Yeah, must have been something.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, you and Peyton went on a date, did ya?”

“Yeah, a while back. We went for pizza.”

“Why haven’t you asked her out again?”

“I don’t know. She started seeing the D.A., then they broke it off. Seemed like she wanted a break.”

Jake found Stan’s infatuation with Peyton fascinating. There weren’t two more divergent people in the universe – Stan, mild-mannered and awkward, and Peyton…well, so Peyton. “She doesn’t scare you a little?”

“Peyton? Why would she scare me?”

Jake shrugged. “She’s so…so feisty.” The minute he said it, he wished he could take it back. If Stan told Peyton what he said, she would do more than threaten to castrate him.

Stan got a goofy grin on his face. “I like feisty.”

Jake quirked a brow. “All righty then. Well, I need to text this information to her, so I’ll let you get back to work.”

“All right. See you later.”

“Yeah, see you later.” He waited until Stan had wandered back toward his office before he let out a bark of laughter. I like feisty. Oh lord, poor Stan didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.

*    *    *

Peyton’s phone buzzed in the hospital elevator as the doors opened on Maria’s floor. She pulled it out and thumbed it on as they stepped out. A text from Jake appeared on the screen. Reading it, she slowed her pace.

Marco stopped and turned to face her. “Everything okay?”

She glanced up at him. They hadn’t really talked to each other since leaving Meilin’s restaurant. “Jake got the report on the fingerprints. He found three sets on the doorjamb and the window frame. Two of them belong to Matt and Meilin, but the third is unknown.”

“Did they run it through the system?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t match anyone.”

“So our mystery person doesn’t have a driver’s license?”

“Or any other form of ID.” Peyton tilted her head. “Who wouldn’t have ID?”

“An illegal alien,” said Marco.

Peyton nodded. “I’ll send the list of employees to Stan and he can check to see if any of them are undocumented.”

“Good idea.”

They moved down the hall to Maria’s room and found her pacing in front of the windows. As soon as they entered, she whipped around, her eyes enormous and frightened. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, her dark hair in a tangled ponytail, her arm in a sling.

“He made bail,” she said, hysterically.

“Junior?”

“Who else?” she snapped.

Peyton held up a hand. “Okay, calm down.”

“Calm down. He’ll be at the house. He’ll be there.”

“You don’t have to go. We can get whatever you need.”

“You’re gonna pick out clothes for me?” She gave Peyton a scathing look. “Really?”

“Or not.” Peyton was already beginning to regret this insane act of charity.

Maria paced back to the window. “I should have just stayed at my mom’s. Why did I think I could do this? Why did I think I could be on my own?”

Peyton crossed around the bed and stopped her with both hands on her shoulders. Maria looked up at her, her pupils dilated, her chest heaving. “It’ll be okay. I’m gonna call Smith and have him meet us there. He isn’t going to hurt you, not with three armed cops around. It’ll be okay. I promise you.”

Maria clenched her teeth and nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay. Good.” Peyton reached for her phone. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, I already signed out. That’s all I have.” She pointed to the plastic bag on the bed.

Marco picked it up and moved into the hall. As they walked to the elevator, Peyton placed the call to Smith and asked him to meet them at Walker’s house. He readily agreed. Not that she doubted he would.

Maria fidgeted in the backseat of the Charger the entire way. Peyton wished she could offer her some comfort, but her own stomach was in knots at the thought of seeing Junior Walker again. How the hell had the bastard made bail so quickly? Clearly something was wrong in a system where domestic abuse merited such a low bond.

Smith was waiting for them when they pulled up before the house.

Peyton climbed out, giving him a smile. “Thank you for coming, Frank.”

“My pleasure, baby girl.”

She opened the back door for Maria and helped her out of the car. Maria’s hand trembled in hers.

“Don’t you worry. He’s not gonna try anything tonight,” Smith reassured her.

“Thank you, Frank,” she said, clinging to Peyton as they walked to the foot of the stairs.

“Let me go first,” said Marco, stepping before them.

Peyton nodded and watched him take the stairs two at a time, stopping before the door and banging on it loudly. Maria still trembled, so Peyton shifted her hold, linking their arms together. “It’s okay,” she said, patting her hand where it poked out of the sling. “He’s not gonna touch you again.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she whispered, but she let Peyton propel her upward toward the door.

Halfway up, Junior threw the door open, looming in the entrance. Marco shoved his badge in the idiot’s face.

“Back up,” he said, his voice thrumming with warning.

Junior took in his size and then backed out of the doorway. Marco stepped into the house and Peyton urged Maria forward. Once inside Maria turned her head away, refusing to look at him. Marco had him backed into the middle of the room, but he glared after them as Maria led Peyton toward the back of the house and into a hallway on their left.

Once in the master bedroom, Peyton stood guard at the door, while Maria pulled a suitcase out of the closet and set it on the bed, then she began to fill it as quickly as she could without bothering to fold the clothes.

“Can you get my makeup?” she asked, pointing to the bathroom. “There’s a makeup case beneath the sink and everything’s in the first drawer.”

Peyton paused in the hallway, listening for voices from the living room, but all was quiet. She went into the bathroom and found the case, then opened the top drawer by the sink. Grabbing bottles and brushes and compacts, she shoved them into the flowered case. She couldn’t believe how much crap Maria used to appear presentable every day. Besides a touch of mascara and eyeshadow, Peyton preferred her own natural color to all of this garbage.

Maria appeared in the entrance. “I’ll finish. Can you get Frank to carry my suitcase?”

Peyton left Maria in the bathroom and walked into the living room. Marco was standing where he’d been, but Junior had taken a seat in a ratty recliner, his hands gripping the arms. Frank blocked the doorway, but he looked up when Peyton appeared.

“Frank, can you get her suitcase? It’s on the bed.”

“Got it.” Frank followed where Peyton pointed and appeared a moment later carrying the bulging suitcase to the door and setting it down. Maria trailed him, holding the makeup case by the handle.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, everything else is his.”

Peyton placed a hand in the middle of her back and directed her toward the front door. Halfway across the room, Junior surged to his feet. “Maria, wait!”

Maria stumbled to a halt, ducking her head. Peyton wrapped an arm around her waist and urged her forward, but she wouldn’t move.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, moving toward her.

Marco stepped in front of him, placing a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him backward. “That’s enough.”

He knocked Marco’s hand away. “Maria, please.”

Frank came to Maria’s other side and together he and Peyton tried to get her to the door, but she was shaking violently, her eyes closed tight.

“Maria, please. I didn’t mean it. It won’t happen again. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just don’t leave.”

Marco shoved him again. “I said that was enough.”

Junior came up against him, bumping him with his chest, but Marco never budged. “What are you gonna do about it, Pretty Boy?” he shouted in his face.

Peyton started toward them, but Smith stepped in front of her, holding her back. She watched as Marco gave Junior a sneer. “You know what they say about men who beat on women.”

“What?” Junior thrust out his chin in challenge.

“They say they’re compensating for something they lack.” His eyes tracked up and down the smaller man’s body. “Just what is it you lack, Junior?”

Junior’s jaw clenched and he swallowed hard.

Marco edged into him, large, menacing. “Let me give you fair warning. You ever lay a hand on anyone I care about again and I will end you. Do you understand me?”

Junior’s eyes narrowed, then he broke Marco’s stare and dropped his gaze. With a short nod, he backed up and sat down in the recliner again.

Peyton released her held breath, her knees shaking. Somehow they got Maria down the stairs and into the Charger where she huddled against the door. Frank hung back on the stairs, while Marco put the suitcase in the trunk. When he closed it, Peyton moved forward suddenly and threw her arms around his waist, burying her face in the center of his chest.

He encircled her with his arms and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

“Man up, Brooks,” came the rumble of his voice beneath her ear.

CHAPTER 6

Gabby tried the door at the front of the school labeled office, but found it was locked. Billy moved to the side and peered in the tinted window.

“There’s a bunch of ladders and tarps all over everything,” he said.

“Can I help you?” came a voice behind them.

Gabby turned and smiled at the short, squat woman coming toward them in a loose pants suit with a colorful blouse covered in a floral pattern. “I’m Detective Gabriela Acosta from the Miami PD.”

“Yes, Detective Acosta, we spoke on the phone. I’m Margaret Ruiz, principal here.” She shook hands first with Gabby, then Billy.

“Detective William Lucott, ma’am,” he said, straightening to his full height.

Gabby rolled her eyes, but Margaret smiled at him. “Pleased to meet you.” She focused on Gabby again. “You said you had a warrant to search the academic records of a past graduate?”

Gabby pulled the warrant out of her back pocket and extended it to the woman. “A Lily Witan?” She pointed to the graduation date written on the warrant.

“Yes, I see,” said the principal, scanning the paper. She handed it back. “As you can see we’re doing some maintenance while the school’s closed for the summer, so we moved our offices to the library. Let me show you where that is and then I’ll have the registrar locate Miss Witan’s records. They’ll likely be in the archives since it’s been almost twenty years, but I’m sure we can find them.” She motioned into a palm-lined quad.

“Are the archives on campus?” asked Gabby, following her.

“Yes, but it might take a bit of digging.”

“That’s fine.”

She directed them to the library, pulling open the door. The rush of air conditioning struck them and they entered a low ceilinged room that stretched away on all sides. It was dimly lit, but two walls were comprised entirely of windows, so muted sunlight filtered through.

Bookcases broke up the open expanse, choked with hard bound copies of dated reference material and Perma-bound novels with tattered spines. A long counter ran across the back wall with an old fashioned box computer occupying the exact center. In front of it were mismatched composite tables and blue plastic chairs with metal legs. A back room housed a few desks and an older woman manned one, a telephone receiver pressed to her ear.

“I’ll just go tell the registrar. Please, make yourself at home.”

Gabby gave her a smile and took a seat at a table as the principal bustled toward the room with the desks. Billy wandered over to a shelf and squatted down, reading the spines.

“God, it’s been so long since I was in a high school.”

Gabby’s brows rose. “What? Two years?”

“Funny.” He pulled out a book and flipped it open. “I loved high school.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I was voted most likely to serve time.” He chuckled.

She gave him a nod. Figured.

“In my senior will, I dedicated all future 4/20’s to my graduating class.” He replaced the book and stood up. “You know? 4/20?” He pinched his index finger and his thumb together and pretended to inhale. “Get it?”

“Yeah, you smoked dope.”

He made a face. “Pot, not dope. Jeez.” He ran his hand along the top of a shelf. “They put my will in the yearbook. Administration wigged out. Pulled every single one of them and told us we couldn’t have them.”

“You were a real rebel without a cause, weren’t you?”

“It started this big ass protest. Students walked out of class, parents came down to the school.” He gave her a flash of dimples. “Even made the freakin’ news.” He pointed a finger at her. “They gave them all back and I still got to walk. Boy, we took it to the man but good, let me tell you.”

“Then you went and became the man.”

He nodded. “Yeah, now that’s what you call irony.” He returned to looking at the books. “How were your days in high school?”

Gabby shrugged. “I did pretty good, got good grades. Played volleyball a lot.”

“Volleyball? They had that back then?” He smirked at her as he walked around the bookshelf.

“Funny.”

She could hear him chuckling as he disappeared from sight.

Margaret Ruiz walked out of the office, carrying a tan colored file. “You’re in luck. It wasn’t as hard to find as I feared. I guess our registrar put everything in order last summer once school was out. Take your time, okay?”

Gabby accepted the file. “Thank you.” She opened it, hoping to find a picture, but the first page only contained a transcript. She flipped through the entire file, but there wasn’t a single picture to be found. “Mrs. Ruiz?”

The principal turned in the doorway of her office.

“Why isn’t there a picture in the file?”

“That’s a cum folder, Detective. It’s just a record of her academic career. We never put pictures in them for the safety of our students.”

Gabby sighed. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Turning back to the first page, Gabby scanned the transcript. Lily Witan had been a good student, straight A’s for the first three years of high school with an impressive class load – mostly Advanced Placement or Honors. Her test scores were also high, ranking near the top in almost every subject.

“She was a good student,” she said aloud.

“Mmm,” grunted Billy.

Gabby traced the grades with her finger, flipping a page. Her senior year was on the back of the first page, so Gabby had to turn the file upside down to see it. Suddenly the grades dropped dramatically. A number of C’s and even D’s began cropping up, all in subjects in which she’d excelled before. And her test scores plummeted. Something had clearly happened in that final year to make her tank so badly.

Turning the file around again, Gabby located a log of contacts from the academic counselor to Lily, or the counselor to Lily and her parents. At first the interactions were routine – appointments to schedule classes or recommendations for more challenging course work, but in her last year, there were suddenly many more requested by her parents to find out why she was doing so poorly. The concerns appeared to go unanswered because in the end Lily barely scraped together enough units to graduate.

“Something happened to this girl her senior year. She almost didn’t walk.”

“How much do you love me?” asked Billy.

Gabby reared back, surprised to find him standing right in front of her. She hadn’t heard him approach. “What?”

“How much do you love me?” He dropped a book on top of the cum folder and grinned at her.

Gabby looked down and saw row after row of beaming teenagers splattered across the page. A high school yearbook. Billy leaned on the table and pressed his finger to one picture in particular. Beneath the picture was the name Lily Witan.

Gabby blinked in shock, staring at the smiling face of the pretty young girl. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as shooting.”

Gabby’s eyes rose and fixed on Billy. “Explain to me how the hell Buck Reiter missed the fact that Lily Witan was clearly adopted.”

Billy gave a careless shrug. “Guess we better ask him, eh?”

*   *    *

The lab door made a hissing noise as it opened. Abe glanced over his shoulder, pausing in the act of washing his hands. Bruce Walton entered, holding a file. Bruce was an older man, nearing retirement, and he usually did the medical autopsies that Abe just hated. Most of the time it was some poor fool who’d had a heart attack while watching television and eating potato chips.

“Hey there, Bruce, how’s the wife?”

Bruce had married a woman twenty years younger than he was with expensive tastes. He probably would have retired by now, but he had to keep her happy or lose her, something she made very clear to him on a regular basis.

“She’s visiting her sister in San Diego.”

Abe reached for a paper towel and dried his hands. “Must be nice to have a little freedom for a change, eh?”

“You have no idea.”

Abe figured he probably did. Marriage seemed like a whole lot more work than benefit. He tossed the paper towel in the trashcan. “What can I do you for?”

Bruce held out the file. “We’re swamped on our end and this one just came in this morning. It should be pretty quick. On first blush, it looks like anaphylactic shock, but SFPD wants it confirmed.”

Abe took the folder and sat down on the stool by his autopsy table. Flipping it open, he glanced over the medical analysis, blood work, and the little bit of history the police had collected. Poor fool was found by his neighbor who came to deliver a package.

“Sure, I’ll take it,” he said, glancing up at Bruce.

“Great. He’s on his way in from St. Francis. Should be here within the hour.”

“Got it.”

“I appreciate the help.”

“Not a problem.”

Bruce seemed reluctant to go. Abe didn’t socialize much with the other M.E.s, so he wasn’t sure what the guy wanted. “This one might be interesting. Don’t get many anaphylactic shocks, do we?”

“Guess not.”

“Yep. You get anything interesting from Homicide lately?”

“A shooting.” Abe shrugged, sending the beads on the end of his dreads to tinkling. “That’s about it.”

“I read about the serial killer. The Janitor or something?”

“Yeah, well, he hasn’t struck in a month.”

“Strange to have a serial killer here, isn’t it?”

“I guess. Probably happens in a lot of big cities.”

“Probably.”

Abe gave him a wry smile. “I should take a look at this file before he gets here.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll go back to my lab. Got another 400 lb. stroke guy to dissect.”

Abe grimaced. “Fun.”

“Yeah.” He started to turn away, then looked back. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“You got it.” After he left, Abe shook his head. Straight dudes. Shesh!  Flipping open the file, he read the police report again:

Mr. Chen knocked on Mr. Bai’s door at 8:00PM to deliver a package that had been brought to the wrong address. He received no answer, so he departed. At 9:20PM, he again knocked at the door whereupon he heard a moan of distress. Concerned for Mr. Bai’s welfare, he tried the handle and found it unlocked. Upon entering the apartment, he discovered Mr. Bai lying on the floor of his kitchen. He called for an ambulance, but before the paramedics arrived, Mr. Bai went into cardiac arrest. He was pronounced dead at the hospital at 10:34PM. A subsequent search of Mr. Bai’s apartment turned up an epinephrine pen with an expiration date of more than a year before. A search of Mr. Bai’s person did not turn up any form of identification and an on-line search also proved inconclusive. No next of kin have been notified at this time.

Inconclusive? Try nonexistent. Mr. Hui Bai didn’t appear to have any identity, which meant he was likely an undocumented resident. Poor idiot may not have been able to get a refill on an expired epi-pen if he was afraid of being discovered by INS.

Abe sighed and closed the file. What a frickin’ damn shame!

*    *    *

Peyton drove Maria to work the following morning. The ride was awkward, but no more awkward than coming out of her room this morning and finding a skimpily clad Maria asleep on her couch. Jake’s eyes had almost bugged from his head when he came around the corner of the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee and found Maria in a baby-doll nightie and pink panties.

Peyton figured she should probably have a talk with her, but she was reluctant to broach the subject, especially not after Maria had broken down crying when she’d had to ask Peyton to comb her hair and put it up in a ponytail for her.

Parking the Corolla, they walked into the precinct together. Cho and Simons were just leaving Defino’s office and they stopped, Cho’s face lighting into a brilliant smile. Peyton hid her grin as he hurried to open the half-door for her.

A large bouquet of pink roses sat on the edge of Maria’s desk and she went to it, bending over to sniff at a bud. Lifting the card, she read it, then turned back to Cho, reaching out her good hand to clasp his. “Thank you, Nathan. They’re so beautiful.”

Cho squeezed her fingers, then released her, dropping his gaze. Simons and Peyton exchanged amused looks. There were few people, in her book, that were more loyal or steadfast than Nathan Cho. She hoped Maria would eventually see that.

Defino stepped out of her office, smiling when she saw Maria. Coming toward her, she gave her a hug and then held her off, looking into her face. “If you need anything at all, you just ask, you hear me?”

Maria smiled back. “Thank you, Captain.”

Defino patted her arms, then turned to Peyton. “Brooks, my office now.”

Peyton sighed and followed her into the darkened room. “I’m doing much better too, Captain,” she said, taking a seat in the chair before Defino’s desk.

Defino paused and stared at her as if she didn’t understand.

Peyton reached out and picked up a clear paperweight with a beetle in the center of it. “Is this new?”

“Got it in Chinatown.”

Peyton held it up to the desk lamp and turned it around so she could see the underside. There was something creepily fascinating about the blue-green bug forever preserved in acrylic. “When were you in Chinatown?”

“Last night. Colin and I had dinner at the Yellow Lotus. We’ve been wanting to try it for ages, but we couldn’t get reservations. Meilin reserved a table for us, in light of the help we’ve been giving her.”

“How was it?”

“Exceptional. We had the duck. You have to order that 24 hours in advance. It was just like the recipe she made when she won the semi-finals of Food Battles…” The captain caught herself, then reached over and took the paperweight from Peyton’s hand. “Anyway, where are you and D’Angelo on this case?”

“Jake found a third set of fingerprints at the crime scene, but they don’t belong to anyone in the system. We know the bullet was from a .22, cheap-ass gun, but it was enough to kill him when fired at point-blank range. Meilin’s employees have conflicting feelings about her, but they all vouch that she was in the restaurant at the time of the murder.”

“So basically, you have nothing.”

Peyton held out her empty hands.

“I arranged a video chat with the producer of Food Battle. I thought you might ask him if Meilin received any threats or had any enemies on the show. Stan will connect you in about twenty minutes.”

“Great, I’ll get right on it.”

Defino turned the paperweight around and tapped her fingernails against it. “Are you and D’Angelo fighting?”

Peyton blinked in surprise. “What?”

Defino lifted her gaze and focused on Peyton. “At the hospital the other day, I got the sense that you and Marco were fighting. Are you?”

Peyton didn’t know how to answer that. “Ah…”

“Don’t lie to me, Brooks.”

“I’m not, Captain.” She blew out air and fidgeted in the unforgiving chair. “He wasn’t happy that I went to see Maria by myself, and he expressed that to me very emphatically.”

Defino continued to eye her.

Peyton shrugged. “You know me, Captain. Someone’s always pissed at me for one thing or another.”

Defino lowered her eyes to the paperweight. “You’d better go see Stan, Brooks.”

Peyton knew a dismissal when she got one. Pushing herself to her feet, she left the captain’s office, closing the door behind her. Something about the odd exchange bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Walking toward Stan’s office, she tried to erase it from her mind. She didn’t have time to worry about that now.

Marco was just coming out of the break-room as she approached their desks. He gave her a nod of greeting, lifting a cup of coffee to his lips.

“Defino arranged a video conference with the producer of Food Battles. Stan’s setting it up for us. You wanna come?”

“Sure.” He placed the coffee on his desk and followed her toward the back of the precinct.

Stan’s office was an old closet, converted into a tech guru’s heaven with multiple computers operating at the same time. A long table blocked the entrance, but he’d left just enough room to slip past the end of it and enter the confining space. Peyton usually avoided Stan’s lair because the tight configuration always felt claustrophobic to her.

The minute they appeared in the entrance, his face broke into an enormous smile. Peyton smiled back. “Hey, Stan. Captain said you’re hooking us up with a video chat?”

“Sure am, Peyton. Come in.”

Peyton eased past the end of the table and slid into the seat Stan had set up for her. There was no other place available for Marco. Not that she minded. Marco’s bulk would make the hot, tight space even more cramped and miserable.

Stan picked up a box on the table behind him and held it out to Peyton. “Check out the most recent addition to my collection.”

She pretended to inspect the action figure behind the cellophane window. “Superman, right?”

“Right. This is the latest replica they’ve made. Someday it’ll be worth a lot of money.”

“I’ll bet.” She handed it back, glancing around at the many toys on display. “You’ve got a veritable fortune in here, Stan. Good thing you work in a police department, huh?”

He gave a bark of laughter and turned back to the screen.

Peyton gave Marco a pleading look, but he just smirked and glanced away.

“It’ll take me just a minute to set this up,” Stan assured her, clicking away on his keyboard.

“Take your time,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Did Defino give you the producer’s name?”

“Bruce Whitesides,” said Stan.

“Bruce Whitesides, huh? Very Hollywood.”

Stan blinked at her in confusion, his eyes looking owlish behind his glasses. “He’s in New York.”

“Right.”

Stan turned back to the monitor, clicking some more. “There we go.”

A strange chime issued out of the computer, then a moment later a man’s face appeared on the screen. “Hello?”

Stan motioned to the monitor and Peyton leaned forward. “Hello, Mr. Whitesides?”

“Yes.”

She reached for her badge and held it up to the screen. “I’m Inspector Peyton Brooks from the San Francisco Police Department.”

“Yes, Inspector Brooks, your captain told me you’d be contacting me.”

“Thank you for talking with me.”

“Certainly. How can I help you?” Bruce Whitesides was an attractive middle aged, Caucasian male with blond hair slicked back from his forehead and a strong, square jaw.

“I’m investigating the murder of Matt Jensen, Meilin Fan’s boyfriend.”

“Lord, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Did you know Mr. Jensen?”

“I met him once or twice. He was a nice enough fellow. Young guy. A little lost, if you ask me.”

“How so?”

“Well, let’s just say Meilin called the shots in that relationship.”

“Did they fight?”

“I never saw them, but she mentioned that he was perfectly content to work in a grocery store. She was a little contemptuous of him, but then not many people had Meilin’s drive.”

“I see. How was she to work with? I mean for you and the other contestants on the show?”

“She was very generous. She’d bring us some delectable treat almost every day. And she helped out the other contestants when they got stuck on something. Still, she was by far the most driven contestant we’ve had. I’d find her studying recipes right up to the moment we’d start filming and some of the contestants complained that she stayed up half the night perfecting her dishes.” He scratched the back of his neck. “As I’m sure you know, the contestants all stay in the same house during the competition.”

Peyton hadn’t known that, but it was an interesting tidbit. “When they complained to you, what did you do?”

“I told them it wasn’t expressly forbidden in the rules, so there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

“Were any of them particularly upset when she won?”

“Not really. Just being on the show assures every single one of them more money than they can handle. I don’t think a single one hasn’t profited off it in unbelievable ways. Winning is really only a formality.”

“What about fans? Did any of them send her hate mail or threats?”

“I wish I could help you, Inspector Brooks, but Meilin was a fan favorite. It was a joke on the set – Meilin Fan’s Fans.”

Peyton rubbed her forehead. This case was giving her a headache. She glanced up at Marco. “Anything else?” she asked him.

“Ask how she behaved around the men on set.”

Bruce seemed to hear Marco because he gave a sarcastic laugh. “Meilin had all the men wrapped around her fingers. There wasn’t a one of them who wouldn’t do anything she asked the moment she asked it.”

“She flirted with them?”

Bruce gave her a wry smile. “You might say that.”

“Did she flirt with you, Mr. Whitesides?”

“Of course.”

“I have to ask this, so please don’t be offended, but did anything happen between the two of you?”

“No, she might have been a flirt, but she was devoted to Jensen.”

“And nothing happened with any of the other men?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did it bother the women that she flirted?”

Whitesides shrugged. “None of them complained about it to me and believe me, they complained about everything. Generally, Meilin was well liked by both the men and women. I really never saw any problems.”

“I appreciate you talking with me. If you think of anything else, will you contact me?”

“Of course. Tell Meilin I’m sorry about Jensen, will you?”

“I will and thank you.”

“No problem. Have a good day, Inspector Brooks.”

“You too, Mr. Whitesides.”

Stan reached over and disconnected the link. Peyton leaned back in the chair and lifted her eyes to Marco. “Well, what do you make of that?”

Marco shook his head. “Meilin Fan is one complicated woman.”

“You can say that again,” said Peyton.

*    *    *

Because their leads were so slim and because so many people had conflicting views of Meilin, Peyton called Matt Jensen’s mother in Fremont and asked if they could talk with her. At first, she didn’t want to agree, but Peyton had broken down and explained they just didn’t have anything to go on and the case was stalled. Finally, she’d acquiesced.

Peyton stared up at the row of townhouses, standing shoulder to shoulder. Small patches of lawn before each one were the only allowance for nature and individuality. Unlike the townhouses on either side, Pam Jensen didn’t have any personal effects on display like the colorful garden gnomes or planter boxes of her neighbors. Her porch and lawn were completely bare, utilitarian.

Marco walked around the front of the Charger and opened the door for her. “You coming, Brooks?”

She eased out, grimacing at the pull of muscles still sore from her encounter with Junior Walker. “I hate talking to grieving parents.”

“So do I.” He motioned up the walk and she moved in front of him. “You’re moving a little slow. You feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to take the lead on this?”

Peyton glanced back at him. Something in his tone touched her. In all honesty, it was nice to have someone concerned about her for once. “I’m good,” she said, giving him a smile, “but thank you.”

He frowned at her, but she let it go. She didn’t feel like cheapening the moment by teasing him about being sensitive.

Knocking at the front door, she reached for her badge.

It took a few minutes, but finally the door opened, revealing a terribly thin woman whose head bobbed in constant motion. “Yes?”

“Inspectors Brooks and D’Angelo from the SFPD, Mrs. Jensen?”

The woman glanced at the badge, then swung the door open. “Please come in.”

Peyton stepped over the threshold into a very tight entry hall. A set of stairs rose to their left and a few steps to their right was the entrance to a living room. Leaning on a cane, Mrs. Jensen started toward the living room.

“This way,” she said.

Peyton and Marco followed her into a small room with a loveseat and two wing-backed arm chairs arranged in a semi-circle around an outdated square box television. The television was on, showing the waiting room of a hospital, but the sound was turned off. Mrs. Jensen carefully made her way over to the loveseat and sank into it, her hand trembling on the arm as she lowered herself.

“Make yourselves at home,” she said.

Peyton took the seat beside her and Marco squeezed himself into one of the small armchairs. Mrs. Jensen reached for the remote on the table and switched off the television, her hand trembling as she did so.

Peyton gave the woman a gentle smile. “Mrs. Jensen, we’re very sorry for your loss.”

The older woman didn’t respond for a moment, simply sat and stared at Peyton, her head bobbing just the slightest amount. Then she choked back tears and nodded. “Thank you, Inspector. Matthew was the light of my life.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“You mentioned on the phone that you have no leads?”

“No we don’t, ma’am. I thought maybe you could tell us about him and it might give us a place to start.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you. Do you mind if I take notes?” She reached for her notebook and flipped it open.

“That’s fine.”

“How did Matt meet Meilin?”

“He was a produce manager at the grocery store where she shopped.”

“In New York?”

“Yes, that’s where Matt was born and raised.”

“Did you move out here with them when she opened the restaurant in Chinatown?”

“Yes. I have Parkinson’s, Inspector, so Matt didn’t want me to be alone. They paid to have me relocate with them.”

“Was Matt an only child?”

“He was.” Her eyes filled with tears. Peyton motioned to a box of tissue on top of the television and Marco retrieved it, setting it on the coffee table within reach.

“Where’s Matt’s father?”

“Dead. We divorced when Matt was ten and he died three years ago from a massive heart attack.”

Peyton leaned toward the woman, bracing her arms on her thighs. “This might be difficult, Mrs. Jensen, but did Matt have any enemies? Anyone you can think of that would want to do him harm?”

She reached for a tissue and blotted it against her eyes, her hand shaking.  “Matt had no enemies.”

“How did you get along with Meilin?”

“Meilin?”

“Yes.”

“We got along fine. She was good to me. Helped me move out here to be close to Matt, but…”

“But?”

She shrugged. “I just felt she was too old for him and really wished he’d meet someone a lot closer to his age, but I think he really did love her.”

“I see. Did you ever notice them fighting?”

“No, nothing more than any other couple. I just can’t understand it. Who would want to do Matt harm? I’d expect Meilin to be the target before my son.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just because of that television show and then there was the problem.”

Peyton glanced at Marco. “What problem?”

“With the show. It was something to do with her identity or something. The show’s legal consultant thought she went by a different name.”

“Why did he think that?”

“Near as I can figure it, someone called and reported it to them.”

“Who did he think she was?”

“I can’t remember the name. It was something really common, the first name, but it escapes me.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about your son?”

Mrs. Jensen’s eyes grew liquid. “Just that I don’t know what I’ll do without him. He was my rock, he helped me face everything.”

Peyton patted her hand. “Is there anyone helping you now?”

“I have an aide that comes three times a week. Meilin paid for that.”

“Any other family?”

She sighed. “I have a cousin in New York. I might go back there to be closer to her.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, Inspector. I’m tired and I think I’d like to rest.”

Peyton pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you for talking with us, Mrs. Jensen.”

“Of course. If you find out anything, will you let me know?”

“Yes we will. Again I’m so sorry.”

Using her cane, she levered herself to her feet. “Thank you, Inspector. That means a lot.”

She trailed behind them as they moved toward the front door. Peyton pulled it open and stepped down onto the walk, headed for the Charger, Marco on her heels.

“Inspector Brooks,” called the older woman.

Peyton paused and turned back around. “Yes, ma’am?”

“The name…the name I can’t remember…”

“Yes?”

“Some flower or something. I wish I could recall what it was.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jensen,” said Peyton, lifting a hand in salute just as her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out as they reached the Charger.

Marco opened the door for her as she read the text message.

“Abe wants us to meet him at Rasselas on Fillmore.”

He shrugged. “The jazz club? I could use a drink. What about you?”

“I guess so. Jake and Maria are also meeting us there.”

“More’s the merrier,” he said, placing a hand on her elbow as she climbed into the car.

*    *    *

Rasselas was a jazz club and Ethiopian restaurant on the corner of Fillmore and Geary. It was always crowded, especially on a Friday night, but Abe had secured a table to the right of the bar, against the red brick back wall.

People danced in a little area before the band, swaying to the smooth sounds of a jazz saxophone and the sultry voice of a female singer whose ample curves stretched the fabric of her blue sequined dress in all the right places. She gave Marco a wink as he and Peyton pushed through the crowds to Abe’s table.

Maria and Jake were already there. Jake was drinking a beer, but Abe and Maria had a green drink with Honeydew melon balls floating across the top of it.

“What is that?” Peyton shouted over the crowd.

“It’s aptly called the Melon Ball,” said Abe, holding it up for her to see.

“Why is it green?”

“Midori. Want one, soul sista?”

“No, I’ll have what Jake’s drinking.”

“I’ll get it,” said Marco, moving toward the bar.

Peyton squeezed into the chair between Abe and Maria. Leaning toward the other woman, she said, “You know never to drink anything Abe drinks, right?”

“It looked fun.” She gave Peyton a frank look. “I need a little fun.” Then her face screwed up as if she saw something unpleasant. “Couldn’t you have at least put down your hair and brushed it out?”

Peyton rolled her eyes and leaned back. Maria was obviously feeling better. Her eyes caught on Maria’s sling. Bright glass bangles lined the entire edge of it. “What the hell is this?” she said, touching it.

“Abe bedazzled it.”

Abe gave her a wink over the top of his Melon Ball.

Peyton leaned back into him. “You’ve always wanted your own doll to play dress up with, haven’t you?”

He made a kissing motion with his lips. “Let’s just say you aren’t her.”

“Damn straight.”

Jake was smiling at the exchange.

“You have something to say?” she challenged.

He shrugged and lifted his beer for a swig. “Nothing, except I agree with Maria. Always did like your hair down better.”

Marco returned and passed her a beer, then squeezed into the only chair left between Jake and Abe at the very back of the table.

“Hey, Marco baby,” said Maria, flashing him a sweet smile.

“Hey, Maria,” he said, tilting his beer toward her in salute.

Abe leaned close to him. “What about a dance, Angel’D?”

“Not on your life.”

Abe pouted at him, but he reached over and tapped Jake’s shoulder. “Come on, Jake. Let’s go dance.”

“I’m not dancing either.”

“Stop being a chicken and get out there, Ryder,” said Peyton.

Maria placed her drink on the table and rose to her feet, holding out her hand. “I’ll go with you. The three of us can dance as a group.”

Jake shook his head, but Maria emphatically snapped her hand at him. “Come on, Ryder. It wouldn’t hurt you to loosen up a bit.”

Peyton smiled as Maria grabbed his hand and tugged him upright. Abe squeezed past her, hurrying to Jake’s other side and taking his arm. Jake looked back over his shoulder in mock panic as they led him to the dance floor.

Abe dragged the two of them into the very middle, then began a ridiculous long limbed shimmy that had even Jake laughing.

Sliding into Abe’s seat, Peyton lifted her beer and took a sip.

“Abe is certifiable,” said Marco, watching them.

Peyton leaned back in her chair, enjoying the moment of solitude with her partner. “Maria looks like she’s having fun.”

“Yeah. It’s hard not to when Abe’s around.” He gave a laugh and lifted his beer. “Ryder is so freakin’ white.”

Peyton grinned as she watched Jake bop up and down in dubious rhythm to the music. “He’s a good sport.”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes though, I could kill him.”

Marco glanced over at her. “Why?”

“He called my mother and she came over to check up on me.”

“Whew! He’s one ballsy damn fool,” Marco said with a chuckle.

Peyton nodded, reaching for a handful of nuts in the center of the table. “I wasn’t thrilled.”

“She get on you about your job?”

“Of course. It was subtle, but she had to work it in, even after I told her I wasn’t on the job when it happened.”

He shifted to look at her. “You can’t really blame her, can you?”

Peyton glanced at him. “I guess not.” She tilted her bottle and looked inside. “She told me Cliff asked her to marry him.”

Marco set down his beer without drinking. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t know what to say. She told me she said no, but…”

“But?”

“She said he made her happy, Marco.”

He put a hand on the back of Peyton’s chair and leaned closer so she could hear him. “Brooks, I know how hard this must be for you.”

She shook her head and took another drink. “I don’t want to be maudlin, but it’s a little too much to take all at once.”

“Maudlin?”

“Means morose, depressed.”

“Right.”

She looked out at the dance floor. Abe was twirling them both around by the hands and Jake was trying to break free. “Abe gave me a word of the day calendar last Christmas.”

“I see.” He gave her a speculative look. “What do you mean it’s a little too much to take?”

“First Devan, now my mother.” She met Marco’s look. “I told her to accept his proposal.”

“That had to be hard.”

“What could I do? I want her to be happy, but it still hurts to realize that after she marries Cliff, I really will be all alone.”

“That’s not true, Peyton.”

“Isn’t it? You’ve been right all along, Marco. Cops should not have serious relationships. It’s not fair to either party.”

“That’s not completely true.”

“It is.” She gave him a weary smile. “I’m tired of trying to fight it. I’ll be alone forever as long as I remain a cop.”

He drew a deep breath, his hand closing into a fist on the table. “Peyton, it could be different.”

“How?” She looked directly into his blue eyes. “How can it be different? Once my mother marries Cliff, the only thing I have, the only thing that makes any sense or has any meaning is my job. It is the one thing I can count on, the one thing that will always be there.” She looked back out at the dance floor. “I’ve just got to tell myself that it’s enough.”

He went still beside her, his eyes searching her face. She didn’t meet his look, she didn’t want him to try to convince her otherwise. The first step to making peace with the future was to embrace it, she decided.

CHAPTER 7

Gabby found Buck Reiter fishing off a white-washed wooden dock on the edge of his property. The small lake was tangled with mangroves and kudzu vines. The older man had on hip-waders and a faded blue fishing hat, covered in lures.

He smiled as Gabby came up beside him. “You bring your pole?”

“No, not much into fishing. Catch anything?”

“Naw, they’re taking a nap right now.” He reeled in the line, then cast again.

“How was Alaska?”

“Fishing was great.” He gave her a smile, his grey mustache lifting. “Not much for the weather though. Missed the humidity.”

Gabby pulled her t-shirt away from her skin and backed up where a mangrove tree cast shade over the dock. “I could do with a little less of it, myself.”

“Grab us a couple of chairs,” he said, nodding over her shoulder at two folding chairs lying on the dock.

Gabby picked them up and unfolded one behind him. She set hers back in the shade, close enough to feel a slight breeze tickle through the mangrove branches. He used one hand to pull the chair closer, the other keeping a tight grip on the pole, then he sat down.

As soon as he made himself comfortable, he opened a cooler that had been sitting beside him and grabbed a can of beer, holding it out to Gabby. She glanced at her watch. It was a little after 10:00AM, but the condensation running down the sides of the can was more temptation than she could resist. She popped it open and pressed it against her neck, so she could feel the chill from the ice on her overheated skin. It was only 80 degrees right now, but nearly 90% humidity.

Buck popped his own can and took a swig. “Let me tell you, retirement is when you really start to live.”

“Seems that way.” She leaned forward and braced her arms on her thighs, taking a sip of the beer. The cold bite of it was like heaven. “I need to talk to you about the Witan murders, Buck.”

“Witan murders?” He didn’t even look at her, his attention fixed on the fishing pole. “You said that in your message, but I’ve been wracking my brain and I just don’t remember it.”

“Two doctors, murdered in a home invasion robbery. Their daughter found them when she returned from prom.”

“Lord, how many years ago was that?”

“Nearly twenty.”

“Yeah, long time. You get a new lead?”

“Carol Witan’s mother recently died and her granddaughter found a key to a safe deposit box.” She sketched out everything their investigation had found, except for the most important thing – the fact that Lily Witan was adopted.

“Sounds like the old lady lost it a little, cutting out the pictures, tearing pages out of the scrapbook.”

“Do you remember her?”

He shrugged, reeling in the line. “I have a vague memory of her.”

“What about Lily, Buck? Do you remember the girl?”

“I remember a young girl, but that’s about all.”

Gabby lifted her beer and took another sip. “How come you didn’t indicate Lily Witan was adopted, Buck? Nowhere in the file does it disclose that.”

He went still.

Gabby had a strange feeling that he remembered a whole lot more about the case than he was telling her.

He shifted on the folding chair, letting the tip of the pole touch the water. “The media was all over that case and she was just a young girl, just turned eighteen. The investigators were trying to protect her.”

“From what?”

“From everyone knowing that she was adopted. It was bad enough that she found her parents, but can you imagine the way the media would have gone after her, trying to find out everything about her past?”

Gabby set the beer down beside her chair. “Did you ever consider her a suspect, Buck?”

He looked bewildered. “Why would she be a suspect? She was at the prom all night.”

“But she disappeared after their deaths, right?”

“She couldn’t take it anymore, living under the scrutiny all the time, and then when that boy killed himself…”

Gabby straightened. “What boy?”

“I don’t remember his name. He lived on the same street as Lily.”

“Grant Sanderson?”

“Right. That was his name. Grant Sanderson.” He sighed. “It was too much for her and she had to get away. She said that street was cursed.”

“Did you actually talk to Lily?”

“When I came on the case, it was already about six months old. I talked to her just before she left.”

“What about Grant Sanderson’s parents?”

“They refused to talk to me.”

“Were he and Lily connected in anyway?”

“They went to the same school, lived on the same street.”

“Did you know that Lily’s grandfather, Philip Messette, reported a stolen gun three weeks before the Witans’ murders? A Colt .45.”

He nodded. “I remember that.”

“And did you know that the Witans were shot with a .45?”

“I seem to remember it.”

“But you didn’t think Lily might be a suspect?”

“Read through the file again, Gabby. Officers on the scene did a powder test and found nothing on her. She was clean.”

“She was covered in their blood.”

“From trying to revive them. The girl was destroyed by this. She couldn’t function, she barely graduated.”

“She was failing most of her classes before this happened. Did you think to ask her if she was being sexually assaulted? If her father was molesting her?”

Buck rose to his feet, setting his pole on the dock. “What are you trying to say, Detective?”

Gabby rose also. “I’m saying that due diligence wasn’t done on this case. Too many things were left open and too much wasn’t reported carefully enough. Now I’ve got to try to find a girl that disappeared into the wind more than twenty years before.”

Buck scratched the crown of his head through his fishing hat. “Welcome to Cold Case, Detective. We get what we get. In all honesty, if there weren’t mistakes made or things overlooked, you wouldn’t have a job, kiddo.”

*    *    *

The Superior Courthouse in San Francisco was located in an ornate grey stone building where cases were handled, both civil and criminal, in a series of courtrooms located on different floors according to their function. The building appeared to be in perpetual motion as lawyers and bailiffs, cops and civilians rushed back and forth, attending to the business of a “civilized” society.

Jake had been directed to the second floor where the Honorable Judge Himura presided. Court wasn’t scheduled to start until 9:00AM, but he’d wanted to make sure he could find a seat. He hadn’t expected the small, wood paneled courtroom to be empty, except for the lawyers. Now he sat and waited, trying to resist fidgeting. That was hard. The thought of being here, of what he was about to witness made him feel physically ill.

No windows were present to let in natural light, but the fluorescent tubes overhead bathed everything in a stark, yellow glow. He sat in the small spectator area directly before the doors. It was choked with metal theater chairs with cracked vinyl cushions. In a few, white stuffing showed through the tears. Before the spectators’ area was a wooden bar, separating it from the rest of the room, and directly in front of that on the right was the prosecution’s table, the defense to the left. A double row of jury seats lined the right side of the room with the judge’s bench and witness stand directly in front.

The judge was not present, but Devan sat with his back to the room at the prosecutor’s table, talking with an older woman. They were studying a file and whispering to each other. Directly across from Jake on the defense side sat a middle aged man in a suit, staring straight ahead, his hands folded against his stomach.

Jake looked back over his shoulder as the massive wooden door opened and Peyton entered. He occupied a chair in the first row behind Devan, but he was the only one who shifted and looked at her as she entered.

Peyton walked down the aisle and slid into the seat next to him. A bailiff glanced over at her and she gave him a short nod. He nodded back. Devan and his assistant continued to whisper.

Jake and Peyton hadn’t talked much throughout the weekend. He’d stayed in his room to give her and Maria time to work through Maria’s recent trauma. He’d heard a whole lot of shouting at certain points, then some crying, but by this morning, Maria had been up, showered and ready to go back to work.

“You okay?” Peyton asked, nudging him with her shoulder

“If you consider about to vomit okay?” he answered.

She gave him a commiserate look.

“Why are you here? I thought you didn’t testify for a few days,” he asked her to change the subject

“I don’t, but I thought you might need a friend.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you, Peyton, but don’t you have a case to work?”

“Marco’s checking out a few things, but we’re stalled right now. I’ll get to it this afternoon.”

Devan shifted and glanced back at her, lifting his hand in greeting.

She forced a smile in return.

“You okay?” Jake whispered back.

“Of course.” She gave him a look as if to say it was a ridiculous question.

“I mean…” He motioned at Devan’s back.

“Oh that, yeah, I’m just so freakin’ ecstatic for him.”

“Ecstatic?”

“Word of the day calendar,” she said, watching as the jury was led into the room by the bailiff. “Christmas gift from Abe.”

Jake watched the jury as well. Eight women, four men. He wasn’t sure what that meant. The rest of their demographics were eclectic – ranges in age, state of dress, and as expected in San Francisco, racial diversity.

He looked down at his hands and closed his eyes. He wanted to concentrate on anything else but this. “A year later and I can’t think of Zoë without feeling like I’m going to be violently ill.”

“That’s why this trial has to be over. You’re never going to move on with your life until it is.”

He glanced up at her. “This part of my life will always be here, like a wound that never heals.”

“It’ll heal. It’ll scar, but it’ll heal.”

“That word of the day calendar teach wisdom as well?”

She smiled at him. “Life does that.”

“I find it hard to believe you’re ecstatic about…” He nodded significantly at Devan’s back.

She sighed. “I’m trying to be zen about it. Then maybe I’ll believe myself. It wouldn’t have worked between us anyway. I’m too feisty.”

Jake’s gaze snapped to her face. “What?”

“Feisty. Isn’t that the word you used to describe me?”

“Freakin’ Stan.”

She laughed. “I think marriage and all those social trappings are only for certain people. We try to make it fit everyone, but it just doesn’t. I’m just not that sort of person.”

“You can’t say that, Peyton. Because one relationship didn’t work, it doesn’t mean another won’t.”

“Not for me, Jake. In my way of thinking, it’s not worth all of the turmoil and pain, but that’s just me. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Besides, I’m still pissed at you.”

“What’s new? You mean for calling your mother?”

“Yeah. That does not happen again, Ryder.”

“I’m not gonna promise that, Mighty Mouse. If I think I need to call her again, I will.”

Peyton shifted and gave him a glare. “She thinks you and I are involved.”

Jake’s brows rose at that. “I can see how she’d think that.”

“How?”

“I’m adorable.”

A smile bloomed across Peyton’s face, transforming her into something close to beautiful. “You have your moments.”

“Damn straight.” He realized this banter with Peyton had calmed him, centered him again. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered.

She bumped him with her shoulder again. “You knew I would.”

“Yeah.” And he had. He realized he’d been expecting her to show up even though he knew she had a case to work.

The court reporter entered from a door behind the judge’s bench, followed by a clerk. Both women took seats at their appropriate places. As soon as they’d settled, the heavy wooden door creaked open behind them.

Two bailiffs entered and in between them was Claire Harper. She wore a crisp business suit in navy blue with a sharp pencil skirt, black pumps, and a short jacket with a wide lapel. A floral blouse peeked out between the lines of the jacket. Her blond hair was immaculate and her face perfectly made-up.

Jake caught his breath, his hands curling into fist.

Her eyes swept the room, then came to rest on him, her lips thinning as if she saw something offensive. Jake wished his head wasn’t buzzing so or his heart beating so erratically. He forced himself to meet her gaze. They locked eyes for as long as it took her to reach the bar, then she broke the stare, tilting her head back, her chin pointed in the air.

Jake realized he was pressing his fists into his thighs, trying to use pain to keep himself from getting sick right here, right in this courtroom. Peyton shifted toward him and reached over, covering his hands with one of her own.

Her touch grounded him as her voice had moments before and he swallowed the taste of bile in his mouth. “It’s okay. She can’t hurt you anymore,” she whispered, close to his ear. He could smell the lilac scent of her shampoo and he breathed it in, closing his eyes briefly. Unclenching his fists, he curled his fingers around hers.

“You’re wrong, you know?”

She tightened her hold. “She can’t hurt you, Jake.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

She looked bewildered. “What?”

“You said relationships weren’t worth all the turmoil or pain.”

She shook her head in confusion.

“Zoë and I had four years together.” He fought against the sudden burning in his eyes. “Four years, so short, but I’d go through it all again, just to have had that infinitesimal bit of time with her.”

Peyton’s eyes searched his face.

“Even this, even with knowing I’d lose her, I would do it again, Peyton.”

*    *    *

That afternoon Jake returned to the precinct. Peyton followed him into the break-room where he grabbed a soda and took a seat at the table. Smith and Maria already occupied the table, sharing a coffee-break before the end of the day. Helping herself to a piece of cake left over from Bartlet’s birthday, she sat down beside Jake and gave him a reassuring smile.

“How’d it go?” she asked, placing a bite of cake in her mouth. The blissful taste of chocolate bathed her tongue.

Maria grimaced at her, motioning that her ass was going to balloon. Peyton smiled back at her as she took another bite.

“Not much happened,” said Jake, setting down his soda. “Opening argument. That’s about it.”

Peyton nodded, then looked up as Marco enter, going to the counter and pouring himself a cup of coffee. He also carried it to the table, sinking into the chair across from Peyton.

“Did you find out anything about Matt Jensen? Any records? Run-ins with the police in New York?”

“No, but I also put in a request for anything on Meilin. They said they’d have to get back to me on that one.”

“For a burner case, this is proving really annoying,” she said. “Does that mean they have something on Meilin?”

“Not necessarily.” He lifted the coffee to his lips and took a sip. “How was the trial?”

Jake shrugged. “Stressful.”

“I’ll bet.”

Peyton gave Jake a wry grin. That was about as much sympathy as he could expect from Marco.

“I don’t think I could do it,” said Smith. “I’d want to off the crazy bitch without waiting for a verdict.”

Maria nodded, adjusting the strap on her shoulder brace. “What was it like, Jake, seeing her?”

Jake sighed. “I thought I was going to be sick.”

They all grunted in understanding. Peyton took another bite, wishing she had something comforting to say to him. She knew this was the hardest thing he’d ever gone through and it made her petty little problems seem so unimportant.

Just as she was about to comment, a woman poked her head inside the break-room. Peyton had never seen her before. She was of Middle Eastern descent with long, straight black hair, a full mouth and almond shaped black eyes. She wore a stylish suit in pale pink with a pair of high-heeled, open-toed pumps in glacial white. She held a white clutch in one hand and an envelope in the other.

Maria rose to her feet. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Peyton Brooks?”

Peyton stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down and rose, dusting her hands on her jeans. “I’m Peyton Brooks.”

The woman’s heavily-lashed eyes ran over Peyton from curly head to combat books. “You’re just as he described you.”

Peyton frowned. “He?”

“Devan.” She stepped into the room and flashed a smile. Her teeth were brilliant white and straight – her smile making her beautiful face positively breath-taking. “I’m Rani Misra, Devan’s fiancée.”

Marco choked on his coffee, setting it down. Jake leaned back in his chair, his mouth hanging open, and Smith ducked his head. Maria whirled to look at Peyton, her eyes wide with amazement.

“You’re what now?”

“Rani. I’m engaged to Devan.”

Peyton’s mind went blank. She didn’t know how to respond to this.

“I know this seems…” She gave a little laugh and glanced at the men. “Irregular, but I really wanted to meet you. Devan talks about you all of the time.”

“Devan talks about me?”

“All the time.”

“All the time?” Her voice was climbing in register.

“Yes.” She flashed that perfect smile again. “You mean the world to him.”

“I mean the world to him?” Why couldn’t she stop repeating what the blasted woman said?

“Yes.” She took a step into the room. “I wanted to meet you myself. I know people think it’s awkward for…well, two significant others to meet, but I want to break that silly social custom. I feel like we learn so much from every relationship we have. They all combine to make us the person we are today.”

Peyton’s brain just would not process the words. She looked helplessly at Marco. His face was as blank as her own. “I don’t know what to say,” she forced out.

“I understand. It’s probably a bit of a shock, so I won’t stay. I just wanted to introduce myself and meet you. Also…” She looked at the square envelope in her hand. “I wanted to invite you to my wedding.”

She held out the invitation, but Peyton couldn’t summon the will to take it. Instead Maria took it for her.

Rani smiled at her. “Please feel free to come as well. I didn’t get your name.” She held out her hand.

“Maria.”

They clasped hands briefly, then Rani turned her smile back to Peyton. “I know this seems shocking to you right now, but after you think about it for a while, I hope you’ll agree with me that we can start a new tradition between women and learn to accept each other openly.”

Peyton still couldn’t find any words to describe the turmoil in her brain.

Rani glanced at the men once more. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” She stepped forward and held out her hand to Peyton. “It really is a pleasure to meet you.”

Peyton saw herself extend her own hand and clasp the other woman’s. Then Rani was gone in a swirl of pink linen.

*    *    *

Silence descended at Rani’s departure. Maria turned the envelope over in her hand and studied the back of it. Peyton didn’t move, just stood looking at the door as if she’d been suddenly turned to stone. Marco stared intently at the table and Smith rubbed a hand over his thick mustache again and again.

Jake didn’t know what to do or say to break the tension. He gave Marco a pointed look and nodded his head at Peyton, but Marco wouldn’t meet his eye. Smith seemed a lost cause himself.

Finally Peyton shifted weight. “That bitch! Can you believe her?”

“No, what a skank,” said Maria, holding out the invitation.

Peyton took it with a sneer, as if it were tainted or something. “I should have ripped out her hair.”

“You should have snatched that bitch bald-headed.”

Jake felt like he should defuse the situation. “She seemed…nice…enough.”

Marco kicked him under the table, then held out his hands and gave the women a wide-eyed stare.

“Nice!” Peyton whirled on him. “She was nice?”

Although his mouth was open, no words were coming out of it.

Peyton focused on Marco. “Is that what you think, Marco? Was she nice?”

Marco shook his head frantically. “Noooo, she’s a bitch.”

“Yeah, a class-A bitch,” echoed Smith.

Peyton glared at them both, but Maria touched her arm.

“You know what we should do?”

“What?”

“We should buy her some silver for her shower.”

Peyton gave an evil laugh. “I like it. Get her a serving bowl or something.”

“Yeah, we could go to one of those higher end thrift stores, you know, the ones that sell stuff from estate sales.”

“Yeah, and get some real old silver.”

“Right, the shit that turns yellow when you blow on it.”

“With all those ornate swirls and shit that just trap the tarnish.”

“And you have to use a cotton swab to get it out.”

“Let’s go right now.”

“Just let me get my purse.”

The two women walked out, side by side. As soon as they were gone, Marco reached over and slapped Jake upside his head.

“Stop hitting me! What the hell did I do?”

“You got me in trouble with Maria and Peyton both.”

“What? How? I said it.”

“And they’re going to blame me.”

Smith shook his head in commiseration. “You are in deep, man.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“You could get away with buying flowers for Maria, but what the hell are you going to do with Peyton?”

Marco stared at the table, shaking his head. “I’m gonna have to take a swing at Devan, or shove him, or something.”

“Yeah, that’s about the truth of it.”

Marco pushed himself to his feet and loomed over Jake. Jake ducked, covering his head. “Thanks a lot, Ryder.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

The two men followed the women out into the precinct, grumbling as they went.

“Freakin’ assed cops,” Jake muttered, rubbing the side of his head.

*    *    *

Marco had never been in the Marriott Marquis before. He knew the iconic structure from the outside – half-moon windows arcing on all sides of the tower, broken up like wagon-wheel spokes. He’d heard about the spectacular view from the top, the entire City rolling away before you from a height of 39 stories, and he’d suspected the interior would scream luxury.

Standing in the hall on the 15th floor, he watched a couple head for the elevator, dressed in evening clothes, and wondered what it would be like to have so much disposable income that the cost of such accommodations never entered your mind.

He knocked and stared down at the checkered carpet in burgundy and burnished gold. He was definitely in the wrong business to be thinking about luxury, that was certain. Besides that, his tastes leaned more toward a rustic cabin in the redwoods, some place quiet and remote, some place very different than the bustling City he made his home.

The door opened and Meilin peeked out. Her long, black hair was loose and hanging far down her back, a silk robe wrapped around her slender figure. She wasn’t much taller than Peyton, her round face and exotic dark eyes seeming delicate and fragile in the half-light of the room.

“Inspector D’Angelo, thank goodness. I’m so glad you came.” She pulled open the door and motioned him to enter.

He stepped inside, looking around. The bed was piled high with pillows and stark white coverings. A small table lay to the left of the door, accompanied by two chairs in deep chocolate leather cushions. A flat screen television and a cherry-wood credenza marked the area directly across from the bed. The heavy brocade curtains were drawn back and the City gleamed beyond the windows, twinkling lights and bustling traffic, the sounds muted behind privacy glass.

He turned to face Meilin, dismissing the enchanting view. “Tell me what happened again.”

“Someone tried to get into the room. Thank God I had the extra lock on, but it scared me horribly.”

Marco glanced at the digital clock beside the bed. Almost nine. “Did you work tonight?”

“I left early. I couldn’t concentrate.” She shut the door and came toward the table, sinking into the chair. Her robe pulled up, giving him a view of her thigh. “All I can think about is Matt.”

He deliberately forced himself to look away.

“Please sit. Have a drink with me?” Lifting a wine bottle on the table, she motioned at an empty glass. He noticed there were exactly two glasses sitting there.

“No, thank you. I’m technically on duty.”

She set the bottle down and lifted her own glass, taking a sip. “You can at least sit on duty, right?”

He couldn’t deny the situation made him uncomfortable. She’d called him on his way home, frantic that she thought someone was following her, even up to her room in the hotel. She’d begged him to come over. He should have called Peyton and asked her to come with him, but Peyton had gone off with Maria, intent on making Devan’s life a living hell. Now he realized being alone in this hotel room with this woman was probably a bad idea, but he wasn’t sure how to get out of it. Sometimes Peyton was right about him – where women were concerned, his brain often wasn’t the first organ he consulted.

He took a seat, shifting the chair so the entire table was between them. He was very aware that Peyton thought Meilin might be caught up in a love triangle, that she enjoyed male attention just a bit too much.

Meilin turned the bottle so he could see the label. Lot of good it did him, he didn’t read Chinese. “Too bad you won’t try some. This is Mao Tai Jiu, one of the oldest wines in known history, made from sorghum.”

He nodded. He didn’t know what that meant. Beer was made from hops, but that meant about as much to him as this did.

“I was given this bottle when I won Food Battles. It seemed like a good time to drink it.” She turned the glass, letting the yellow liquid bathe the insides. “Life is so short, you shouldn’t wait to taste the wine.”

Her words struck him and he looked away. You shouldn’t wait to taste the wine. Funny how he’d done the exact opposite all his life. “Did you call one of the other officers when you heard someone trying to get in your room?”

“No. I called the number of the person that made me feel most secure.”

He glanced back at her. They hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words between them. Oh, man, this was a very bad idea. “I didn’t notice anything when I came up. Everything seems fine.”

“You’re probably right. I’m just spooked. I haven’t been alone in years.”

He understood that. He understood loneliness.

“How long have you been a detective, Inspector D’Angelo?” She made a face. “That’s a mouthful – Inspector D’Angelo. Can I just call you Marco?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“How long have you been a detective?”

“Eight years.”

“Homicide all that time?”

“Yes.”

“Same partner?”

Again, he felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t called Peyton to tell her he was coming over here. This was the very thing he rode her about all of the time and here he was doing it himself. “Yes, same partner. Maybe we should move you to another room?” He didn’t want to talk about Peyton with her.

“You’re awfully young to have such a prestigious job.”

Prestigious? Looking at dead meat, seeing the depravity of the human mind, killing people. He shook away those thoughts. Maybe he should have a drink after all. “We got lucky. The department was short on detectives, so they promoted us a lot earlier.”

She crossed her legs, making a pretense of covering her bare flesh. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” She gave an uncomfortable smile and shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.

“Ma’am? What a word. You spend your youth wanting to be older, to be taken seriously, and before you know it, someone is calling you ma’am.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She smiled at him as she lifted her wine and took a sip. “I know you didn’t. Truth is, I’m older than you are. Did you know that?”

His eyes involuntarily tracked down to her bare thigh, but he forced himself to look away. Such a bad, bad idea, this.

“I just turned 38. Do I look 38 to you?” She gave him a sultry look over the top of the glass.

He shook his head, only briefly making eye contact.

“That’s pretty good, isn’t it? A successful business by 38?” She set the glass down. “And all alone, no one to share it with.”

“I’m sorry, but…”

“We have so many dreams when we’re young. We’re so sure everything is going to be exactly as we want it, but it’s never that way.” Her eyes lifted to the window. “My parents thought they knew what I should do. They pushed and pushed and pushed.” She gave a grim laugh. “They had such high expectations for me.” She looked back at him again. “You’re lucky you’re not Asian.”

He frowned at that. What?

“The expectations, the pressure for success. There is no room for failure.”

“I’m sure it’s like that for a lot of kids now.”

She shook her head. “It’s not the same. You don’t even know.”

He wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you married, Marco?”

His eyes whipped to her face. “What?”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Ever been?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

He leaned back in the chair. “No.”

“Boyfriend?” When he gave her a bewildered look, she laughed. “You’re awfully pretty and this is San Francisco.”

“No.”

“Why not? Why wouldn’t someone like you have a significant other?”

Oh, boy, this was a box he did not want to open with this woman, this stranger. “It’s complicated.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “How complicated?”

Nightmarish complicated, he wanted to say. “Very.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Look, Ms. Fan, everything seems okay here. I’ll help you move rooms or hotels if that makes you feel better, but if not, I really need to go.”

She rose as well and moved close to him, so close he could smell the jasmine of her perfume. Looking up at him, she placed a hand in the center of his chest, her fingers long and delicate. “You don’t have to go.”

He encircled her wrist and pulled her hand away. “I do have to go. I’m working an active case that you’re involved in and this borders on inappropriate conduct right now.”

She smiled and backed up. “Do you always follow the rules, Inspector D’Angelo?”

He laughed. “When you have a partner who always breaks them, yes.”

She gave him a speculative look. “I see.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he couldn’t stay to find out. He eased around her and headed for the door.

“Don’t forget to taste the wine, Inspector,” she called after him.

He gave her a short nod, then opened the door and stepped out. Taste the wine. Freaking hell, that was just the sort of advice that was bound to get him fired.

CHAPTER 8

Gabby glanced at the clock on the corner of her desk, an engraved mahogany monstrosity they’d given her when she completed her 20th year on the force. That’s what they gave you – twenty years out of your life, here’s a clock. Funny thing was she liked the damn thing. It kept time, it had real hands, and it had little lines where the numbers should be. Billy said he couldn’t read it, he’d only ever read digital clocks before. Somehow that made her sad – that telling time had become obsolete, like cursive writing and well, spelling out actual words when you wrote.

She rubbed a hand across her eyes and back through her short-cropped hair. This case was frustrating the hell out of her, making her long for a time when crime fighting was more about figuring out “who done it”, than piecing together the electronic trail every person left behind in a nebulous universe that existed only in cyberspace.

Behind her, Billy lounged in his desk chair, swinging it back and forth with a foot, the other braced on the edge of the desk. He had Lily Witan’s yearbook open on his lap and was leafing through the pages, occasionally commenting that this girl or that was hot. It would have made Gabby uncomfortable, but she was actively trying to ignore him.

Picking up her desk phone, another relic of a bygone era, she punched in the number for Cold Case in New York City. It didn’t escape her that she had to look up their number on-line, log into the directory to see who had requested the case box, then punch in the numbers that rang directly to the detective’s cell phone.

A male voice came on the line. “Ehrenthal.”

“Detective Ehrenthal? This is Detective Gabriela Acosta of the Miami Police Department.”

“Yes, Detective Acosta. I got your message. Sorry I haven’t called you back, but I’ve been busy all day.”

“Not a problem. Hey, I wanted to ask you about a case we have down here, a case that you requested the file for about a year ago.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It sort of got hung up in the system. It should have been returned to you guys as soon as we finished with it, but you know how those things go.”

“Right.”

“If you could see the number of cases we work up here…” He gave a laugh. “How many detectives you got working cold cases down there?”

“A few.” Okay, she got it. New York – busy. Miami – well, she was it. Except Billy. There was always Billy.

“Detective Ehrenthal, can I ask you a few questions?”

“I’ll do my level best to answer them.”

“Thanks. The case you requested was for a double homicide here in Miami, home invasion robbery gone bad.”

“Right. I remember. Teenage girl found the bodies.”

“That’s the one. The girl was named Lily Witan.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Why did you request the file?”

She could hear other voices in the background, shouting and loud conversation.

Ehrenthal shifted in his chair. “Sorry about that. Squad room’s always like Grand Central, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s see. Let me pull up the notes I took.”

“You have notes?”

“Always take notes, Detective. Anyway, here it is.”

“Why aren’t your notes in the case file?”

“Wasn’t necessary. They didn’t relate to the case you have there. I just keep them for my own use, in case someone like you calls.” She heard him clicking with his mouse. “There it is. I got a call from someone telling me that a woman here in New York was a suspect in a murder case in Miami. Funny thing about this was the woman who called said she saw the suspect on a reality show.”

“Reality show?”

“Yeah, hold on. Let me see which one. Don’t watch the crap myself, but it’s all that’s on nowadays.”

“Right.”

“Uh, here it is. Food Battles. She said the woman participating in Food Battles was Lily Witan.”

Gabby’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “Why didn’t you contact us?”

“Because it wasn’t her. The woman on Food Battles was named Meilin Fan. When we did some looking into her background, we found out she was an immigrant from China. She came into the U.S. on a student visa twenty years ago and eventually got dual citizenship.”

“Detective, Lily Witan was adopted, probably from China herself.”

“Well, I found an adoption record, Detective Acosta, but it was sealed. The Chinese government is very secretive about such things. Ironic, ain’t it?”

“Did you get a warrant to open the adoption record?”

“No reason too. Meilin Fan entered this country just twenty years ago. Lily Witan came in as an infant almost forty years ago. Clearly this isn’t the same person. Besides that, Lily Witan was never a suspect in her parents’ murder.”

Gabby rubbed at her temples. “Can you tell me the name of the person who filed the tip?”

“It was left anonymously. Sorry.”

Gabby felt so defeated. Maybe she was going about this whole thing the wrong way. “Thank you, Detective Ehrenthal.”

“My pleasure. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”

“Can you send me a copy of your notes by email?”

“Sure. Just send me a text with your email address.”

Send him a text. Gabby sighed. “I’ll do that right away. Again, thank you, Detective.”

“Anytime…and hey, if you’d like change of scenery, we’re always looking for sharp people up here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Great. Nice talking with you.”

“You too.”

Gabby hung up, then sat staring at the phone, her forehead braced in her hands.

“What was the name of the kid who hung himself?” asked Billy.

“Sanderson, why?”

Billy leaned back in his chair, making the springs squeal. “How much do you love me?”

She lifted her head and glanced at him over her shoulder. “That depends. Tell me you’ve got a break in this freakin’ case.”

“Take a look at who made Cutest Couple for Miami Union High School.” He passed her the yearbook.

Gabby stared at the photo of a pretty Asian girl standing with her arms around a tall Caucasian boy. Both were beaming at the camera. Above the photo in a swirling script, complete with hearts, were the words Cutest Couple, and below it in big blocky letters – Lily Witan and Grant Sanderson.

Billy’s grin promised all sorts of mischief. “Love me now?”

Gabby smiled back at him. “Little bit. Lit-tal bit.”

*    *    *

Peyton opened the door of her house to a bouncing Pickles. She scooped him up and closed the door behind her, panting to regain her spent breath. She loved running in the morning when the fog lay over everything. The adrenaline rush gave her a euphoric feeling all throughout her morning shower and subsequent drive to the precinct, but when she didn’t get to run, she felt sluggish and out of sorts.

“You run every single day?” came Maria’s voice from the kitchen. She was leaning on the counter, holding a cup of coffee in her good hand.

Peyton walked to the barstool and took a seat. “Every chance I get.”

“Without your gun?”

“Why would I take a gun to go running?”

Maria shrugged, then pointed the mug at Pickles. “Lil’ Bits ate.”

“Thank you for feeding him.” Peyton scratched behind his ears and got a lick on her cheek in return.

“He’s one of your good qualities.”

Peyton smiled. “So everyone tells me.”

“You want some coffee.” She set her cup on the counter.

“Please.”

Pouring Peyton a mug, she slid it across to her. “Sugar?”

“Of course.”

Maria slid that as well and then handed over a spoon. “No wonder you gotta do so much running. You better never stop or your ass…”

“…will be as big as a house,” finished Peyton, setting Pickles on the stool next to her and spooning three tablespoons into the dark brew.

“…will be as big as a hippo, but house works too.”

Peyton laughed and lifted the mug to her lips.

“You also have good coffee. Two points in your favor.”

“Oh, don’t give me credit for that. Jake buys it. He’s ruined me for the diesel fuel we serve at the precinct.”

“Jake, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess his wife was a coffee aficionado or something.”

“Aficionado?”

“Means expert.”

“I know what it means. I’m surprised you did.”

“Word of the day calendar.” She held up her mug in salute. “From Abe.”

Maria gave her a speculative look. “Ever since I got the shit beat out of me, you won’t fight back. What gives?”

“Nothing. I just don’t feel like busting your chops right now. As soon as you’re better, I’ll be right back at you, sweetheart.”

Maria leaned on the counter again. “Look, Brooks, I have something I want to ask you, but I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

Peyton lowered her mug. “Okay? How would I take it the wrong way?”

“Think we’re best friends or something.”

“Oh, I’d never do that.”

Maria smiled, then grew serious again. “I want to learn how to defend myself. I found a class at the precinct, but I was hoping maybe you’d go with me. It’s every Wednesday night.”

Peyton nodded. “I think that’s a great idea, Maria. It’s always good to be proactive.”

“I just don’t want to be a victim anymore.”

“Can you do it?”

“Because of my shoulder?”

“Yeah.”

“I talked with the instructor and she said they’d go easy, show me a few things, until I get clearance from my doctor. Besides, it doesn’t start for two weeks.”

“I’d be happy to take it with you.”

Maria gave her a brief smile. “Thank you.” She turned her mug around by the handle. “You want something for breakfast?”

“I’ll grab something on the way out. Right now, I want a shower.” Peyton started to climb off the stool, reaching for Pickles, but Maria cleared her throat.

“Nate Cho asked me on a date.”

Peyton sat back down, staring at her. “He did?”

She nodded.

“What’d you say?”

“I’d think about it.”

“What’s there to think about? Cho’s a great guy.”

“He’s a cop. I vowed I’d never date anyone I work with.”

“I understand that.”

Maria ran her finger around the rim. “But he is a great guy.”

“Where does he want to take you?”

“To dinner and then an opera.” Maria gave Peyton a wry look. “I don’t know a damn thing about opera.”

“Neither do I, but Cho is mad for them.”

“I know.”

“Which one?”

“Will it matter?”

“Yes.” Peyton leaned in conspiratorially. “I have a ringer.”

“A what?”

“An opera aficionado.”

“You’ve got to stop using that word.”

“It’s a perfectly good word.”

“Not when you use it every other sentence.”

“Fine. A connoisseur, if you will.”

Maria sighed. “Who?”

“Abe.”

Maria straightened. “Abe would know about crap like that, wouldn’t he?”

“You bet your sweet ass he would.”

“Better than a hippo’s ass.”

“You would know.”

Maria gave her a puzzled look.

“Because you look at it.”

Even Pickles lifted his head and studied her.

“Leave me alone. I’m out of practice,” said Peyton, waving her off.

“Yeah you are.”

“Shut up. Do you want Abe’s help or not?”

Maria considered it for a moment, then she drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Yeah, I want his help.”

“When’s the opera?”

“Friday.”

“That gives us time. Tell Cho you’d love to accompany him. What opera is it, so I can tell Abe.”

“Madame Butterfly.”

“Okay. I’ll let him know and we’ll get it set up.” She picked up Pickles and set him on the floor. Reaching across the counter, she patted Maria’s hand. “I think this is a good thing, Maria.”

“I hope you’re right, Brooks, ‘cause if it goes bad, you know I’m blaming you.”

Peyton playfully snatched back her hand and gave Maria a wounded look. “Don’t do that. Who else would I get to live on my couch?”

Maria burst into laughter and Peyton felt surprisingly grateful for the sound.

*    *   *

Jake paced the hall outside the courtroom. God, he hated this. He felt a compelling need to be here, but every minute in that room was like opening a fresh wound with a dull knife. He lived with Zoë’s loss every day, he would never get over it, but sometimes he went long hours without thinking about it, without it being a constant source of pain. This trial brought it front and foremost in his mind.

He turned to pace back the other way and came to a stop. Abe Jefferson was walking down the hall with that long, loose-limbed gait of his. For some reason seeing him brought a sense of relief.

“What are you doing here?” He took in Abe’s charcoal suit and polished black shoes. His wild dread-locks were free of bangles and pulled back in a ponytail. Jake had never seen him in such understated clothes before.

Abe came to a stop. He held a file in one hand, but he extended the other to clasp Jake’s in a firm grip. “I’m testifying today.” He gave Jake a once-over. “How you holding up?”

“This is hell.”

“I’ll bet, but D.A. Delicious is very good at his job.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He gave Abe a critical look. “You look so normal.”

Abe placed a long fingered hand against his chest. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He looked down at himself. “Although truth be told, this just hides the very gloriousness I’m famous for.”

“You’re a regular peacock that way.”

“Ooh.” He pursed his lips in a kiss. “Aren’t you the flatterer?”

Jake shook his head with a wry smile.

The courtroom door opened and Devan poked his head out. “Good, you’re here,” he said to Abe.

“That’s right, wherever I am it is good.”

Jake chuckled at Devan’s bewildered look.

“Are you ready?” The D.A. pushed open the door.

“Like a prima ballerina at the opening of Swan Lake.”

Devan straightened. “Dial it back a little.”

Abe gave him an arch look as he flounced into the courtroom.

Devan rolled his eyes at Jake, but Jake just shrugged and moved toward the courtroom himself.

Everyone was already in place and Abe had taken a seat in the front row where Jake usually sat. Claire had her back to the room and didn’t even look over as he entered. She wore a black pantsuit today, her profile brittle as glass. Jake sat down beside Abe as Devan walked past the bar and stopped at his table, standing at attention for the judge to recognize him. The judge was a salty-haired man of Japanese descent. Yesterday he’d conducted court with a firm, but unobtrusive hand.

“Are you ready to call your first witness for today, Mr. Adams?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Honor. I’d like to call Abraham Jefferson, from the county of San Francisco’s medical examiner’s office.”

The judge nodded.

Abe rose and gave Jake a wink as he made his way to the witness stand, carrying his file. He raised his right hand as the clerk swore him in and then took a seat, setting the file on the witness stand before him.

“State your name for the record, please,” said Devan.

“Dr. Abraham Jefferson, M.E.”

“Thank you. And how long have you been a medical examiner for the county of San Francisco?”

“The past 14 years.”

“And is it true you handle most of the cases for the homicide division of the San Francisco Police Department?”

“Correct.” Abe sat with his hands folded in his lap, looking every bit the experienced professional.

The door at the back of the courtroom opened and Peyton stepped through, hurrying to her seat next to Jake. She reached over and squeezed his hand, giving him a supportive smile. Jake held on to her fingers, immeasurably grateful that she was there again for him.

On the witness stand, Abe gave her a nod of his chin, but nothing else.

“Did you perform an autopsy on Zoë Ryder in March of last year?”

“I did.”

“And what were your findings, Dr. Jefferson?”

Abe opened the file and glanced over it. “Zoë Ryder died of massive blood loss due to hemorrhaging.”

Jake tightened his grip.

“And what caused the hemorrhaging?”

“The toxicology screening indicated that she had ingested massive amounts of warfarin, an anticoagulant used to prevent thrombosis and thromboembolisms.”

“Can you state that in layman’s terms, Dr. Jefferson?”

“She consumed a drug that is used to thin-blood in stroke victims.”

“And just to be clear, when given to a healthy person, it can cause internal bleeding?”

“When given in the amounts she ingested, it would cause fatal internal bleeding.”

The defense attorney shifted in his seat, but he didn’t object.

“Did you also perform an autopsy on a fetus, Dr. Jefferson?”

“I did.”

“And did you determine the cause of death?”

“The fetus was born prematurely during a spontaneous miscarriage, prior to fetal viability.”

“Again, Dr. Jefferson, in layman’s terms?”

“The child was not developed enough to survive on its own.”

“Is there any indication that the child could have been brought to term?”

“Objection,” said the defense lawyer. “Calls for speculation on the part of the witness.”

The judge held out a hand to Devan.

“Dr. Jefferson is a medical expert, therefore he can testify that there were no obvious abnormalities in the fetus that would have caused miscarriage prior to the mother’s medical distress. I am trying to draw a connection between the mother’s death and the child’s, Your Honor.”

“Over-ruled. You may answer, Dr. Jefferson.”

Abe gave him a nod. “I saw no abnormalities in the fetus that would have prevented it from being carried to term. The loss of blood in the mother created a situation of spontaneous abortion where the fetus was expelled prematurely.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jefferson,” said Devan. He picked up a sheaf of papers from his table. “I’d like to enter the toxicology report into evidence along with the documentation of Dr. Jefferson’s autopsy.”

The judge indicated that he could. He handed the sheaf to the clerk and returned to his table. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Your witness, Mr. Renshaw.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Jake swallowed hard. His stomach felt like it was in knots. Peyton squeezed his fingers in comfort.

“Dr. Jefferson, you testified that Zoë Ryder consumed massive amounts of warfarin, which led to her unfortunate death, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Just to be clear, she ingested it, correct?”

“Correct.” Abe shifted in his chair. “The term ingested means to absorb into one’s body, Mr. Renshaw. It does not delineate the mode of that absorption.”

“Thank you, Dr. Jefferson.”

“Meaning she would have ingested it whether it was placed in her food against her will or not.”

“Your Honor?” Renshaw held out his hands to the judge.

Jake could see Devan’s smile.

“Just answer the questions, Dr. Jefferson,” admonished the judge mildly.

“Of course, Your Honor,” said Abe.

“Is warfarin a common drug? Meaning is it given to many people?”

“It is a commonly used anticoagulant, yes.”

“Which would be easily accessible by the general public?”

“It would be easily accessible by a licensed nurse married to a doctor.”

Renshaw gave the judge an aggravated look.

“Dr. Jefferson, just answer the questions,” he said again.

“Sorry, Your Honor.” Abe’s eyes gleamed mischievously.

“To reiterate, anyone would be able to obtain it.”

“No.”

Renshaw motioned as if he wanted Abe to elaborate.

Abe made a production out of folding his long-fingered hands and resting them on the witness stand.

Jake glanced over at the jury. They were listening intently.

Renshaw looked down at his notes. “It wouldn’t be impossible for the average person to get a prescription for warfarin even if they weren’t in the medical profession, correct?”

Jake understood why he was hammering this home. If he could plant just one seed of doubt in the jury’s mind, they would have to turn Claire Harper free. He shifted anxiously. Peyton gave him a pointed look, mouthing it’s okay.

“It would be very difficult for the average person to get a prescription for warfarin, Mr. Renshaw. It is a dangerous drug and its distribution is closely monitored by the state of California and the Federal Drug Administration.”

Renshaw’s shoulders slumped. Claire lowered her head.

Studying his notes for a moment, Renshaw looked back at Abe. “Dr. Jefferson, when you performed the autopsy on the fetus, you discovered an anomaly in the blood work, correct?”

For the first time, Abe looked uncomfortable. “I determined the fetus was type B negative.”

“And Zoë Ryder’s blood type?”

“O negative.”

“Dr. Singh, the emergency room physician, felt Zoë needed a transfusion, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And according to his records, Zoë Ryder’s husband, Jacob, offered to donate blood.”

“Correct.”

“And his blood type?”

“O positive.”

“Is it possible for the two people with O blood to have a child with B?”

“No.”

“So what did that mean?”

Abe blew out air, shifting his position. “Jacob Ryder could not have been the father of Zoë Ryder’s child.”

Jake felt his stomach drop. The jury muttered amongst themselves and he saw a number of them begin scribbling in their notebooks.

Renshaw turned to the judge, a faint smile on his lips. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

The judge nodded and looked at Devan. “Redirect?”

Devan slumped back in his chair. “No, Your Honor.”

“Then the witness is dismissed.”

Abe rose and picking up his file, he climbed off the witness stand. As he walked past Jake and Peyton, he gave them a sad, commiserate look. Jake tried to nod in return, but he felt like he would shatter if he moved.

*    *    *

Marco typed Food Battles into the search engine and pulled up as many references as he could. He clicked on the first one and read an article about Meilin’s victory on the show. Her winning dish had been Peking duck in plum sauce.

He clicked on a video and waited for it to load, swiveling in his chair. His eyes came to rest on Peyton’s empty desk. Defino had given her permission to accompany Jake to Claire Harper’s trial. He knew Peyton worried that all of the testimony about his dead wife would bring back horrible memories for Jake, but he didn’t think the guy needed a babysitter. Sometimes his partner’s Christ complex annoyed the hell out of him. He needed her here, working this case, not sitting in a courtroom holding Jake Ryder’s freakin’ hand.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he swiveled to face his computer and clicked on the play button. The video showed Meilin and another person running around a kitchen, throwing ingredients into a pot. For the life of him, Marco couldn’t understand what was so damn interesting about this that you’d sit in front of your television watching it. He hit pause and closed the window. That didn’t do him a damn bit of good.

“What are you doing, Marco baby?” asked Maria as she came out of the break-room.

“Trying to work a case while my partner is playing nursemaid.” He swiveled to look at her.

Maria leaned against the side of his desk. “I think you need a break.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right.” He nodded at the monitor. “You ever watch these stupid reality shows, Maria?”

“Yeah, I’ll admit it’s a guilty pleasure of mine.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s nice to see ordinary people doing ordinary things on television. People like to see themselves in others. Reality T.V. gives you that.”

“I guess.” Actually that made sense.

“Or maybe it’s because we love to see other people make an ass out of themselves.”

Now that he bought.

“How’s the arm?”

“Better. Doctor says I might be able to take off the brace for a few hours starting next week.”

“Good. You getting any sleep in that circus Peyton runs?” He couldn’t keep the bitter edge out of his voice.

Maria took a seat on the corner of his desk. “Here’s the thing, sweetie…”

Marco frowned at her. Her voice had taken on a serious tone.

“I get that she frustrates you. She frustrates all of us, but I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself.”

“What does that mean?”

“Since Alcatraz, you haven’t been yourself. You growl and snap at everyone, but with her, you’re shutting her out.”

“Why is everyone saying that? I’m fine.”

Maria drew a deep breath. He could see her mentally shifting tactics. “So was I, even as I was letting Junior beat the shit out of me every day. I kept telling myself I was fine, but I wasn’t. Peyton saw that.”

“This is so not the same thing, Maria. I really am fine.”

She let out her breath in obvious annoyance. “You can keep lying to yourself and shoving everyone away from you. I’m sure you think you can do just fine without the rest of us, but ask yourself this. Do you really want to do without her?” She gave him a pointed look, then she rose and walked away.

Marco frowned after her. Why the hell did everyone keep telling him he was acting strangely? He wasn’t acting any different with them than he’d always done. They were the ones who wouldn’t let Alcatraz go and it was driving him crazy.

The ringing of his cell phone made him jump. He grabbed it, muttering a curse, and thumbed it on.

“Yeah?”

“Inspector D’Angelo?” said a male voice.

Marco realized he was shouting and modulated his tone. “Yes, this is Inspector D’Angelo.”

“This is Detective Ehrenthal of the New York City Cold Case Division.”

“Yes, Detective.”

“You called me about a woman named Meilin Fan?”

“Right.”

“This is so strange. You’re the second person to call me in as many days.”

“Really? Who else called you?”

“A Detective Gabriela Acosta from the Miami Cold Case Squad.”

“Really? Why?”

“She’s investigating the twenty year old double homicide and when she went to pull the file, she found out we had it.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, so you wanted to know why we interviewed Meilin Fan here in New York?”

“That’s right.”

“Can I ask you why?”

“Ms. Fan’s boyfriend, Matt Jensen, was shot dead here a few days ago. We’re investigating his murder. When I searched Ms. Fan’s background, your inquiry came up.”

“I see. Interesting.”

“Why did you interview her?”

“I received an anonymous tip that Meilin Fan was really a woman named Lily Witan, whose parents were killed in a home invasion robbery in Miami. The caller saw her on Food Battles and thought she recognized her.”

“Was it the same woman?”

“Not as far as I could tell. Meilin Fan came to the country from China on a student visa twenty years ago. Lily Witan was adopted by Carol and David Witan almost forty years ago.”

“When you asked Meilin about it, did she recognize the Witan name?”

“She said she didn’t. We didn’t dig into it much beyond the interview. Didn’t seem any reason to since Lily Witan wasn’t a suspect in her parents’ murders anyway.”

Marco rubbed a hand across his chin. “Did you do the interview with Meilin yourself, Detective Ehrenthal?”

“I did.”

“You said Meilin entered the country only 20 years ago from China.”

“Right.”

“I’ve heard her speak Chinese, quite fluently as a matter of fact.”

“I would expect that to be true.”

“But I’ve also heard her speak English.”

The line went quiet.

“Detective Ehrenthal?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Meilin Fan doesn’t speak English with any noticeable accent.”

“Come to think of it, I remember wondering about that myself.” He could hear the detective sigh. “You know, Lily Witan’s adoption records are sealed, but a simple court order would take care of that, Inspector D’Angelo.”

“Yeah, I think that’s probably the next step.”

“You might give Detective Acosta a call when you get a chance. I’ll just bet she’d be interested to hear what you’ve got there.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Detective Ehrenthal.”

“My pleasure. Hey, would you just give me a call if anything shakes out?”

“Will do.”

“Good luck, Inspector D’Angelo.”

“Appreciate it,” said Marco and hung up.

CHAPTER 9

Billy gave a whistle as they came up the walk of the Sanderson’s house. Plantation style, it rose two stories high with a veranda running across both the main floor and the second story. White columns supported the roof and the double doors were a rich walnut embedded with stained glass panels.

Gabby knocked on the door. “This is going to be hard. When Buck Reiter came out here, Sanderson’s parents were reluctant to talk to him.”

“I’ll talk to them. Parents just love me.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Well, we both know you do now. Just a little bit.”

She shook her head, looking away, but she couldn’t help it. Damned if Billy Lucott didn’t make her smile. “I’ll do the talking. You just sit and try not to pee on the furniture.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“So you say.”

“Although that would be funny. Can you imagine if someone came into your house and just peed on the furniture?”

At that moment the door opened and a silver haired man looked out. He frowned at Billy. Clearly he’d heard their exchange. “Can I help you?”

Gabby whipped out her badge and presented it to him. “Mr. Sanderson, I’m Detective Acosta from the Miami Cold Case Squad and this is my partner, Detective Lucott. I called you earlier to talk to you about your son, Grant?”

“I remember, Detective. Come in.” He pulled open the door and motioned her through, but when Billy came to the threshold, he gave him a critical look. “Don’t you dare pee on my furniture, Detective.”

“No sir,” said Billy, stepping into the house and giving Gabby a wild look.

Gabby choked back her laugh.

“This way, Detectives,” he said, leading them down a short hallway into a family room. The floors were a rich walnut ending in a brightly lit room with floral furniture and sunlight streaming through a bank of windows on two walls.

An older woman was sitting on the floral sofa. A pitcher of ice tea and four glasses occupied a tray in the middle of a white wicker coffee table. She rose as they stepped inside.

“This is my wife, Andrea,” he said, then he held out his hand to both of them, “Detectives Acosta and Lucott.”

She gave Gabby a faint smile. “Please come and sit. Let me pour you some tea.”

Gabby took a seat beside her on the sofa, but Billy sank into a lime-green arm chair across from them. Grant’s father occupied the other arm chair in a striped gold and beige fabric. Leaning forward, Andrea Sanderson poured them each a glass and passed them around. Gabby took hers and sipped on it. A blast of sour lemon nearly stole her breath and she fought not to make a face. Billy couldn’t control his own animated features and he gave a shiver, screwing his eyes shut tight.

“Add some sugar, Detective,” Andrea said, pushing a round sugar bowl at him.

He leaned forward and began taking heaping spoonfuls of the sugar. Grant’s father gave him a critical look and he stopped, leaning back again. Gabby was beginning to get a picture of this Sanderson fellow, a disciplined man who expected others to follow suit.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson, thank you for seeing us.”

“You said you wanted to ask us about Grant.” Mrs. Sanderson clasped her hands, but she spun her wedding ring around her finger as she talked.

Gabby marked the motion, then settled the iced tea on a cork coaster. “We went out to your son’s high school and saw a yearbook of his senior year. In it is a picture of Grant and a girl named Lily Witan.”

“Cutest couple,” added Billy.

Gabby shot him a quelling look. “We were wondering if you knew the Witan girl.”

Andrea Sanderson looked at her husband.

“Lily and Grant were dating,” he said.

“Did she come over very often?”

“She spent a lot of time here. Her parents were rather hard on her and she liked to come here to get away,” offered Andrea.

“What do you mean hard on her?” asked Billy.

Grant’s father acted like he didn’t agree with his wife’s summation. He shifted in his seat and exhaled. “They expected her to perform. They had plans for her future as any parent would and they wanted her to work to her potential.”

Andrea studied her hands, twisting that ring around and around.

“Did you know the Witans well?” asked Gabby.

“Not well. They didn’t mingle much in the neighborhood,” Mr. Sanderson answered.

“How long did Grant and Lily date?” questioned Billy.

Andrea looked up. “Almost three years. They were friends all through elementary school, then they started dating when they became sophomores.”

“How close is the Witan’s house to you?” asked Gabby.

Andrea pointed vaguely over her shoulder. “Three houses down.”

“Does anyone live there now?”

Andrea gave a wan smile. “A young couple with two kids.”

Gabby leaned forward, bracing her arms on her thighs and clasping her hands. “I know this must be difficult to talk about, but Grant committed suicide about a month after the Witans were murdered, right?”

Andrea swallowed hard and nodded.

Mr. Sanderson looked out the windows.

“Did he leave a suicide note?”

Andrea shifted on the sofa and pulled open the drawer in a wicker side table. She took out a scrap of yellow notepaper in a plastic baggie and handed it to Gabby. Written in spidery handwriting were two words and two words only: I’m sorry.

Gabby sighed. This had to be every parent’s worst nightmare, the sort of loss that one never recovered from.  “Do you know what he meant?”

Andrea met her eye…almost, but not quite. In fact, her gaze tracked somewhere around Gabby’s left ear. “I have no idea.”

“Did Grant seem upset or had he ever attempted suicide before this?” asked Billy.

“No.” Mr. Sanderson’s response left no room for question, but Billy eased forward in his chair and shifted toward him.

“Are you sure, Mr. Sanderson? Did he give any indication that he was worried about Lily after her parents’ death or upset that a violent murder happened so close to your family? Maybe he was having trouble sleeping at night? Unusual anger or sleeping more than usual?”

Mr. Sanderson slowly faced him and his eyes narrowed. “My son was acting perfectly normal before his death. Do you have any idea how devastating it is to lose your only child, Detective Lucott?”

“No, sir. I don’t. I wouldn’t presume to even begin to understand it, but we’re trying to solve a double homicide here and the only connection we have is the fact that your son took his life one month after the Witans were killed. Since I’m not a parent, I can only go on what I know right now. I’d personally want to know if my son witnessed anything that would bring him to the place where suicide seemed like his only option.”

Mr. Sanderson’s hands curled on the arms of his chair. “I think we’re done here.”

Billy turned to Gabby, giving his head a slight shake. Gabby nodded at him to indicate he’d done fine. No wonder Buck Reiter had been stone-walled. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Well, thank you for your time,” said Gabby, rising to her feet. She handed the suicide note back to Andrea. “And thank you for the tea, Mrs. Sanderson.”

“My pleasure.”

“I’ll see you out,” said Mr. Sanderson, standing.

Billy and Gabby followed him to the door. As soon as they were on the porch again, he slammed the door at their back.

Billy glanced over his shoulder at it. “Sorry. I guess I should have been easier on him.”

“No, you did fine.”

“They’re hiding something.”

“Yep.”

“They know what Grant meant by I’m sorry, don’t they?”

“Maybe they don’t know, but they suspect something.”

“Mrs. Sanderson is looking out the window right now.”

Gabby glanced over her shoulder. The woman was peering at them from the dining room window, holding the curtain to block her body from sight. Gabby gave her a grim smile and a nod.

“Let’s walk to the car and see what she does.”

Billy nodded and stepped down the stairs. They made it about five steps before the front door opened and Mrs. Sanderson came out. Gabby and Billy stopped, turning around.

“Mrs. Sanderson?”

She glanced over her shoulder into the house. “Grant wasn’t sleeping well. He would sit in front of the television in the family room all night, watching old black and white movies.”

Gabby nodded. “What did you mean when you said the Witans were hard on Lily?”

“They expected her to always have straight A’s. She could never get anything less than the top score on tests. If she did, they restricted her, took away her privileges.”

“Her senior year, her grades tanked.”

“She was fighting back. They wanted her to go to one of those Ivy League schools, but she didn’t want to leave Grant. I heard them once, planning to run away to New York as soon as they graduated.”

“But they didn’t?”

“I begged Grant not to go. I told him Lily could come live here.”

“Did she?”

Andrea looked over her shoulder again. “My husband forbade it.”

“How long before the Witans’ murders did this happen?”

Andrea went back to the ring twisting. “Less than a week.” She looked at the door once more. “You have to understand. My husband felt so guilty after Grant’s death. That’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand, but I have a few more questions.”

Andrea’s expression shifted to panic. “No, I’ve said too much. I need to go.”

Without another word, she turned and disappeared into her house.

“What now?” asked Billy.

“We wait. Andrea Sanderson is ready to put the ghost of her son to rest. We just have to be a little more patient.”

Billy started walking toward the car again. “I don’t do patient.”

“Really? Who’da thunk it?” said Gabby, pushing him in the shoulder.

*    *    *

Jake sat in his regular spot, the front row of the courtroom, trying not to make eye contact with the jury. He knew Devan wanted him here, he wanted him to generate sympathy with the jury, but this was killing him, reliving every minute of Zoë’s death. And he didn’t know how to generate sympathy. Did he make eye contact with the jury or did he sit here like he was now, bleeding internally from wounds no one else could see?

The door opened and a veritable crowd entered…well, for this courtroom at least. Peyton led the way, followed by Marco and Abe. Marco and Abe took seats on either side of him, while Peyton sat down on the opposite side of the courtroom behind the defense attorney. She gave Jake a smile, then clasped the arms of the chair and looked straight forward. Devan glanced over his shoulder at her and gave her a brief nod. She nodded without looking at him, her entire focus centered on the back of the defense attorney’s head.

“What’s she doing?” Jake whispered to Marco.

Marco glanced over at her. He wore his usual jeans and a ribbed sweater which strained at the shoulders, his hair pulled back in a short ponytail. He braced a work boot on the bar before them and lounged back in the chair. Jake could see the handle of his gun poking out beneath his left arm. “Centering herself.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

Abe leaned in on his right side. “She always does that before a testimony. She runs over the answers in her mind.”

Jake’s eyes went involuntarily to the jury. “Is that a good thing?” He was surprised to find a few of the middle aged and younger women studying Marco. Figured. They’d never once looked at him.

“She’s a pro at this. Just watch,” answered Abe, patting his knee.

Jake jerked his chin at the jury. “Look at that.”

Abe glanced over, then tracked where the women looked. “What did you expect, an Angel just entered the courtroom.”

“Shhh,” hissed Marco.

Abe gave Jake a wink. He was dressed in a brown suit today, and while conservative for Abe, the cut and fabric screamed style no straight man could master.

The bailiff stepped away from his position by the wall. “All rise.”

The courtroom rose as one to the entrance of the judge. Judge Himura sat down and addressed the jury. “How is everyone this morning?”

They nodded and a few muttered, “Fine.”

Shifting to the front, he held out a hand to Devan. “Call your next witness, Mr. Adams.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I call Inspector Peyton Brooks.”

Peyton rose and walked to the stand. Jake was surprised to see her dressed in a crisp black pantsuit, her wild curls tamed in a bun. Maria’s doing, he felt sure. The clerk gave her the oath and she took a seat. Jake noticed she didn’t bring a file or notes with her and it worried him a little.

“State your name for the record, Inspector.”

“Inspector Peyton Brooks of the San Francisco Police Department.”

“And how long have you been a homicide detective, Inspector Brooks?”

“Eight years.”

“Were you one of the investigating officers on the Zoë Ryder murder case?”

“I was. The case was given to me and my partner, Marco D’Angelo.” She nodded at Marco.

A few of the jurors smiled at hearing his name. Jake and Abe exchanged a look.

“Who was your primary suspect when you first got the case, Inspector?”

“Per police protocol we look at the people closest to the victim, those with the greatest opportunity to do the crime. Usually that’s the victim’s significant other, husband or boyfriend.”

“So your first suspect was the victim’s husband, Jacob Ryder?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you change the direction of your case?”

“None of the evidence fit. Neither did the motive.”

Devan glanced over at the jury. “The other day we heard testimony that Mr. Ryder was not the father of Zoë Ryder’s child. Is that not motive, Inspector?”

“Usually, but upon questioning it became clear that Jacob Ryder did not know he wasn’t the father until we told him ourselves. This information was given to him after Zoë’s death.”

“You said none of the evidence fit. What did you mean?”

“I meant that we could find no way for the husband to obtain the warfarin. We also discovered that Claire Harper was not Zoë’s biological mother. In fact, we discovered that Zoë’s biological mother, Annabelle, died from the very thing that Zoë did – massive hemorrhaging – however, she died in the hospital a few days after giving birth to her daughter.”

“Did you find any other anomalies regarding the members of this family and their health?”

“Yes, we found that Blake Harper, Zoë’s father, was in an unresponsive coma due to massive blood loss. He died shortly after his daughter.”

“Three people, all from the same family, dying in the same fashion. That’s a bit more than coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Objection,” said Renshaw. “Calls for speculation on the part of the witness.”

The judge looked at Devan.

“I’ll reword the question. Was there anything that you and your partner noticed connecting these three deaths beside the actual cause of death?”

“Claire Harper. She was with Zoë Ryder the day she died, she called the paramedics when Blake Harper collapsed, and she was the attending R.N. for Annabelle when she was recovering from childbirth.”

A few people on the jury murmured.

“Was Zoë aware that the woman she thought was her mother really wasn’t?”

“Once we received her journal, it became clear that she had growing suspicions.”

Devan picked up the journal. “I’d like to enter this into evidence, Your Honor, along with pages we’ve copied out of it for perusal by the jury.”

“Allowed.”

Devan carried the journal and papers to the clerk. “What else did the journal reveal?”

“That Brandon Dixon was the father of her child.”

“Who is Brandon Dixon?”

“Zoë Ryder’s high school boyfriend, but at the time of her death, he was Claire Harper’s lover.”

“And what did Zoë reveal about Brandon in her journal?”

“That she believed he raped her.”

“How?”

“She had gone to confront Claire about her real mother and she believed Brandon gave her a drink with a date-rape drug inside of it.”

“Zoë Ryder’s pregnancy had serious implications for Claire, didn’t it?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Inspector Brooks has studied the case thoroughly. She is simply testifying to what she read herself.”

“Allowed.”

“Inspector Brooks, what were the implications for Claire Harper if Zoë Ryder got pregnant?”

“She would be cut out of Blake Harper’s will.”

“Why?”

“He left everything, all of his investments, his property, and his assets to Zoë’s children.”

“How do you know this?”

“We read his will.”

Devan picked up another piece of paper. “I would like to enter this into evidence, Your Honor.”

The judge motioned and Devan approached the clerk.

“What was the final bit of evidence that concluded this case for you, Inspector Brooks?”

Peyton drew a deep breath and curled her hands on the arms of the witness chair. “We found the murder weapon.”

“Where?”

“In Claire Harper’s handbag.”

“And what was it?”

“A prescription bottle for warfarin.”

Jake shot a look at the jury. A few were shaking their heads, some were writing, and others were shifting uncomfortably.

“Check,” whispered Abe.

“What?” whispered Jake in return.

“Chess, you know? She just moved her queen in front of the defense’s king. Check.”

Jake nodded.

Devan gave Peyton a smile. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Renshaw?”

Jake could feel his stomach knot. Here’s where it all went south with Abe.

“Inspector Brooks, you testified yourself that Jacob Ryder was the first suspect you pursued, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Almost relentlessly, wouldn’t you say?”

“We followed police protocol, yes.”

“You revoked his bus pass, you froze his accounts, you followed him wherever he went. Is this protocol?”

“Yes.” Peyton folded her hands in her lap. “The first suspect is always the significant other.”

“You believed Jake Ryder killed his wife, yes?”

“We suspected him. When we found evidence to the contrary, we investigated it.”

“In fact, you didn’t find the evidence. Jake Ryder did.”

Jake caught his breath. This was bad. It made it look like he planted the evidence.

“We found the information about Annabelle Harper, we had the toxicology report, and we found the murder weapon,” said Peyton.

“But Jake Ryder found the journal and he handed you the will, right?”

“Yes.”

“So in essence, he gave you your case.”

A cold sweat broke out on Jake’s brow. He frantically looked at Marco, but Marco shook his head as if to say, no worries. Jake was plenty worried. Just like Abe, the defense attorney was twisting Peyton’s testimony to Claire’s benefit.

Peyton smiled, a cold, predatory smile and her eyes fixed not on the attorney, but on Claire. “We had the information on Annabelle Harper and we found the murder weapon in Claire’s bag. The name on the prescription bottle was Blake Harper, and the person who filled that prescription signed for it at the pharmacy…that person was named Claire Harper.”

“Check,” said Abe.

Jake found he was clutching the arms of his chair in a death grip. He tried to ease his hold.

Renshaw leaned on his table, reading from his notes. After a moment, he looked up at Peyton. “You have a close personal relationship with Jake Ryder, don’t you, Inspector?”

“We became friends after the case.”

“Good friends, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess.”

“In fact, such good friends, you offered him a room in your house.”

Jake almost bit through his tongue. Shit. Why hadn’t they thought of this? Of course an attorney would find out.

“Easy,” whispered Marco to him.

Easy? He was hyperventilating.

“He is renting a room from me, yes.”

“Why?”

“Why? He needed a place to stay and I needed help with the mortgage. Mortgages are very expensive in San Francisco…” Peyton shot a look at the jury. “Oh, sorry, maybe not for a lawyer.”

A few jurors made snickers of laughter.

Renshaw rubbed the back of his neck. “You also got him a job at the precinct, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we needed a crime scene photographer and Jake is a very good photographer.”

“Isn’t that just a little irregular, Inspector Brooks? Giving a one-time suspect in a capital murder case a job and a place in your home?”

“Coincidental maybe, but not irregular.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I needed a housemate, he needed a room. We needed a crime scene photographer, he needed a job. It just worked out.”

“Are you lovers?”

Peyton’s eyes narrowed. “No, we are not.”

“And yet you invited a murder suspect to live in your house with you? Do you expect us to believe there’s not something more there?”

“There is.”

Jake almost stopped breathing.

“What else is there, Inspector Brooks?”

“I felt guilty.”

“You felt guilty?”

“Claire Harper destroyed his life and we helped her. She killed the woman he adored and we made him a suspect in a murder case.”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Inspector Brooks?” questioned the judge.

“He asked me why I felt guilty, Your Honor, and I was telling him.”

“Try not to draw conclusion about the case, Inspector Brooks.”

“Of course, Your Honor.”

Renshaw glanced at his notes again. “In truth, Inspector Brooks, Jacob Ryder was your primary suspect and you treated him as such for the majority of the case. In fact, you didn’t look elsewhere until the very end, correct?”

“Correct.”

Jake sucked in air, drawing a glare from Abe.

“Since Jacob Ryder was your prime suspect, isn’t it possible that you only looked elsewhere because of your own admitted guilt to ruining his life?”

“No, Mr. Renshaw,” said Peyton placidly.

“No?”

“We didn’t look elsewhere at the beginning because it seemed inconceivable to me that a woman could be so heartless…”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“So ruthless…”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“So vile that she would off the very child she raised herself from an infant.”

Renshaw gasped, “Objection!”

“Sustained,” said the judge, but the jury was muttering amongst themselves and furiously writing on their notepads.

Abe smiled over at Jake. “Check and mate,” he whispered.

*    *    *

Jake turned as Peyton left the courtroom. He was standing in the hallway outside with Marco and Abe, and he came toward her, clasping her arms. “You were brilliant.”

She smiled. His praise meant a lot to her. She knew how hard this trial was on him and how devastated he was after Abe’s testimony yesterday.

Abe wrapped her in his long arms and kissed the top of her head. “Totally brilliant,” he said.

“I could kiss you,” laughed Jake, then he held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just joking.”

Marco glared at him, then offered Peyton a rare smile. “Nice work, partner.”

She acknowledged it with a nod, wishing she didn’t want more from him. He’d never been lavish in his praise, but right now she needed any bone he would toss her way.

The courtroom door opened behind them and Devan stepped out. He beamed at Peyton. “You were amazing,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He touched her elbow and motioned further down the hallway.

“Don’t you need to be inside?”

“Renshaw asked for a break. I think you rattled his cage a little.”

Peyton stepped away from the others and followed Devan into a side corridor leading to the stairs. He rubbed the back of his neck and hooked his other hand on his hip, looking at her with a smile.

“You always impress me, you know that? Nothing they ask you shakes your professionalism.”

“I just tell the truth.”

“Always the straight shooter, aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “It makes me remember how it was.” He dropped his hand and shifted weight. “Can I take you to dinner? Some place nice? You pick it. My treat.”

Peyton frowned. “You’re asking me to dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit inappropriate?”

“Peyton, we were good together. Remember?”

“No, I don’t remember. I remember us struggling to find our footing, and I remember that you’re engaged to another woman. Do you remember?”

He started to say something, but stopped himself.

“What is this about?”

“I miss you. There, I said it and now you know. Maybe I was a little rash in breaking things off, maybe I was very rash in getting engaged. It’s just watching you up there on the stand brought back these feelings and…”

“And you should definitely not finish that sentence.”

“Peyton…”

“No, this isn’t fair. You were right. We didn’t belong together. We’re very different people, you and I. I didn’t see that until this moment. I don’t know if you have cold feet or what is going on, but you better do some soul searching, Devan. This isn’t fair to me and it sure as hell isn’t fair to your fiancée, so figure it out, but whatever you decide about her, I’m not part of that.”

Before he could respond, she walked away. When she got back to the others, they looked at her questioningly. “Let’s go,” she said, starting down the hallway. “We’ve got a case to solve.”

“What happened?” demanded Abe, falling into step beside her.

“He asked me to dinner.”

“He did what?” exclaimed Abe, coming to a halt.

She turned and looked back at the three of them. She really should do something about getting some girlfriends, she decided. “He asked me to dinner.”

“Like a date?” asked Jake.

“Seemed that way.”

“He’s engaged.”

“Really? And here I didn’t get the implications of a wedding invitation.”

“Does he understand he’s engaged?” asked Marco in something close to a growl.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well now, that isn’t my problem, is it? Seems to me that’s Runny Misery’s problem.”

“Rani,” said Jake.

They all looked at him in bewilderment.

“Her name? Rani, not Runny and I think it was Misra, but as I’m saying this, I realize you probably meant to mess it up deliberately.”

Peyton shook her head and started walking again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marco cuff Jake on the side of his head. “Idiot,” he hissed.

“Freakin’ cop,” Jake hissed back, rubbing his ear.

And Peyton found herself bursting into laughter.

*    *    *

When Marco and Peyton arrived at the Yellow Lotus, they found it crowded with patrons. In fact, every single table was filled. With the muted candle light and the hushed conversation, Peyton couldn’t deny the restaurant had a romantic air.

The maître d gave Marco a critical look in his jeans with his gun strapped under his arm, but Peyton guessed she got a pass in her black pantsuit. She held up her badge and he took a step back.

“Where’s Meilin?”

“Kitchen,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.

Peyton and Marco crossed the room, drawing attention as they went. The patrons even sidled away from them, whispering around the candles on their tables. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, Peyton found it in ordered chaos as before. People raced back and forth, talking in clipped Chinese.

Meilin was in the middle of it, directing traffic like an air flight attendant, all the while she chopped vegetables with a swift, violent motion. She stopped in mid-chop and glared at them.

“You better be here to tell me you found Matt’s killer.”

“We need to talk.”

“I’m busy.”

“This can’t wait,” said Peyton in her firmest cop voice.

Meilin lowered the knife and wiped her hands on her apron, then she gave an order in Chinese to a young woman next to her and stepped away from the wooden chopping block. Removing her apron, she handed it to an older man nearby and walked toward them, smoothing back her hair in its long ponytail.

“Hello, Inspector D’Angelo,” she said, giving him a sultry smile.

“Hello, Meilin,” he answered, ducking his head.

For some reason, his posture bothered Peyton, but she stored it away. Meilin sure honed in on any male in the vicinity. She led them back into the restaurant and located a table to the very right of the kitchen door. It was tucked in back, in a dark, unappealing part of the restaurant and Peyton figured it was probably used as a last resort.

Meilin grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the table, then they took seats around it. Motioning to a waiter, she met Peyton’s eye. “How would you like to try some Mao Tai Jiu, Inspector Brooks?”

“I’m assuming that’s alcohol.”

“Of course.”

“I’m on duty.”

She sighed and then smiled up at the waiter as he arrived. She placed her order in Chinese and he went off. “Aren’t we all?”

“What?”

“On duty. You cops and your duty. Is that all you live for? No marriage, no romance, no wine, just duty.” She shot a look at Marco.

Peyton got that same uneasy feeling she’d had in the kitchen, especially when Marco shifted and looked out at the restaurant. Deciding she didn’t like the imbalance in power or playing mouse to Meilin’s cat, she went on the offensive.

“Are you Lily Witan?”

She’d expected a reaction and she got one. Meilin reared back and Marco’s head whipped around to her.

“What?” said Meilin.

“Before you deny it, we’ve talked with Detective Ehrenthal in New York and we know they questioned you about your identity. We also know you denied it and they didn’t pursue it.” Peyton folded her hands on the table. “Be aware, Meilin, I am not male and I don’t give up easily.”

She measured Peyton for a moment, but the waiter arrived with a strange bottle of wine and three glasses. He filled Meilin’s glass, but Peyton covered hers with a hand, shaking her head no. He turned to Marco, but Marco also shook his head. Setting the bottle on the table, he retreated.

Meilin kept eye contact with Peyton as she reached for her glass and brought it to her mouth. Her hand didn’t shake, but she drained half the glass before replacing it on the table again. “Yes,” she said, licking the residual off her lips.

“You are Lily Witan?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you deny it in New York?”

“I was in the midst of winning Food Battles. My life was about to change in ways you can’t imagine and I wanted the new start. If they made a connection to my old life, I would never get that, I would always be dogged by what happened to my parents. Is it so wrong to want a new beginning? A new identity? A new chance?”

“Meilin Fan entered the country twenty years ago. Lily Witan entered as an adoptee nearly forty.”

“Thirty-eight to be exact.”

“How did you get yourself a new identity?”

“Lily Witan was my adoptive name, the name my adoptive parents gave me. After they died, I tried to stay in Miami. I tried to stay in their house, but every day was a reminder of what happened. I found their bodies on the night of my senior prom. I found them, cold and dead and bloody.” She shivered and lifted the glass again, draining it. “Every time I entered that house I saw it all over again.”

“So you left?”

“I went to New York, but the things that an 18 year old can do for money are…let’s say, limited.” She gave Marco a pointed look. “I got enough money for a flight to China. From there, I found the province where I was born and I went to the orphanage to find my birth record.”

“That’s where Meilin Fan came from?”

She laughed and motioned for Marco to refill her glass. He did so, to Peyton’s surprise. “There wasn’t even a first name. Just Fan Girl. That’s all. Just another girl born in a country that doesn’t value them.”

“So how did you get a student visa?”

“You’d be surprised what money buys in both countries, Inspector Brooks. Let’s say I got the student visa and the moment I arrived, I worked to get my citizenship. They were so pleased with my English, my Anglo-ways.”

“They never questioned why you had an American accent?”

“I told them I’d been educated in British schools.”

Peyton frowned.

Meilin lifted her glass and saluted Peyton with it. “You’d be surprised at what a little flirting can do as well, Inspector.”

Oh, Peyton didn’t think there was anything surprising in that. “Just flirting, Meilin?”

Meilin’s lips lifted in a smile as she drank. “You are an astute woman, Inspector Brooks.”

“How is it you speak fluent Chinese if you were raised here?”

“My parents wanted me to keep my Chinese heritage. They sent me to Chinese school after I finished my regular studies. Year after year. I hated it, but they were determined. In the end, I guess it served me well.”

“Do you know who killed your parents?”

She closed her eyes and lowered the glass. “No. Neither did the police in Miami. Their murders were relegated to the Cold Case Squad last I heard, a sad man waiting to retire named Buck Reiter.”

“It’s being investigated by a woman now,” said Marco, speaking for the first time.

Meilin’s brows rose in surprise. “Really? As in now?”

“As in right now,” said Peyton.

“How interesting. Have you been in contact with her?”

“Not yet. Should we?”

“I was just wondering if she’d made any progress on the case.”

“I thought you wanted to put that part of your life behind you, Meilin.”

She leaned forward, her face going stark. “I want to forget about it. I want to erase that memory from my mind.”

“Like a lotus blossom?”

“Like a lotus blossom, Inspector Brooks.” She leaned back. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want my parents’ killer brought to justice.” She drained her glass. “Anything else, Inspectors?”

“Not right now, but…and I can’t stress this enough, don’t leave San Francisco.”

She gave a high, tinkling laugh. “And why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe China beckons?”

“I have a business here, Inspector. Besides that, I may have been born in China, but this country, America, is my home.” She rose to her feet, placing a hand on Marco’s shoulder as if to steady herself. “Have a nice evening, Inspectors.” Then she turned and went into the kitchen.

Peyton didn’t move for a moment, trying to absorb everything.

Marco scratched his forehead, then glanced at her. “Well?”

“She did it. She killed her parents and I’ll bet you she killed Matt.”

“How? She has witnesses that put her here in the restaurant the night Jensen died.”

“I don’t know, but I know she did it. It’s not coincidence that three people have died around that woman.” She gave Marco a pointed look. “Stay away from her, Marco.”

He frowned at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

Peyton again couldn’t deny that strange feeling in her gut. “I don’t know. Just give that woman a wide berth, okay?”

“Whatever, Brooks,” he answered, pushing himself to his feet, but it bothered her that he wouldn’t make eye contact.

*    *    *

Peyton opened the door of her house to the soaring sounds of a soprano singing a plaintively haunting aria. She’d forgotten Abe was coming over to teach Maria about Madame Butterfly.

Slowly closing the door at her back, she took in her entire living room. Jake was sitting in the recliner, holding a frothy pink drink in his hand, Maria and Abe lounged back on the couch, Pickles between them. All of them, including the dog, had their eyes closed and the room vibrated with the music coming from her stereo. In fact, they hadn’t heard her enter.

She settled her keys and wallet on the sofa table, then took off her gun and hung it on the peg by the door, careful not to disturb them. Maybe if she was lucky, she could slip past them and get to her bedroom without them even knowing it.

“And here she is telling her son to remember her, to know that she loves him. She places the American flag in his small hands and blindfolds him. He begins to wave it as she goes behind the screen.”

The music soared as Peyton bent, pulling off the black pumps she’d worn with her pantsuit.

“Here she takes the dagger and places it against her throat.”

Peyton looked up, frowning.

The orchestra rose to a violent crescendo, then suddenly died away.

“She slashes her throat and collapses. Pinkerton enters and rushes to her, only to discover that he’s too late.”

“Too late,” breathed Maria.

Peyton picked up the pumps, stepping around the couch, but in the absence of the music, Abe heard her and lifted his head. Gone was the suit of today in the courtroom, replaced by a flowing paisley print in silk with striped pants of navy and pale blue.

“Hey, sweetie, when did you get home?”

“Just in time for Madame Butterfly to commit suicide,” she said wryly.

Jake opened his eyes and lifted his head. “It was beautiful,” he said, taking a sip of his pink drink.

“How many have you had?”

Jake shrugged. “After today, I felt like I deserved it.”

“I guess.”

“Let me get you one,” said Abe, bounding to his feet and hurrying into the kitchen.

“What is it?”

“A Cherry Blossom. Svedka Cherry Vodka, Nigori Sake, cranberry juice, peach puree and 8 oz. of pure bliss.”

Maria looked up at her, holding her own drink in her hand. She patted the couch where Abe had been. “Sit down. You look tired.”

Peyton sank down and settled the pumps next to her on the floor. Rubbing Pickles’ belly, she got a lazy wag in return. “Did you give my dog Cherry Blossoms too?”

Abe laughed. “Of course not. He’s just mellow from the opera.”

Maria rolled her head on the couch. “It was beautiful, Brooks. You should have been here.”

“You shouldn’t be combining alcohol with your pain medication, Maria.”

“You shouldn’t be combining a white blouse with a black pantsuit, but I didn’t complain.” She took a sip of her drink. “Besides, I haven’t had any pain medication in two days.”

Abe appeared at Peyton’s side and held out a martini glass. She didn’t remember ever having martini glasses before Abe came into her life. Floating on the top of the frothy pink stuff was a flower.

“Can I have mine without the foliage?”

“Not when you drink with me, you can’t.”

“How are you going to drive home?”

Abe nudged her aside and slid into the space where she was. “I stopped drinking over an hour ago.”

She made room for him, lifting Pickles into her lap.

“Take a sip,” Abe urged.

“You’re the worst pusher I’ve ever seen,” she said, lifting it to her mouth. The sweet flow of cherry and peach raced over her taste buds. Oh, a drink like this was very, very dangerous to someone who liked sweets the way she did.

“So why didn’t my Angel come back with you?”

Peyton shrugged, not wanting to talk about Marco. She felt Jake and Maria’s eyes on her, but she busied herself with taking another sip.

Abe toyed with a loose curl. “You okay, little soul sista?”

“I’m fine.” She leaned back on the couch and put her feet on the coffee table, making a better lap for Pickles. “I’m just tired.”

“You sure?” asked Maria. “You got that look like you get when something’s bothering you.”

Peyton frowned at that. She didn’t think she and Maria were close enough for Maria to know when she had a look. “The case took a frustrating turn and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“The case, huh?” She didn’t sound convinced.

Peyton glared at her. “Yeah, the case.” She felt Jake’s stare. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just weird to see you without Adonis.”

“We aren’t joined at the hip.”

Abe put a long fingered hand on her head and pulled it back to rest on his shoulder. “Shh, little bits, just drink your drink and don’t worry about anything right now.”

She wanted to bristle and argue with them, but it was hard when the rumble of Abe’s voice beneath her ear was so damn soothing.

“So back to the opera, I like to believe that when Cio-Cio San or Butterfly commits suicide, Pinkerton suddenly realizes that he’s loved her all along and now he will lead an empty, lonely life. Like a cruel child, he tore her wings off, but he doesn’t understand that destroying such fragile beauty will ultimately doom the destroyer.”

And for some irrational reason, Peyton felt the sudden urge to cry.

CHAPTER 10

Gabby passed the warrant over to the woman behind the counter. She was Caucasian, round and short with brown hair that winged back from her face. She glanced over it, then handed it back, picking up a phone and punching in a few numbers. Adjusting her glasses, she stared at Gabby over the top of them as if she were just another nuisance added to an already long day.

“Laurie, I have a Detective Acosta out here with a warrant for Lily Witan’s adoption record.” She picked up a soda can and took a sip. “Mmm hmm.”

Gabby looked around the lobby with its bright yellow chairs and tables covered with pamphlets about adoption. A bookshelf against a wall held picture books for children and a puzzle table lay in front of it with miniature yellow chairs.

“All right.” The woman hung up the phone. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

“Thank you,” said Gabby with a brief nod.

She walked over to a pamphlet and picked it up. Inside were a list of common questions prospective parents might have about foreign adoptions. The price range drew Gabby’s eye. Lord, what people were willing to pay to have a child of their own, a child to raise and nurture and pray that it would grow up to be so much more than they ever were. It always amazed her that the biological urge was so powerful that people were willing to raise other people’s children as their own.

“Detective Acosta?”

Gabby turned to see a slight Asian woman with remarkable dark eyes. “Yes, and you are?”

“Laurie Wu, I’m director of this center.”

“Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Wu.”

“Laurie, please.”

Holding out the warrant, Gabby waited while she glanced over it.

“Come with me,” she said, handing it back.

Gabby followed her to a door behind the reception counter. It led to a bank of cubicles with people working the phones or interviewing prospective parents. Laurie Wu motioned for Gabby to follow her to a glass fronted office that overlooked the entire cubicle area.

“Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

Gabby settled into the chair before Laurie’s desk, placing the warrant on her lap. “No, I’m fine.”

The other woman went around the desk and sank into her seat. Gabby could see palm trees swaying in the breeze outside her window. “Thank you for coming down.”

“My pleasure.”

“When we spoke on the phone, you indicated that you wanted to see the records for Lily Witan’s adoption.”

“Right.”

She lifted a file and passed it over to Gabby. “Here’s the sealed file.”

Gabby opened it and perused the forms lying inside. They all seemed pretty standard, and to Gabby’s surprise, written in English. “I guess I expected them to be in Chinese.”

“American parents, American English.”

Gabby’s attention zeroed in on one thing in particular. “It says her birth name was Fan Girl?”

“Yes. It’s not what you think. Her family’s name was Fan, but they didn’t choose a first name for her.”

“Fan? Like Meilin Fan?”

Laurie shrugged. “Maybe. You mean the reality show star?”

“Yes. Looks like Lily Witan and Meilin Fan are the same person.” She tapped a finger against the file. “If Lily Witan and Meilin Fan are the same person, how did Meilin enter the country with this identity nearly twenty years after Lily Witan?”

“I couldn’t tell you and it likely wouldn’t do us any good to contact the Chinese government. They’re very secretive about these things and American adoptions of Chinese babies have become controversial lately. Especially with the unfortunate things happening with Russian adoptions. However, I could call my contact at the embassy, but I can’t promise I’ll find out anything.”

“Would you do that, please?”

“Of course.” She reached for her phone and started dialing.

Gabby sat for a moment, listening to Laurie speaking in Chinese. None of this made a damn bit of sense. Why would Lily Witan change her identity and how could she be reality star Meilin Fan? Her thoughts caught on reality star and she dug out her phone, thumbing it on. She pressed Janet Messette’s phone number and listened to the ring until she picked up.

“Hello.”

“Janet, it’s Gabby Acosta.”

“Yes, Detective Acosta. Have you found anything?”

“I might have, but I have a few questions for you.”

“Of course.”

“Did you ever meet your cousin Lily?”

“Not even once. Dad was an outcast as she was growing up and as soon as my aunt and uncle died, she disappeared.”

“Have you ever seen pictures of her?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“When I first talked with you at the precinct, you mentioned that the first time your grandmother wanted you to open the music box was in her nursing home, right?”

“Right.”

Laurie’s voice rose and she gave Gabby a frustrated shake of her head.

Gabby offered her an understanding smile. “If I remember right, you said you were watching television when she asked for the music box, right?”

“Right.”

“That she suddenly became agitated?”

“Right.”

“At a reality show?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you remember which reality show, Janet?”

The line went silent.

Laurie covered the mouthpiece on her phone. “I’m not getting anywhere.”

Gabby nodded. “Janet?”

“Yes, I do remember, come to think of it.”

“What was it?”

“Food Battles, Detective Acosta. We were watching Food Battles.”

“Do you remember who won that season?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. The name struck me. They kept talking about it throughout the whole season. Something about Maya Fan’s Fans.”

“Could that have been Meilin?”

“Yes, Meilin, right.”

“What happens when a contestant wins Food Battles? Do you know? What do they get?”

“They get half-a-mil to open a restaurant in a city of their choice.”

Gabby’s grip tightened on the phone. “Do you know where this Meilin chose to open her restaurant?”

“Ah, some place in California, I think.” She was quiet for a moment. “San Francisco, that’s it. She opened the restaurant in San Francisco.”

*    *    *

Jake rubbed his temple as he made his way to his desk. Peyton was always warning him about drinking Abe’s crazy concoctions, but for some reason the warning always fell on deaf ears…Jake’s deaf ears in particular.

He came to an abrupt halt. Chuck Wilson, the retired crime scene investigator, was lounging in his chair. He wore a red-checked flannel shirt, carpenter jeans, and Doc Martens so old, the toe was cracking.

“You look like shit. Tie one on last night?” he said with a dry laugh.

Jake set his evidence case on the floor and took a seat on the edge of his desk. “Hand me that water,” he said, motioning to the half-empty plastic bottle on the other side of his blotter.

Chuck scooped it up and passed it over. Jake eyed him as he unscrewed the top and took a sip. Fishing three aspirins out of his pocket, he tossed them in the back of his mouth and swallowed.

“I haven’t see you in a long time.”

“Yeah, been traveling the coast highway. You ever do that?”

“Nope.” Jake rested the bottle against his thigh. “All the way?”

“Border to border. Beautiful country.”

“I’ll bet. What’d you travel it in?”

“RV. The wife and I bought it just before she died.”

“I remember.”

Chuck Wilson was part of the old guard, tough-assed cops who took no shit and played it straight off the cuff. He had thinning grey hair, but that was about his only allowance to his age. He still looked powerful, his shoulders massive and straining the seams on his flannel shirt.

“So why you tying one on?”

“My wife’s murder trial.” Jake didn’t feel like elaborating.

“Shit. That’s a nightmare.”

“Pretty much.”

He gave Jake a once-over. “You handling it okay?”

“Don’t have much choice.”

“How’s it going? The trial, I mean.”

“It wasn’t going well until Peyton testified yesterday. She was brilliant.”

Chuck smiled. “She’s a sharp little bit, that one. Reminds me of my wife.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, opening it for Jake.

A picture of an older African American woman smiled back at him. She was thin, but her eyes were captivating – dark and mysterious, they promised a world of secrets. A mass of black spirals created a cloud around her head.

“What was her name?”

“Opal.”

“How long were you married?”

Chuck sighed and stared at her. “We got married when we turned 19, but we’d been dating for years before that. In fact, I knew her from the time she was 9.”

“No kids.”

Chuck shook his head. “Wish we had, but she couldn’t. Just about killed her.”

“I’m sorry.”

Chuck shut his wallet. “Life gives you what it does, then you take that and make something out of it.”

Jake sighed. “Sounds like good advice to me.”

“Better than drinking yourself into an early grave.” He nodded his head toward the front of the precinct. “What happened to Maria? She wouldn’t tell me.”

“Stopped to flirt with her, did you?”

“Yeah, you should always stop to flirt with a pretty girl, but then I saw the sling. What happened?”

Jake shrugged. It wasn’t his place to talk about it.

“Boyfriend?”

“How’d you guess that?”

“I used to be a homicide cop, kid. Crime scene investigator. It was sort of my job. ‘Sides, you think I didn’t see my share of screwed up shit when I was on the force?”

“I’ll bet you did.”

Chuck looked down, shaking his head. “The stuff you see. You keep trying to get it out of your head, but you never do.”

Jake played with the cap on his bottle, feeling a little uneasy by this train of conversation. “So, you planning to take the RV anywhere else?”

Chuck met his gaze, then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll just point her east and keep driving ‘til she or I break down.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Yeah.” He drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled, putting the glasses over his eyes. “Problem is you try to escape it, and it just follows you. No matter where you go, humanity is there stinkin’ up the joint.” He pushed himself to his feet and rested a gnarled hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Guess I’m not helping you none, now am I?” He laughed and patted Jake’s shoulder. “Tell that sharp little cop I’m proud of her, will you? And be extra nice to Maria, huh?”

“Sure.”

Jake watched Chuck amble away toward the front of the precinct. Humanity is there stinkin’ up the joint. Rubbing his throbbing forehead, Jake puzzled over that one. What a dark, dismal view of the human race. Was that what he would become if he stayed in this job for too long – jaded and bitter and disillusioned, certain that there was no redeeming qualities left?

He frowned and replayed Chuck’s words in his mind. He didn’t want them to strike a chord, but they did and if he thought he was depressed before…well, hell.

*    *    *

Peyton put a heaping tablespoon of sugar in her coffee and took a sip. At least it was drinkable now, she thought, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste.

Cho came around the corner of the break-room and gave her a smile as he went for his own mug and filled it. “Late night?”

“Why?”

He nodded at the aspirin bottle beside her.

“Abe came over and made some sweet drink that went down way too easy.”

Cho laughed.

Leaning on the counter, Peyton watched him go to the refrigerator and pour milk into his mug. “We were listening to Madame Butterfly.”

Cho looked up, then blindly reached for a spoon and stirred his coffee. “Maria too?”

“Yep.”

He set the spoon down and came toward her, taking a sip. “What’d she think?”

“She liked it. She found the story tragic, but romantic.”

“Good. I wasn’t sure that was a good choice, but…”

Peyton smiled at him, reaching out to brush a bit of lint off his shoulder. “It was a very good choice. All of it,” she said significantly.

He smiled back at her.

“So how’s the Clean-up Crew case?”

“Nothing for a month. It makes me nervous. He was offing them left and right, then he just stops. Why?”

“That’s the problem with serial killers, Nathan. You never know what they’re going to do. You’re always playing behind them. Somehow you gotta throw ahead of the runner.”

“Throw ahead of the runner?”

Peyton shook her head wearily. “You have no idea how much baseball I watch since Jake moved in. I can actually tell you the batting average of the Giants starting lineup.”

Cho laughed. “I guess it’s nice having another woman around.”

Peyton nodded, declining to comment. Another woman might be nice, but Maria was something else altogether. If she wasn’t vetoing Peyton’s choice in clothes, it was commentary about her eating habits or recommendations on how to style her hair. And then there was the advice on why she couldn’t find a proper man. You’d think someone with Maria’s track record on men might abstain from such advice, but no, oh no, not for a freakin’ minute.

“I think you and Maria will have a wonderful time tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Peyton. I appreciate the support.”

“Who hasn’t been supportive?”

Cho gave a bark of laughter and brought his mug to his lips, taking a sip. “My partner doesn’t think people who work together should date. I love the guy, but sometimes…”

“Tell me about it,” she said in commiseration.

As if summoned by their conversation, Marco appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Defino wants an update on our case. You think you could spend a little time on it with me?”

Peyton and Cho exchanged a look.

“What?” growled Marco.

“Nothing,” said Cho as he pushed past Marco, carrying his coffee mug.

Peyton started to go too, but he blocked her.

“Were you talking about me?”

She frowned at him. “No, we were talking about Maria.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, but even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

“If you’re talking about me, how is that not my business?”

She shoved him in the stomach, backing him out of the doorway. “When you’re acting like an ass and I commiserate with someone about it, that’s not any of your business.”

“So you were talking about me?”

She stopped and turned around. “That’s what you take from what I said?”

He replayed her words over in his mind. “So I’m an ass for wanting to work our case?”

“No, D’Angelo. You’re an ass for busting my chops all the time about it. I am working the case. I just stopped to get a cup of coffee.” Her eyes shifted beyond him to the break-room. “Which I forgot because of you.” Throwing up her hand, she turned and went back to her desk.

Searching for the case file, she located it in her top desk drawer and opened it, reading through her notes. She heard him approach, but didn’t look up.

He set her mug on her blotter with her bottle of aspirin. “Why the aspirin?”

She looked up. “What?”

“Why are you taking aspirin? Were you drinking with Abe last night?”

“What if I was?”

He started to say something, then thought better about it. “I put in a call to that detective in Miami.”

“Acosta?”

“Yeah. She wasn’t in. They’re three hours ahead of us, but I left a message asking her to call us back.”

“Great.” She closed the file and slapped it against her thigh, turning toward Defino’s office.

“Brooks?”

She stopped and turned around.

“I’m sorry, all right?”

“Fine.”

“Peyton…” He took a step closer to her. “I don’t mean to be hard on you.”

“Really, ‘cause that’s about all you’ve been lately.”

He seemed to be fighting for the words he wanted to say. “I’m just worried about you.”

“You’re worried about me? Well, I’m worried about you. Why don’t we talk about that?”

His blue eyes searched her face. “I think you aren’t seeing what I’m seeing.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“With Devan’s marriage and your mom, I feel like maybe you don’t realize the stress you’re under.”

She moved close enough that she had to look up at him. “The thing with Devan and my mom wouldn’t be a blip for me if you weren’t pushing me away the way you are. If you want to go around psychoanalyzing people, you need to take a close look at yourself. You’re angry and short-tempered, and everything I say to you is wrong. Why are you so displeased with me, Marco? What have I done?”

His jaw clenched and he broke eye contact. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, we need to solve this case, okay? Maybe that’s all we need to concentrate on right now.”

She studied him intently. She couldn’t believe he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong. They’d shared everything the last eight years. So he didn’t always divulge his every feeling, but she’d never felt this distant from him before. What had she done to make him so displeased with her, so detached?

“Fine. Let’s solve the case.”

Fighting the burning tears in her eyes, she walked to Defino’s office and knocked on the door.

*    *    *

Marco found himself wandering into the Fiddler’s Green after work. Something about returning to his empty apartment made his guts knot and Peyton sure as shit hadn’t invited him over to her circus. She was still pissed at him from earlier in the day. He knew that he could probably wrangle an invitation to watch the Giants’ game from Jake or even get Maria to ask him over, but his pride wouldn’t let him go trolling for their charity. And he sure as shit wasn’t about to try making things up to Peyton again. That just got him frustrated and angry. God, she got under his skin in monumental ways.

He took a seat at an open table by the door. It was a good spot. Not his usual one at the bar, but here he could watch the tourists meander up and down the street. They were good for a distraction any day.

He was watching a short little couple try to read a comically drawn map of Fisherman’s Wharf. The man had on Bermuda shorts with socks and sandals, the woman a pair of pink capris and flip-flops. They both wore I Heart San Francisco windbreakers in allowance for the vagaries of summer weather along the Pacific coast. They were arguing about which direction to take, both of them turning circles to find any of the landmarks on their ridiculous map. He found himself smiling, watching them. Even though they were arguing, the woman had her hand on the man’s arm, holding on as if she feared being separated from him.

“What can I get you, handsome?”

He blinked up at a middle-aged waitress with tobacco stained teeth. “Just a beer. Whatever’s on tap.”

She gave him a smile and walked away.

When he looked back out the door, the couple had moved on. He felt a strange sense of sadness at their departure.

“If it isn’t the Hollywood cop and his gorgeous baby-blues,” came a voice.

He shifted as a woman stopped at his table. Genevieve Lake, the amateur reporter trying to get a spot on the Examiner no matter what she had to do to get it. The pretty, young African American woman had been a thorn in his side after Alcatraz, trying to seduce him into giving her an inside scoop on the Clean-up Crew case. He hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t given up and gone back to L.A.

He couldn’t deny she was attractive, tall and shapely with straight, long black hair – the very type of woman he usually wouldn’t hesitate to take home, but not this one. This one was trouble.

“If it isn’t Free-lance. And here I thought you’d have gone back to L.A.”

“Do you mind if I sit or is this a one person pity-party?”

He frowned at that. How had she read him so easily? “Sit.” He pushed out a chair with his foot.

She sank into it, careful to smooth out her skirt. Crossing her legs, she gave him a nice view of her long limbs and she smiled when she caught him looking. “So how have you been, Hollywood?”

“Just peachy,” he said.

The waitress returned and settled his beer on the table. Genevieve gave him a pointed look.

With a sigh, he smiled grimly at her. “Do you want something?”

She beamed up at the waitress. “I’ll have a glass of Pinot.”

“Coming right up,” said the waitress, turning around again.

Marco took a sip of his beer.

“Why did you think I’d go back to L.A.?”

“Free-lancing probably doesn’t pay the bills or buy Pinot,” he said nodding toward the bar.

“I got a by-line in the Examiner. Didn’t you see it? About your serial killer? I’m even the one who named him – the Janitor. Clever, huh?”

He wasn’t touching that. “Did they give you a job?”

Her expression soured. “No.”

“I see.”

The waitress returned with the wine and settled it in front of her. “Anything else, handsome?” she said.

“Not right now.”

As she walked away again, Genevieve smiled at him. “You’re so casual about the effect you have on people. It’s sort of charming.”

He shrugged. “So is this your regular hang-out now? Hoping some cop will come in and get you a second by-line?”

“You could give me the exclusive I want. You’re all I need.” She lifted the wine glass and took a sip. “You could make my career.”

He laughed. “I’ll give you an exclusive. Go back to L.A. You don’t belong here and you especially don’t belong messing around with a serial killer.”

She leaned forward on the table. “Look, I know he hasn’t struck in a month, not after that failed sting at Pier 39, but we both know it’s only a matter of time before he does it again. It’s a compulsion, something that he just can’t resist. He’ll kill again. He has to, but if you let me do my exclusive, maybe we flush him out. Maybe we get him to make a mistake.”

“And maybe more people get killed. Stay out of this, Free-lance.”

She glared at him, then she forced a sultry smile, taking another sip of her drink. “Why don’t you buy me dinner?”

“Uh uh, sister, I’m not getting mixed up with you. I know your type.”

“What is my type?”

“You think you’ll play me and I’ll give something up, but I’m not biting.”

“I don’t mind biting,” she said, winking at him.

He shook his head with a smile. Oh, in the past, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but not now. Now he knew better.

Just as the thought formed, the outer door opened and a familiar face peered inside. Marco frowned as Bartlet walked into the Fiddler’s Green, looking around. Of course, he spotted Genevieve first and his face lit up, until he saw who she was sitting with.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Officer Bartlet, what a pleasant surprise,” she said. “Are you here to have a drink with Inspector D’Angelo?”

Bartlet came to the table, but he didn’t want to meet Marco’s eye. “Ah, no, I just thought I’d have a beer before heading home.”

“Really?” she said, taking another sip. “Why don’t you join us?”

He finally glanced at Marco, a brief challenge, then he slumped into the chair across from him. “D’Angelo.”

“Bartlet.” Marco didn’t like this coincidence at all. “Fancy you coming here tonight of all nights.”

“Yeah, little surprised to see you here myself.”

“I come here a lot.”

“Do you?”

“So does Ms. Lake? Don’t ya, Free-lance?”

“Not as much as you think.”

“Oh, so you’re still trolling around the coffee shop across from the precinct?”

“No.”

“You could get a real job. That’s what most people do when they have too much time on their hands.”

She bristled at that, just as he intended. “Seems you can turn the charm on and off, can’t you?”

He leaned closer to her. “I’m serious. You’re messing with dangerous things and I would hate to get called out to scoop up your dead, broken body one day.”

She glared at him, then she reached for her wine and stood. “Nice to see you again, Officer Bartlet,” she said, then turned and walked away.

Bartlet started to rise and go after her.

“Sit down,” Marco commanded.

Bartlet sat abruptly, staring at the table.

The waitress came over. “Can I get you anything?”

Bartlet started to answer, but Marco preempted him. “He’ll have a cola and then he’ll be leaving. Put it on my tab.”

She backed away without speaking.

“Look, D’Angelo.”

“No, you look. Actually, you listen. I know why you’re here. I went to bat for you with Defino one time already, but I’m not doing it again. I almost lost my badge because of you.”

Bartlet met his eye. “What do you mean?”

“About a month ago, you ran into that woman in the coffee shop across from the precinct and you told her about my suspension and the serial killer.”

“I…”

“Don’t deny it.”

“Okay. I may have said too much.”

“Way too much and now she’s following me, poking around where she doesn’t belong.”

“Why do you think she’s following you?”

“She’s met me here twice now. And then you show up? What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not gonna tell her anything. I just wanna ask her to dinner.”

“Ask someone else. That one is trouble and she’ll cost you your badge.”

Bartlet shook his head.

Marco slammed his hand on the table, making him jump. “Listen to me, kid. I’m not playing with you. Defino already suspects you’re the one who screwed up last time. If she gets proof, she’ll pull your badge. But if that doesn’t mean anything to you, think about the girl. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s desperate to make a name for herself and get hired on at the Examiner. If you toss her any more bones, you’re gonna get her killed.”

The waitress put the drink down in front of Bartlet and gave Marco the check. Marco pulled out a twenty and handed it to her, waiting for her to walk away again.

Bartlet continued to stare at the table, but occasionally he would glance behind Marco where he assumed Genevieve had taken a seat. “I just wanted to ask her to dinner.”

Marco leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, and the next thing you know, you’re telling her everything she wants to know across her pillow.”

Bartlet met Marco’s gaze. “How do you ever trust anyone then?”

“You don’t trust reporters. That I know.”

Bartlet nodded. “I didn’t know you went to bat for me.”

“That was the point.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever.”

“I guess it was pretty stupid, huh? I was just trying to impress her.”

“Yeah, well, that’s where we all get f’ed up, kid, trying to impress women.”

He picked up the cola and made a face. “I’m over twenty-one, you know?”

“Start acting like it and then we’ll see.”

Bartlet set the glass down again. “How about two shots of Jack and you can tell me everything you know about women?”

“That’ll be the shortest conversation known to man,” said Marco with a chuckle.

CHAPTER 11

Gabby clicked on the phone message in her inbox. A man’s deep voice came through the speakers. He had a nice voice, resonant and sexy, but it had that flat California accent like every national newscaster Gabby had ever heard.

“Detective Acosta, this is Inspector Marco D’Angelo from the San Francisco Police Department.”

Billy swiveled his chair around and frowned at her monitor.

“I was told by Detective Ehrenthal of the NYPD that you’re investigating a woman named Lily Witan. Or rather, that you’re investigating the double homicide of her parents.”

Gabby looked over at Billy.

“We believe Lily Witan is actually a woman named Meilin Fan. In fact, Ms. Fan admitted as much to us. I was hoping you’d give us a call, so we can compare notes. My number is….” And he rattled off a series of digits.

Gabby grabbed up a pen and a yellow sticky note, reaching for the mouse to play the number again, but he repeated it for her. She jotted it down, then leaned back in her chair.

“Anyway, Detective, I would appreciate a call at your earliest convenience.”

The message ended. Gabby sat, staring at her monitor, tapping the pen against her lower lip. So Meilin Fan had admitted she was Lily Witan. Interesting.

“This is Inspector Marco D’Angelo from the San Francisco Police Department,” mimicked Billy in a gravelly baritone.

She frowned at him. “What’s your problem?”

“That guy just oozed cop, didn’t he? This is Inspector Marco D’Angelo…shesh. Inspector? What the hell is that?”

Gabby shook her head, reaching for her cell phone. “Don’t you have an obedience class or something right now?”

“Shit. That’s right,” he answered, scrambling from his chair.

“What? I was joking.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ve got a crime scene evidence class to attend.” He paused and gave Gabby a saucy wink. “You gonna call Inspector Douchebag?”

Gabby leaned forward. “Tell them to teach you how to sit and stay…with your mouth shut.”

He made a panting noise and hurried off, disappearing around the corner of the building. Gabby shook her head. Lord, the idiot was driving her silly, but she had to admit things were a lot less boring with Billy Lucott around.

She typed in the number and waited, listening to the ringtone. After about the fourth ring, a man’s voice came on the line. “D’Angelo.”

“Inspector, this is Gabriela Acosta from the Miami Police Force.”

“Detective, thank you so much for calling me back.”

“Not a problem. I’m sorry it took so long. Your message came in after I’d already left for the night.”

“I know. Time difference.”

“Can I ask you why you’re investigating this Meilin Fan?”

“Actually, we’re investigating the death of Meilin Fan’s boyfriend, Matt Jensen.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How did he die?”

“Gunshot wound to the chest.”

“Interesting.”

“We thought so.”

“Does she have an alibi?”

“All of her employees vouch that she was working in the kitchen at the time of his shooting.”

“So she isn’t a suspect?”

“Oh, I think my partner would beg to differ with you. She believes she’s not only a suspect in our case, but also yours. Can you tell me what you’ve learned about your side of the story?”

So Gabby related everything she’d found out about Lily Witan. She talked about Janet Messette and the music box. The key to the safe deposit box, followed by the album with every page of Lily torn out. She went on to Billy’s discovery of the yearbook and the picture of Lily Witan with Grant Sanderson, who committed suicide one month after her parents’ deaths. Then she concluded with both her meeting with Grant Sanderson’s parents and her talk with Detective Ehrenthal from New York.

“Your turn. Tell me what you found out.”

So Marco D’Angelo with the newscaster’s voice told her about their investigation into Matt Jensen’s death up until their last meeting with her when they confronted her about being Lily Witan. Gabby was impressed with Lily’s resourcefulness in getting a new identity by using her incomplete birth record from China. She would have completely disappeared into the world if she hadn’t gone on Food Battles.

“Do you think she killed this Matt Jensen?”

“My partner does.”

“You don’t?”

“I can’t get her in the apartment during the shooting. Her employees swear she never left the restaurant, let alone the kitchen of the restaurant that night.”

“Accomplice?”

“We do have a third set of fingerprints from her flat, but they don’t pop in any system. We’re thinking an undocumented immigrant.”

Gabby tapped the pen on her blotter. “Here’s what bothers me. Lily Witan goes to the senior prom. While she’s away from the house, someone comes in and pops her parents. She has witnesses galore who admit to seeing her at the prom. Then she comes home just in time to find her parents shot dead.”

“I’m with you.”

“Twenty years later, she winds up across the country and goes to work where she has witnesses galore who admit to seeing her in the kitchen. Then she comes home just in time to find her boyfriend shot dead. Something is rotten in Denmark, Inspector.”

“That’s Shakespeare, right?”

Gabby smiled. “Right. Hamlet. Even in school I liked the books with murder in them.”

D’Angelo laughed. “Okay, so let’s focus on your double homicide. She had to have an accomplice.”

“Right.”

“This Sanderson kid?”

“But he was also at the prom. He was her date. Witnesses put him there.”

“But didn’t you say he killed himself a month later?”

“He did.” Gabby stopped tapping her pen. I’m sorry. “He said, I’m sorry.”

“Who?”

“Sanderson, in his suicide note.” Gabby scratched at her hair. “I got two other pieces of this puzzle.”

“Go on.”

“Lily Witan’s grandfather, Philip Messette, reported a missing gun three weeks before his daughter was murdered. A Colt M1911. The Witans were shot with a .45.”

“Anyone find the gun?”

“No. What was Jensen shot with?”

“.22. Our ME says it was a cheap bullet, came apart.”

“So whoever offed Jensen didn’t use the same gun?”

“No. You said you had two pieces of the puzzle?”

“Lily Witan was a straight A student, until her senior year.”

“What happened?”

“I have no idea, but Mrs. Sanderson told us that Lily’s parents wanted her to go to some Ivy League University. According to the mother, Lily didn’t want to leave Grant, so they planned to run away to New York.”

“But they didn’t?”

“No, Mrs. Sanderson talked Grant out of it. She told him Lily could move into their house.”

“But something happened?”

“Mr. Sanderson vetoed that idea.”

“That sounds like motive to me, Detective.”

“Sounds like it to me too, but what’s the motive in your case?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“What’s your next step?”

“Matt Jensen’s mother is living here. I think we’ll go have another talk with her about her son.”

“I think I’ll do the same on my end. Brief each other again?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Here’s what bothers me. If we don’t find some direct connection between Meilin and the murder victims, we only have circumstantial evidence.”

“We need a smoking gun.”

“Literally.”

“My gun is twenty years old, Inspector. I’m afraid the smoking gun is gonna have to come from your end.”

“Which means we need to find our undocumented fingerprint.”

“”Fraid so.”

“Okay, Detective Acosta, pleasure talking with you and I’ll be in touch real soon.”

“You too, Inspector D’Angelo. Good luck.”

*    *    *

Marco lowered the phone and looked up at Peyton. She was sitting on the edge of his desk.

“You get all of that?”

“Most of it,” she said. “How are we going to shake out our undocumented fingerprint, Marco?”

“We gotta get lucky.”

She pushed his shoulder. “I told you the bitch killed them.”

“Well, I’m not certain she’s ever pulled a trigger, but it sure seems she’s got a very persuasive nature.”

“Hm.”

“Hey, Marco baby, your reporter girlfriend is here and she’s all riled up about something,” said Maria, coming from the front of the precinct.

“What?”

“That reporter chick, Lake or something?”

“Yeah?”

“She’s out front with her panties all in a bunch.”

Marco pushed himself to his feet and started toward the front of the precinct with Peyton and Maria trailing him. Genevieve Lake was pacing behind the counter, but she whirled around when he appeared and pointed at him.

“Did you do this?” she shouted, holding out her hand.

“Do what?”

Defino’s office door opened and she stepped out. “What’s going on?”

“You told me just last night not to get involved, that I’d get myself in trouble, then this shows up in my mailbox today. If this is some kind of sick joke, you need serious help, buddy!”

He felt all of the women’s eyes on him, so he held up his hands in a motion of surrender. “I don’t have any idea what you’re yelling about.”

“This! This!” She slapped the scrap of paper in her hand, then set it on the counter and pushed it away, pacing to the front door and back again.

Marco and Peyton edged to the counter and peered down at the small white business card. The words Clean-up Crew were typed across the front in bold red font. Marco reached behind him and grabbed a pen out of the cup on Maria’s desk, using it to flip the card over. On the back in scrawling pen it read, Little girls who go looking for monsters get eaten.

“Frickin’ A,” whispered Peyton.

Defino came to the counter, then she turned immediately. “Maria, get Cho and Simons, and bring Ryder back with you.”

Maria hurried off.

Genevieve had her hands on her hips, her breath coming in a furious pant.

Marco glanced up at her. “I didn’t do this, Free-lance.”

“Really? What about last night?”

Peyton folded her arms in front of her and gave him a speculative look. “Yeah, what about last night, Marco baby?”

He glanced at her. “We ran into each other at the Fiddler’s Green. I told her to stop snooping around and I did warn her that she was going to attract the wrong sort of attention.” He gave Genevieve a pointed look.

“Why were you there?” Defino asked her.

She gave a careless shrug. “It’s a free country. I like wine.”

“She knows I go there for a drink sometimes,” he told Defino. “Funny thing was Bartlet also showed up.”

“I didn’t go there to meet him,” she answered.

“No, you’re trolling after the big fish, aren’t you, Miss Lake?” said Peyton.

“So sue me.”

Marco came closer to the counter and leaned on it. “This is why I told you to step off. Sue you? You don’t have any idea what can of madness you’ve opened up on yourself.”

Her face shifted to a look of fear and she took a step back.

“Why was Bartlet there?” demanded Defino.

“He wanted to ask her to dinner. I talked with him, Captain. I don’t think he’ll be so stupid again.”

Cho and Simons arrived, trailing Jake. Defino motioned them to the counter.

“Does this look like the other cards, Mr. Ryder?”

Jake took in everything, then eased between them, peering at the card on the counter. Using the same pen Marco had, he flipped it over and let out his held breath. “It looks identical. Even the writing on the back looks the same as the one delivered here after the priest’s death.”

“Take it for fingerprints,” said Defino.

“It’ll have my fingerprints on it,” said Genevieve.

“And maybe the killer’s,” answered Marco.

Jake left to retrieve his evidence case.

“You’ve got to stop snooping into these murders,” said Peyton.

“I’m a reporter, that’s what we do.”

“You’re gonna be a dead reporter if you don’t stop,” said Simons gruffly.

Genevieve seemed to shrink in on herself. “How can I go home? He knows where I live.”

“Someone will escort you home,” said Marco.

“What are you – stupid? I just said he knows where I live.”

Marco held up a hand, fighting for patience. “How about you listen for once?”

“Fine.”

“We’ll escort you home where you’ll pack a bag. If you won’t go back to L.A., you’re gonna have to stay with a friend until we catch this guy.”

“How long will that be?”

Cho frowned at her. “Who knows? Deal with it. You got yourself in this mess, now we gotta get you out.”

She hugged her arms around herself and Marco actually felt sorry for her. She was too young to realize how dangerous her snooping was.

“Cho, have Smith take her home,” said Defino, “and get all of her contact information so we can keep track of her.”

Cho gave her a final glare, then wandered off. Jake returned with his evidence case and began working on the card.

“Brooks, D’Angelo, my office,” said Defino.

“Wait.” Genevieve came to the counter. “Can’t you take me home?”

Marco gave her a bewildered look. “A minute ago you were accusing me of planting this on you, now you want me to take you home.”

“I’d feel better with you.”

Peyton rolled her eyes and walked into the captain’s office.

Defino turned at her door and pointed at Genevieve. “Sit down, Miss Lake, and wait patiently for Officer Smith. We have other things we need to do right now and babysitting you isn’t one of them.”

Genevieve gave a huff, but she backed up and took a seat.

Jake exchanged a look with Marco as he moved toward the captain’s door.

*    *   *

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” cursed Defino, walking around her desk and taking a seat.

Peyton perched in the chair across from her, looking up as Marco moved into his own chair. As always Defino’s office was dark, closed up tight. Peyton couldn’t help but wonder at her aversion to natural lighting.

Marco touched the paperweight with the beetle inside, giving Peyton a strange look. She held up her hands. She didn’t understand it either. There was something creepy about the bug in a huge ball of acrylic.

“I should fire Bartlet,” said Defino, placing her hands flat on her glass topped desk.

“I talked with him and told him he was risking his badge, Captain. I don’t think he’ll do it again.”

“If I find out he does it again, I swear I’ll gut him.”

“He’s just flirting with a pretty girl,” said Marco.

Peyton and Defino gave him a critical look. “Is he the only one?”

Marco made a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. “I don’t want any part of that one. She’s definitely trouble.”

“Good.” Defino leaned back in her chair. “Dammit.”

“You didn’t really think the Janitor had left San Francisco, did you, Captain?” asked Peyton.

“You know I’d hoped he had.” She glanced up at them. “I need you to finish this Fan case, so you can get back on the Clean-up Crew. Where are you with it?”

“She killed Jensen, Captain,” said Peyton. “We can’t prove it right now, but I’m sure she did it.”

Defino frowned. “I was really hoping that wasn’t the case.”

“I know.”

“What’s your next move?”

Peyton glanced over at Marco.

He shifted weight. “I contacted a Cold Case detective in Miami. She’s working a double homicide that she believes Meilin’s involved in.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, the double homicide’s twenty years old. Her adoptive parents, both shot at close range, just like…”

“Matt Jensen,” finished Defino. “Can this detective tie her to the murders?”

“No,” answered Peyton. “Just like in our case, she has an alibi and there’s no murder weapon.”

“And our next move?” asked Defino again.

“We’re going out to talk to Matt Jensen’s mother about her son’s relationship with Meilin. This detective in Miami has a motive for her murders, but we really don’t have one for ours.” She picked up the paperweight and gently tossed it back and forth in her hands. “If we can get a motive, I’ll bring her into the precinct and confront her. Maybe we can get her to break?”

Defino nodded, watching the paperweight pass back and forth. “As soon as you finish this case, you’re back on the Clean-up Crew. Got it?”

Peyton tried to hide her excitement. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the acrylic surface.

“You can have that,” said Defino, nodding at it.

“What? No, Captain, I can’t take your beetle.”

“Take it. You drive me crazy playing with it whenever you come in here. Now go. I’ve got some calls to make.”

Peyton and Marco rose to their feet and turned toward the door. She studied the strange bug as she made her way into the precinct again.

“You just can’t leave shit alone, can you, Brooks?” said Marco, closing the captain’s door at his back.

“This thing freaks me out,” she whispered, holding it up for him.

“Yeah, well now you get to be freaked out every single day because you know it has to sit right on top of your desk in plain sight.” He draped an arm across her shoulders and turned her in the direction of their desks.

Peyton sighed. “I don’t suppose it breaks, does it?”

“Nope. That thing would probably withstand a nuclear blast.”

“The beetle or the acrylic?”

“Yep,” he said, ruffling her hair with his hand and laughing.

*    *    *

Peyton and Marco approached the townhouse and Peyton knocked on the door. She’d already called to warn Mrs. Jensen they were coming, but the house looked deserted. She knocked again.

After waiting for a good two or three minutes, the door opened and Mrs. Jensen peered out.

Peyton showed her badge. “Mrs. Jensen, I spoke with you on the phone a little while ago?”

“Yes, you wanted to ask me some more questions about Matt.”

“Right. May we come in?”

“Of course.” She stepped back to allow them entrance. Using her cane, she directed them down the tight hallway and to the small room with the dated furnishings. Except one thing wasn’t dated. Mrs. Jensen had a brand new flat screened television that was showing a soap opera of some kind.

“New television?”

The older woman levered herself onto her sofa, but she glanced up. “Gift from Meilin.”

Peyton made deliberate eye contact with her partner. He sank into the armchair to the left of Mrs. Jensen, but Peyton took a seat beside her on the sofa. She reached out a shaky hand and muted the sound, but the crisp, clear picture remained.

“Extravagant gift?”

“I told her it was too much, but she wanted me to have it.” She shifted to face Peyton. “Have you found Matt’s killer?”

“We think we might have, but I need a little more information about Matt.”

“Who is it?”

“We can’t divulge any information in an ongoing investigation, but as soon as we’ve collected all of the evidence I will come back here and tell you in person, okay?”

“It’s taking a long time. Does it usually take this long?”

“Oh,” said Peyton with a sigh, “sometimes it takes a very long time. Sometimes it takes twenty years.”

Mrs. Jensen frowned at her. “What?”

“Anyway, Matt and Meilin – what was their relationship like? Did they ever fight?”

“Every couple fights, Inspector Brooks.”

“Right, but moreso than any others?”

“No, they seemed very happy with each other.”

Peyton patted her hand where it rested on the couch. “I know this is hard, but was Matt demanding or overly jealous in anyway?”

“Demanding? Jealous? Do you mean domineering?”

Peyton shrugged. “Maybe.”

Mrs. Jensen gave her an arch look. “If you want domineering, that was my husband, Matt’s father. Matt was the most sensitive, gentle soul in the world. He treated Meilin like a princess.”

“Was she domineering?”

“With Matt?”

“Yes.”

“Never. She always had the sweetest things to say about him.”

“She was okay with him being a produce manager? She didn’t want him to strive for more?”

“She never expressed that to me. She was always so supportive, even when he wanted to move me out here, and she never complained about the amount of money he gave me.”

Peyton bit her bottom lip. Was this woman serious? Did she really see only good in a woman ten years older than her son or was Meilin buying this loyalty? “Mrs. Jensen, last time we were here, you were talking about moving back to New York to live with your cousin, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Are you still planning to move?”

She glanced at the TV. “No, not now.”

“Why not now?”

“Meilin offered to get me an aid five days a week. It’ll let me stay here.”

“When did she offer that?”

Mrs. Jensen continued to study the television. “Yesterday, when she brought me the TV.”

“Yesterday.” Peyton shifted to look at Marco.

“Easy, Brooks.”

Peyton nodded. “Mrs. Jensen, did Matt have a gun?”

“A gun.” She briefly glanced over. “No, he hated guns, Inspector. What sort of gun?”

“A .22?”

“No, he didn’t have a gun.”

“Did you?”

Mrs. Jensen laughed. “Why would I have a gun?”

Peyton shrugged. “For protection?”

“No, I don’t like guns either. Matt always said if you had a gun you were just giving a killer a weapon when they break into your house...” Her voice trailed off and she turned to look at Peyton. “Why are you asking that?”

“Matt was shot with a .22. We need to find that gun.”

“Are you suggesting I have it?”

“Not at all. I was wondering if you had a .22 that has suddenly come up missing. Maybe a gun from Matt’s father that you kept all these years?”

Mrs. Jensen frowned and her uncontrollable nodding grew worse. “I never had a gun.”

“Do you know that Meilin Fan is really the adopted daughter of Carol and David Witan of Miami, Florida?”

“What?”

“She admitted it two days ago. Her name is Lily Witan.”

She had Mrs. Jensen’s full attention now. Reaching over, Peyton picked up the remote and turned off the television.

“Lily Witan? I don’t understand.”

“Twenty years ago, Lily Witan came home from her senior prom and found her parents shot to death.  No suspects were ever found, the gun went missing, and shortly after their deaths, their daughter also went missing. Instead, a Meilin Fan turned up in New York, a student from China, her country of birth. I might also add that China is Lily’s country of birth. The double homicide became a cold case and was basically forgotten. Until, and here’s where it gets interesting, Meilin Fan became a contestant on Food Battles.”

Mrs. Jensen lifted a shaking hand and covered her mouth.

“Someone recognized her on Food Battles, not as Meilin Fan, but rather Lily Witan. New York police investigated, but took Meilin’s word that she wasn’t Lily Witan. She won the show and came to San Francisco where suddenly her boyfriend Matt Jensen wound up dead from a gunshot wound. And, surprise surprise, we can’t locate the gun or a suspect.” Peyton patted Mrs. Jensen’s free hand again. “Now, doesn’t this seem a bit coincidental? Three people dead around this woman, no gun, no real motive, and in all three murders, she’s had a rock solid alibi.”

Tears filled Mrs. Jensen’s eyes.

“If you know anything, Mrs. Jensen, you need to tell us.”

A tear spilled over and raced down her paper-thin cheek. Marco passed the box of tissues to her and she took one, dabbing at it. With a shivery sigh, she met Peyton’s gaze. “I don’t know anything,” she said carefully.

Peyton sat still for a moment. She couldn’t believe it. She was choosing Meilin and her flat-screened television over her son? “Are you sure?” Her voice came out edged.

“Brooks,” said Marco, leaning forward and touching her knee.

She closed her eyes briefly.

“I need to lay down,” said Mrs. Jensen, reaching for her cane. “Can you see yourselves out?”

Peyton didn’t know how to respond. She watched the woman lever herself up and begin the slow, torturous walk across the living room toward the door. Marco waited until she disappeared, then he pulled out his cell phone and keyed in a number.

“Who are you calling?”

He held up a hand, listening to the line. “Hey, Stan, it’s D’Angelo.”

Peyton frowned.

“Right. Can you do me a favor? Can you put a B.O.L.O. out on a...what’s her first name?” He motioned toward the other room.

“Pamela.”

“Pamela Jensen.” He listened. “Yeah, actually what I’m most interested in is plane or bus tickets...any sort of mass transportation.”

Peyton smiled. “You are brilliant.”

He winked at her. “Sometimes. I’ll just bet New York Cousin is getting a visitor.”

Peyton chuckled and reached for the remote, clicking it on.

*    *    *

Peyton and Marco entered her house an hour later, both of them feeling frustrated and annoyed by the Fan case. Without something tying Meilin to the murders, a confession, a weapon, they didn’t even have enough to bring her in for questioning.

Marco stopped dead in the entryway, taking in the scene. Maria sat on a bar stool in the middle of the living room with Abe behind her, twisting her hair into some elaborate mess. Jake was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, drinking a beer and reading his newspaper.

Marco almost bolted. He’d actually just wanted to spend a quiet night with Peyton, grabbing take-out and watching television, the way it had been before she invited the world into her home, but before he could duck out, she sensed his mood and reached back, grabbing his arm and dragging him the rest of the way through the door.

“No you don’t,” she scolded.

Pickles raced over to him and began pawing his leg. He reached down and scooped up the little dog, letting the door close behind him. Pickles was about the only one in this room he wanted to see besides his partner.

Once she was sure he wasn’t leaving, Peyton approached Abe and Maria. “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing her hair. She couldn’t exactly do it herself, now could she?”

“And there’s no way I’d let you touch it,” said Maria, giving her a pointed look.

Peyton walked around Maria’s barstool. “What is that?”

“It’s called a French twist,” said Abe, picking up a can of hairspray. “The French aren’t just known for their kiss, now are they, Angel?” He glanced over at Marco and gave him a wink.

Marco’s eyes involuntarily tracked to Jake. He glanced up from his newspaper, then without comment, he held a beer out to Marco over the counter. Marco took a seat on a barstool and accepted the beer, lifting it to his mouth.

“It’s pretty,” said Peyton, stopping in front of her. “Did you do her makeup too?”

“Of course. Smoky eyes are all the rage right now. Don’t you love it?”

“Yeah.” She glanced up at Abe. “You’ve never done my hair and makeup before.”

Maria made a choking sound. “Can you blame him? He’s not a miracle worker, Brooks.”

“Don’t be bitchy,” said Abe, pulling her hair.

“Ow!” cried Maria.

Abe ignored her. “I’ll do your hair anytime, little bits. You are all sorts of adorable when you get dressed up.”

Peyton smiled.

Marco felt Jake’s eyes on him and looked over. “What?”

Jake gave him a weird smile and went back to reading his paper. “Nothing.”

Abe blasted Maria with hairspray, then touched her shoulder. “There, all done.”

She took the mirror he handed her, inspecting the job, then jumped off the barstool, hugging him with her good arm. “Thank you.”

He hugged her back. “Anytime, Princess.”

“Help me get dressed,” she said to Peyton, grabbing her hand and dragging her into the hallway where they disappeared from sight.

Setting down the hairspray, Abe wandered into the kitchen and went to the refrigerator, removing a cocktail shaker and a wooden cutting board with slices of cucumber on it. He set both on the counter, then went to the cabinet over the sink and pulled down a number of martini glasses, setting them beside the mixer. Jake and Marco watched him, but neither of them asked him what he was doing.

Reaching for the shaker, he began shaking it, making eye contact with Marco and giving him an air kiss. Marco took another drink of his beer.

“This is called the Jezebel. It’s made with gin, green tea, lime juice and velvet falernum...”

“Velvet fawhatnum?” asked Jake.

“Falernum. It’s a wonderfully complex liqueur, made from sugar cane and cloves.”

A knock sounded at the door.

Marco set Pickles down and climbed off the barstool, going to answer it.

“It’s called the Jezebel because it’s wickedly delightful. I thought it was the perfect drink for tonight. Every first date should be filled with wicked delights, no?” Abe said, nudging Jake in the shoulder.

Opening the door, Marco found a nervous Cho standing on the doorstep in a charcoal pinstriped suit. He held a yellow rose in his hand and seemed surprised to see Marco. “D’Angelo.”

“Cho. Welcome to Peyton’s three-ring circus.”

As if on cue, Pickles began jumping up and down in front of him. Marco scooped the little dog up again as Cho stepped into the house.

“Is Maria here?”

Marco placed Pickles on the couch. “She’s getting dressed.”

Cho nodded, then noticed Abe and Jake in the kitchen. Jake held up a hand in greeting and Abe beamed a smile, the cocktail shaker in hand.

“Come have a drink with us,” he said, motioning to the bar stools.

Both Jake and Marco shook their heads at him, but the stupid fool walked over to the counter and sat down.

Abe poured his concoction into a martini glass and added a slice of cucumber, passing it over the counter. Cho held it up, looking at it in the light.

“Cucumber?” he said to Marco.

“Don’t ask,” Marco answered, lifting his beer.

“Just be glad it’s not a pink umbrella,” said Jake.

“Ooh, that would be perfect,” said Abe, hurrying to the drawer by the stove. “I picked up these adorable little feathery things the other day.” He whirled around, showing them a plastic toothpick, topped with feathery strips of something. Reaching across the counter again, he speared Cho’s cucumber and let go.

Cho’s mouth hung open.

“Taste it,” Abe urged.

Jake and Marco both shook their heads again, but Cho lifted the drink to his lips. The feathers tickled his nose and he jerked back, closing one eye. However, he was more game than Marco would have been and tried again, this time moving the embellishment aside and taking a sip.

Abe lifted his own drink, clanking it against Cho’s glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Cho repeated.

Marco couldn’t help but laugh.

The bedroom door opened and the two women appeared. Maria was wearing a beaded black dress that hit her mid-thigh. She really did look pretty, especially with her bedazzled sling covered in rhinestones.

She hesitated the minute she saw Cho, but Peyton urged her forward.

Cho set down his drink and climbed off the stool, holding out the flower to her. “You look beautiful,” he said in just the right reverent tone.

She took the flower and smelled it. “Thank you, Nathan.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” She handed the flower to Peyton. “Will you put this in water for me?”

Peyton took it, bringing it to her nose to smell. Marco found his eyes riveted on his partner, rather than the other two. She looked genuinely happy for Maria, but he couldn’t help but notice a wistfulness in her demeanor. She wanted the romance as much as Maria, the hope of something special with another person. It made his gut knot and he swallowed hard.

Walking to the couch, Maria picked up her purse and a little black wrap. Cho helped her put it on, then smiled at her as he guided her to the door and out. Peyton watched after them until the door closed, then she looked over at Marco.

Blinking, she visibly shook herself and walked into the kitchen, going to a cabinet after a vase. For once, Jake and Abe were quiet, staring at the counter. Marco grabbed his beer and finished it off, his fingers tightening on the neck.

“Want another one?” asked Jake.

“Yeah.”

He went to the refrigerator and opened it.

Peyton filled the vase with water and carried the flower to the counter, setting it where Maria would see it when she came in, then she leaned on the counter where Jake had his paper spread. Abe handed her a drink and she absently took it, taking a sip without even looking at it.

Marco didn’t know what to do or say. Jake passed him the beer and moved around the counter to take a seat beside him, while Abe played with his feather monstrosity. Marco hated this. He wasn’t good at handling people’s emotions, and he’d never felt on safe ground where his partner was concerned. In fact, he’d come to rely on Abe and Jake to deal with this sort of thing, he realized.

Peyton suddenly frowned and put her finger on the newspaper, straightening up. She tracked over a very small article on a side column, setting her drink down. “Damn, Hui Bai is dead.”

“Who?” asked Jake.

“Hui Bai.” Peyton picked up the paper, her attention riveted on it.

“Who is Hui Bai?”

Abe set down his own drink and straightened.

Peyton glanced up. “Hui Bai is the artist who designed Meilin Fan’s menus. The lotus paintings?”

“Peyton,” said Abe in a strange voice.

She looked over at him.

“I did Hui Bai’s autopsy.”

“You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered. It was a medical autopsy and I usually don’t do those. They got backed up and asked me to take it.”

“What did he die of?”

“Anaphylactic shock. He had a severe peanut allergy.”

“Don’t people have those epi pens or whatever for that?” asked Jake.

“The report said the police found expired pens in his apartment,” answered Abe. “They speculated he was an undocumented immigrant and was afraid to get a new prescription.”

“Say that again?” urged Peyton.

“He was an undocumented immigrant…”

Peyton slammed down the newspaper. “I’ll be damned,” she said, looking up at Marco. Shifting her gaze to Jake, she said, “Have Hui Bai’s fingerprints run against the undocumented fingerprints we got from Meilin’s flat?”

“On it,” said Jake.

CHAPTER 12

Gabby got out of her police issue Dodge Magnum and hesitated. Billy had jumped out before her, but he was standing on the sidewalk of the Sanderson place, staring at the front porch.

“I think we got problems, Gabby,” he said over his shoulder.

Mr. Sanderson had come out of the house and was sitting on the stairs, blocking them with his body. His wife was peeking out the windows in the dining room again. Gabby firmed her face and adjusted her gun, then walked around the car.

“Let me handle this,” she told Billy.

“It’s all yours,” he said, holding out his hands. “I thought I’d just go piss on his tree over there.”

Gabby glanced at him in surprise, but he was grinning from ear to ear. “Really?”

He stepped closer to her. “This Sanderson prick is an old southern bull, Gabs. Right or wrong, he isn’t gonna listen to a woman and especially not a...”

“A what?” she said, an edge in her voice.

“A vibrant female goddess from the beautiful island of Puerto Rico who knows her partner loves her somethin’ fierce.”

She wanted to sock him in the face, but he knew how to make her smile.

“We can fight for equal rights another time. Right now we need to get into that house and talk to Mrs. Sanderson.” He glanced over his shoulder at the older man. “This is young dog versus old, nasty smelly dog, and you’re gonna love this, I know all about male dog pissin’ matches.”

Gabby shot a look at Sanderson herself. He sure did seem like an old dog guarding a bitch in heat. “Okay, Rover, you take point on this one.”

He almost did a jig of excitement. “Can we get ice cream afterwards?”

A laugh escaped her and she shoved him in the shoulder, pushing him toward the house. He adjusted his gun and she could swear, puffed up his chest.

“Mr. Sanderson, how are you this gorgeous August day?” He paused at the bottom step and put his foot on it, crossing his arms on his thigh.

“What do you want, Detectives?”

“We wanted to share a few developments in the case with you, sir, and ask you a few questions.”

“We have nothing more to say.”

Billy shot a look at the late morning sun. “It’s getting humid already, isn’t it, sir? Radio said it was gonna push 90 today.”

Sanderson leveled a look at him. “I’m certain your police cruiser has air conditioning, Detective. Why don’t you try it out?”

Billy smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Lily Witan is living in San Francisco, Mr. Sanderson. Did you know that?”

Sanderson went still, then he looked toward his right shoulder. Directly behind him was his wife, hovering in the window. “That has nothing to do with us, Detective.”

“I thought you might be interested to know where your son’s girlfriend wound up. Know what else we found out?”

“I can’t begin to imagine or care.”

“She’s connected with another homicide, sir. A young guy she was dating named Matt Jensen. He was shot in the chest just like her parents were.”

Sanderson came to his feet, startling both Billy and Gabby. Gabby realized she’d instinctively dropped her hand to her gun. So had her partner. “I consider this harassment, Detective Lucott. My son has been dead twenty years and you keep coming out here dredging it all back up.”

“We’re trying to solve a murder case.”

“Who cares? Who wants you to dig into this?”

“Carol Witan’s niece, sir. She wants closure.” He nodded past the man at Andrea Sanderson. “Your wife. I think she wants to finally put her son to rest.”

He started to come down the stairs, but Billy held up a hand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sir. You’re clearly agitated and I wouldn’t want to mistake your intention.”

Sanderson stopped in mid-step, looking surprised. Then his face clouded over. “This stops today. I don’t care who wants this case solved. You leave us out of it. If you come back to my house again, I will sue you. In fact, I’ve already been in touch with a lawyer.” He straightened to his full height. “Now, this is private property and I want you off it.”

“We can get a warrant to search the house, Mr. Sanderson,” said Gabby.

“You can try. Let the dead rest in peace, Detective. The Witans are dead, Grant is dead. Lily’s all the way across the country. There is no one else who needs closure.”

“You do, sir,” said Billy. “Your wife does.”

He looked at Billy, shaking his head. “You just don’t get it. You’re too damn young to understand. You don’t always need closure, boy. Sometimes you just need to forget.” Without another word, he turned his back on them and went into his house.

Billy stared at the stairs without moving for a long time. Gabby came to him and touched his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I screwed up.”

“No, you didn’t. You just figured out who killed the Witans.”

Billy turned, his expression bewildered. “The old man?”

Gabby paused and sighed. “No, not the old man.”

A sudden blaze of comprehension lit Billy’s face. “Ooh.” He jogged to catch up to Gabby. “How much do you love me now, huh?”

Gabby shook her head and unlocked the car door.

*    *    *

“I’m getting sick of coming out to Chinatown every other day,” grumbled Marco, walking beside Peyton down the tight sidewalks. Even at 9:00AM, Chinatown on a Saturday was filled with people.

“We need to find that last bit of evidence. I can’t wait to take a crack at this bitch in interrogation.”

Marco smiled at her. “What time did Maria get home?”

“I think it was late. Pickles started barking about 1:00.”

“Did she say she had a good time?”

“Maria doesn’t exactly get up at the crack of dawn on a weekend. She wears noise canceling headphones and a sleep mask to keep out the light. Poor Jake tiptoes around the kitchen like a mouse, scared to make any noise.”

“Jake have any problem with her living there?”

“Jake, not so much. Me...” She shook her head.

“You can say no.”

She stopped and looked up at him. “I think we both know I can’t, but it’s cute of you to encourage me.”

He laughed and she relished the sound. Maybe things were starting to smooth out between them just like he said it would.

They continued walking and came to the Yellow Lotus. It was closed, but when Peyton peered in the window, she could see Leah folding napkins at a table. She motioned the girl over and Leah glanced toward the screen before scurrying across the floor and quickly unlocking the door.

She pulled it open and motioned them through, putting a finger to her lips for quiet. “Inspector Brooks?” She gave Marco a shy smile.

“How are you, Leah?”

She motioned them further into the restaurant and locked the door again. Leaning close, she said, “We try to be quiet down here when she’s upstairs. The longer she sleeps, the more work we get done without her supervision.”

“Wait. She moved back in upstairs?” Peyton deliberately kept her voice at the same level as Leah.

“Two days ago. She said it was stupid to waste so much money on a hotel.”

“Wonder why we weren’t told?” Peyton said to Marco.

He shrugged.

“Leah, is there someplace we can talk where we won’t wake her up?”

“Kitchen.” She waved them to follow her and led them into the kitchen. Peyton recognized all of the same faces that had been there before, working over cutting boards or woks, stirring boiling pots of something on the stoves. Lin climbed off a stool as they entered, setting down her knife. She came over to Leah and touched her arm, talking to her in Chinese.

“My aunt says to tell you hello,” Leah translated.

Peyton smiled at her.

“What do you want to talk about, Inspector Brooks?”

Marco leaned against the wall where he could look through the little window in the door and see the restaurant.

Peyton pointed over her shoulder. “Do you know the lotus painting in the restaurant?”

“Yes.”

“They were painted by the same man who did the menu, right?”

“Hui Bai, yes.”

At the name, the aunt began speaking in Chinese. Leah talked back to her.

“What did she say?” asked Peyton.

“Hui Bai, he does a lot of art for people in Chinatown.”

“Have you or Aunt Lin ever met him?”

“Hui Bai?” Leah started to say something, but Lin grabbed her sleeve tugging on it, her voice rising as she talked. Leah nodded and answered in return.

“Leah?” urged Peyton.

“We haven’t seen him for a few days, but before that, he ate here every day. He had a regular order he placed and we’d have it waiting for him at 4:00PM sharp.”

“Does he live in Chinatown?”

“No, just outside.”

“He ordered the same thing every day?”

“Yes, we prepared the same thing for him every day. He’d come in to pay, pick up the food, and leave. He didn’t talk much.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since the restaurant opened. The first week we were here, he came in and said he could do the menus. Meilin liked him. He’s handsome, so she gave him work. Then she started buying his paintings. Lots of people in Chinatown have his paintings.”

Lin tugged on her sleeve again, saying something urgent.

“Right. He always got the same thing every day. He would only eat here, no other restaurant.”

Peyton exchanged a look with her partner. “Why?”

“He said he couldn’t trust them. He was allergic to peanut and he was afraid they’d make a mistake. He said one bite, even cooking in the same pan could kill him.”

Peyton bit her lower lip. “Did everyone know this?”

“Of course. Meilin made a big deal about it. We even have special pans for people allergic to peanut.” She pointed over her shoulder at a pot rack. “See the ones with red handles. Those are for no peanut.”

No peanut. At some point it had become some peanut and Peyton suspected that was after Matt Jensen was shot.

Peyton squeezed her arm and smiled at Lin. “Thank you.” She turned toward the door.

“Inspector?”

Peyton shifted back around.

“Is Hui Bai okay?”

Peyton glanced at her partner. He shrugged.

Stepping close to the girl again, Peyton dropped her voice. “Hui Bai died about a week ago.”

“How?”

“That’s an on-going investigation. I can’t reveal anymore to you. I’m sorry, Leah.”

“Do you know if there’s a funeral for him?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry again.”

Leah nodded, forcing a tense smile. “He had such nice paintings.”

“I know.” And Peyton couldn’t deny Hui Bai’s death made her sad too.

*    *    *

Marco pulled the Charger out of the St. Mary’s Square parking garage and turned onto the street. Peyton was typing into her phone, focused on the display.

“What now?”

“Abe is sending me the police report and his autopsy on Hui Bai. Give me a second,” she said, pressing the document and waiting for it to load on her screen. “Okay, police took a brief history. A neighbor found him, but he went into cardiac arrest before the paramedics arrived.”

“Do you have a name for the neighbor?”

“Chen...ah, hold on. Gan Chen.”

“Address?”

Peyton showed it to him.

“Let’s go.” Marco flipped a U-turn with the Charger and headed back the way they’d come.

Hui Bai’s apartment on Bush Street was within walking distance of Chinatown, a five story brick building with laundry hanging off lines strung from one fire escape to another. Marco parked the Charger, then they walked to the building, jogging up the staircase to the front door. Peyton tried the handle and found it unlocked. Stepping into the dark building, they were assailed with the smells of cooking cabbage, mildew, and the overpowering scent of mothballs.

Looking at a list in a metal case posted beside the door, Peyton searched for the apartment they wanted. Most of the names were written in Chinese characters, but a few had the English translation beneath them. By pure luck, Chen was one of them.

“Upstairs,” said Peyton, pointing to the carpeted staircase. She started for it, Marco on her heels.

The hallway was dark, a bulb burnt out near the Chen door. “Kinda run-down,” she remarked.

Marco nodded. “I guess if you’re undocumented, you’ll take whatever you can get in the way of housing and don’t fuss much with a landlord.”

“You’re probably right.” Peyton knocked at the door, reaching for her badge. “‘Suppose we’ll get any help then?”

“It’s iffy.”

A moment later, the door open and a young man in his mid-twenties peered through the crack. A chain kept the door from opening any farther. “Yes?”

Peyton showed her badge. “Mr. Chen? I’m with the San Francisco Police Department. This is my partner Inspector D’Angelo. We’d like to ask you some questions about Hui Bai.”

“Hold on.” He pushed the door shut and unhooked the chain, then he pulled it open again. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Inspector Brooks. Are you Gan Chen?”

“Yeah. You said you wanted to ask me about Hui Bai?”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“We’re investigating a murder and his death may be connected.”

“Murder? The police said he died of natural causes.”

“I know, I read their report. We think it might not have been as natural as they thought. Can we come in?”

Gan Chen considered what she told him for a moment, then he motioned them into his apartment. As Peyton stepped through, she was immediately confronted by a sofa. In fact, the entire interior of the place was covered with furniture. Sofas, chairs, tables of every variety, futons and even a narrow twin bed in the corner. A galley kitchen occupied the wall next to the door and wicker baskets blocked half of the entrance.

Gan stepped around Peyton and motioned to a sofa in the center of the room. “Excuse the mess. I live with my father and he likes to collect things.”

Peyton nodded. That she could see. Following him through the obstacle course of their studio apartment, Peyton made it to the couch and sat down, taking another look around. An entire collection of plant stands occupied the corner directly to her left and patio chairs were stacked up right next to them.

“Does he sell furniture?”

Gan Chen sat down on a futon across from her. “God, I wish.”

Peyton laughed.

Marco didn’t seem to know where to put his 6 foot 4 frame and he turned a semi-circle next to her. She patted the cushion beside her and he finally stepped over a number of wicker crates to get to her.

“According to the police report, you found Hui Bai.”

“Yes.”

A door behind them opened. Peyton looked over her shoulder to see an older Asian man coming out of a bathroom. He stopped and surveyed the scene, then quickly wound his way to his son, asking him questions in Chinese. The son answered.

The old man plopped himself on the futon beside him, giving Peyton a gap-toothed smile.

“This is my father, Shen.”

Shen Chen. Peyton reached for her notebook. “Do you mind if I take some notes?”

“That’s fine.”

She jotted their names down, then looked up. “Did you know Hui well?”

Gan gave her a wry smile. “We share a wall and the walls are thin. We knew him a bit too well.”

“Did you know he had a severe food allergy?”

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Tell me what you found when you went over there.”

“He was lying on the floor of the kitchen. I went over to him and he seemed to be struggling to breathe, his face horribly red. So I called 911.”

“And before they arrived, he stopped breathing?”

“I tried to do CPR. The paramedics got here in about 5 minutes and they took over, but I knew he was dead.”

“Did you find anything in the apartment? Any take-out boxes or containers?”

“I didn’t see anything. I found one of those epi pens next to him, but the cops said it was expired.”

“Was he here often?”

Gan gave a grunt. “He was here all the time. He’d go out for a few hours maybe, but then he’d be back in there. He was an artist, I think.”

“Yeah, he was. Did you ever see his work?”

“He had some of it up in his apartment. He was pretty good.”

“I know.”

Up until this point, the father hadn’t said anything. Suddenly he turned to his son and began talking. The son listened, then responded. The exchange went on for some time. Peyton watched them, then glanced at Marco. He nodded for her to interrupt them.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Chen?”

“He’s just asking why you’re here.”

“Did Hui Bai have any visitors?”

Gan rubbed the back of his neck. “Lately, he’s had one. I haven’t seen her, but I hear her.” He gave Peyton a significant look.

The father started talking again, tugging on his son’s arm.

“What did he say?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Anything you can tell us for our case would help us, Mr. Chen, even things that are embarrassing.”

“He said Hui Bai was a dog, always humping anything he could.”

Peyton and Marco couldn’t help but smile. “Anyone in particular?”

“Like I said, I heard them. I didn’t see them.”

“Can you ask your father?”

He began translating for his father and the father began an excited explanation, waving his arms and pointing repeatedly toward the apartment’s only window. When Peyton shifted to see where he was pointing, she noticed a small television sitting on a plant holder next to the twin bed. A shiver ran up her spine.

“He saw who the woman was, didn’t he?” she said, turning back around.

“That’s what he’s saying.”

“And she was on television?”

“Do you speak Chinese, Inspector?” Gan said with amusement.

“No, but I do speak human nature, Mr. Chen.” When he gave her a questioning look, she focused on his father. “Was the woman Hui Bai entertained on Food Battles?”

At the name, the father pointed at Peyton and gave her a huge smile.

*    *    *

By the time they debriefed Defino and placed a call to Detective Acosta in Miami, it was nearly six. Another Saturday, come and gone, and she was working. No wonder she would never have anyone significant in her life.

Detective Acosta, it turned out, wasn’t much better. She was also working, but they’d run up against a road block. They needed a warrant and judges in Florida weren’t any more likely to issue one on the weekend, unless it was an emergency, than they were in California.

So Marco and Peyton returned to her house on 19th. Maria was cooking and Jake was sitting on the barstools, watching her. They were sharing a bottle of wine.

Peyton dropped her keys and wallet on the sofa table, took off her gun and picked up Pickles for a cuddle, heading into the kitchen to get her and Marco a beer. Jake gave her a smile and nodded at the dog.

“He’s eaten and gone for his walk,” he said.

“Thank you.” Peyton set him on the ground and opened the refrigerator. Since Jake had moved in, he did a lot of Pickles’ care. He said he and Pickles were BFFs.

She grabbed the beers and passed one to her partner on the other side of the counter. She was actually a little surprised he’d come back with her. Usually he had something planned with his family or a date, but this was two nights in a row he was spending with her. Not that she was complaining. Until Alcatraz, her friendship with Marco had been one of the easiest and longest she’d ever had.

She glanced over at Maria. “What are you making?”

“My famous minestrone soup and a salad. You get too much take-out, Brooks. Your ass is gonna be as big as a...”

“Hippo?”

“Elephant.”

At least they were changing it up some. She leaned over the pot. It smelled good. “Minestrone’s vegetarian, right?”

“Well, mine definitely is. I figured you’d be coming back, Marco baby,” she said, giving him a smile over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he answered, saluting her with his beer.

“How the case going?” asked Jake.

Peyton took a seat at the counter between them. “Frustrating. I’m sure she killed Matt, but we just can’t prove it yet. I’m also fairly certain she offed Hui.”

“How you gonna prove that? The police ruled his death from natural causes.”

“I know, that’s where the frustration comes in.” She took a sip. “We need some way to tie her to both deaths. She was sleeping with Hui. We could get the neighbor to testify to that, but the old man who saw her doesn’t speak English.”

“Wait,” said Maria, looking over her shoulder as she stirred the pot. “I thought there were witnesses who vouched that she was in the kitchen the night Matt died.”

“There are. A lot of them.”

“Then how come you think she did it? How could she have done it?”

“Don’t you think it’s strange four people have died around that woman, Maria?”

“Strange, yes. Criminal, I’m not sure.”

“She has a point, Brooks,” said Marco with a sigh. He crossed his arms on the counter. “Neither one of us think she pulled the trigger with Matt and I think that’s the same problem the detective in Florida is having with Meilin’s parents. She probably didn’t pull that trigger either. At worst, she’s an accessory, not a murderer.”

“What about Hui?”

“How’re you gonna prove that?”

She twirled her beer on the counter. “I don’t know, but there has to be a link. There has to be evidence to connect her. She knew he was allergic to peanuts. If she knowingly gave them to him, that’s murder.”

“Adonis is right. How are you going to prove that?” asked Jake. “And what was her motive in killing him?”

“Let’s say he shot Matt.”

“Then Hui Bai is guilty of murder, not Meilin.”

“But what if he shot Matt because she asked him to do it? Then she eliminated Hui because he was going to tell someone what he did.”

Marco shook his head. “A jury’s really gonna have to stretch to convict her of that. Hui Bai was a grown man. Why the hell would he kill another man for her?”

“Because she’s manipulative. The minute she saw you, she went on the prowl.”

Marco rubbed the back of his neck. “You have a point. She sure tried to manipulate me that night that...” His voice caught and he shifted, looking down at the counter.

Peyton turned toward him and Jake leaned over so he could see him better.

“What did you say?” asked Peyton, feeling her stomach drop.

“It’s nothing.”

“Marco, what the hell happened with that woman?”

Maria turned around, staring at them.

“It was nothing.”

“What was nothing?”

He glanced at Jake and Maria. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

Peyton climbed off her barstool. “D’Angelo, you had damn well better tell me you didn’t sleep with that woman!” Her voice vibrated with rising fury.

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

“But what did you do?”

“Brooks, listen. It was nothing, all right?”

“Nothing. Nothing. What exactly was the nothing?”

He sighed. “She called me one night and told me someone tried to get into her hotel room. She begged me to come over.”

Jake made a strangled noise. Maria’s mouth dropped open.

“You didn’t go, did you?” demanded Peyton.

“Brooks...”

“Tell me you didn’t go.”

“I went, but nothing happened.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I know what you think. Because I can see by your look that you think something did.”

“Did anyone else go with you to her hotel room?”

“No.”

Peyton felt her rage almost slip her control. “No? No? You went alone and she made a pass at you, didn’t she?”

“Brooks.”

“Tell me!”

“Peyton, easy,” said Jake, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She moved out of his hold into the middle of the living room. “Easy? Do you know what you’ve done?” she said, turning on Marco. “You’ve compromised our case.”

“Nothing happened, Brooks.”

“Nothing had to happen. The minute we bring her in for questioning, she’s going to lawyer up and tell that lawyer you were in her hotel room by yourself.”

“And I’ll testify that nothing happened.”

“And what good do you think that’ll do, D’Angelo? A good lawyer will drag out every woman you’ve slept with over the years and just how is that going to look to a jury? When he’s done with you, who the hell do you think the jury’s going to believe?”

“Brooks,” he said, reaching out to her.

She swatted his hand away. “No. I can’t believe you did this.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing!” He rose to face her.

Placing her hands on her hips, she leveled a glare at him. “Really? Because if you really believe you didn’t do anything, why are you just telling me now? Why am I just now hearing about it?”

Marco didn’t answer, just gave her a pleading look.

Peyton felt like she was going to be ill. She clenched her fists at her side. What the hell had she just thought? That maybe they were getting back to normal. This latest omission of his felt like a slap in the face. And for the first time, as she stared into his blue eyes, she doubted him. She doubted his honesty. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he’d really slept with Meilin.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She was not going to cry in front of him, but just standing here with him, seeing the agonized look on his face, she couldn’t help it. She felt betrayed.

“Peyton?”

God, she’d always hated when he called her Peyton, but so much better to have him say it in anger or frustration, not pleading.

“No, not this time. This...” She pointed at him. “This I can’t forgive.” Turning, she hurried to her bedroom and slammed the door, pressing her back against it so he couldn’t follow her.

*    *    *

Marco didn’t know what to do. He heard the bedroom door slam, but the finality of it made it pretty clear she didn’t want to be disturbed. He looked over his shoulder at Maria, but she simply went and turned off the stove, moving past him toward the bedroom. Except for a reproachful look, she wouldn’t make eye contact.

He sure as shit didn’t need any condescension from Jake, so he walked to the front door and pulled it open. He was halfway down the stairs before he realized he couldn’t leave like this. Not with Peyton. He couldn’t leave and let this hang between them. He had to fix it. He had to make it all right.

But he didn’t know how.

Sinking down on the stairs, he braced his forearms on his thighs and stared at his hands. What the shit was he going to do about her? She was his partner, his best friend, but lately, he couldn’t get them back to the way it had been before Alcatraz.

The door opened at his back and he dared to hope it was her, but Jake stuck his head out. Turning back toward the street, he prayed the idiot would take the hint and leave him the hell alone. Pickles ran down the stairs and curled against his side. He stroked the little dog to comfort him, but felt his own back stiffen as Jake shut the door behind him and walked down the stairs, taking a seat.

He handed Marco a beer. He took it automatically, lifting it to his lips. He downed half the bottle, then closed his eyes and tried to still the wicked pounding of his heart. Peyton often got pissed at him, but he’d never seen such a look of pure disgust on her face before. It cut him to the core.

“You are a hot mess, Adonis, you know that?”

“I don’t need your shit right now, Ryder.”

“Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you need something. How about an observation?”

Marco didn’t answer.

“You haven’t been right since Alcatraz.”

“Why the hell does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true. Why don’t you stop denying it and just admit it?”

“I don’t feel like talking right now.”

“Then don’t talk. Listen. I get that you aren’t good at either one, but...”

Marco glared at him.

Jake laughed and took a drink. “Someone needs to be honest with you and despite what you think, I’m not really afraid of you, so I guess it falls to me.”

Marco tried to draw a calming breath, closing his eyes. “I swear to God, Ryder, you’re gonna make me shoot you someday.”

“No, you’re not. Because I know what’s wrong with you.”

Marco tightened his grip on his beer. “Really?”

Jake shifted, so he was facing him on the step. “Everything changed on Alcatraz.”

“No, it didn’t.” He knew he kept saying that same thing, but maybe if he said it enough, it would eventually be true.

“The hell it didn’t. On Alcatraz, you came face to face with what extremes you will go to in order to protect Peyton.”

“What?”

“You killed for her, Adonis, and suddenly you realized there is nothing you wouldn’t do to keep her safe.”

“She’s my partner.”

“Bull shit. It had nothing to do with her being your partner.”

“Ryder, I really...”

“Just shut up and listen.”

Marco felt certain he didn’t want to hear this. He could feel the knot in his gut tightening. If others were seeing things, what the hell was he going to do? He blamed the damn shrink. He’d caused this, not Alcatraz. He’d brought all this out in the open with his damn prying, prying at things that were better left buried deep, deep inside.

“You’re a coward, you know that?” said Jake.

Marco tried to ignore him.

“You think you’re protecting yourself by keeping everyone at arm’s length, even Peyton, but it doesn’t work. People get in no matter what we do to protect ourselves, they sneak in under the wall.”

“You’re blabbering.”

“I’m not and you know it. You thought you could make all these rules for yourself, set up all these boundaries, but once one came down, they all did. Now you cling to your last one - cops shouldn’t get married, shouldn’t have serious relationships, but then Alcatraz happened.”

Marco felt a cold sweat creep across his skin. “You aren’t making a damn bit of sense,” he growled.

Jake gave him a patient smile. It was all Marco could do not to pop him one. “I was scared to death when I first met Zoë. I knew right away that it was serious, that she wasn’t like anyone else I’d dated.”

“What the hell, Ryder!”

“Shut up and listen.”

Marco finished his beer and stroked Pickles to calm the raging panic rising inside of him.

“We got four years, Adonis. Four years. God, do you know how freakin’ short that is, how quickly it goes? And then she was gone. I lost her.”

Marco looked at him over his shoulder.

“Here’s the thing. Even knowing what I know, even knowing how it ends, I’d do it again. I’d take those four years without a bit of hesitation.” He leaned toward him. “If you’re very, very freakin’ lucky, you get that. Maybe once. Maybe one time in your entire life.”

Marco looked back at the street, his hand tightening on the beer until his knuckles went white. “Here’s the problem, Ryder. I’m not you and Peyton sure as hell isn’t Zoë.”

“Really? You’re gonna keep saying this bullshit that even you don’t believe?”

“There’s nothing to believe. There’s just this. We are what we are and what we are is all we’ll ever be.”

“She’s your best friend...”

“Exactly. Which is why you sure as shit won’t say a word of this foolishness to her, do you hear me?”

“How can you just pretend that’s all there is?”

Marco whirled on him, startling the dog. “Because that is all there is. Shit, Ryder, you’ve seen too many romantic comedies. This doesn’t end happy, this doesn’t end with love songs and happily ever after wedding bells.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all you feel – friendship. Look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing more.”

Marco met his gaze. “I’m telling you there can’t be more.”

“Why?”

“Because!” He closed his eyes, fighting for control. “We’re partners, Ryder.”

“You don’t have to be. You can change that.”

“And then what? What happens the next time someone points a gun at her, Ryder? What then? Just who do you want to be there beside her when that happens? Tell me!”

“You.” He exhaled and looked out at the street. “Maybe we can get her to quit.”

Marco made a choking laugh. “I wish you luck tackling that conversation with her. You really don’t value your balls, do you?” He shook his head. “Let it go. It is what it is.”

“What it is sucks. How can you stand it?”

“I don’t have a damn bit of choice and neither do you. This conversation never gets back to her. Never, Ryder. Swear to me.”

Jake didn’t immediately answer.

Marco stood and braced his leg on the stair, looking Jake directly in the eyes. “Don’t make me beg, Ryder. She can’t ever know we had this conversation.” If Jake didn’t promise him, he didn’t know what he’d do. He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t compromise their partnership. It was all he had.

“I hate this, D’Angelo.”

“I don’t care.”

“Talk to her. She has a right to make her own decisions.”

Marco reached down and scratched Pickles’ ear. “She already has.”

“How? When?”

Marco looked up, meeting his gaze. “Twice now, she’s told me that her job is the only thing that matters to her, the only thing she values and she will never give it up.”

“But she didn’t know what she was giving up.”

“And she never will. Swear to me, Jake. Please don’t make me beg.”

Jake’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “I hate this.”

Marco didn’t answer.

He sighed heavily. “I swear, Adonis. Okay, God dammit, I swear.”

CHAPTER 13

Gabby sat down at the table in her kitchen and looked out at her garden. Picking up her coffee cup, she took a sip. She loved her garden. Besides her job, she spent most of her time out there. After Sam died, she’d felt so lost and alone. The garden had been her only solace.

He’d always complained about the time she spent weeding and pruning and planting, but whenever she’d wanted to find him, that was where he’d been. After his illness, after the months of chemo and radiation and then the wasting away, this was the place where she felt him still.

And this was when she missed him most of all.

She threw herself into her work. Cold Case was so good for that. Cold Case allowed her to spend hours researching cases that others had given up on. Cold Case allowed her to fill the empty hours without Sam.

But sometimes, like with this case, she wondered how much longer she could do it. She was looking at the back side of 40 now. Too damn old to change careers, but too damn young to have nothing else in her life but a job.

She and Sam used to talk of all the places they would travel when they retired. He’d had a dream to move to the south of France. She liked the idea of Hawaii, instead, but she’d never discouraged his dream. She figured he was too practical to spend the money on an extravagance like a villa in a foreign country, so they’d sat in their kitchen, sipping coffee and dreaming things that would never be.

Her cell phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts, and she picked it up. Billy’s name flashed across the screen. For a second, just a second, she thought to ignore it, but then she thumbed it on.

“Hey, Pup,” she said, smiling despite herself.

“Gabs, how ‘bout I come over for coffee?”

“Not for a moment. Why are you bothering me on my beautiful Sunday?” She could almost see his phony pout.

“What do you want more than anything right now?”

“A peaceful Sunday to drink coffee and take a nap.”

“Really? That’s what you want?”

Gabby set down her coffee cup. “You got the warrant for the Sandersons’ house?”

“I got the warrant for the Sandersons’ house.”

“How?”

“I put a call into Judge Janice Halloway and explained how important it was that we took a look inside that house before twenty-year old evidence is finally covered up.”

“You charmed her?”

“I charmed the robe off her, Gabs. How much do you love me now?”

“Quite a bit. Quite a damn bit, kid.”

“Meet you there.”

“In half a shake.”

“Awesome.”

When he hung up, Gabby grabbed a quick shower and got in her car. She couldn’t deny that the rush of excitement she always felt at such moments was intoxicating and probably the reason she continued to do this job.

Billy was parked across the street with a uniform when she arrived. He climbed out before she put the car in park, waving the warrant in the air. She took it from him and read it, then she gave him the high-five he so desperately wanted.

“You did good, Pup.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Before they crossed the street, Mr. Sanderson was standing on his porch. “I hate the idea of suing the police, waste of taxpayer dollars, but you’re making me get over that aversion but quick, Detective Lucott.”

“I’m sorry about that, sir,” said Billy, “but we got us a warrant.” He pointed at the paper in Gabby’s hand.

Sanderson’s face blanched, then he held out his hand, demanding it. Gabby climbed the stairs and gave it to him, feeling a small bit of triumph as he read it. He looked up at Billy, then at the uniform, passing the paper back to her.

“Why don’t you take a seat inside, Mr. Sanderson, and Officer Dent here will keep you company,” said Billy, motioning the uniform to escort Sanderson into the house.

When they entered, they found Andrea Sanderson coming down the stairs. Her husband gave her a withering look as he passed.

“What’s going on?”

“We have a warrant, ma’am,” said Gabby, showing it to her.

She stared at the paper for so long, Gabby felt certain she wasn’t reading it, just holding on to the last of her son. She sank down on the stairs and as Gabby reached for the warrant, she made eye contact.

“Grant’s room is the third one down the hall on the right.”

“Thank you,” said Gabby, motioning Billy up the stairs. “Why don’t you go sit with your husband?”

Andrea grabbed Gabby’s hand. “He was a good boy.”

“I’m sure he was, ma’am.”

“He was such a good boy until she came along.”

“Lily?”

Andrea nodded. “He would never have done anything except for her.”

Gabby helped the woman to her feet. “Go sit with your husband, ma’am.”

Andrea Sanderson wandered off, her steps labored, her shoulders rounded like the weight of the world rested on them.

Gabby hurried up the stairs and found Billy in the third room down the hall. She stopped in the entrance, transfixed. She’d seen this before, many times. Parents who lost children made a time capsule out of their rooms as if as long as they preserved their child’s exact environment, they might be able to hold onto him or her just a bit longer, but there was something terrible about it – the grief, the agony seemed to lay over everything, trapping it inside.

Billy pointed to a row of trophies and basketball teamshots. Gabby walked over to them and picked out the smiling blond boy with the lanky build. Reaching for the top drawer on the dresser, she found it filled with boxer shorts. Carefully searching through them, she tried to put them back exactly as she’d found them.

Billy was searching through the drawers on Grant’s desk, so she finished the dresser, then moved to the closet. Here she hesitated. Grant had hung himself in this closet and something about it made her feel the full weight of the tragedy. A life ended too soon, a young man who felt the only answer to his problems came with ending them.

She opened the accordion door and stared at the clothes. A spot had been cleared on the wooden dowel where she presumed he’d tied the noose. Pushing the clothes aside, she searched the bottom of the closet, then the top shelf, but she found nothing.

“I’m not finding a damn thing, Gabs,” said Billy.

“Keep looking,” she urged, her eyes drawn back to that cleared section of dowel.

In order to get tension on the noose, Grant had to kneel in the closet. He’d gone inside, placed the noose over his head, and then let his legs go slack. Stepping into the closet, she stood in the exact spot he probably had, facing the back of the closet.

But would he face the back? Would he want that to be his last sight? She turned around and looked out at the room, saw all of the familiar things he would have seen – his trophies, his team photographs, his bed and desk and dresser, the pennant from the Florida Gators. Except he wouldn’t have been standing fully. She lowered herself into a crouch, staring out at Billy as he went through the dead boy’s desk. How much despair had he felt? How much fear and hopelessness?

The sadness of it, the loss, overwhelmed her and she closed her eyes, bracing her forehead with her hand. When she opened her eyes again, she went still. Grant had drawn something on the wall next to the door in black permanent marker. She tilted her head and squinted at it. It looked like a tree and in the tree was some structure. Reaching out her hand, she traced the crude lines.

“Billy?”

He came over to her. “Find something?”

She pointed to the drawing. “Look at this.”

He leaned in. “Holy shit!”

“What do you make of that?”

He looked up at her, smiling. “It’s a treasure map, Gabs.”

Gabby rose to her feet and left the closet, going directly to the window behind Grant’s bed.

Pulling back the navy blue curtains, she stared out at the Sandersons’ backyard. There right in front of her was a massive tree and built into the branches of the tree was a treehouse. She whirled to Billy, pointing.

Without a word, the two of them hurried out the door and down the stairs. The Sandersons looked up as they passed them, headed for the French doors off the kitchen. They nearly ran as they made their way across the yard to the tree. A number of boards had been nailed into the trunk to make ladder rungs, but the first one shifted when Billy grabbed it.

“I think you’re gonna have to go up,” he said, “I’m too heavy.”

She took a deep breath and stared up at the rickety wooden boards that made the treehouse floor. No one had likely been up here in twenty years. It was probably rotten and unstable, but what choice did she have?

Taking a deep breath, she began climbing. The trapdoor stuck as she tried to open it, but putting her shoulder to it, she got it to creak open. Again, she hesitated before hoisting herself onto the floor of the treehouse. The boards moaned beneath her feet, but sunlight filtered through the branches, illuminating the narrow space. Directly in front of her was a plastic fishing box.

She grabbed rubber gloves out of her pocket and pulled them on, then reached for the box and dragged it across the floor to her. Unhooking the buckles, she carefully lifted the lid.

Sitting in the bottom of the box on a stack of letters was a gun – a Colt M1911.

“What’s going on, Gabby?” called Billy.

Gabby looked down through the trapdoor. “How much do you love me?” she said with a smile.

*    *    *

When in doubt, jog it out! That was Peyton’s usual mode of dealing with difficult things. Go jogging and sure as shooting, a solution would present itself. She tied up her curls in a band and put on her favorite running shoes, then she left the house. Usually she told Jake when she was going, but this time, she’d just gone, needing the time alone to sort through the anger and betrayal she felt toward Marco.

He’d probably destroyed any chance they had to get a conviction on Meilin Fan now. Not that the case had been strong before. It was mostly circumstantial and if there was one thing juries hated, it was convicting people of murder without irrefutable evidence.

Worst of all, though, was the fact that he’d gone to Meilin’s hotel room without telling her. She would never approve of the number of women he casually bedded, but he’d never dallied with a witness or a suspect before. And the doubt that he was lying to her about what really happened with Meilin made her ache inside. No matter what happened between her and Marco, she always believed him, trusted him, knew he would never lie to her. That was no longer true.

She jogged down the steps of her house and turned up the street. She liked to jog toward Golden Gate Park and sometimes if she was really angry, she actually made it to the park and ran along the trails under the trees.

Usually when she ran, she could clear her head or worry the problem until she found a solution. Today, however, she didn’t think that was going to happen. This wasn’t a problem she could fix and Marco was too integral to her life to clear him from her head. In fact, the emotions last night created weren’t worry or anxiety or even really, anger. It was hurt, plain and simple. Gut deep, wrenching hurt.

He’d tried to talk to her through her bedroom door. Maria had even pleaded his case for him, but Peyton just couldn’t let this one slide. Not this time. Surprisingly, Jake stayed out of it, which was unusual because Jake rarely stayed out of anything. Peyton hadn’t budged. In the end, Marco left and Maria went to bed on the couch. Peyton had tried to sleep, but that hadn’t come easily.

The morning fog swirled around her, dusting her hair with prismatic drops of dew. She tried concentrating on her feet, feeling the pavement beneath them, listen to the rush of the cars on the road. She modulated her breathing, forcing herself to fill her lungs and exhale completely before drawing another breath.

Staring at her shoes, she noticed the left one was coming untied. Slowing to a stop, she braced her foot on the planter bed before one of the houses, bending over to tie it. She was barely winded, a fine sheen of perspiration beading on her forehead and the line of skin exposed by her tank top.

“Well, if it isn’t the miniature pig out running without her back-up. Where’s your Italian thug, bitch?”

Peyton straightened, looking toward the street. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the boxy Buick and the man sitting on top of the hood, his arms crossed on his knee. Junior Walker. She would never forget that bastard with his cruel mouth and close-set eyes.

“You really don’t want to do this, Junior,” she said, putting as much venom into her words as she could, but she couldn’t deny the flutter of anxiety in her gut. And here she was without her gun or cell phone.

“Oh, I think I really do. I owe you one.” He slid off the hood and stepped up on the sidewalk. “I never got to show you all of my moves.”

Peyton wasn’t going to bother with talking to the bastard. God, Maria had been right about needing a self-defense class as long as this bastard was still breathing.

“You really should be more careful, pig. You jog the same way every freakin’ day at the same time. You’re too easy to spot.”

She moved to the center of the sidewalk, balancing herself with her feet shoulder distance apart. It wouldn’t do her any good to run. Not with a bastard like Junior Walker. He’d be on her before she made a block. And screaming was out of the question. She was not going to give him that satisfaction.

She judged the difference in their sizes, his greater weight, and the length of his reach. She might be quicker, but that was about all she had. She figured she had one chance to take him out and if she didn’t take it the moment he struck, she wouldn’t get another.

He feinted at her, dancing forward and back. She didn’t take the bait. One chance, one hope of disabling him. He came at her again, aiming a kick at her head. She deflected it with both hands, smacking his leg away. Pivoting he came back at her with his other foot, but she stepped into this, letting his blow slam her on the shoulder and upper back. At the same time, she kicked out with her own foot, but she aimed it at the knee that held him, slamming her entire weight into it. His knee gave and he landed on his hip with a shocked gasp.

She didn’t wait, but struck with the heel of her palm, slamming it into his throat just below his chin. He toppled over backward, grabbing his throat with both hands and gagging for air. For good measure, she aimed her next kick between his legs, then she pressed her foot into the center of his chest as he writhed on the sidewalk.

A door opened on the house with planter beds and she looked up to see a teenager peering out at her with wide, frightened eyes.

“Call 911!” she shouted at him, waiting until he disappeared from view, then she leaned over Junior just enough to deliver another blow if he tried anything. “Hey, asshole, you have the right to remain silent,” she said.

*    *    *

Marco saw her the moment he entered the precinct. She wore a running tank top and shorts, her curls pulled up in a ponytail, hanging down her back. She was leaning on Maria’s desk with Smith, Holmes and Bartlet around her, holding a bag of ice to her right hand. Defino was standing in front of her, listening as she told them what happened.

He took a deep breath, trying to still the panic inside of him. The entire ride over he’d gripped the wheel so hard, he had red streaks on his palms. Jake’s call had been vague. Peyton had been attacked on her morning run. She was at the precinct, but she didn’t have her cell phone, so he hadn’t been able to get a hold of her. At her request, one of the responding officers had called to tell Jake what happened and he was himself on the way down to the precinct.

Peyton glanced over at him, but looked away, focusing on the captain again.

“You should have seen him, Captain,” said Bartlet with a laugh. “Poor bastard couldn’t walk.”

“Or hardly breathe,” said Holmes, patting her back.

She smiled at him, then shot a look at Marco.

Marco pushed open the half-door and crossed to her, taking her hand and pulling the ice away. Her palm was swollen and red. “Is anything broken?”

“No,” she said, tugging away from him and putting the ice back on.

“It was Junior Walker?” he demanded.

“Yeah.”

“How did he know where to find you?” asked Defino.

“He said he’s been watching the house and he knew when and where I jog every day.”

“He’s been watching you?” Marco couldn’t help the edge in his voice.

She gave him a glare. “Yeah. Actually, he’s probably been watching Maria.”

“That’s just frickin’ great.”

“She took care of him,” said Smith, drawing laughter from Holmes and Bartlet.

Marco ignored them. “And you didn’t have your gun, did you?”

“No, I don’t take my gun to go jogging.”

“Where is Walker now?” asked Defino.

“Uniforms took him to lock-up. Hopefully, the judge will raise the bail and he won’t be able to get out.”

“And if he does? Seems like you need someone watching your house until he’s finally convicted,” said Marco.

“I’m not having anyone sitting outside of my house for the likes of Junior Walker,” she answered, dumping the ice on Maria’s desk.

“What if it turns out differently next time, Brooks? What if he’s ready for you? What if he has a gun?”

“What the hell do you want me to say, D’Angelo?” She pushed past him and stopped beside Defino.

“Maybe you should stop taking in every stray that comes along.”

Holmes whistled and Smith looked away, scratching the back of his neck.

“Be careful, D’Angelo,” said Defino in warning. “Maria isn’t any stray.”

“She has an ex-murder suspect living in her house, Captain, and a few months ago she brought home a hooker. Remember how that one ended, Brooks?”

“And yet I somehow manage to keep my objectivity and have never once compromised one of my cases, have I, D’Angelo?”

“Okay, both of you,” began Defino.

“That’s because I stop you from doing as many stupid things as I can.”

“Whoa!” said Holmes, holding up his hands.

Peyton glanced at them. “Really? Seems to me you have an entire repertoire of stupid things you do.”

“Brooks, D’Angelo, my office now!” Defino shouted, heading toward her door.

Marco didn’t move. Neither did Peyton. It was the first time either of them had ever disobeyed such a command.

He stared into her eyes and realized he couldn’t keep doing this, pretending these close calls were acceptable. “I want you to quit.”

Silence fell like a blanket over the room.

No one moved.

Then Peyton blinked rapidly a few times. “Come again?”

“I want you to quit this job. You’re going to get yourself killed and I can’t stand watching it.”

“You hypocritical bastard...”

“Okay, that’s enough,” said Smith, stepping forward and putting an arm around her shoulders. “Neither one of you better say anything else.”

“Exactly,” said Defino, moving toward them. She gave Marco a serious glare. “D’Angelo, I want you to go home.”

“What?” He whirled on her.

“I want you to take a few days off.”

“I don’t need time off.”

“Yes, you do and you will take it. I’m not kidding right now. I want you to go home.”

“Captain?”

“Marco, go. Take a few days, get out of the City. You and I will meet with each other on Thursday first thing in the morning.”

He gaped at her, unable to believe what she was saying. He turned to Peyton, but she lowered her eyes, refusing to look at him. God damn it, what the hell was happening? Why was everyone behaving like he was doing something wrong?

He blindly turned for the half-door and threw it open, but when he got to the outer door, he came up short. Jake had arrived and pulled the door open. He took in the scene, then gave Marco a questioning look.

Marco didn’t know what the hell he wanted him to say. He’d taken Jake’s freakin’ advice and told her what he wanted, now he was the one being punished. Shoving Jake out of the way, he went out the door and walked to the Charger without even knowing where he intended to go.

*    *    *

Peyton didn’t move as she watched Marco stalk to the Charger and climb inside, slamming the door behind him. The tires squealed as he pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared from sight. His loss of control scared her. So did the words he’d said just before everything went to hell. I want you to quit.

It was one thing to ignore Jake or her mother when they demanded it. She hadn’t even really given it much thought when Vinnie, Marco’s brother, asked her to quit, but Marco...Marco was another matter entirely.

“Brooks, my office,” said Defino, “and you had better not make me ask again.”

Peyton turned and walked into the dark space, ignoring the looks from the men. She slumped into the chair before Defino’s desk and sat staring at the glass top, unable to process what she’d just heard.

“What the hell is going on?”

Peyton shook her head, forcing herself to look her captain in the eye. “I don’t know. Things were starting to smooth out between us, then...” She caught herself. She just couldn’t betray Marco by telling Defino what happened with Meilin. No matter what, she would never betray him.

As if she read her mind, Defino crossed her arms on her desk. “What did you mean about compromising a case? Has Marco compromised this case?”

“No,” she said, but she said it too quickly.

Defino glared at her. “Brooks.” The warning was implicit. “Don’t shit me. Before I had this job, do you know what I did?”

Peyton hadn’t ever given it much thought. “I’m guessing it wasn’t telemarketing.”

“Telemarketing?”

“I was gonna say pole dancing, but I figured I was already in enough trouble.”

Defino drew a deep breath. “Brooks, you are a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No wonder Marco gets so pissed at you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I was a detective before I became captain.”

Peyton nodded. “That makes more sense than pole dancing.”

“Brooks!”

“Sorry.” She held up a hand. “It’s been a stressful day.”

“Did Marco compromise the Meilin Fan case?” Before she could speak, Defino pointed a finger at her. “Do not lie to me.”

Peyton felt caught. How did she answer without selling Marco out and yet still not lie to her captain? “I don’t believe he did.”

“But?”

“She called him over to her hotel room.”

“And he went?”

“Yes.”

“By himself?”

“Yes.”

Defino turned and looked out her window, or rather, looked at the blinds covering her window. If this were Peyton’s office, the first thing she’d do would be to pull the damn things down and throw them away. She liked natural light and lots of it.

“A good defense lawyer will use that against us.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She turned back to Peyton. “So how do we minimize the damage of this?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out, Captain.”

“Damn it. He knew better. He told me himself how manipulative that woman is.” She shook her head. “He’s not thinking straight.”

Peyton chewed on her bottom lip. This was the very thing she feared Defino would see. “It was a mistake, Captain. That’s all.”

“Marco doesn’t make mistakes like this.”

“We’re all under stress with the serial killer case. It won’t happen again.”

The look Defino leveled on her made Peyton want to squirm. “Sometimes, Brooks, things get broken and can’t be fixed.”

She wasn’t sure what Defino meant, but it made her stomach drop. “Captain?”

“You and Marco have been partners for a long time. You’ve been a top notch team, but even the best teams go through rough patches. And the truth is, a lot of times, something happens to shift the dynamics of a team and they can never get back on track again.” She drummed her fingers on her desk, as if this conversation was as hard for her as it was for Peyton. “When that happens, it’s best for all parties involved to make a change.”

Make a change? Her heart felt like it was pounding in her throat. “We don’t need to make any changes, Captain. We aren’t going through a rough patch. It’s more of a speed bump.”

“Brooks...”

Peyton slid forward in the chair. “Captain, please. You’ve always trusted me to be honest with you, to be a professional. Trust me now.”

Defino studied her intently. “I don’t think you realize how serious this is.”

“Believe me, Captain, I do.”

“If one of you isn’t in the best frame of mind, it could be dangerous. More than dangerous, it could be fatal. It’s my job to put the best teams out there on the street.”

“And you are, Captain. I swear it.” Peyton placed her hand over her heart. “No matter what happened out there in the precinct, Captain, when I think of who I trust to be there if I need him, the only person that comes to mind is Marco D’Angelo. I swear to you. And believe me when I tell you that if I had any doubts, any concerns at all about his ability to do his job, I would tell you. I’m not about to risk my life like that.”

Defino continued to study her, but eventually she gave a short nod. “You’d better come up with something for the Meilin Fan case and it better be good, because we need a win right now.”

“I hear you, Captain. Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something.”

“You’d better.”

Peyton nodded and rose to her feet, hurrying to the door and pulling it open. She didn’t want to give Defino a moment to reconsider.

*    *    *

Peyton climbed out of the shower and quickly toweled off, then wrapped the towel around her hair. Walking into her bedroom, she noticed her phone was vibrating on the nightstand by her bed. Scrambling around the end of it, she snatched the phone off the stand, thumbing it on, hoping it was Marco trying to reach her.

A text message from her mother blinked on the screen. What fresh hell was this? she thought, pressing it.

Come to dinner at 6:00. Cliff and I really want to see you.

She looked at the clock beside her bed. 5:00PM. Damn, just enough time to make it.  She could lie and pretend she didn’t get the message, but she would know that she’d lied to her own mother. She texted back, I’ll be there and went into the bathroom to comb out her tangle of curls.

Maria was putting on high heels when she came out of her room.

“Where are you going?” she asked, although she felt she probably knew.

“Nathan’s taking me to dinner.”

“Two dates in three nights. Hm.”

“At least I have a date.” Taking in Peyton’s loose hair and little bit of eye make-up, she frowned. “Where are you off to?”

“My mother’s.”

Jake came down the hallway holding Pickles. “Know where I’m going? My room to eat a TV dinner by myself.”

“You have Pickles, and there’s more of my minestrone in the refrigerator,” said Maria.

Jake lifted Pickles to look in his face. “How about it, pal, let’s get crazy and have a bowl of minestrone. No, wait, let’s get downright wild and eat the minestrone out of a coffee mug!”

Peyton smiled as he carried the little dog into the kitchen. She’d thought to ask him if he wanted to come with her, but she feared that would only fuel her mother’s mad scheme that she and Jake should be a couple.

Walking to the sofa table, she grabbed her wallet and keys. “I shouldn’t be too late,” she called into him.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said, leaning on the counter.

She nodded and turned for the door, but she came to a halt as she saw her gun hanging from the peg. She’d never carried her gun to her mother’s house before, but the events of the day left her a little shaken.

“You okay?” said Maria behind her.

Peyton nodded and reached for the doorknob, determined that she wasn’t going to live in fear, no matter what happened.

The drive to her mother’s house gave her time to worry over everything – the case, her mother’s boyfriend, Junior Walker, and most importantly Marco. Defino’s comment about making a change scared her to no end. She just couldn’t envision doing this job with anyone else. She didn’t want to do this job with anyone else. Marco was and would always be her partner.

Parking in the driveway next to Cliff’s Ford F150, she set the brake and climbed out, walking to the front door. She pressed the doorbell and waited, staring out at the street that had been her home growing up.

Alice Brooks answered. “What are you doing ringing the bell, sweetheart? This is still your house.”

It wasn’t, but Peyton didn’t feel she needed to tell her that. “I didn’t want to scare you,” she answered instead.

Alice hugged her and for a moment, Peyton laid her head on her mother’s shoulder, enjoying her familiar smell and touch. Sometimes there just wasn’t anything as good as a mother’s embrace.

“There she is,” came a loud, male voice. “I can’t believe you came. It’s been so long I figured you’d gotten knocked up and were afraid to show yourself around here.”

“Cliff!” said Alice in shock.

Peyton released her mother and forced a smile for him. “Nice to see you too, Cliff.”

Instead of hugging her, a fact that made Peyton immensely grateful, he socked her in the shoulder. The same shoulder that had taken the brunt of Junior Walker’s kick. Peyton fought a grimace, not willing to show him any weakness.

“Cliff, knock it off,” said her mother, swatting at him. “You don’t punch girls.”

Peyton sighed. God, it was going to be the longest freakin’ night of her life.

“Come on,” said Alice, putting her arm around Peyton’s shoulders, “I made your favorite – beefaroni.”

Her favorite when she was ten.

“How ‘bout a shot of tequila?” said Cliff, following behind them.

“I’m driving, Cliff,” she said.

“So? You’re a cop, right? All you gotta do is show your badge and you can do whatever the hell you want, right?”

“Wrong,” said Peyton, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“The hell it doesn’t. I know all about the Blue Wall.”

Peyton sighed. “I’m sure you do.”

“Damn straight. So tell me about this serial killer case.”

The rest of the evening passed like molasses through a sieve. Alice tried to draw Peyton out, but the minute Peyton tried to answer her mother honestly, Cliff would make some comment that set her back on her heels. And the things the man thought were acceptable conversations – whether she’d ever thought of using a straightener on her hair like some black women did, whether she thought the government was listening to his cell phone calls, whether she was a lesbian because damn girl, you ain’t never bringing no boy to the house. And her favorite of all, whether she could talk to that Jew parking cop Officer Adelstein about taking care of (wink, wink) his latest parking ticket.

Alice walked her to the door and kissed her on the forehead like she had when she was a little girl. “I’m glad you came,” she said, smiling at her. Glancing over her shoulder, she whispered, “He’s really a good guy, Peyton. You just gotta get to know him. He’s all piss and vinegar, but he’s a good, solid chap.”

Piss and vinegar? Who the hell made a diet of such things, but instead, she just smiled at her mother and kissed her cheek. “All that matters is that he makes you happy, Mom. The rest is just noise.”

Alice pulled her in for a hug. “I love you,” she said in Peyton’s ear, and Peyton again relished the rarity of the moment, then she gently pulled away.

“I’ll call you in a few days,” she said, walking down to her car and climbing inside.

She was surprised to find Marco sitting on her steps when she got back to her house.  Taking a seat beside him on the stairs, she let their shoulders touch.

“How was dinner?” he asked.

“Cliff is very educational,” she said, staring down at the traffic. “Did you know some black women use this relaxer shit to straighten their hair?”

“You’re kidding, and here most people are crazy for your curls.”

She leaned her head on her hand and looked up at him. “Jake tell you I was at dinner?”

“Yep.”

“But you figured you’d sit out here in the dark rather than wait inside?”

“Jake’s inside.”

Peyton smiled. “He isn’t that bad.”

“He’s just dandy when his mouth is shut. Problem is that don’t happen much.” He looked away from her, giving her a view of his nearly perfect profile. “Look, Brooks, I was out of line today.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I’m sorry. I had no business saying that.”

She drew a deep breath and held it. She wanted to tell him about Defino’s concern, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment, and the truth was, lately his moods were unpredictable.

He didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. “It’s just this thing with Junior Walker has me on edge and everything else that’s happened lately...”

“I know.”

He looked back at her. “You know I respect the hell out of you as a cop, right?”

“I know,” she repeated.

He nudged her shoulder with his. “Fact is, you’re a better cop than I am.”

“Now you’re just trying to win me over, D’Angelo.”

“Damn straight. Holmes told me what you did to Walker.”

She laughed, then shifted so she could lay her head on his shoulder. “Why does everything have to be so damn complicated now?”

He leaned his head against hers. “I don’t know, Brooks, I freakin’ don’t know.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “It makes me tired,” she said, trying to let the tension of the day slip away.

And sitting there in the dark with her partner, she almost achieved it.

CHAPTER 14

Gabby shoved her carry-on case into the trunk of the Magnum and passed Billy the keys. He spun them around on his finger, then caught them in his fist.

“Wish you’d let me go with you. Let me have a crack at that Witan bitch.”

Gabby gave him a patient smile as she walked around the car and climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Budget only allows for one plane ticket, pup,” she said as he slid behind the wheel. “If anyone’s going to ‘Frisco, it’s me.”

“They hate it when you call it that.”

“What?”

“‘Frisco. You better not let them hear you call it that. I think they take you out and toss you in their cold ass ocean. A Puerto Rican babe like you wouldn’t survive it.”

She gave him a glare. “Knock it off.”

He shrugged and started the car, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Why?”

“I’m your partner and I’m old enough to be your mother.”

He pulled into traffic. “Well, if you had me at 13 or something, yeah. If you let your hair grow, you wouldn’t be bad. You should get you a man.”

“Yeah, that’s what I need, all right. A man.”

“Or a woman. You could probably find one of them in ‘Frisco.”

Once again, he had Gabby smiling despite herself. “You better not go looking for trouble while I’m gone.”

“Me? Shit, girl. Trouble finds me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You got everything you need?”

Gabby held up the accordion file with the letters. “This and the gun should be enough.”

“Freaky ass shit, them letters.” He gave a shiver. “Too bad homeboy was so gullible.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

“What’s Sanderson going to do?”

“Couldn’t tell you. He dropped the talk about suing when we showed him the letters. Andrea Sanderson has me worried though. She looked sick last time we saw her, as if she couldn’t accept the truth.”

“She seemed to guess it before we found the gun.”

“Yeah, but I think she’s been living in denial all these years.”

“Twenty years is a long time to be in denial, Gabs.”

She shrugged, watching the palm trees swaying in the wind. “You do whatever you do to survive, even if it means pretending you don’t know what’s really going on.”

“Sounds like you got experience at that.”

She glanced over at him, realizing she’d never told him much about her life. She liked to keep the two separate, but Billy was becoming more than a partner. He was her friend. “My husband died three years ago of cancer. Neither one of us would admit he was dying until it actually happened. We didn’t make any plans, write a will, nothing.”

“What type of cancer?”

“Testicular.”

“Damn.”

“Yep.”

“Is that why...” His voice trailed off.

She leaned forward a little to see his face behind his dark sunglasses. “Why what?”

“Why you didn’t have kids?”

“Exactly. And that’s how they found it. We went through all these fertility tests. We wanted a baby and we got cancer.”

“Shit, Gabs, that’s a bitch.”

She smiled at him. “It was a bitch.”

“You still miss him?”

“Yep.”

He drummed his hands on the steering wheel. “Don’t get a man. Get a dog.”

She thought about that one for a minute. “A dog?”

“I like dogs.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Cats.”

She laughed. “Okay. When I get back, I’ll get a dog.”

“A police dog.”

“I was thinking more of a poodle.”

He looked over at her, horrified. “Oh, God no. Poodle? Shit, Gabs, that ain’t no dog. That’s a wool sweater that shits and yaps. Get a real dog. A butch ass German shepherd.”

“I don’t need a butch ass dog.”

“Tell you what,” he said, ignoring her. “While you’re gone, I’ll look for a German shepherd breeder and when you return, we’ll go pick out two puppies – brothers or something. Then we can take them to obedience school together.”

Gabby didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want a German shepherd and she definitely didn’t want a male one. Most importantly, she didn’t want to take the puppy to obedience school with Billy.

“Obedience school, huh?”

He grinned over at her. “Yep, and while we’re there, maybe I’ll pick up a pointer or two.”

And Gabby knew she was getting a German shepherd puppy whether she wanted one or not.

*    *    *

“Holy shit!” said Jake, staring at his newspaper.

Peyton paused in pouring a cup of coffee and looked over at him where he sat at her counter. “What? Giants lost again?’

He gave her a glare. “No, this.” He turned the paper around and pointed to an article on the back of the front page.

Peyton walked over to it, carrying her mug. The headline read San Francisco Police Detective Assaulted and the by-line read Genevieve Lake. Peyton set down the mug and grabbed the paper, reading it.

San Francisco police detective, Peyton Brooks, was attacked by an assailant during her morning run near 19th Avenue and Golden Gate Park. Brooks confronted the assailant and using her police training, disabled him until backup could arrive. The assailant, Junior Walker, is currently being held on charges of assaulting an officer. No bail has been set at this time. This is Walker’s second arrest for assaulting an officer.

“That bitch.”

“That’s not good, Mighty Mouse.”

“Ya think?” She slammed the paper on the counter. “Someone needs to send that bitch packing. Why the hell does she have it in for us?”

“She’s trying to make a name for herself.”

“Yeah, well, she’s gonna get someone killed.” She reached for her phone and thumbed it on, dialing.

“Who you calling?”

“Captain. She needs to know what’s going on.”

“What can you do about it?”

“I’m not sure.”

Jake suddenly reached into his own pocket and pulled out his phone. He pressed the display and looked at it. Peyton watched his face drain of color, then he set the phone on the counter. Hanging up on her own call, Peyton gave him a questioning look.

“Jake?”

He glanced up at her, then swallowed hard. “The jury’s back and they have a verdict. Court’s gonna convene in an hour.”

She reached across the counter and took his hand. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”

“I wish that were true, Peyton, but if they don’t convict her, I don’t think I can stand it.”

She took a sip from her coffee mug. “Let me tell Maria we’ll be late, and then I’ll go with you.”

He forced a smile. “I would appreciate that.”

She placed the mug in the sink and went into the hallway, knocking on the bathroom door. Getting ready in the morning was a major bit of road work for Maria. Peyton didn’t understand what the hell took so long – she looked much the same way going into the bathroom as coming out, but according to Maria, it was all necessary in the pursuit of physical perfection, and according to Maria, all the more reason why Peyton, herself, would never find a man.

“Verdicts in, Maria. Jake and I will be late.”

“Whatever. Don’t bother me when I’m waxing, Brooks – something you should consider doing for that mustache of yours.”

Peyton touched her upper lip. Mustache? What? Fighting the almost irresistible urge to run to her own bathroom, she returned to the living room after Jake. He was standing by the door with his camera case over his shoulder.

“Mustache?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “It’s not that noticeable, except in bright light.”

“What?”

He gave a strangled laugh. “I’m dying here, Peyton. Can we go?”

“Do I really have a mustache?” She reached for her gun and began strapping it on.

Jake shook his head. “No, you don’t have a mustache. Why do you let her make you so insecure? It’s annoying.”

“Now I’m hairy and annoying. So glad I gave you both a roof over your heads.”

Jake pulled open the door. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

“Someone?”

He sighed. “It takes a village, Mighty Mouse, it takes a damn village.”

*    *    *

Jake was beginning to hate the courthouse with a vehemence that he couldn’t put to words. No matter how many times he came into the building, he always felt like he was guilty of something. Just being there made him anxious and to know that the day was finally here, the day where he would learn whether his wife’s killer got what she deserved or went free made him feel physically sick.

Abe and Marco were waiting in the hall when they arrived. Jake couldn’t deny he was touched that they were there. Abe wore a perfectly tailored black suit, but his feet were covered in white snakeskin boots. Marco looked intimidating in a black leather jacket.

“I thought you were vegetarian?”

Abe rolled his eyes. “You can’t recognize pleather when you see it?”

Jake didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t really care. Mostly he was trying to make conversation so he didn’t vomit. Peyton placed her hand in the small of his back and directed him toward the courtroom.

“We can talk about fashion and grooming another time,” she said, reaching for the door.

“Who was talking about grooming?” asked Abe, falling into step behind her.

“Maria said I have a mustache.”

Abe and Marco exchanged a look, then they looked at Jake. Jake shrugged. “Every day it’s a new cat fight.” Peyton stopped and turned on him. He held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa! Don’t go all Junior Walker on me now.”

Surprisingly, that eased the tension and allowed him to enter the courtroom with something resembling dignity. However, the minute he and his entourage headed toward their seats, Claire shifted and gave him a venomous glare.

Jake stumbled to a halt.

Peyton’s hand returned to his back and she leaned close, the floral scent of her shampoo soothing him. “Ignore her,” she whispered. “She can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Claire’s attention shifted to her and if possible, the look she leveled on Peyton was even more poisonous.

Jake allowed Peyton to guide him to his seat. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared at the back of Devan’s coat, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart. Peyton reached over and placed her hand on his forearm, as if she knew he needed any sort of human contact right then.

The door behind the judge’s bench opened and the bailiff led the jury to their box. Jake watched each of them file in, marking that none of them made eye contact with Claire. Was that good? Had he heard something about that?

“Remain seated,” the bailiff said and moved back to stand by the judge’s chair.

The judge entered the room, sweeping his robes about him as he took his seat. Then he swiveled to face the jury. “Madam Foreperson,” he said, motioning with his hand.

A middle-aged woman rose to her feet. She lifted a pair of glasses and perched them on her nose. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Have you reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor.”

He swiveled back. “Will the defendant please rise?”

Claire and her two lawyers climbed to their feet.

“Read the verdict.”

The foreperson lifted a square of paper and held it before her face.

“On the count of murder in the first degree, how do you find?”

The foreperson finally made eye contact with Claire. Jake stopped breathing, his heart hammering so hard he felt sure everyone could hear it. Peyton’s fingers tightened on his arm and he covered them with his free hand, clinging to her.

“In the case of the State of California versus Claire Harper, we the jury find the defendant Claire Harper guilty of the offense of murder in the first degree.”

Blood roared in Jake’s ears and his vision swam. He dropped his head against his chest and closed his eyes. He could hear the judge talking, but he wasn’t sure what he said. He felt Peyton’s hand against the back of his neck, her cool touch grounding him, but he couldn’t seem to still the frantic pounding of his heart.

And despite his resolve not to let it happen, he felt tears burn behind his eyelids.

*    *   *

Peyton ran her hand across Jake’s shoulders, trying to calm him. She glanced over at Marco and gave him a smile. He nodded at her, then stood, leaning around Abe to whisper in her ear.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

She wanted to go out with him and talk to him, but Jake needed her right now. As Marco pulled away, she caught his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed her fingers in return, then turned away from her, walking from the courtroom without looking back.

Abe gave her a questioning look, but she ignored it. She didn’t feel like explaining things to him right now. For once, Abe let it go.

“Are you all right, Jake?” she said, leaning into him.

He nodded, but he still hadn’t opened his eyes. Peyton’s attention was snagged as the bailiff came toward Claire and turned her around so he could cuff her. She stared daggers at Peyton the entire time. Peyton couldn’t help but wonder if Claire understood the seriousness of her predicament. She seemed more angry than afraid. Peyton knew she herself would have been terrified.

Grabbing Claire’s shoulder, the bailiff turned her toward the exit and propelled her forward. Peyton watched her leave, then became aware that Devan was staring at her. She looked back at him.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

She nodded and leaned into Jake again. “Are you all right?”

He braced his head in his hands. “Just give me a moment, okay?”

“I’ll stay with him,” offered Abe.

Peyton rose and stepped into the aisle. Abe slid over into her seat, putting an arm around Jake’s shoulders and talking into his ear. As she walked up the aisle, she could see Jake’s shoulders begin to shake. She hoped he was laughing, not crying.

Once outside the courtroom, she turned and waited for Devan to step out. He opened the button on his jacket and put his hands in his pockets, studying her for a moment.

“I was out of line the other day when I asked you to dinner.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s over. Chalk it up to male stupidity.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a wry smile. “Just sometimes I wish I hadn’t been so hasty with our relationship.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Without you, I probably wouldn’t have gotten that conviction.”

She shifted weight uncomfortably. “Are you sure about this marriage?” When he started to answer, she held up her hand. “Understand where I’m coming from. I definitely think you and I didn’t work, but it just doesn’t seem like you’re very committed to this other relationship.”

He sighed. “I am when you’re not around. Whenever I see you, I second-guess myself. That’s why we’ve decided to put it off for a while, get to know each other better. Give me time to get over the memory of you and me together.”

“Did you tell her that’s what you wanted to do?”

“I did.” He shook his head. “She’s very understanding. That’s part of my problem, I think. I’ve always liked women who wouldn’t hesitate to hand me my balls if I got out of line.”

“Do you mean me?”

“Hey, I heard about Junior Walker.”

“Did everyone?”

“Holmes has a big mouth.”

Peyton smiled. “I hope you figure this thing out, Devan. I want you to be happy.”

“What about you, Peyton? What would make you happy?”

She thought about that one for a moment. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it probably doesn’t involve marriage. I think I’m married to my job.”

“As a San Francisco homicide detective? You should dream bigger.”

She shrugged. “That’s probably big enough.” Stepping forward, she went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

He brushed his cheek across her hair, then stepped away from her. “You shouldn’t tempt me, Peyton. I’m a weak man.”

She laughed and released him. “Point taken.” She started to go around him toward the courtroom, but stopped. “Hey, do you think I have a mustache?”

He gave her a bewildered look. “What?”

Waving him off, she pulled open the door. “Forget it,” she said, then stepped inside.

*    *    *

Abe set a shot of Jack Daniels in front of Jake. “Drink up,” he said.

Behind him, the Giants were playing on the big screen TV, the bay glistening in the background. The noise of people’s conversations competed to drown out the announcer on the television.

Maria and Nathan Cho sat on the other side of the table, both of them sipping red wine. Peyton had a mug of draft beer and she curled her hands around it, enjoying the chill against her palms.

A waitress came to the table and settled a fishbowl in front of Abe. Jake looked up at it, frowning. Inside was a blue drink with red Swedish fish floating around the top among the ice cubes.

“What the hell is that?” asked Maria.

“Fishbowl punch,” said Abe, pressing the straw between two elegant fingers and taking a sip.

“Fishbowl punch?” Cho said with a grimace.

Peyton didn’t bother to comment as Abe lifted his drink in the air. “To a resounding victory today,” he said.

Jake touched his glass to the fishbowl and then downed his shot.

Peyton nudged him with her foot. “You okay?”

He nodded. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“I know.”

“For so long I couldn’t wait to see Claire get what she deserves, but now that it’s over, I feel so empty.”

“Hollow victory,” said Cho.

“I don’t think she even understands what she did,” replied Peyton. “There didn’t seem to be any remorse or fear in her face. Just anger.”

“I know, but anger at who?”

“You...me. Anyone she thinks stopped her from what she wanted.”

“Regular sociopath, that bitch,” said Abe.

“You’d have to be. To kill the child you raised as your own,” said Maria.

“What about her husband’s death and Zoë’s biological mother?” asked Cho. “Are they trying her for those murders?”

“Devan felt this case was their best chance for a conviction,” said Jake, rolling the shot glass against his palm. “She should get enough years that she’ll never see the outside again. Unless she gets off on appeal.”

Peyton shook her head. “Devan’s too good for that. She won’t get off.”

Jake glanced between her and Abe. “Thank you both for being there today.”

Abe inclined his head. “Not a problem. I loved seeing that bitch get hers, even though I will say she has impeccable taste in clothes.”

Peyton touched Jake’s hand. “I wouldn’t have been any place else.”

He squeezed her hand in return, then released her.

Reaching for her phone, she looked to see if Marco had texted her. He’d told her they’d talk later, so she’d left him a message, asking him to meet them at Green’s Sports Bar on Polk, but he hadn’t responded yet.

“No message?” asked Jake, intuitively understanding what she was doing.

“Not from Marco.” She did have a message from Gabby Acosta, the Miami Detective, who’d arrived late in the afternoon. She was resting in her hotel room at the airport, but she wanted to know if Peyton would pick her up in the morning.

Peyton texted that she would, then on the pretense that she needed to update Marco on the case, she pressed his number and lifted the phone to her ear. Placing her finger in her other ear so she could hear, she waited for him to answer.

When it went to his voicemail, she decided not to leave another message and hung up.

“He’s probably just licking his wounds,” offered Jake.

“What’s going on?” asked Abe, nudging her with his shoulder.

“I can’t get a hold of Marco.”

“Why’s he licking his wounds?”

She glanced at Maria and Cho. She didn’t really want to talk with them there. Cho seemed to sense her reluctance.

“Let’s go order a pizza across the street,” he told Maria, then held out his hand to help her to her feet. Together they walked toward the door, his arm around her waist.

“They’re moving fast,” said Jake.

Peyton glanced after them, then met Abe’s questioning look.

“What’s going on with my Angel now?” he demanded.

“Defino made him take a few days off.”

“Why?”

She drew a deep breath. She hadn’t talked with Jake about what happened and she was afraid Marco’s comment about her quitting would only fuel him. “We got into a fight at the precinct after Junior Walker attacked me.”

“A fight about what?”

“He told her to quit.”

Abe whistled, lifting his drink and taking a sip.

“He took it back later,” she said defensively.

Abe didn’t respond.

“I don’t know what is wrong with him lately,” she told them, unable to keep the worry from her voice. “He’s angry all of the time. He criticizes everything I do. And we’ve never fought this much before.” She leaned forward on the table. “Has he said anything to either of you?”

Abe toyed with his straw. “You know I’d give anything for a private tete-a-tete with that gorgeous hunk of maleness.” He nudged Jake with his shoulder. “Get it.”

“Get what?”

“Tete-a-tete? Means private conversation.”

“I know what it means,” said Jake testily. “And I know what you mean. Everyone knows what you mean.”

Abe giggled and chewed on his straw.

“Abe?” Peyton pleaded.

He forced himself to focus on her. “He’s on edge, sweetie. Just give him a little space.”

“He’s on edge from what?”

“Everything. Alcatraz, his suspension, your run-in with that white trash Junior Walker. He’s just feeling stressed right now.”

“He’s never been like this before.” She turned to Jake. “Did he say anything to you?”

Jake’s eyes snapped to her face. “Me? Why would he say anything to me? He barely tolerates me as it is.”

“That’s true,” said Abe, taking a sip.

Jake frowned at him.

Peyton slumped back in her chair. She didn’t know what to do. If Marco wouldn’t talk to her and no one else knew what was going on, how was she going to get him to open up? Her phone vibrated on the table and she snatched it up, hoping, desperately, that it was him.

What do you want on your pizza? came the message from Maria. And don’t say pepperoni. You don’t need the fat or your ass will be as big as a whale’s.

Peyton sighed and texted back. Cheese and whale is just fine with me.

CHAPTER 15

Katherine Defino felt her stomach sink the moment she took the call. She couldn’t process what the other captain was telling her. After it was over, she sat, staring at her desk. Being a detective taught you to never doubt your instincts, so she’d gone with her instinct and hadn’t broken up her best detective team when she should have. She usually wasn’t wrong, not when she followed her own rules, but now she had to face the fact that her policy might be catching up with her, that she might have let her personal feelings cloud her judgment.

Worse still, she might have let personal feelings trump the advice of a trained professional when he told her she ought to split the team. The Chief was not going to look away at that. She might have cost herself her career, but worse still, if she had acted when she should have, she might have prevented a death.

Her hand went to the phone without realizing it and she pressed Maria’s button.

“Yes, Captain,” said her assistant, picking up immediately.

“Where’s Brooks?”

“She’s headed into interrogation with the detective from Miami. I think they’re waiting for you.”

“Tell Brooks to go ahead without me.” She drew a deep breath and released it, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Once you do that, tell Holmes and Bartlet to come here. I need them to do something for me.”

“Okay. Is everything all right, Captain?”

“Just tell Holmes and Bartlet to hustle.” Before Maria could answer, she hung up the phone. She would have to deal with telling Maria later. Right now she had bigger problems on her plate.

*    *    *

Peyton entered the interrogation room and set the file on the table. Meilin sat straight backed in the chair, her arms crossed, wearing a purple silk shirt and a pencil skirt with ridiculously high heels.

Peyton looked under the table at them. “Nice shoes. Bet those set you back a bit.”

“What is the meaning of this, Inspector Brooks? I have a business to run.” She cast a scathing look at Frank Smith.

So here was one man she hadn’t been able to flummox.

“I got this, Officer Smith,” Peyton told him.

“She’s all yours,” he said, giving her a wink as he walked to the door.

Peyton took a seat across from her. “Thank you for coming in.”

“What choice did I have? The goon squad were pretty adamant.”

“Yes, well, Officer Smith was just doing his job.”

“What job? Are you telling me you’ve found Matt’s killer?”

“As a matter of fact, we think we might have. We believe it was Hui Bai.”

“Hui Bai? The artist?” Meilin made a face. “Why would he kill Matt?”

Peyton tilted her head. “Why indeed? I figured you might know.”

“Me? Why would I know? I employed Hui to design my menus. I bought a few of his paintings. That’s all.”

“Did you buy those paintings with sex?”

“What? This is an outrage. Where is Captain Defino?”

“She’s busy with something else right now.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore. I want to go home.”

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to stay for a bit longer.” Peyton opened the file and took out a photo, sliding it across the table to Meilin. “Did you know Hui is dead?”

She glanced at it, then looked away. “Why are you showing me that?”

“That’s what a man looks like who dies from asphyxia. It’s gruesome, isn’t it?”

Meilin refused to answer.

“So I’ve been trying to piece this whole thing together, but I thought you might help me out a little.”

“I’ve said all I’m going to say.” She met Peyton’s gaze. “Do I need to get a lawyer, Inspector Brooks?”

“Do you need a lawyer, Ms. Fan?”

“It sure seems like you’re accusing me of something.”

Peyton held up a hand. “You know, you’re right. I am. I’m accusing you of murder.”

Meilin scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I was in the kitchen when Matt died. I have witnesses.”

“Right. You were. Actually, I’m accusing you of being an accessory to Matt’s murder. It’s Hui’s murder that I think you did yourself.” Peyton leaned forward. “You don’t like to do them yourself, do you? You like to have others do the dirty work?”

“That’s preposterous. Why would I kill Hui?”

“Near as I can figure, he freaked out after he shot Matt and wanted to go to the authorities, but you had to stop him, so you put peanuts in his regular take-out, knowing his epinephrine pens were all expired.”

“How would I know that?”

“You were sleeping with him. The neighbor saw you leaving his apartment after a rather noisy bout of sex.”

“You really think anyone is going to buy that ridiculous story.”

Peyton shrugged. “When they hear how you manipulated Hui into killing Matt, they might buy it.”

“Now that really is ridiculous.”

“Here’s how I see it. You brought Matt and his sick mother out here from New York. After all, you didn’t know anyone out here and he was familiar. However, once you got here, he wouldn’t get a real job, so he was a drain on you. You met Hui and he was easy to manipulate. He was undocumented, uncertain in a country where he didn’t speak the language very well, and struggling to make ends meet selling his art. You and he became involved and you told him things about Matt.”

“I told him things about Matt? Like what, Inspector?”

“That he beats you, forces you to have sex with him, things that would upset another lover.”

“Ridiculous. Where the hell are you getting this fantasy?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. Do you know what a psychopath is, Ms. Fan?”

“Of course. Someone who has no ability to feel for other people.”

“Exactly.” Peyton leaned on the table. “You, Ms. Fan, are a psychopath.”

“How?”

“You have absolutely no remorse for the way you manipulate people, get them to do your dirty work. You were tired of Matt, so you had him eliminated. Killing Hui was a necessity in your mind, so you took the situation into your own hands.”

Meilin gave Peyton a slow smile. “All of this is speculation, Inspector. I’ve yet to see a solid bit of evidence. There is no jury in California that would convict me.”

Peyton smiled in return. “I’m so glad you said that because you’re right. There’s no jury that would convict you in California, but lucky for us, we don’t have to rely on California at all.”

Meilin frowned. “What the hell do you mean?”

Peyton motioned behind her and the interrogation room door opened. “Let me introduce Detective Gabriela Acosta from the Miami Police Department.”

Gabby walked into the room, carrying an accordion file. “Nice to finally meet you, Lily,” she said, stopping beside Peyton.

Meilin’s face shifted from antagonistic to frightened in a split second. “What’s going on?”

“Detective Acosta works with Cold Cases, Meilin. Like the murder of your parents.”

“You are a very difficult woman to find. It was clever to use your own birth record to build you a new identity.”

Peyton looked up at Gabby. “That was something, wasn’t it?”

“Stroke of brilliance,” she agreed. Then she looked back at Meilin. “Not so brilliant? Going on a reality show where your grandmother and another person recognized you.”

“Actually, I like how that worked out. Vanity and greed combined to bring you down. It’s almost Greek in its elegance.”

Gabby nodded at Peyton. “It is, isn’t it?”

Meilin seemed to recover. “I found my parents. I was at the prom the night they died. You have no evidence that I was anywhere near them.”

“She has a point,” said Gabby.

“She does, except remember how you asked me where I’m...what was it you said, getting this fantasy? About your manipulation of men and the way you get them to do stupid, stupid things?”

Meilin didn’t answer.

“I figured that part out when I saw the letters Detective Acosta brought. Letters to poor Grant Sanderson, who killed himself for you. You told him your parents were abusing you, refusing you food if you didn’t study, locking you in your room and denying you the ability to go to the bathroom.” Peyton leaned forward. “Worse yet, that your father molested you.”

“And just exactly where are these letters?” said Meilin with a strange smile.

Gabby tossed the accordion file on the table. “Right here. We found them in Grant’s treehouse.”

When Meilin reached for them, Gabby placed her hand on the file and leaned on it, preventing her from taking them. “Know what else was there?”

Meilin’s eyes snapped up to meet hers.

“Your grandfather’s Colt M1911.”

Peyton made a tsking noise with her tongue. “Now, like I said, we probably won’t be able to get a conviction in California, but in Florida...”

Gabby leaned closer. “And we’re a capital punishment state. Welcome home, Lily.”

*    *    *

Panting to regain his spent breath, Marco wiped his face on the towel as he walked to the door and pulled it open. His muscles still felt fluid from his workout this morning. Something about lifting weights and running always helped him clear his head.

He was surprised to find Holmes and Bartlet standing on the other side. He wrapped the towel around his neck and backed up.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Holmes stepped inside, followed by Bartlet. He refused to make eye contact with Marco.

Marco wiped sweat from his neck as he studied the two of them. “What’s going on?”

“We need to bring you into the precinct,” said Holmes, finally looking at him.

“Why?”

Bartlet shifted weight, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Junior Walker was killed last night, Marco.”

“What?”

“He was shot in the back of the head, execution style,” said Holmes.

“I thought he was in jail.”

“He made bail. He was shot at his house.” Holmes drew a deep breath and released it. “We need your gun.”

Marco stared at them. For some reason, his brain wouldn’t process what they were telling him. “You need what?”

“Your gun, Marco. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

“Hold on.” He glanced between the two of them. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with this.”

Bartlet gave him a sad look.

Holmes sighed. “Defino’s orders.”

“Drew...”

Holmes held up a hand. “Marco, I need your gun.”

Marco walked to the coat closet and yanked it open, grabbing his gun and holster off the peg. His heart was pounding. How the hell was everything going so wrong lately? He held it out to Holmes.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“We need to take you in, Marco. I’m sorry.”

What the hell? They couldn’t believe he’d do anything like that. “Can I at least get a shower?”

Holmes nodded, then looked away.

*    *    *

Peyton and Gabby left interrogation. Meilin had demanded a lawyer and Smith was making arrangements for her, but Peyton didn’t think it would do her a damn bit of good. The evidence Detective Acosta and her partner had collected painted a pretty clear picture of manipulation. She’d actually put the gun in Grant Sanderson’s hand herself and even though she didn’t pull the trigger, her intent was clear. Her parents had to die.

Peyton loved the rush she got whenever they closed a case like this one. Although it would never make sense why someone felt the desire to take another’s life, she could at least draw a direct line between the motive (what someone wanted) and the action (murder). Serial killers were another matter entirely. She didn’t know what they wanted – except to kill.

“Let me buy you a cup of tar,” she said to Gabby as they headed toward the break-room.

“I’d love one.”

“We made a pretty good team, don’tcha think?”

Gabby smiled at her. “Damn good. I’m not going to lie. I loved wiping the smirk off her face.”

Peyton laughed. “She was definitely not happy to see you.”

They stepped into the break-room and came to a halt. Cho, Simons, Jake and Maria were all there, sitting around the table. Cho had his arm around Maria’s shoulder and Maria was staring at the table, unblinking.

“Everything all right?” Peyton said.

Jake looked up at her and his expression stopped her cold.

Simons reached out and took her elbow, pulling her toward them. “Junior Walker was murdered last night.”

Peyton looked at Maria. “I’m sorry, Maria,” she said, moving toward her, but Simons stopped her, placing his huge hands on her shoulders. “He was shot execution style, back of the head.”

Peyton narrowed her eyes. Why was he acting so strange? “Okay?”

“Cho said you couldn’t get a hold of Marco last night. Did he ever return your call?”

Peyton couldn’t have been more confused. She glanced over her shoulder at Gabby, but the other woman had halted in the doorway, sensing the strange atmosphere. “Why are you asking me about Marco?”

“Walker filed a complaint against him after the last time he was arrested. He said Marco threatened his life.”

Peyton shook her head. “Same as any of us would in the same situation.” She backed out of Simons’ hold, reaching into her pocket for her phone.

“Peyton,” said Jake.

She hesitated, looking up at him.

“Holmes and Bartlet brought him into the precinct while you were interrogating Meilin Fan.”

She moved toward the table. “Where is he?”

“Defino’s office,” said Cho.

She started for the door, but Simons blocked her again. He didn’t touch her, just moved into her path and held up his hands. “Brooks, you will only make things worse if you go storming in there.”

“Marco didn’t go near Junior Walker.”

“How can you possibly know? You said you couldn’t get a hold of him last night.”

“No, but sometimes he goes out on a date or with his family.”

“Do you have any idea where he was?”

Peyton looked at all of them. “Are you freakin’ serious?” She couldn’t help the anger in her voice. “Marco D’Angelo would never murder someone, even someone like Junior Walker. What the hell kind of friends are you?”

“I don’t think he did it, Peyton, but he has been under a lot of stress lately,” said Jake.

“Not like that.”

Simons’ expression was grim. “Walker attacked you. You know Marco will go to any length to protect you, Brooks.”

“Murder, Bill? Do you really think he’d murder someone in cold blood?”

“He shot the priest on Alcatraz.”

Peyton straightened, her chin rising. “And if Nathan came under fire, what would you do, Bill? Stand there and watch him get shot?”

“No, I’d take the shot just like he did. I’ve done it before and I’ll probably do it again. I just don’t think you’ll help anything by storming in there. This is one battle that he’s gonna have to fight on his own.”

“The hell it is,” she said, starting to go around him.

“Peyton,” said Jake, rising to his feet.

She hesitated and turned around.

“Bill’s right. You’re only going to make it worse for him. Please listen to us. Please don’t go in there.”

She couldn’t believe they were asking this of her. Not go to Marco’s defense, not do anything she could to make this go away? How the hell did they expect her to do that?

*    *    *

Holmes gave him a pointed look as he shut Defino’s door. Marco wasn’t sure what it meant, but both Holmes and Bartlet had shown him nothing but respect on the way down here. He shifted and met Defino’s steely gaze.

“Captain, you can’t believe I shot Junior Walker.”

“Sit down, D’Angelo,” she said sternly.

Marco sat, more because he was so bewildered by this whole thing.

“Where were you last night?”

“Home.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“No.”

“Did you text anyone?”

“No.”

“Did anyone call you on the phone?”

“I didn’t answer. In fact, I turned my phone off.”

Defino slumped back in her chair. “So, not a single person can vouch for your whereabouts last night?”

“Does anyone need to?”

“You tell me.”

“Why the hell would I kill Junior Walker, Captain?”

“He says you threatened him.”

“Every cop does that, especially with wife beaters. Threatening scum is a long way from putting a gun against the back of their head.”

“Ballistics will confirm that.”

“Ballistics?” Marco moved forward in the chair. “You know me, Captain. I’ve worked for you for eight years. You know I do everything by the book. I wouldn’t take the law into my own hands. Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because he attacked your partner.”

“And she took care of him.”

Defino drew a deep breath. “You killed a man for her, Marco.”

“In the line of duty.”

“I know, but...”

“But nothing. What happened on Alcatraz is...” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “...miles away from executing someone in cold blood.”

“I agree.”

He held out his arms. “Then why the hell am I here?”

“Because Dr. Ferguson believes I should split up your team.”

“Wait. What?”

“Dr. Ferguson’s recommendation was to split you and Peyton up, otherwise, he feared, something unfortunate would happen.”

Marco shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense. He wants you to break up your best team.”

“He had very good reasons...”

“Peyton and I have solved more cases for you than anyone else in this department.”

“I know that.”

“Than more seasoned cops.”

“I know.”

“And we have a better conviction record than anyone in this precinct. In fact, we have a better conviction record than any other department in this city.”

“Marco...”

“If you were to compare our records with the other major cities in this state, I’ll bet we rank in the top ten percent.”

“Marco!”

He caught himself and eased back in his chair.

“I have never questioned your abilities, but I am questioning your emotional well-being.”

Marco shook his head in confusion. “What?”

“Just a few days ago, you got into a shouting match in my precinct with your partner. You demanded she quit.”

“I was out of line and I told her that.”

“You killed a man...” When he started to protest, she held up her hand. “In the line of duty, yes, but it created major conflict in your partnership. And now this.”

“This is nothing. I didn’t kill Junior Walker.” He hesitated, then narrowed his eyes on her. “What is this really about?”

“Dr. Ferguson...”

“Dr. Ferguson is an ass.”

Defino slammed her hand down on her desk. “If you interrupt me one more time, D’Angelo, I swear I’ll have you in lock-up.”

Marco briefly closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Dr. Ferguson believes Peyton is your Achilles’ heel.”

“My what?”

“Your fatal weakness.”

“She’s a better cop than I am.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Marco went still. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears, feel the blood rushing to his head.

Defino let out a sigh. “He feels that if I don’t split up the team, your life is in danger.”

“How?”

“Because you are emotionally compromised.”

“What the hell does that mean? Captain, no offense, but I hate psychobabble.”

“Then let me put it to you in plain English, Inspector. Lately you’ve been making mistakes, you’ve been angry and combative, and borderline disrespectful to me as your superior.”

“What mistakes?”

“You went to Meilin Fan’s hotel room.”

“It was one mistake. Everyone makes them.”

“You got into a shouting match in my precinct with your partner.”

“Every partnership goes through rough patches. You know that.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Peyton and I have been partners for eight years. We have never failed you when you needed us. We have always followed your direction...” When Defino glared at him, Marco held up a hand. “Okay, I’ve always followed your direction and I’ve kept Peyton from going off the reservation countless times. We’re your best team. You can’t seriously be considering splitting us up.”

“I’m not sure I have a choice, Marco.”

“Why? Why are you saying this?”

“Sometimes things get confused, especially in a job like this. We have to rely on our partners for our lives, they become integral to us, as close as family.”

Marco looked down. He had to look at anything but Defino right now.

“I’ve seen men broken and lost because their partner has died, and to be honest with you, it’s always a risk pairing a male and female together. Some things are out of our control, some things are beyond our ability to resist.”

Marco swallowed hard. He knew he should stop this before it went any further, but he was afraid to speak.

“I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only, and if you lie to me, D’Angelo, I will pull your badge.”

So many things went through Marco’s mind, buzzing like white noise in his head. He’d been so careful, so damn careful, tamping all of his emotions down, hiding everything from everyone, keeping conversations to a minimum, drinking as little as he could so he wouldn’t slip up and speak off the cuff. And it was all for nothing.

The damn shrink had opened Pandora’s Box and let all manner of tribulation into the open, things that should never have seen the light of day, things that would ruin everything. There was a poetic irony about it. Peyton chided him so for keeping everyone at arm’s distance, but he’d done it for her, he’d done it so he could continue to be her partner, to watch her back and enable her to do her job. The very thing she’d wanted from him, to open up to others, would be their undoing.

“Inspector D’Angelo,” said Defino in a voice heavy with import. “Are you in love with your partner?”

Marco stared at the picture on her desk, the clear acrylic stapler that Peyton always played with, the holder for Defino’s business cards, and the black desk blotter that seemed so out of place on the clear glass surface, and he knew he couldn’t think fast enough to get out of this one.

“Marco!” she said in warning.

He lifted his eyes and met hers directly.

“Yes,” he said.

EPILOGUE

Gabby shifted the package under her arm and pressed the doorbell. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave Billy a quick nod. He smirked at her, something she was beginning to find endearing.

The door opened and Janet Messette peered out. “Detective Acosta,” she said with a smile. “I hear you have good news for me.”

“I do.” She motioned to Billy. “This is my partner, Detective Lucott.”

“Ma’am,” said Billy, holding out his hand.

They shook, then Janet stepped back, motioning them inside. “Please come in. I have some lemonade ready.”

They followed her back to the screened porch and took a seat at the table. She poured out the lemonade. Billy took a sip and gave a shiver of happiness.

“Fresh lemons.”

Janet laughed and pointed into the yard. “Grandma’s lemons.”

“Nice,” said Billy, lifting the glass again.

“Cookie?” She held up the plate with the same shortbread cookies Gabby had the last time she was there.

Billy shot a wry look at Gabby. “This is how you invite someone over.”

Gabby and Janet exchanged an amused look. “Speaking of your grandmother, I wanted to return this to you.” She set the package on the table.

Janet picked it up and tore off the brown paper wrapping. “The scrapbook?”

“It’s a way for you to get to know your aunt.”

Janet ran her hand over the leather cover. “I felt a little hurt when you told me about it. I couldn’t understand why she would have one for my aunt and completely ignore my father, so I went back up into the attic.”

Gabby nodded in memory of their trek through that hot, confined space.

“I found one for him. She made one.” Janet’s eyes filled with tears. “It had my birth announcement in it and some of my baby pictures. She kept in touch with my father even after my grandfather disowned him.”

“From everything you told me about her, I thought she might have.”

“Where’s Lily now?”

“She’s being extradited to us this week. We’ll try her here for your parents’ murders.”

“And California?”

“They’ve released her to us. We have the stronger case.”

Janet sighed. “Good.”

“Do you want to see her? I can arrange it.”

Janet shook her head. “No, I would have nothing to say.” She poured more lemonade in Billy’s glass. “I did go talk to the Sandersons.”

“You did?”

“I wanted to make peace. They lost their son and I can’t even imagine how they feel now. In some ways, he was a victim too.”

“He was.” Gabby reached over and touched Janet’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Janet.”

“You too, Detective Acosta. Thank you for your help.”

Billy quickly downed the rest of his drink and they rose to their feet. Janet led them back toward the front door and thanked them again as they stepped outside.

As Billy and Gabby made their way to the Magnum, Billy danced around in front of her, walking backward to the car. “What’s our next case?”

“Ours? I thought you wanted out of Cold Case?”

“Me? Pssht.” He waved her away. “I still haven’t found the buried treasure yet.”

“Or the severed body parts.”

“Or the severed body parts. There will definitely be severed body parts in one of our cases.”

“Joy.” She walked around the Magnum to the driver’s side door and glanced at him over the roof. “So, I was wondering if you’d like to come to dinner some night this week.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Easy, pup!”

“Will you serve lemonade?”

“Sure.” She unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“And cookies. I liked those cookies,” he said, sliding in beside her.

“Fine.”

“And no take-out. I want a home cooked meal like my mom used to make.”

Gabby put the key in the ignition, starting the car. “You’re making me regret asking you already.”

“And ice cream. Vanilla ice cream to go with the cookies.”

Gabby laughed and wheeled out onto the street.

*    *    *

He set the newspaper down, but he continued to stare at the headline. San Francisco Police Detective Assaulted. Nothing like giving away too much information. The stupid reporter had actually written the route the little detective took on her daily run.

This modern age with its social media sites and electronic spying. Wherever you went there was a camera trained on you and no one thought anything of it. They sacrificed privacy for a misbegotten sense of belonging, but it was all noise, all pathetic attempts to be part of something.

Humans were so tortured by their own insignificance. The more the scientist discovered about the infinite universe, the more humans tried to demonstrate their own importance, and it was all for nothing.

Beat and kick and thrash each other, fighting for their scrap of nothing, but the minute you put a gun to their heads, they piss themselves. They whine and cry and beg you to spare them. It was like squashing insects, really. And no matter how many you squashed, there was another one to take its place.

It made him tired. It made him wonder why he bothered.

Probably because there were a few decent ones. A few who swam against the current of corruption and fraud. Like the little detective. She made him smile, but even she was flawed. She thought she could take the world into her own home and protect it, but it just got crowded. She made herself a target and that wasn’t smart. Still, she didn’t seem to see the flaw in her method. She had this compulsion to save people, to see the good in those few souls worth saving, but eventually they would get her too. Humanity would eat her up and spit her out.

She wasn’t tough enough, wary enough. She was like one of those wild animals that people take into their homes and teach to trust humanity, then they shove it back into the wild and tell it to fend for itself. Those animals always died. They always came to a bad end.

And unfortunately, he feared, so would she.

THE END

Now that you’ve finished, visit ML Hamilton at her website: authormlhamilton.com for more information on her novels.

Then check out her fantasy series, The World of Samar, at worldofsamar.com.

All ML Hamilton titles available at Amazon in Kindle and paperback formats.

The Complete Peyton Brooks’ Mysteries Collection:

Murder on Potrero Hill Volume 1

Murder in the Tenderloin Volume 2

Murder on Russian Hill Volume 3

Murder on Alcatraz Volume 4

Murder in Chinatown, Volume 5

Murder in the Presidio, Volume 6

Murder on Treasure Island, Volume 7

The Complete World of Samar Collection:

Emerald Volume 1

The Heirs of Eldon Volume 2

The Star of Eldon Volume 3

The Spirit of Eldon Volume 4

Contemporary Fiction:

Ravensong