The Peyton Brooks' Mysteries Box Set, page 165
She started crying again. Peyton waited patiently for her to stop, but Marco shifted uncomfortably. She glanced over at him. “Can you see if they have a video feed of the lobby and the elevators?”
“Good idea,” he said and left.
“I’ll be right back,” she said and rose, slipping out to the security desk to grab a paper and pen. She’d left her notebook at home. Coming back into the conference room, she found Mrs. Olsen calmer, sipping at the water and staring at a spot on the table.
Peyton sat down again. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Mrs. Olsen?”
“It’s Sally,” she said.
“Sally. Do you mind if I take some notes while we talk?”
Sally held out a hand, indicating she didn’t care. Peyton figured she didn’t care about much right now.
“The first thing I need to ask you is if your children are safe.”
Sally blinked at her, then released her breath in a shivery pant. “They’re with my mother.”
“How many kids do you have?”
“Two, boy and girl.”
“And their ages?”
“Samuel’s ten and Sarah’s twelve.”
Peyton jotted it down.
“I don’t understand how someone can hang another person, Inspector Brooks.”
“I know. The M.E. should be able to give us some insight into that.” She shifted so she faced the other woman. “You and your husband were separated?”
Sally nodded. “I left a week ago.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Fifteen years.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It wasn’t what I planned, but he left me with no choice.”
Peyton looked down at her paper. “You filed for divorce?’
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me why?”
Sally met Peyton’s gaze. “I really don’t need anything else getting into the papers, Inspector Brooks.”
“Believe me, Mrs. Olsen, I don’t want it in the papers either.”
She swallowed and looked away. “Simon had a temper. He’d fly into rages and he couldn’t control it. He’s been in therapy for years.”
“Did he hit you?”
She met Peyton’s eyes. “Our entire marriage.”
“For fifteen years?”
“Yeah. The therapist said I was an enabler for taking it, but I didn’t know what else to do. I never finished college, I never held my own job, and then his political career started and he said I’d ruin him if I left.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I must seem like such a fool to you.”
“Not at all. A lot of women don’t feel safe enough to leave, or feel that they can’t make it by themselves.”
“Thank you for saying that. Too many people judge without putting themselves in anyone else’s place.”
Peyton scratched some notes on her paper. “Sally, I have to ask you why you left though. A week ago, you took a huge risk and filed for divorce. Why?”
She rubbed a hand across her forehead.
Peyton waited. She didn’t want to push too hard and lose her cooperation.
“He hit my son.”
Peyton reached over and placed her hand on the other woman’s. “That was a brave thing to do, leaving him to protect your children.”
“All these years I’ve thought about doing it, planning, scheming, praying, but in the end, it was so easy. I just walked out.” She wiped a tear away. “Still, I didn’t want him dead. He was the father of my children. We spent fifteen years together.”
“Did your husband have enemies? Did he ever receive threats?”
“He was a councilman. Before that he was a cop. He was bound to piss someone off.”
“Did he receive any threats though?”
“A couple times a year. Someone always investigated them and it always turned out to be nothing.” She scratched at the side of her face. “Why would anyone hang him? I can understand a gun shot or a knife attack, but hanging? Who hangs another person?”
Peyton’s head lifted and her mind raced. Who hangs another person? Wayne Kimbro was shot execution style. Who was the second victim? What was his name? He’d died before she and Marco came on the case. It started with an A. Alfred, Albert. She racked her brain, trying to remember.
Turning to the piece of paper, she scrawled an A. Shit. What was his name? Arnold. Alvin. Allen. Allen Brill. The man who was hanged by the Janitor.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said and jumped to her feet. Hurrying out to the security desk, she looked around for Marco. He was in another room across the lobby with computer monitors showing video feeds from all of the elevators and floors. A security guard was keying in the various feeds for him.
She raced to the doorway and grasped the molding. Both men looked up at her. “He’s repeating his pattern.”
Marco straightened. “What?”
‘The recent killings? They’re just like they were before. Wayne Kimbro was shot execution style. Then Allen Brill was hanged.”
Marco’s expression sobered.
“The third victim was the priest on Alcatraz, Marco.”
He glanced down at the monitor.
“Please tell me you’ve got him on video,” she said.
He shook his head. “He knew where the cameras were and how to avoid a direct shot. He wore a hat, like the one he wore at Pier 39. We can’t even be sure of his height.”
“But you can see him enter the building?”
Marco drew a deep breath and released it. “Yeah, Peyton, we can see him enter. He came in with Simon Olsen and they were talking as if they knew each other. From the lobby to the area just outside his townhouse, Olsen never once indicated he was in trouble. It’s like he was talking to an old friend, someone he’d known his whole life.”
Peyton ran a hand across her forehead. “What do we do now, Marco?”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “We shut down Alcatraz.”
CHAPTER 9
“You want to do what now?” said Defino. Most of the time the captain squinted, but right now, if her eyes got any bigger, they might fall out of her head.
Marco shifted weight and glanced at his fellow detectives. “We want to shut down Alcatraz to tourists.”
They were all standing before Maria’s desk, filling Defino in on the councilman’s murder the previous night. Peyton wasn’t a fan of Mondays, but this Monday felt particularly bleak. She was going to be thirty in a week, and here she was trying to convince her captain to shut down one of the largest and most famous tourist attractions in the City.
“And just how do you expect me to begin that conversation with the Chief of Police and oh, yeah, the Mayor, who right now isn’t our biggest fan? Then there’s the national parks department.”
“It’s for public safety,” said Simons.
“And what am I going to say is this safety risk? A serial killer?”
“I think that genie’s out of the bottle, Captain,” offered Peyton.
Defino exhaled. “They’ll never agree to shutting down Alcatraz, especially on a hunch, but we can beef up security. Did you get anything off the surveillance video?”
“Not that we can see, except it appears Simon Olsen knew his killer,” offered Cho. “We took it to Stan to see if he can enhance it.”
“Stan, the same Stan you two suspect?” She pointed at Marco and Peyton.
“I never suspected him,” said Peyton.
“It can’t be him. The guy on the video is too…” said Marco.
“Too?”
“Muscular.”
“I see. Did Abe get our councilman’s body for autopsy?”
“Yes, he said he’d get to it as soon as he could,” said Peyton.
“Where’s Ryder?”
“At his desk.”
“I have his handwriting expert in the conference room.” She looked over at Maria. “Get the Chief on the phone for me, okay?”
“On it.”
She pointed at Cho and Simons. “You two, get down to Ingleside and pull Olsen’s employment records. Have Devan start working on a warrant.”
Cho and Simons immediately left to do as she commanded.
Defino pointed at Marco and Peyton. “You two sit with Ryder and the handwriting expert. See if you can figure anything out.”
“I have to testify at Jedediah O’Shannahan’s trial today, Captain,” said Peyton.
“That is just awesome.”
Peyton glanced over at Marco, but he didn’t offer any help.
“When?”
“Whenever Devan calls me.”
“Okay. You go prep for that. D’Angelo, you’re with Ryder.”
Marco nodded, but as soon as Defino disappeared into her office, he caught Peyton by the arm. “When you have to go, you tell me, all right? I’m going with you.”
“You don’t have to do that anymore, Marco.”
“Have we caught the serial killer and I don’t know it?”
“It just seems silly for you to keep following me around. He’s clearly not gone and he’s still killing.”
“Which is why I need to be there.” He tugged her around to face him. “Do you remember the last time he used death by cop?”
It hadn’t been out of Peyton’s mind for a moment. The minute her alarm clock woke her it was all she could think about, worry about, fear. He had used her to make Marco kill. Would he do it again?
“Just tell me, okay, Brooks? Don’t try to outthink this crazy bastard. Not right now.”
She nodded and he released her.
* * *
The handwriting specialist was a woman who looked like she came straight out of the Haight Ashbury. She had long, wavy blond hair and wore a flowing floral print skirt that brushed the floor. Her loose blouse was cinched at her waist with a belt made of rope and when she rose to greet them, Jake caught a glimpse of the flat sandals she wore.
He shot a look at Marco and held out his hand. She grasped it in both her own, rubbing her thumb across his palm.
“I’m Jake Ryder, CSI, and this is Inspector Marco D’Angelo.”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly, then turned to Marco, but she pulled back at the last minute without touching him. Instead, she pressed her fingers to her forehead in greeting and then rubbed her hands along her skirt.
Jake’s brows rose at that. He’d never seen a woman not anxious to touch Adonis. Marco didn’t seem to care. He threw himself down into a chair across the table from her and glared at its surface.
“Please, have a seat.” Jake motioned to the chair.
“Yes,” she said again, taking a seat. She glanced nervously at Marco from the corner of her eyes, then smiled at Jake. She didn’t wear makeup, but her face had a wholesome, scrubbed look to it.
Jake sat down at the head of the table, perpendicular to her. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Rain.”
“Rain?”
Marco looked up at that.
“Short for Rainbow.”
“Really?”
“My parents lived in a commune for a while. In Berkeley.”
“Did they now? Last name?”
“Moon.”
“Rain Moon.”
“Yes.” She leaned closer to the table, dropping her voice. “My father’s name was really Monroe, but he had it changed to Moon. They wanted to start with an unfettered history.”
“Unfettered?”
“By the weight of their ancestors.”
Jake nodded, unable to stop the smile that bloomed across his lips. “Yeah.” His eyes lowered to the letter resting on the table before her. “Did you have a chance to look at the letter?”
“I did.” Her hand hovered over the top of it without touching it. “There is some serious negative energy trapped in this paper.”
Marco let out his breath and slumped down further in the chair.
Jake bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. “Well, it is from a serial killer.”
“That’s probably what I feel.”
“Probably. Could you be a bit more specific?”
She used a pencil to shift the paper around so he could see. “Do you see the strokes on the letters t and l?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you see the violence of the down-strike?”
“The violence of the down-strike?”
“See how much darker it is than the other letters.”
Jake picked up the letter and looked closer. “Okay.” Marco made a grumble of annoyance, but Jake ignored him. “What else?”
“See the loops on the d, the b, and the o?”
“Yeah?”
“Tight, narrow, not round and full like most people. This is a man who is tightly controlled, disciplined. Probably ex-military.”
“Ex-military or cop?”
“Could be cop.”
Jake felt Marco’s glare. “Did you have a chance to compare it to the signatures I gave you?”
On Saturday, Maria had pulled samples of signatures from everyone in the precinct.
“I did.”
“Did you find any matches?”
“A lot of the loops are rigid.”
Jake paused, tilting his head. “The loops are rigid?”
She picked up a sample on the top. It was Marco’s. Figured. “See. Same problem as the original letter. Tightly controlled loops. Rigid.”
Jake couldn’t help but smile. “See, Adonis.” He slid the paper to Marco. “Tightly controlled and uptight loops. That fits you to a…pardon the pun…t.”
She snickered, covering her mouth with her hand.
Marco didn’t look amused. “Finish this,” he growled.
Jake turned back to her. “What I really need to know is if you found any similarities between the signatures and the letter? We’re trying to find a match.”
“Unfortunately no.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure. No matches.”
Jake picked up the sample signatures and rifled through them until he came to Stan Neumann’s. “Not even this one?”
She looked at it again, then picked up the pencil and pointed to the a and u. “Actually, this was the only sample without rigid loops.” She took the papers from him and searched through them herself. “And one other.” She pulled out Peyton’s and set it before Jake. “This one. This one is filled with beautiful complexity and realness.”
Marco sat forward at that.
“Realness?”
“A pure soul.”
Jake glanced at Marco. Marco met his gaze, then looked away.
“Thank you, Rain. I appreciate you coming down.”
“It was my pleasure.” She gave Marco her sidelong look again, then smiled at Jake. “You have a blue aura.”
“A what?”
“A beautiful, clear blue aura.”
“Um, thank you.”
She looked at Marco directly. “Yours is cloudy…and red…very red.” With that she rose and glided from the room.
As soon as she was gone, Jake burst into laughter.
“Are we done with your freakin’ séance, Ryder?” said Marco, pushing himself to his feet.
Jake couldn’t stop laughing. “Every woman we see gets all hot and bothered around you, but her. She saw right through you. Uptight loops and cloudy red aura. You’re a hot mess, Adonis.”
“Shut up, Ryder.”
Jake wagged a finger at him. “Oooh, be careful. Your aura’s getting cloudier.”
“Idiot,” Marco growled and walked from the room.
* * *
Peyton reached for her phone without looking at it, her eyes fixed on the report she’d written after they arrested Jedediah O’Shannahan. She wanted to be sure she had everything clear in her mind. One slip and she knew Elizabeth Brown would be all over her.
“Brooks,” she said into the device.
“This Janitor nutter is really starting to piss me off,” came Abe’s voice.
“Fan of the Councilman are you?”
“When you start bumping off public officials, it makes my skin itch.”
“Don’t go beating up on women or doing other unsavory things and you should be just fine.”
“That’s not the whole of it. He’s unoriginal.”
“How so?”
“This is the second chap he’s hung. Where’s the innovation, the je ne sais quoi?”
“The what?”
“Je ne sais quoi. Means I don’t know what.”
“I know what it means, but I don’t know what you mean. We can’t catch this bastard as it is and you want him to be more innovative in the way he kills people?”
“I don’t want him to kill people, but it’s like he’s just going through the motions now.”
Peyton rubbed her eyes. “Was there something serious you wanted or did you just want to give me a headache?”
“Actually, I have something serious to discuss, but first of all, I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Of course you do.”
“When did you plan to tell me that Angel’D is living avec vous?”
“Could we stop with the French?”
“Could we stop with the deflecting?”
“I didn’t think I had to clear my household arrangements with you.”
“Ooh wee, the little kitten has her claws out.”
“Abe, I have to testify at Jedediah O’Shannahan’s trial in a little while. Can you get to the point?”
“Why wasn’t I made privy to these living arrangements?”
“It’s not an arrangement. He’s just staying there until this Janitor nutter, as you call him, is caught.”
“And you have this Grade A, prime hunk of man sleeping on a military cot?”
“Where would you have him sleep?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. “Please, please don’t answer that.”
Abe peeled off into laughter, forcing Peyton to smile. “You know me so well.”
“We all know you so well,” she said, scratching her forehead. “Abe, have you finished Simon Olsen’s autopsy?”
“Yes, he died of asphyxia.”
“Kind of figured that out myself.”
“He also fought back. He had defensive wounds on his hands and forearms.”
“Did you get any skin cells from under his fingernails or anything?”
