Murder on Potrero Hill (16 page)

Pulling out his tablet, he turned it on and punched in Muni bus stop. There was one a couple of blocks away. As he turned off his tablet, he realized he probably should be careful how he used it. He was certain the police knew exactly what he searched. He turned on Townsend and headed east.

The bus stop was crowded and he stood to the side of the enclosure with the other people on their way to work. How did someone go from being a working stiff to a suspect in a murder case within a few weeks? If he thought about it too much, he knew he would give up and they would have him. He’d never understood why people confessed to crimes they didn’t commit, but he was getting a better idea of it now. The way they hounded you, took away your life, made you think you’d do just about anything to end it. Not a few times last night he thought suicide was the only way out. Of course, it wasn’t real planning, just a random thought that popped into his mind, but he could see how people might feel that desperate.

The bus pulled up to the curb. Jake had a moment of panic. He had no bus pass and he knew Muni no longer took cash. The back door opened and people began climbing off as others began climbing on at the front door. As Jake looked through the windows, he could see it was standing room only.

Clutching his briefcase tightly against him, he reacted on instinct. He shoved into the people climbing off. A few muttered curses at him, but they were too concerned with getting off the bus to do anything else. He wedged himself against the stairwell and waited until everyone climbed down, then he moved up into the bus and grabbed a handhold as if he’d been there all along. An older black woman glared at him, but she didn’t say anything. Jake breathed a sigh of relief when the bus began moving again.

He couldn’t see out the back window to know if the Crown Victoria followed him, but he was sure they’d show up at his flat shortly after he arrived. Once he was wedged onto the bus, he found himself thinking about Zoë, despite his determination not to do so. She had lied to him. Not only had she kept the baby a secret, but the baby wasn’t his. When had she started an affair? Where had she met this man? Did she sleep with him in their bed?

He closed his eyes and tried to block the thought. He was so tired, the sway of the bus lulled him into a semi-sleeping state. Each time the bus lurched to a halt, he opened his eyes and checked the location, not wanting to miss his stop.

The sun was shining on Potrero Hill when he arrived. He hurried to his flat and slipped into the entrance hall without anyone seeing him. When he opened the door to his apartment, he was relieved to see the police hadn’t trashed it. He dumped the briefcase on the couch and dropped to his knees, reaching under the coffee table for Zoë’s journal. Pulling it out, he sat back on his heels and held it, staring at its red surface.

Had Zoë written about the affair in here? He felt such a conflict of emotions. Wanting to know warred with a sick anxiety that it might actually be in there. Forcing himself to set the journal on the briefcase, he went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, then he walked into the living room and looked out at the street. No Crown Victoria.

Returning to the kitchen, he pulled out the pot and poured whatever was brewed into a mug, then replaced it. Carrying the mug with him, he went into the bedroom and climbed over the strewn bedclothes and pillows to the bathroom.

He took a long hot shower, letting the water soothe away the anxiety, then he dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans and his hiking boots. Sipping the coffee, he moved into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed, pulling a pillow up with him. He fell into a deep sleep.

When he woke, the shadows across the ceiling told him it was early afternoon. A headache throbbed in his temples, so he went into the bathroom and took some aspirin. Returning to the bedroom, he riffled through the closet and found an empty backpack. He shoved the aspirin, his toothbrush and some toothpaste into it, then grabbed a change of clothes.

He went back into the living room, carrying the backpack and mug. He set the mug on a table, then reached for his briefcase, shoving both Zoë’s journal and the tablet into it. Then he searched the flat for money, but besides a jar of loose change, he found nothing. He shoved the jar into the backpack and zipped it up. Carrying it and the mug into the kitchen, he poured another cup of coffee and drank it standing by the sink. He wasn’t completely sure what he intended to do, but the first thing was to head over to Claire’s and ask her for help.

Turning off the pot and setting the mug in the sink, he walked into the living room and looked out the window. The Crown Victoria was in its customary place. He didn’t recognize the cops, but that didn’t matter. They would follow him wherever he went.

He grabbed his keys and left the flat. Hesitating, he tried to decide what to do next. Prince was barking at the other end of the corridor, so he knew Mrs. Parker would be coming out to take him for his walk. He didn’t want to see her and he didn’t want to go out the back door again. He was bound to be caught cutting through someone’s backyard.

When Prince’s barking grew louder, Jake made his decision, hurrying down the stairs and onto the street. He looked pointedly at the cops and they looked back, then he shouldered his backpack and began walking north.

He was tempted to ride the bus again, but he wanted to lose the police, so he passed his usual bus stops and continued on. After catching some sleep, he didn’t mind the walk and the sun shone down, bathing him with warmth. He turned east on 18
th
and glanced back to see the Crown Victoria following him. They would pull over in an open parking spot, allowing him to get a little ahead of them, then they’d pull out into traffic and catch up. He had to lose them, but he wasn’t sure how.

He knew there were a lot of businesses along 18
th
, so he waited until he was in the middle of them before he turned into an Italian restaurant. A hostess smiled at him as he entered and he could smell a mixture of garlic and oregano. His stomach growled and he realized he didn’t remember when he’d eaten last. The food served at the jail didn’t qualify.

“Just one?” she asked.

He glanced around the restaurant, wishing he could afford to eat here, but he only had about half-an-hour to put distance between himself and the police before they decided to look for him. “Sure,” he said, and she led him to a table by the window. He could see the Crown Victoria in the red zone in front of the restaurant.

“Do you have anything that isn’t by the window?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, leading him deeper into the restaurant. She held out his chair, but he hesitated before slipping into it.

“Actually, can you point me to the restroom?”

She smiled again as she set his menu down. “Right in back.” She pointed to an arched doorway beside a window that looked into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” said Jake, forcing himself to walk as normally as he could to the back, winding through all of the tables. The bathrooms were located about halfway down the hallway, but Jake moved past them to the back door. It had been propped open with a brick. That was just as well because he could see it was usually armed with an alarm.

He shoved it open a little, then peered into the alleyway behind the restaurant. A number of dumpsters lined the back wall and next door a busboy was smoking on the back stoop, his arms braced on his knees.

Jake slipped into the alley and started walking as quickly as he could. The busboy nodded at him, but no one else seemed to notice. He kept walking until he figured he was at least a few blocks from the restaurant, then he cut up a side alley to the street. When he stepped out into the street, he didn’t hesitate, but found the very next bus stop that was crowded with people just getting off work.

His heart was pounding rapidly as he waited. A giddy feeling of excitement moved through him. He wondered how long the cops would wait before they checked the restaurant for him. He pulled the same trick once the bus arrived of entering through the back, but this time he found a seat near the stairwell. He sank into it, realizing his legs were trembling, and immediately fished Zoë’s journal out. If he was brave enough to escape the police, he was brave enough to face whatever she revealed in her private thoughts
.

December 26
th

Jake gave me a redwood tree for Christmas. He said it was for the community garden and that we’d plant it to have a reminder of our love. As long as the tree grew, we would know someone in the world loved us.

I’ve received diamonds and electronics, televisions and earrings, but nothing compares to this. I can’t believe I found a man who understands it isn’t the monetary things in life, but the simple things.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but I feel like I’ve found the very person I was meant to be with, meant to marry. Jake is that man. He accepts me for exactly who I am and no matter how many faults I have, no matter how many mistakes I make, I know that I have one person standing solidly and firmly rooted in my corner. Pun fully intended. Get it – tree, root.

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat and put his hand over his eyes, closing the journal and letting it settle on his briefcase. No matter how much he might want to pretend otherwise, there was no escaping this grief
.

CHAPTER 9

Jake walked through the rose arbor and up to the mansion. He hesitated on the front step and drew a deep breath. Oh, God, he didn’t want to ask Claire for help. He would give anything if he didn’t have to do this. He didn’t even know if the police had contacted her with their suspicions or how she would respond to him. Would she lend him money to hire a lawyer?

When a car went down the road, he looked over his shoulder, searching for the Crown Victoria. He was becoming paranoid. If this continued much longer, he was going to wind up in a mental ward.

Steeling himself, he pressed the buzzer. Hopefully, Angelina or Juanita would answer it. He wished he could remember the maid’s name. He felt guilty that he didn’t know, but she kept to herself in parts of the house Jake had rarely seen. Claire liked to keep her help invisible. She pretended that she still did much of the work herself.

The door opened and Brandon, Zoë’s high school boyfriend, loomed in the entrance. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

Jake frowned, trying to look beyond his shoulders inside the house. “Is Claire here?” He felt confused. This idiot had been here twice when Jake happened by.

“I said you shouldn’t be here.”

“I heard you. The neighborhood heard you. Just exactly what are you doing here? Aren’t
you
one of the neighbors?”

“You’ve got some balls after what you’ve done,” Brandon said, moving a step onto the porch.

Jake backed up, frowning at him. “What? Where’s Claire?” He tried to look into the house again.

“You come here after what you did to Zo
ë.
”

Jake went still. Of course the police had been here before him. “I didn’t hurt Zoë. Why do you think I’m out of jail? They have nothing on me. I want to see Claire.” He stepped back and looked at the upper windows. “Claire!”

“I want you to leave!”

Jake ignored him. “Claire! Claire!”

“I’m warning you, Ryder, you’d better leave.”

“Not until I see Claire. Claire!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up, Jake!” hissed Claire, appearing in the doorway.

Jake dropped his eyes to her. Was she hiding in the entryway the whole time? He lowered his gaze further and saw she held her cell phone. “Did you call the police?”

“Of course I did. They’re on their way.”

Jake took a step closer to her, but Brandon moved to block him. “Claire, I didn’t hurt Zoë. You know I loved her. You know I wouldn’t have done anything to her.”

“I don’t know any such thing.”

“Claire, I need help. I need some money to hire a lawyer. The police are framing me for something I didn’t do.”

“That’s what they all say, Jake. No one in this country has ever committed a crime. They’ve all been framed. I’m sorry, but I’m not about to help a man who’s been accused of harming my daughter.”

“How could you think I’d do something like that?” He wished Brandon wasn’t listening to this conversation, running interference.

“People do a lot of terrible things to each other. I don’t know why you did it and I don’t want to know. I just want you to leave.”

“You know me, Claire, you know I wasn’t capable of that.”

Claire’s expression grew cold. “Do we ever really know anyone, Jake? Do we?”

Jake hesitated. She had a point. He hadn’t known his own wife was capable of cheating on him. He hadn’t known his whole marriage was a lie. All Zoë talked about in her journal was how much she loved him, how happy she was, but yet, she’d cheated. She lied and betrayed him, for what?

He started to ask Claire about the baby, but she lifted her phone as if she would dial again.

“They’re coming, Jake,” she said.

Jake stared in frustration at her, then at Brandon. In the entryway of the house, he could see the maid, watching him with large, anxious eyes. Oh, the police would love this. There must be something they could charge him with on this one.

“I didn’t hurt Zoë,” he repeated, then he turned and walked back toward the street.

*   *   *

Peyton scrunched up her nose as they entered the convalescent home. The smell of urine covered by disinfectant assailed them. A few residents were lined up in the entry hall, sitting in their wheelchairs, soaking up the late day sun. Down the hall, she could hear someone yelling, actually swearing up a blue streak.

She and Marco exchanged a look, then walked toward the reception desk. A woman with crooked teeth and an enormous bust sat at a desk. She smiled at them, her eyes lighting up when they landed on Marco.

“How can I help you?” she said, glancing at Peyton, but focusing on her partner.

“We called earlier. We’d like to see Dr. Albert Chang. He’s the attending for Blake Harper, right?”

“Yes,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Can I see your badges please?”

They both pulled them out and showed them to the woman. She reached for Marco’s wrist and angled it down, so she could see it better. Then she smiled up at him. “Can’t be too careful.”

Marco smiled back. “Dr. Chang?” he prompted.

She gave a girlish giggle and reached for the phone. “Dr. Chang, two police officers are here to see you about Dr. Harper?” She listened for a moment. “All right. Thank you.” She beamed up at Marco again. “He’ll be out shortly.”

“Thank you,” he answered.

“So, how long have you been a cop?” she asked, bracing her chin on her hand.

Peyton made a gagging motion beyond the receptionist’s line of sight; however, she knew Marco picked up on it by the slight smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“A little over six years.”

“Are you from a family of big, strong cops?” she asked.

Peyton moved away, looking at the photos displayed on the wall. Despite being a convalescent hospital, this place sported an impressive array of donors. She saw state senators and past mayors among the photos of contributors.

“Nope,” said Marco behind her. “I’m the only one.”

“How is that?” the receptionist laughed.

“I had three older brothers who all went to college, but I didn’t want to go that route. I chose the Academy instead.”

“Oh, are they all as handsome as you are?”

Marco gave a masculine chuckle. “Not even a bit.”

The receptionist peeled off into hysterical giggles.

Peyton glared over her shoulder at them. She started back toward the counter, but the inner door opened and a short, dark haired man stepped out. He wore glasses and a white lab coat. He held out his hand first to Peyton. His fingers were cool and delicate.

“Officer Brooks?” he said, “We talked on the phone.”

“Right. Dr. Chang?”

“Yes, yes.” He turned and shook hands with Marco, who had finally torn himself away from the receptionist.

“This is my partner, Marco D’Angelo.”

“Yes, yes. Won’t you come this way?” He motioned to the door and then led them to it. He moved at a rapid pace for all his short stature. He stopped at an office and pushed open the door. The placard on the outside bore his name. “Please, take a seat.” He indicated the two chairs before his desk, and bustled around the back, sinking into a large, leather chair that dwarfed him.

“Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Chang. We appreciate you taking the time.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, then held out his hand. “Can I see the warrant? I can’t discuss anything with you without it.”

Marco reached inside his leather jacket and drew it out, passing it over the desk to the doctor. Dr. Chang spent several minutes reading it, while Peyton and Marco waited. Peyton looked around the office, noting the many diplomas hung on the wall by the window, the expensive wood of his cabinets and book cases. A Newton’s cradle sat in the direct middle of the desk and impulsively Peyton started it moving.

At the first clack, the doctor glanced up, gave Peyton a firm look, then reached over and stopped the motion. Marco covered a smile with his hand and looked away. Peyton clasped her hands in her lap and tried not to fidget as the doctor finished inspecting the warrant.

“It seems to be in order. What can I do for you?”

Peyton started to speak, but the doctor interrupted her.

“I’d like to remind you discretion is expected here. I’m happy to help with your investigation, but I want the privacy of my patients maintained as much as possible.”

Peyton wasn’t sure how to answer that. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about his wealthy patients, but she did want his cooperation. Marco saved her.

“We’ll be extremely discreet, Dr. Chang.”

“Yes, yes, now what can I tell you?”

Marco glanced down at her. Peyton unclasped her hands and eased forward in the seat, reaching for her notebook. She flipped open the cover and glanced at the questions she’d jotted down. “How long ago was Blake Harper admitted?”

“Six months. He was comatose, unresponsive with a grim prognosis. He didn’t respond well to treatment in the hospital, so he was moved here.”

“What was your diagnosis? What brought about the coma?”

“Massive stroke. His brain scans are dark.”

Peyton shook her head. “Dark?”

Dr. Chang steepled his fingers. “When you scan a healthy brain, it lights up like a Christmas tree. Damaged brains can show dark areas where the damage has occurred. Nearly all of Blake Harper’s brain is dark.”

“Meaning what?”

“For all intents and purposes, Blake Harper is dead. His brain is no longer functioning.”

“How is he alive?”

“He’s not, not really.”

“I get that,” said Peyton, trying hard not to get annoyed. “What’s keeping his body alive?”

Dr. Chang spread out his hands, palms up. “We are.”

“You mean life support?” offered Marco.

“Yes, yes.”

Peyton looked at her notebook to gather her thoughts. “Did you communicate this to the family? Did they know there was no hope of recovery?”

“I communicate it on a regular basis, but it does no good. His daughter and wife cannot accept that he is gone. Whenever I suggest we remove him from life-support, they get emotional, so I ask who does it hurt to keep him
going?”

Blake
, thought Peyton, but she didn’t voice it out loud. Damn, Jake had been right again. What the hell was going on in this family?

“Besides, it won’t be long now anyway. There is only so much modern medicine can do to keep the inevitable at bay.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean? He’s dying?”

“He has an infection and we just can’t get it under control. Soon his entire system will fail.”

“Infection? Pneumonia?”

“Ah,” said Dr. Chang in approval, “very good. Yes, a lot of patients do develop pneumonia. It is usually the cause of death on death certificates, but it isn’t the real reason people die. No, Blake Harper doesn’t have pneumonia. Well, not yet.”

Peyton looked at Marco in confusion. He gave her a confused look in return. “Wait. You said Blake had an infection.”

“Yes, yes. Around the shunt…well, beyond the shunt now. It happens. No matter how hard we try, no matter how clean we try to be, we can’t avoid all of the bacteria getting in.”

Peyton scratched her forehead. For a man who claimed to want discretion, he was a fountain of information, not all of it helpful. “You know Dr. Harper’s daughter died recently, right?”

“Yes, yes, terribly sad. She was delightful.”

“She visit here regularly?”

“Quite often. Not so much lately, but she still came regularly. Some of these people get no visitors at all. It’s quite sad.”

“When you say she didn’t come much lately, what do you mean?”

He considered her question. “I don’t know. You have to check at reception. Everyone signs in when they visit, but I don’t remember seeing her much for the last couple of months. At first, she and her mother were very active in Dr. Harper’s treatment, but lately, I’ve just dealt with her mother.”

“Is Dr. Harper on many medications?”

“Not so much as at first. An antibiotic for the infection, pain medication on a regular schedule, but beyond the feeding tube, IV, and respirator, all other interventions have been stopped.”

“With Claire Harper’s approval?”

“She ordered the feeding tube and IV. She demanded the antibiotic, but there was no indication that any other medication would do any good.”

Peyton closed her notebook. “What about warfarin? Is he on that?”

“Warfarin?” Dr. Chang’s brows knit, then he opened his eyes wide. “Oh, stroke medication. Yes, yes, I see. No, he’s not on warfarin.”

“Was he ever?”

Dr. Chang spread his hands again. “Perhaps when he first arrived at the hospital, but by the time he was moved here, it wasn’t indicated.”

“Because there was no brain activity?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Just to be sure I have this right, there was never any time here at your facility that Dr. Harper was given warfarin for any reason.”