Murder on Potrero Hill (17 page)

“Of course not. As I said, it wasn’t indicated. Warfarin would have only hastened his death.”

Marco and Peyton exchanged a look. “Why?” she asked. “You said yourself it’s a stroke medication.”

“Do you know what a shunt is, Officer?”

“I think I do. It’s too remove excess fluid, right?”

“Yes, yes. A stroke is caused by a blocked artery, but when the blockage is so great, the artery fails, you now have bleeding where there should never be blood. Blake Harper has a shunt because his brain is bleeding into his cranial cavity.”

Peyton didn’t move. She stared at Dr. Chang, trying to process what she’d heard. The doctor waited a moment, then reached for the warrant and folded it, passing it across the desk to Marco. Marco took it, but he didn’t put it back in his coat pocket.

Dr. Chang pointedly looked at his watch. “Is there anything else, Officers? I have patients I need to see.”

Peyton shook her head and pushed herself to her feet. “No, thank you, Dr. Chang.” She held out her hand and he shook it. “If we think of something else, can we call you?”

“Yes, yes, please do.” He reached for a business card in a metal holder beside the Newton’s cradle. “Take this.”

Peyton accepted it and put it in her notebook, then she put the notebook in her pocket and followed the doctor to the door.

“You can show yourselves out, yes?”

“Yes,” said Peyton, resisting the urge to add another
yes
. The doctor disappeared down the hall and through a different door. Peyton followed Marco into the lobby again.

“Hold on,” said Marco and he strode up to the desk, flashing his million dollar smile. “Dr. Chang said you have a record of all people who visit. Could you look up someone for me on a specific date?”

“Sure,” she said, reaching for a large book sitting on the counter next to her. “What date?”

Marco gave the day of Zoë’s death and waited while the receptionist searched through the pages. She located the date, then smiled up at him. “Who are you looking for specifically?”

“Zoë Ryder.”

Peyton wandered over to the counter as the receptionist dragged her finger down the page. “No, no Zoë Ryder,” she said, looking up. Peyton leaned over and looked herself. She didn’t see a Z anywhere on the page.

“Try Claire Harper,” she said.

The receptionist made another swipe with her finger. “No, no Claire Harper either.”

Peyton looked up at Marco and shook her head. “What the hell is going on?”

“Someone is telling us lies. I think it’s time we paid a visit to the Queen Bee.”

Peyton’s phone rang. She dragged it out of her pocket and pressed it to her ear. “Brooks?”

“Hey, Brooks, this is Smith. Just got a call from dispatch that Ryder is at Claire Harper’s house making a scene. You know how these uptight Pacific Heights people are. Captain wants you and D’Angelo to check it out.”

“How did Ryder get to the Harper place?”

“He went into an Italian restaurant for food and never came out. We’ve been looking all over for the bastard when we got the call. Want us to meet you at the Harper place?”

“No, you find Ryder. By the time we get over there, I’ll bet he’s gone.”

“Got it.”

“And Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t lose him this time. He’s got you twice now.”

“That wasn’t me. The last time it was Holmes he burned.”

“Whatever. Just find him, okay?”

“You got it.”

Peyton disconnected the call and replaced the phone in her jacket pocket.

“Well, that was convenient.”

“Oh, yeah, Jake is just being all kinds of cooperative now.”

Marco passed the receptionist his business card. “Thank you for your help. Call if you remember anything.”

She clutched the card to her massive bosom. “I will,” she called after him as he headed toward the door.

Peyton followed behind him. “I’ll bet she’ll remember your pretty blue eyes, Marco Baby,” she said as they exited the building.

“Don’t they all, Brooks, don’t they all.”

*   *   *

Jake rode the bus to Outer Richmond and got off on Geary. He found a little deli and went inside. It wasn’t as crowded this late in the evening and he was grateful for that. He was becoming a little afraid that the police would put out a bulletin about him. He waited in line and ordered a turkey sandwich and a glass of iced tea.

Taking both to an armchair by the window, he settled the backpack in the chair next to him and sat down. He watched the traffic go by as he wolfed down the sandwich. Nothing had ever tasted as good to him. Funny how much better food was when you were really, painfully hungry.

He sipped at the iced tea as he reached for Zoë’s journal again. So far it hadn’t told him much. It was a pleasant chronicle of their first three years together, but nothing led him to answers he desperately needed. He skimmed through the pages until he came to a date he recognized – the date her father had his stroke.

September 23
rd

I have no words to express the sadness I feel tonight or actually, it’s more like tomorrow. It’s 2:00AM and I can’t sleep. Jake is out cold. I can hear him snoring in the bedroom, but every time I close my eyes, I see my father lying in that bed with tubes and wires attached to him.

The doctors don’t have much hope. They’re going to run a brain scan tomorrow, but they’re already talking to Mom and me about removing him from life support. Can’t they just let us adjust to the devastation? Do they have to push us to make decisions we can’t even fathom right now?

I can hardly write this down. It just doesn’t seem real. I keep hoping I’ll wake up and it’ll all be a bad dream.

September 29
th

No change in Dad’s condition. It’s been more than a week. The doctors are saying the brain scans show little to no activity. Still, Mom and I won’t allow them to unhook him. I’ve read many stories of people who were thought brain dead, who miraculous recovered. I’m not giving up hope.

We got them to insert a feeding tube, so he’s getting nourishment, and they agreed to begin pain medication on a regular basis. He doesn’t indicate he’s in pain, but I can’t stand the thought that he might be.

What scares me most is they want to move him from the hospital to a convalescent home. I can’t stand the thought of that. I want Mom to take him home, but she says she can’t take care of him. I know they have enough money for her to hire help, but she panics whenever I suggest it. I don’t know what I’ll do if they move him.

October 4
th

They moved Dad to the convalescent hospital. It’s the nicest one I’ve seen, but it’s still a horrible place to be. I can’t stand seeing him in that place. I can’t stand seeing him lying in that bed. He’s lost so much weight already. It’s like he’s shrinking before my eyes. My powerful father reduced to a shell of what he once was.

His latest doctor, Dr. Chang, began pestering Mom and me about removing him from life support. He did his own brain scan and says there is very little activity. He said it would be a mercy to let him go.

Oh, God help me, I wonder if he’s right. Are we doing the wrong thing by keeping him alive? How do you make that decision?

When I approached it with Mom, she flew into a rage and began sobbing. I dropped it immediately. I guess there isn’t a choice as long as she is so vehemently opposed to it.

Jake lowered the journal and sat looking out the window. The lights on the cars washed over his face as they raced down the street. So, Zoë had considered letting Blake go? She’d never mentioned it to him, but that was probably because of Claire’s reaction.

He wished that she had confided in him. He could have helped her, at least he could have comforted her and supported her in her decision not to fight Claire. As it was, he’d made things worse. He’d commented often enough that he thought it was cruel to keep Blake alive. He thought he was doing the right thing, but obviously, he’d just been rubbing salt into the wound.

He covered his eyes and allowed the wave of sadness to sweep over him. What kind of a husband gives his wife a hard time when she’s going through something like this? No wonder she’d turned to someone else.

Reaching for the iced tea, he gulped it down. The chill of it drove some of the panic away and he felt calmer. Picking up the journal again, he continued reading.

October 10
th

Received a letter today from Dad’s attorney. Honestly, I didn’t know Dad had a lawyer. It was addressed to me, which I thought was odd, since Mom must be Dad’s beneficiary. I also don’t understand why I received it now. Dad has stabilized and although there is no progress, he doesn’t seem to be declining either.

The letter asked me to contact the lawyer, a Mr. Neal Goldman, Esq. He said he has some information that my father wanted me to have in the event of his demise. My father isn’t dead. Why is this man contacting me now and what information could he have that my father gave him?

I want to ask Jake, but he and I are going through a rough spot. He won’t go see Dad anymore and he disapproves of Mom and my decision. I wish I could explain it to him, but every time I talk about Dad, I’m so overwhelmed with guilt and sadness I start crying. I’m sure Jake is sick of having a weepy, depressed wife all of the time.

Jake marked his spot and closed the journal, leaning his head back with a weary sigh. His chest ached. He couldn’t read any more. Not tonight. Oh, God, Zoë, how had they gotten so far away from each other that she didn’t feel comfortable confiding in him?

He hesitated and sat staring at the cover of the journal. Neal Goldman, Esq.
Neal Goldman.
He dug his phone out of his pocket and started to thumb it on, but stopped. The police would be able to trace him here if he used it, but he needed to check the text message he’d received awhile ago. He was certain the man’s name was Neal Goldman. The man who had never answered his call. He struggled with himself for a moment more, then he let out a heavy sigh and put the phone back into his pocket. He couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

He slipped the journal into the backpack and rose to his feet, moving toward the counter. He needed to find a cheap motel for the night, so he could get some real sleep. If he didn’t get a full night, he wasn’t going to be able to help himself any more.

CHAPTER 10

Peyton pulled the Charger up in front of the stately mansion. She leaned over and looked at it. Her little home on 19
th
could fit inside of it about three times. She shook her head in amusement as she marked the lights angled to highlight its white columns as if it were a star parading in the spotlight.

“Hot damn, being a gastro-whatever sure pays well,” she said.

Marco was studying it as well. “I guess so. Definitely not a cop’s house.”

They both laughed, then climbed out of the car.

“What did the Queen Bee do again before she married Dr. Harper?” asked Marco.

Peyton reached for the gate in the rose arbor. “She was a nurse. I think I’ve read where all these doctors keep something going on the side with their nurses.”

“That’s a stereotype, Brooks. Like cops being fiends for donuts.”

Peyton shrugged. “Whatever. I can’t say I mind donuts myself.”

“You like anything that’s got sugar in it.”

Peyton jogged up the steps. “That’s why I’m so damn sweet.”

“Tell that to your boyfriend,” he responded and took two long strides to the door. He knocked loudly a couple of times.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, leaning back to take in the façade of the house. “Definitely in the wrong business.”

“You keep on with your lawyer and you might get one of these in your stocking one Christmas.”

Peyton stuck her tongue out at him.

The door opened and a man in his late twenties looked out. He had massive shoulders and was over six feet tall. He had the arched brows, narrow nose, and thin lips of white aristocracy – a frat boy down to his polo shirt, khaki pants, and penny loafers.

“Officers, nice of you to show up,” he said.

Peyton bit her inner lip as she reached for her badge. All cocky aggression and condescension. Oh, she hated him already. She and Marco flipped open their badges at the same time. “Inspector Brooks and D’Angelo.”

“Come in.” He stepped back and motioned them inside.

Marco let Peyton go first. The entrance hall was tiled in marble with a huge staircase rising to the right. To the left was a door that opened onto a parlor. Peyton marked the blond woman rising from one of the chairs at the same time she caught motion at the far end of the hall. A short, dark haired woman, probably Hispanic, was watching them, but she disappeared as soon as she caught Peyton’s eye.

“Police officers,” said the man as the blond woman bustled up to them. “Brooks and
D’Angeles.”

“D’Angelo,” Peyton corrected, turning to the woman. “Are you Claire Harper?”

She was dressed in a silk blouse and a pencil skirt with black pumps. Her blond hair was pulled up in pearl combs and her face was made up impeccably. She pressed a hand to her chest where a large diamond sparkled in the light from the chandelier.

“Yes. Why did it take you so long to get here? I was terrified.”

Peyton started to say something, but the man interrupted. “I was here the whole time. He wasn’t getting inside, Claire.”

Claire touched his arm. “I know. I felt so much better that you were here.”

Peyton exchanged a look with Marco before she turned to the man. “Exactly who are you?” she asked, meaning her tone to be sharp.

He narrowed his eyes in affront and Claire straightened like a bird dog on alert.

“This is my dear neighbor, Brandon Dixon. He and my darling Zoë were sweethearts in high school.”

Peyton reached for her notebook and a pen. She jotted his name on a clean page.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the parlor, Officer?” Claire said, motioning behind her.

Peyton closed the notebook and followed the woman into the room. She took the seat Claire indicated in front of the windows, but Marco wandered around the room as he always did, looking at the paintings and the furnishings. Claire perched on the very edge of her chair and patted the seat next to her for Brandon.

Peyton frowned at that. Now that they were here, why exactly was he staying?

“Can I get you anything to drink?” offered Zoë’s mother.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, I must insist. You look positively exhausted.”

Peyton lifted a hand to touch her wild mane. It was dutifully pulled back in a ponytail, but some curls always escaped. With her ass-kicker boots, jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, she guessed she didn’t look like she belonged in Pacific Heights.

“Juanita
!” Claire shouted. “Juanita, ven aqui, por favor!”

Marco had wandered to the piano, but he turned and gave Peyton a quizzical look. Peyton glanced down to hide her amusement.

“So, Mrs. Harper, can you tell me what happened earlier?”

Claire placed her hand over her heart again.
Give the woman a diva award.
“Jake showed up here, demanding to talk to me. I was so afraid. I don’t know what I would have done if Brandon hadn’t stopped him. He just kept shouting and shouting.”

Peyton stored part of that away to come back to later. “What was he shouting?”

“He wanted money for a lawyer. Can you believe that? He asked me for money for a lawyer.” She shook her head in disbelief, then she shifted in the seat. “Where is that maid? Juanita…” She stopped as the little woman appeared in the doorway. “Oh, there you are. Bring us some tea, por favor.  El tea-o.”

Peyton’s eyes widened in shock at Claire’s words. Juanita was studying both her and Marco with wide frightened eyes, but when Peyton’s attention shifted to her, she disappeared again. Peyton sat staring at the empty doorway.

“Language barrier,” said Claire with a strange laugh.

Peyton blinked, then shifted back to Claire. “No doubt,” she said. “Okay, um, he asked you for money for a lawyer?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “It hurt me to turn him away. We were once very close, but…” She let the last trail away.

“When you refused, what did he do?”

“He wouldn’t give up. Brandon had to threaten him and I had already called the police.” She rested her hand on Brandon’s arm again. He patted it.

“Did you see where he went?”

“No, after I was sure he went out the gate, I locked the doors and waited for you.”

Peyton looked down at her notes. “Let’s go back. You said Brandon stopped him when he first came to the door.”

“Right.”

“I answered the door,” offered Brandon.

Peyton nodded at him, then turned her attention back to Claire. “What was Brandon doing here? Didn’t you say he was a neighbor?”

Claire had shifted to see what Marco was doing. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting down, Officer D’Angelo?”

Marco looked over his shoulder. “I’ve been sitting all day, ma’am. I’d like to stretch my legs if you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself,” said Claire, turning back to Peyton, but Peyton could tell by her pinched lips, she wasn’t pleased with his answer. “What did you ask?”

“Why did Brandon open the door? Was he here for a specific reason?”

“Brandon has been a rock for me since Zoë died…well, since Blake got sick. He takes care of small chores for me.”

“Chores? Things Juanita doesn’t do?”

Claire’s finely drawn brows knit. “Of course. Yard work. Heavy lifting.”

“Yard work?” said Peyton with a forced smile. “You don’t have a gardener, Mrs. Harper?”

“Well yes, but…” She clamped her mouth shut.

“You told me on the phone that you knew about Zoë’s pregnancy, right?”

“What does that have to do with Jake showing up here tonight?”

Peyton shrugged. “I just have a few questions I’ve been meaning to ask you. Since we’re already here, I thought I might get it out of the way.”

“Fine. Yes, I knew Zoë was pregnant.”

“Even though she didn’t tell her husband?”

Claire made a scoffing sound. “Daughters tell their mothers things they tell no one else, Officer Brooks. You should know that. Besides, she and Jake weren’t getting along very well.”

Peyton ignored the comment about mothers. In her family, that axiom didn’t exactly work. She certainly hadn’t told her mother about Devan. “Yes, you said that before. What do you mean?”

“You know, fighting and such.”

Juanita appeared with a tray. She brought it into the room and placed it on the table. Peyton marked that the teacups clattered as she set it down. She was shaking. Peyton offered her a warm smile as she rose, but she didn’t return it, backing away from the table as if it were hot.

“I’ll pour,” said Claire, waving her away.

The maid retreated. Peyton leaned back to watch her go. What was that all about?

Claire reached for the teapot and began pouring.

“What did they fight about?”

“He didn’t approve of us keeping Blake on life support. He thought it was a waste of money.” She held out a teacup to Peyton.

Peyton set down her notebook and accepted it. “That’s what he said – waste of money?”

Claire lifted another cup and shifted around to hand it to Marco. Marco accepted the tiny cup in his huge hands. Peyton wanted to laugh at the ridiculous sight. “Yes, he was always going on about money.” She handed a third cup to Brandon, then leaned forward. “I think he saw all of this and he wanted his share.”

Peyton set her cup on the coffee table. “That seems like a relatively silly reason not to tell your husband you’re pregnant. Did you encourage her to tell him?”

Claire paused in the act of pouring her own tea. “Of course I did. I begged her to tell him, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Zoë was head-strong. She always did things her way. Didn’t she?” she said to Brandon.

He nodded and sipped his tea.

“Just like med school. Blake tried so hard to get her to go, but she liked working in that horrible coffee shop for minimum wage.”

“A lot of people think it’s honest work.”

Claire made a scoffing sound. “Believe me. I’ve done honest work and there’s nothing to be said for it.”

Peyton’s brows rose. She resisted the impulse to comment. She closed the notebook and replaced it in her pocket. Her gaze lifted and met Marco’s. By his slight nod, he knew where she was going next. They’d likely get no more cooperation after Peyton broached her next topic, but she had to see Claire’s reaction.

“Could it be that Zoë didn’t want to tell Jake about the pregnancy because she knew it wasn’t his?”

A teacup clattered against a saucer, but it wasn’t Claire’s. Peyton’s attention shifted to Brandon. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. When Claire shot him a look, he closed his mouth, then leaned forward and placed his cup on the table. He didn’t rise for a moment, just sat with his hands between his knees, staring at the cup.

“What a particularly horrible thing to say about my daughter, Officer Brooks. I’m shocked you would slander her reputation that way.”

“Oh, it’s not slander, Mrs. Harper. Our M.E. typed the baby’s blood. Both Zoë and Jake are O, while the baby was B. There’s no way for Jake to be its father.”

Claire set down her cup and rose swiftly to her feet. “I’d like to know what you are doing to catch my daughter’s murderer. I’m not interested in such
defamous allegations about her.”

Peyton rose also and offered her a smile. “I’m sorry to upset you, Mrs. Harper. I do have one last question.”

Claire smoothed her skirt. “Go on.”

“We saw Dr. Chang today.”

“My husband’s doctor?”

“Yes. Jake told us you and Zoë had been to see Blake the day Zoë died.”

“Yes, we go often.”

“Really? Well, when we checked with the receptionist, she said neither one of you were there that day.”

Claire’s face shifted – grew grim and cold. “I am a donor to that hospital, Officer Brooks. I don’t have to sign in when I visit. Everyone knows me on sight.”

“I see. Is the same true for Zoë?”

“When she’s with me.”

Peyton nodded, then turned to go. Marco was already in the entrance hall. She took a few deliberate steps, then turned back. “Dr. Chang also mentioned that Dr. Harper has very little brain activity and hasn’t for a long time. I’m just curious why you won’t let him go in peace.”

Claire’s mouth opened and her hands gripped the sides of her skirt. Brandon glanced up at her from his chair. “How dare you ask me something so personal! My husband is still alive and I have no intention of hastening his death any time soon. What a horrible question to ask! Be assured I’ll be contacting your supervisor over this visit. I am utterly appalled by the way you’ve handled my complaint.”

Peyton couldn’t resist a smile as she reached into her pocket for a business card. “Feel free to call anyone you choose, Mrs. Harper. My captain’s name is Katherine Defino.” She held out the card. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to receive your call.”

Without waiting for a response, she met Marco in the entrance hall. A coat tree to the right of the door caught her attention. A fur jacket of some kind hung from a hook and over it was a green Coach handbag.