Murder on Potrero Hill (7 page)

“Is that your wife?” she asked.

Jake nodded with a frown. He didn’t like the officer handling Zoë’s picture.

“Nice picture,” he said, setting it down again.

The woman wandered over to her partner’s side and looked at the photos he was inspecting, all pictures Jake had taken at various times and places throughout the City. She faced him again. “You take these?”

“Yeah.” He realized he was still holding open the door. He closed it and moved into the family room. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“We’d just like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

Jake shrugged. He was so confused he wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess.”

She settled herself on the couch and pointed to the arm chair diagonal to her. Jake walked to the chair and sank into it. At the other end of the couch was a blanket and pillow he’d folded when he got up this morning. Zoë would have expected him to put it away, but he couldn’t find the energy. Just folding it had taken will power.

Officer Brooks reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small notepad. She flipped up the cover. “Your full name is Jacob John Ryder, your parents were John and Grace Ryder, you have two sisters, Faith and Hope, both married, and one niece Emily. You work at a bank as a loan officer, right?”

Jake shifted and looked over his shoulder at the male officer. “Yeah, what’s this about?”

“Your wife was Zoë Harper Ryder, daughter of Dr. Blake and Claire Harper. She worked…” The officer paused and looked up at him, lifting her brows. “…at a coffee shop.”

“Yeah.” He shifted back around. “What exactly are you here for?”

She gave him a smile. It was pleasant enough. “We just want to ask you some questions. When someone as young as Zoë dies so suddenly,
it’s standard protocol to ask questions.”

Jake frowned.

“Do you mind if my partner takes a look around the flat?”

“What would he be looking for?”

“You’re the one that found Zoë, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“In the bathroom.”

“That would be what he’s looking for. You don’t mind, do you?”

Jake wasn’t sure whether he should mind or not. He still didn’t understand why they were there. He shrugged.

Officer Brooks smiled. “Thank you,” she said warmly. She gave her partner a brief nod.

Jake looked over his shoulder as Officer D’Angelo went into the kitchen.

“Back to the questions. How long were you married?”

“Almost four years.”

“Where did you meet?”

“College.”

“San Francisco State?”

“Yes.”

Officer Brooks consulted her pad. “You were a business major and Zoë was pre-med.”

“That’s right.”

Officer Brooks’ brows drew down into a frown. “But she worked in a coffee house?”

“She didn’t want to become a doctor. That’s what her father wanted. She enjoyed being a barista.”

Officer Brooks nodded, her dark eyes searching his face. Then she leaned forward. “Bet that was annoying, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“Here she had the potential to make so much more money as a doctor, but she chose to work for minimum wage.”

“It’s what made her happy.”

The officer shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. You like working at the bank?”

“It’s a job.”

Her gaze shifted to the photographs. “Bet you’d rather take pictures though?”

Jake glanced at them as well. “Few people can make a living doing that.”

“Still, it must have rankled. You working so hard, while she pissed around in a coffee house.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably. He was beginning to think agreeing to this wasn’t the best idea. What the hell did they want? “As long as Zoë was happy, that’s all that mattered. I don’t mind my job.”

“Did you have a good marriage? I mean marriage is hard in the best of circumstances, but it must have been really hard marrying someone like Zoë?”

“What does that mean?” Jake’s voice came out sharper than he intended. He flinched when he heard the bedroom door open. He shifted to look over his shoulder and could just see Officer D’Angelo disappear into the room.

“You weren’t exactly from the same social class, now were you? She’s the trust fund kid from a wealthy surgeon and you are the third child of work-a-day stock.” She looked at her pad. “Your father worked in factories, didn’t he?”

Jake turned back around. “What the hell is this about?”

“I can sympathize. I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been. She was used to so many things. Things not even your bank salary could provide. It must have caused friction.”

Jake rose to his feet. “Okay, I don’t know what this is about, but I want to know why you’re here.”

Officer Brooks also rose and Jake marked that her hand went inside her coat.
Gun
? He was so stunned, he wasn’t sure how to respond. He sensed the other officer looming in the doorway of the bedroom. A cold sweat broke out across his body and he felt his stomach knot.

“Take a seat, Mr. Ryder,” said Officer Brooks. The tone of her voice was no longer gentle or warm. This was a woman who was used to being obeyed.

He sank down onto the chair, his knees trembling, and gripped the arms. He could hear her partner cross the hard wood and come up behind him, but he didn’t turn to look. He kept his attention focused on the woman until she slowly removed her hand from her coat.

“Are you familiar with a drug called warfarin, Mr. Ryder?”

That took Jake by surprise. “Should I be?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. You see Zoë had unusually high amounts of warfarin in her system when she died.”

Jake’s eyes widened. It suddenly made sense – the delay in releasing her body, the movement of her remains to the Medical Examiner’s office, the visit by the police…except it didn’t make sense. Zoë died of a ruptured aneurysm. Dr. Singh had been certain.

“Wait,” he said, tunneling his fingers into his hair. “What are you saying? She committed suicide with this stuff?”

“No, Mr. Ryder,” came Officer Brooks chilling tones, “that’s not at all what I’m saying. Tell me, how did you feel about becoming a father?”

Jake looked up through his fingers and stared at the officer. He didn’t know what to say. His brain wouldn’t fit everything together. What the hell was she talking about? If Zoë had this warfarin in her system when she died, what did that have to do with their baby?

He rose to his feet again so swiftly neither one of the officers had time to react. “I want you out of here,” he said, pointing to the door. “I want you out of my house immediately! What the hell are you accusing me of doing? What the hell is this all about?”

Officer Brooks rose, snapping closed her notebook and slipping it into her pocket. “We just wanted to ask you some questions. Nothing more.”

“Get out of my house now! I’m not answering another thing. I don’t understand what is going on, but I damn well know this can’t be legal.”

Officer Brooks’ eyes shifted beyond his shoulder, then she nodded toward the door. The officer behind him moved toward the door, walking backwards as if he feared Jake might spring on him. Jake was trembling in a mixture of fear and fury. He glared at the other man as he reached for the doorknob.

Officer Brooks was holding something out to him. He tore his eyes from the man and looked down. It was a business card with the SFPD emblem in the corner.

“Here’s my card. If you think of anything or want to talk, call me.”

Jake blinked at her in disbelief.

“There are deals we can make, Mr. Ryder, things we can do. You have a clean record. I’m sure the D.A. would take that into consideration if you cooperate.”

Jake didn’t take the card. “Get out!” His voice shook. “Get out of my house!”

Officer Brooks bent and laid the card on the table, then backed to the door as well. When she had a couch between her and him, Officer D’Angelo opened the door and stepped into the hall. Officer Brooks followed him.

“Don’t forget. Call me if you change your mind. Call me and I promise to help you any way I can.”

Jake blinked rapidly, his hands tightening into fists. Officer D’Angelo pulled the door closed. Later Jake wouldn’t remember how long he stood and shook in the middle of his family room, but when he finally stumbled into the kitchen, he found his coffee had grown cold.

*   *   *

Marco unlocked the Charger with the remote and Peyton slid into the passenger seat. She stared at the dashboard as Marco walked around the back of the car and sank into the seat behind the steering wheel. They both sat for a moment without speaking.

Finally Marco stirred, placing the key in the ignition. “What do you think?”

“Don’t know. He certainly has a temper.”

“That he does.”

Peyton rested her elbow on the door and spread her fingers across her forehead. “Kind of a weenie way to off someone, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but he probably thought he wouldn’t get caught.”

“Yeah.” Peyton shifted in the seat and looked at him. “So what do we have?”

“Prime suspect is always the husband.”

“Check.”

“He found her himself.”

“Check.”

“He definitely has a temper.”

“Check. And we have motive, assuming he didn’t want to be a father.”

Marco sighed. “Well?”

“What? Did you find something when you were snooping around?”

Reaching into his pocket, Marco leaned forward and looked up at the flat. He pulled out a foil wrapped packet and held it up. Peyton recognized the circular, blister-pack of white pills with the numbers beneath them. “Tell me why a woman who is three months pregnant needs birth control pills.”

Peyton reached for them. “Maybe they’re left over from before the pregnancy?”

“Turn it over.”

Peyton flipped it to the back. The prescription sticker covered the backside.

“She had them filled just two weeks before she died,” said Marco.

Peyton tapped the packet against the dashboard. “You think she didn’t want him to know she was pregnant?”

“Seems that way.”

“Why?”

“Maybe she knew he’d react badly. Maybe she was afraid of what he’d do.”

Peyton looked up at the flat herself. “Yeah, but she couldn’t keep that hid forever. Seems to me she was running short of time.”

Marco reached for the keys and the Charger roared to life. “Maybe that’s exactly what happened.”

*   *   *

Jake stared at the coffee until he could get his emotions under control. Such a strange mixture of fury and confusion. Although the officer hadn’t come out and accused him directly, the implied threat was there. They thought him capable of murder?

His hands tightened into fists on the granite and he closed his eyes. How the hell had Zoë gotten some drug in her system? Why would she have taken anything, especially knowing she was pregnant? He’d never seen her take anything stronger than an aspirin before. There was no way she was on anything else and he didn’t know it.

However, a small thought niggled at his awareness. He hadn’t known she was pregnant. She had kept that from him. Maybe he wouldn’t have known if she kept anything else from him.

He pushed away from the counter and left the kitchen, turning into the hallway. Blood pounded so fiercely through him that he barely registered he’d crossed the threshold of their room for the first time in a week. He rushed beyond the bed and entered the bathroom, wrenching open the medicine cabinet. He grabbed the bottles lined up on the glass shelf, glancing at each as he threw them into the sink. When that turned up nothing, he wrenched open the cabinet drawer and began throwing things out of it. Hairbrush, hairclips, blush, eye shadow, mascara, lipstick. Kneeling down, he pulled open the doors on the cabinet and knocked peroxide, drain cleaner, cotton balls, lotion into a heap on the floor.

Leaving the mess where it was, he stalked into the bedroom and grabbed the drawer on her nightstand, tearing it out and dumping the contents on the bed. He found nail files, tissues, and a few necklaces and earrings – no pills.

Grabbing the bedclothes, he heaved them off the bed and sent the entire pile crashing to the floor on the other side. Pillows landed at his feet and he kicked them again and again, sending them flying into the dresser, knocking over bottles of perfume and other knickknacks. Still, his anger didn’t dissipate and he found himself swearing, kicking the blankets, the mattress…anything.

Finally he sank to his knees, panting, an ache spreading through his stomach. He couldn’t draw a deep enough breath, loosen the tightness that banded his chest. He felt light headed, so he shut his eyes, praying for calm. Gradually he took a breath, then another, his shoulders dropping, the muscles in his stomach unknotting.