Murder on Potrero Hill (12 page)

The elevator opened and he crossed the entry hall, pushing open the outer door. A breeze blew over him, cooling the sweat on his body, and his eyes immediately fell on the Crown Victoria. He stumbled to a halt and stared at it. He had to be drunker than he thought because he couldn’t believe what he was thinking. Still, he wanted to know exactly what the police had on him before he made another move. There was only one way he could think of to find out.

*   *   *

The City spread out below them, glistening brilliantly in the night. The Top of the Mark was on the 19
th
floor of the Mark Hopkins hotel and it commanded a panoramic view. The maître-d’ held the chair for Peyton as she slipped into it and Devan took the seat across from her. Looking out, she could see lights blinking on Alcatraz and the red-orange of the Golden Gate Bridge awash in a fluorescent glow. Fog was seeping into the city from the ocean, cutting the bridge in half and flowing into the bay.

“This takes your breath away,” she said.

“It does,” answered Devan.

She smiled at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. This is a sight no one should miss.”

He smiled in return. “Do you like martinis?”

She glanced up at the maître-d’, waiting patiently by their table. “I’m not sure.”

“May I recommend the Cosmopolitan? It has a touch of cranberry and lime juice,” suggested the maître-d’.

“That sounds wonderful,” answered Peyton.

“Two, please,” said Devan.

The maître-d’ inclined his head and left the table.

Peyton looked back out at the view, but she could feel Devan’s eyes on her.

“You are stunning tonight,” he said.

She laughed, reaching up to touch a wild curl. She’d let her hair free of its ponytail and put on makeup. Her black dress and high heels made her figure look trim. The dress had no sleeves, so she’d worried her toned arms might seem less than feminine, but a lace shawl had helped to soften the look. She’d even added a small, beaded handbag and she hated handbags. She preferred to keep her keys and credit card in her pocket, but little black dresses didn’t come with pockets. She figured Devan was lucky she hadn’t worn her shoulder harness and gun.

“Why do you laugh?” he asked.

“I don’t often hear that.”

“You should. You are a beautiful woman.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

He braced an arm on the table. “After the third date, don’t you think we should talk about our
families. Isn’t it odd that we’ve avoided that until now?”

She glanced at the table and reached for her napkin, spreading it in her lap. “Mine is complicated.”

“Why do you think I haven’t talked about mine?”

She smiled at him. He was so unlike anyone else she’d ever dated. So sophisticated and worldly. “You go first.”

“Serves me right, I guess.” His teeth flashed white against his dark skin. “Both of my parents are corporate attorneys. Dad’s thinking of running for office. He even has a fact-finding team in place, but my mother is not happy about becoming a candidate’s wife.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t want to give up her career.”

“I can understand that,” said Peyton. “Are you an only child?”

“Yes, you?”

“Yep, Dad said they couldn’t do any better than me, so I’m it.” She held up a hand.

Devan laughed, then fingered the rim of his water glass. “Mom said it took too much time away from work.”

“Child rearing?”

“Child birth.”

Peyton couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged, his shoulders pulling the lines of his suit jacket. He wasn’t as muscular as Marco, but he was fit. “They gave me the best of educations and I’ve never wanted for anything. They were always actively involved in anything I did. I shouldn’t complain.” He leaned forward. “Now it’s your turn. I know your father was a cop.”

A waiter arrived with their drinks. “Do you know what you’d like to order?” he asked as he set them down. He tucked the tray behind his back and leaned forward.

Peyton used the interruption to grab her menu. Devan watched her for a moment more, then picked up his own. Her eyes widened when she saw the price, but she couldn’t back out now. The Top of the Mark offered a three course meal with two main entrée choices. She wanted to laugh. She was used to being able to select ten different types of hamburgers at her favorite burger joint.

She realized both the waiter and Devan were waiting for her. She looked up. “I’d like the Chateaubriand, please.”

“Excellent choice,” said the waiter, leaning toward Devan.

“I’ll have the same,” he answered and the waiter left.

Picking up her drink, Peyton took a sip. The astringent mix of vodka and cranberry flooded her mouth. A moment later she tasted the lime. She sucked in a breath. “Wow.”

Devan took a sip of his own drink. “Good, huh?”

“Very.” She didn’t want to tell him she was more of a beer kind of girl. “Marco would give me a bad time for ordering the Chateaubriand. He became a vegetarian two years ago.”

Devan gave a nod. “You and Marco are very close, aren’t you?”

Peyton heard the deeper question in his voice. She wasn’t about to lie. “I would take a bullet for him.”

Devan picked up his drink and took another sip as if to pretend he wasn’t bothere
d.
Peyton could tell by the tight angle of his shoulders that he was.

“He’s my best friend and honestly, after all these years, he’s family, like the brother I never had. There’s nothing else there.”

Devan lifted his dark eyes. “I’m glad. Not sure I can compete with a man that pretty.”

Peyton laughed. “He’s one of those men that make women swoon and men wonder if they’re gay.”

Devan laughed with her. “You’re avoiding my question, you know?”

“I know. I don’t mean to avoid it. It’s just hard to talk about my dad. I still miss him. And when he died, I didn’t just lose him. I lost my mother in a way.”

“How?”

“It’s complicated and unfortunately, it’s gotten more complicated in the last few years.” She ran her finger along the stem of her martini glass. “Dad was a beat cop, as you know. He was happy with that. Didn’t want to climb the ranks or anything. He made me want the same thing. Then he was shot and killed in a routine traffic stop.” She braced her elbow on the table and sank her fingers into her hair at the temple. “They said it was drug related. The
perp had so many priors.”

“Who was it?”

“Luis Garza. They believe he had Mexican cartel connections.”

“I remember reading about that now. He’s in San Quentin?”

“Two consecutive life sentences.”

Devan reached over and touched the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Peyton.”

She turned her hand over and clasped his. “Thank you.” She released him and picked up her drink, taking another sip. “Anyway, after he died, my mom moved in with her sister and started working in a tourist trap of a store down by the Wharf. I don’t see her much.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t approve of my job. And now she has this boyfriend. He’s a piece of work.”

“How so?”

She glanced at Devan from the corner of her eyes. “He doesn’t exactly approve of mixed couples or their offspring.”

Devan opened his mouth to respond, then simply nodded.

“Closet red-neck, but Mom doesn’t see it.”

“I can see why you didn’t want to talk about it.”

Peyton shrugged. “We all have our baggage.”

The waiter brought the first course and set in in front of them. Peyton picked up her fork and moved the lettuce around on the plate, then took a bite. Now this she liked. The creamy smoothness of the cheese with the tart vinegar in the dressing exploded in her mouth.

Devan finished his martini. The waiter appeared as if by magic and reached for the empty glass.

“Can I get you another?” he asked.

Devan shook his head. “No, I’m driving, but bring one for the lady.”

Peyton started to protest, then thought better of it. Why not? She needed something to take the edge off. This Ryder case was driving her crazy.

As if he read her thoughts, Devan cleared his throat. “I need to talk with you about your case.”

Peyton paused with her fork midway to her mouth. “All right.”

“I hate to bring it up here, but I want to get it out of the way, so we can just focus on us.”

She studied him in the light from the candles. What could be so serious? “Go on.”

“This Ryder case,” he began.

“Yeah?”

“Watch yourself, Peyton. These Harpers are some powerful people. My boss has gotten a call from Dwight Boyd about it.”

“The Chief M.E.?”

“That’s the one. Claire Harper wants her daughter’s body released for burial and she’s pretty connected. At one time Blake Harper had his hands in about everything in San Francisco. Claire Harper is just as ubiquitous.”

“The only evidence we have is the body, Devan. We really don’t have anything else.”

Devan picked up his fork. “You may not have that, if you don’t get a break on this.”

“Would you charge the husband with what we’ve got?”

Devan considered it for a moment, then he shook his head. “No.” He leaned forward again. “But we both know ninety percent of the time it’s the husband. What motive do you have?”

Peyton shrugged. “They both had life insurance policies.”

“Pretty weak. I’ll bet they got them when they got married.”

“They did.”

“What else?”

“He didn’t know she was pregnant and Marco found a recent prescription for birth control pills when he searched the flat.”

Devan frowned. “But she was pregnant?”

“Abe has a fetus in his lab.”

Devan lowered his fork. “Why was she on birth control?”

“She didn’t want him to know she was pregnant?”

“That might be something. I’d follow that lead.”

The waiter set another martini down in front of her and Peyton reached for the old one, draining it. The waiter swept it away. She didn’t really like Devan telling her how to do her job, but he was trying to do her a solid by warning her about the Harpers.

“I appreciate the heads up,” she said. “Now, let’s try not to talk about work.”

He flashed that brilliant smile of his and gave her a smoky look. “As the lady wishes.”

The rest of the meal passed amicably. They talked about their childhood. He told her about the expensive boarding school he attended on the East coast. She told him about cutting classes, so she could try surfing in the frigid waters of the Pacific.

The Chateaubriand melted in her mouth and then dessert was the most decadent chocolate cake with pomegranate sauce she’d ever tasted. She ate every morsel of it. Devan seemed to delight in her enjoyment.

When they left the restaurant, she was full and slightly tipsy. She watched the City speed past out of the windows of his silver Lexus, and when they pulled up in front of her house, she waited while he came around the car to open her door. She could get used to being pampered like this.

He walked her to the door and reached out, fingering a curl that lay on her shoulder. “I really enjoy being with you, Peyton.” He bent down and gave her a soft kiss. His lips were warm and gentle on hers.

Peyton stared up at him and realized she was tired of being alone. Marco might be right and cops shouldn’t marry, but it didn’t mean they had to live a life of solitude and celibacy. She reached for the lapels on his jacket and pulled him down to her, giving him a real kiss.

He made a little gasp of surprise, then his arms went around her, pulling her tight against him. Peyton deepened the kiss, sliding her hands up around his neck. Then she eased back a bit and stared into his eyes.

“Do you want to come in?” she said.

“Hell yes,” he answered and reached behind her for the doorknob.

CHAPTER 7

Marco watched the cars go by at the end of Baker on Fell Street. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to go on stake-out. He hated the boredom, but something about this case was driving him crazy. He liked his murders simple. Someone gets pissed, pulls out a gun, bang, there’s a body. This…this just felt so damn sneaky and he hated sneaky.

You could understand why someone would pop someone with a gun in a moment of passion. Not that you liked it or got used to it, but it made sense. Humans were creatures of passion and they snapped sometimes. But premeditation? Who schemes and plans and designs a method to off another human being? For that you have to think about it constantly, meticulously research what you’re going to do, and then execute it with full awareness of the consequence of your actions.

He’d never interviewed someone who shot a person in rage or frustration or fear who didn’t say
I didn’t mean to do it
. Never. But this murder…this one…someone meant for Zoë to die and that someone was the person who should have protected her, taken care of her…in sickness or in health.
Good damn reason to never get married
, he thought.

“Uh,” said the rookie, knocking Marco’s shoulder with his arm. “Uh.”

Marco frowned at him, but the boy was looking across the street. Marco whipped around and saw Ryder leave the building by the front door. He staggered a little, then grabbed the railing on the stairs and stumbled down them.

Great. The idiot was drunk.

Ryder positioned himself directly across from the squad car and squinted at them. The streets were dark, only a few lamps along the sidewalk, but one was right above them where they’d parked. Then he looked both ways, waiting for the traffic to thin.

“What the hell…” said Marco, but from the corner of his eyes, he could see the rookie reaching for his gun. He turned on him as his hand reached for the door handle. “Don’t pull that thing here.”

“He’s coming this way.”

“I’ll take care of it. Just stay in the car.”

“He’s crossing the street.” The rookie’s fingers closed around the butt of his gun.

Marco filled his line of sight. “Do not pull that gun and do not get out of this car.” He yanked back on the door handle and unfolded himself from the car as Ryder jogged up to him. “What the hell are you doing, Ryder?” he said, easing the door closed.

“Hey, Adonis. Just wanted to say hi.” He leaned down and looked into the car. “Where’s Mighty Mouse?”

Marco really hoped the damn rookie didn’t pull that gun. He’d likely miss and shoot his partner instead. “You’re
gonna get your head blown off, ya damn fool.”

“Would be a mercy, probably.”

Marco raised one brow and allowed his coat to gape open, revealing the butt of his gun. Ryder didn’t seem to notice. “You coming to give me a confession?”

Ryder’s face twisted. He leaned closer. “To what?”

Marco could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You drunk?”

“Why the hell not? Let’s see. Today you got me fired, blocked my accounts, and took away my transportation. What’s next? Get me evicted?”

Marco didn’t answer.

“I haven’t done anything. I’m the victim here. I’m the one who lost my wife.” He held his arms out to his sides. “Where do you get off ruining someone’s life? Where do you get that power?”

“You need to go home and sleep it off. You’re drunk.”

“Go home.” He turned an unsteady circle. “Go home? How?” He slapped a hand down on the hood of the car.

Marco flinched, catching his breath. He was afraid that if he looked inside, he’d see the rookie with his gun pointed at the windshield. “You’re gonna get yourself shot, Ryder. You don’t come up to cops on the street like this.”

Ryder straightened and his eyes widened. “Really? But you can take away my money, my bus pass, and accuse me of things…things that I can’t even stand to think about? But I’m not supposed to approach you!”

He was shouting and Marco looked around. A couple walking a dog was watching them. “If you want to tell me what happened, I’m all ears.”

Ryder looked up at him. His eyes were unfocused and watery. “My wife died. I don’t know how she died, but she did. Do you think I give a damn about anything else?”

Marco looked down at the asphalt. “Go home, Ryder. Get some sleep.”

When he didn’t answer for a long time, Marco looked up again. Ryder was staring at some keys in his hand. “You might as well take me home,” he said.

“What?”

Ryder glanced at him and shoved the keys into his pocket. “You might as well drive me home. I don’t have a bus pass and I don’t want to walk that far. I can’t afford a taxi. Besides, you’re only
gonna end up there anyway. You might as well take me.”

Marco studied him. He’d planned to see if shoving Ryder in the back of a patrol car would make him break, but he hadn’t expected him to offer it himself. “You’re drunk.”

Ryder shrugged.

Marco looked around. The couple with the dog was finally moving away. What the hell was Ryder playing at now? God, he hated this case. Nothing fit, nothing made a damn bit of sense. “Put your hands on the car.” He grabbed his shoulder and shoved him toward the vehicle.

Ryder stumbled into it, but braced his hands on the roof. Marco moved up behind him and kicked his legs apart.

“You think I have a weapon? I thought you believed I poisoned people.”

Marco leaned closer to him. “You really should be careful what you say, unless you want to confess.” He made a quick search down the sides of his body, then bent to search his legs.

Ryder squirmed under the invasion. “Is this necessary?”

“You asked for a ride, dumb ass. I’m not putting you in a patrol car without knowing if you’re armed.”

Ryder shut up until Marco finished, but when Marco opened the back door and motioned him inside, he stopped in front of him. “I loved my wife.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Ryder stared him directly in the eye. He had to look up to do so, but his gaze never wavered. “You’re looking in the wrong spot. You should be looking at Dr. Singh. You’re letting past experience cloud your judgment.”

Marco frowned. Ryder didn’t seem as drunk as he had a few minutes before. “Get in the car,” he snapped.

Ryder studied him a moment longer, then he ducked into the backseat.

*   *   *

Jake locked the door, then went to the window and looked out. The Crown Victoria was across the street and D’Angelo was talking into his cell phone. Jake’s head buzzed from the beer, but he reached into his pocket and took out the keys he’d stolen from Sam.

He couldn’t believe he was thinking of doing this. If he got caught, the police would have something to charge him with finally. But Zoë’s journal was in that credenza and he wanted it. It was the last connection he had to her, the last thing he could look at and hear her voice. He couldn’t allow the police to take that away from him.

He went to the closet and put on a heavier coat, then changed into the hiking boots he’d bought with Zoë last winter when they went to Tahoe over Christmas. He’d hoped a vacation would let her forget about Blake for a few days, but she’d been moody and distant, snapping at him when he’d tried to bring her out of it. They’d actually left two days early.

Tying his boots, he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think of the bad times with Zoë. He only wanted to remember the good. Which is why he needed that journal. He needed to see those events through her eyes and know that she had been happy.

He went back to the window and looked out. A black and white patrol car had pulled up to the Crown Victoria and a uniformed officer stepped out. D’Angelo exchanged places with him and the marked car pulled away, taking D’Angelo with it.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief once D’Angelo was gone, then he waited while the other officer settled at his post before he reached into his pocket and ran his fingers over the keys to the bank. Finally he went to the door and let himself out. Glancing at his cell phone, he was surprised to see it was almost midnight. Where had the hours gone?

He descended into the entry hall and glanced toward the doors. He could just see the front bumper on the Crown Victoria. Turning to the right, he hurried down the back hallway and stopped before the door leading to the back of the building. He eased it open, it squeaked horribly, then he peered around it into the courtyard beyond. Three stairs took him down into the utility yard, littered with hoses, broken furniture and a dumpster. He snuck around the edge of the building and looked down the alley to the street. He couldn’t see the Crown Victoria at all from here.

Returning to the dumpster, he pulled the lid closed, then shoved it against the rear wall. Dragging a plastic crate over to the side, he climbed up until he could use the ridge on the side to hoist himself to the top. The lid gave a little under his weight, but it held and he grabbed the brick wall, pulling himself along the top of it. He looked over into the yard behind the wall. It was a clear drop onto a raised planter bed. He waited a moment, listening, hoping there weren’t dogs in the yard, but he didn’t remember hearing barking whenever he took the garbage out.

Closing his eyes, he swung his legs out over the yard, then shimmied around until he was on his stomach, his feet dangling. He let himself drop and he landed in the planter bed hard enough to lose his footing. He fell on his backside and sat for a moment, waiting for someone to sound an alarm.

When no one did, he crawled to his hands and knees, then edged over the planter bed until his feet touched the cement of his neighbors’ patio. Rising to his full height, he tried to take stock of his surroundings. There were no lights in the backyard and the moon was covered by clouds. He felt forward with his hands stretched out before him and finally bumped and stumbled his way to the house. Plastic toys, a playhouse and the barbecue made a nearly impossible obstacle course through the darkness. Finally his hands touched the cool lines of siding and he breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God these people didn’t have a dog. He’d made enough racket to wake the laziest of canines.

He found the side yard and using the house to guide himself, moved toward the gate. He prayed it wasn’t locked. He didn’t know if he could climb over another obstacle. Already the cold bay air and the exercise were clearing the buzzing from his head and he was beginning to rethink his plan.

The gate was closed by a simple latch and he opened it. Light from the street lamp fell over him and he blinked until his vision cleared. He didn’t bother to look around, just walked out to the sidewalk and turned north.

It was a good hike uphill until he got to the branch on Market. Traffic still flowed up and down the thoroughfare and there was no way to keep out of sight now. He stopped a short distance down from the bank and studied it. A couple of homeless people huddled in doorways, nothing more than a pile of blankets and bags. Other than that, the foot traffic was light.

He thought through his plan again. Get in, get out. It wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes. No one had to know he was even here. They wouldn’t go through the tapes unless something happened and they had to. Once he was done, he could put Sam’s keys in an envelope and mail them to him. Andrews would never even know.

Drawing a deep breath, he walked briskly toward the bank and pulled the keys out. He didn’t look down the street or glance behind him, trying to appear as natural as he could. He fumbled to get the key into the outer lock, realizing his hand was shaking again. He turned the lock and pushed open the door, then locked it again once he was inside. He could hear the alarm pulsing in the wall to his right.

That gave him a moment’s pause and he stared at the display, wondering if they’d changed the codes since they took the keys away from him this morning. Oh God. If they had, he was screwed. He would set off all of the alarms and they already had him on the tape from the ATM machine. He knew he had only about a minute to decide. He should go back out the door and run, but it was already too late. He was caught.

Swallowing the rush of bile in his mouth, he reached out a hand and punched in the old code, wincing as he did so. The alarm made three loud beeps, then the screen flashed to DISARMED. Jake pressed his forehead to the brick wall and let his breath escape in a rush.

Lifting a hand, he ran it over the back of his neck, feeling cold sweat run beneath the collar of his shirt. What the hell was he doing? Sneaking around in the middle of the night. Breaking into banks. He reminded himself that the police now had a reason to hold him, a reason to charge him with a crime.

He pushed away from the wall and walked to the inner door. He found that key more easily and unlocked it. He still wouldn’t allow himself to look back, afraid he’d see D’Angelo’s bulk looming behind him.

Once inside the bank, he took a last look around the shadowed interior, then hurried over to the credenza and slid back the door. His briefcase lay on the lower shelf and he snatched it out, hugging it to his chest. For some reason, tears stung his eyes. God, he must still be drunk.

Curling his fingers around the handle, he rose and left the cabinet open, crossing back to the inner door and pulling it open. He locked it, then raced across the foyer and shoved the outer door open. He also paused to lock that too.