Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2) Read online

  Murder in the Tenderloin

  A Peyton Brooks’ Mystery

  Volume 2

  ML Hamilton

  Cover Art by Karri Klawiter

  www.artbykarri.com

  Murder in The Tenderloin

  © 2012 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  First print

  All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This novel is dedicated to my family as always. Your support and encouragement keeps me going. I appreciate the editing, even when you have to draw straws to see who gets to give me the bad news. I can never repay the hours you’ve given me.

  “Behind every great fortune lies a great crime.”

  -- Honore de Balzac

  CHAPTER 1

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going? Punta, I’m talking to you.”

  Athena stumbled and Venus pulled her upright. If they could make it to the street, someone might help them, but they had to get to the street. Rain pounded down between the buildings and steam rolled out of the storm drains.

  The alley looked like a long tunnel, cutting between a brick building on their right and a cinderblock building on their left. The asphalt gleamed like ebony and a single streetlight shown down at the opening of the alley like a beacon of safety.

  Venus could see cars speeding past on the main street, their tires kicking up sprays of water. A siren sounded in the distance, cutting through the sizzle of the rain on the sidewalk. If they could make the street…

  Something heavy slammed into Venus’ back and she fell. Athena went down with her, her scream ricocheting against the buildings and echoing away into the distance. For a moment, Venus couldn’t move. A weight pressed her into the asphalt and she found herself wedged against a dumpster on her right side.

  Then the weight rolled away and she pushed herself to her hands and knees, her blond hair plastered in her eyes by the falling rain. She clawed it out with one hand as she steadied herself on the side of the dumpster.

  Peering through the darkness and the driving water, she saw Athena struggling with someone. She was on her back, and she was kicking and clawing at her attacker. The hooded, dark figure rose over her, his hands wrapped around her throat, throttling her.

  Venus climbed to her feet, using the dumpster to steady herself. Her palms and knees stung from the abrasion of the asphalt, but she ignored it, taking a few stumbling steps toward the struggling pair. Then she launched herself at the dark figure, swinging with her fists.

  He reared off Athena and grabbed Venus’ hands, crushing the bones in her wrists together. The pain was excruciating and she found herself forced to her knees, moaning in agony. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Athena reach for something in the man’s belt.

  She pointed it at his head, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy crushing Venus’ wrists, but Venus saw it and she frantically tried to pull free, closing her eyes and turning her face away. The roar of the gun slammed into her head, robbing her of hearing.

  She collapsed on the ground, blinded by the flash of the muzzle, stunned by the percussion of sound. Rain hammered on her head, but she couldn’t hear it. Gradually, however, she became aware of a sound.

  The sound of Athena sobbing.

  * * *

  The black Charger with tinted windows pulled up behind the squad car and the doors opened. An exceptionally handsome man with shoulder-length black hair and massive shoulders climbed out of the passenger side. He had to be six four or taller.

  The driver’s side door opened and a woman climbed out. Short with a mass of curling black hair pulled up in a ponytail, she looked like she was a mix of African American and white. She wore a leather jacket, jeans, and some dyke boots with three inch heels.

  Sitting in the back of the ambulance, Venus hiked the blanket up on her shoulders and pushed the lank hair out of her face. Homicide detectives. They reeked of it. They stopped next to the uniformed officer and talked with him for a few moments.

  The tall cop looked over at Venus, studying her, then back at the uniformed officer. He was handsome, if you liked pigs, Venus thought. Lifting her hand, she pressed it against her ear. Her fingers came away stained with blood.

  The paramedic, a brunette woman with short hair, shook her head. “Hold this to it,” she said.

  She sounded like she was speaking underwater. Venus took the gauze and pressed it against her ear, continuing to watch the detectives.

  The alley was awash in lights now, the rain cutting through the fluorescent lamps at an angle. Cops milled everywhere. One was taking pictures, while another measured things with a wheel, and still others interviewed people standing on the street.

  Beyond a few cursory questions, no one had asked Venus what happened. Not that she gave a damn. She was just as glad El Griego was dead. The bastard deserved worse.

  She glanced over as Athena squeezed her hand. The paramedic was starting an IV.

  “It’s okay,” Venus said, squeezing back.

  Bruises shown vividly around Athena’s neck, even against her dark skin, and the whites of her eyes were red with burst blood vessels. She hadn’t spoken since the shooting. She had screamed for a full ten minutes, until Venus dragged her from the alley, then she had rocked herself and moaned until the cops arrived. Once they moved her to the back of the ambulance, she’d hardly made a sound.

  The handsome detective walked toward the blanket covering El Griego’s body. A uniformed cop moved to pull it back from his face. Venus looked away. She hated him, but she didn’t want to see what a bullet at close range did to a man.

  The female detective approached the ambulance, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a notebook. Her eyes passed over Venus, then Athena, coming to rest on the paramedic. “Before you transport, the CSI will need to check her hands for residue,” she said, nodding at Athena.

  “No problem,” answered the paramedic.

  The detective turned her attention to Venus. “I’m Inspector Brooks and you are?”

  “Venus.”

  Inspector Brooks cocked her head at that. “Venus. Interesting name. What about a last name?”

  “Just Venus.”

  The detective stared at her wordlessly, then her eyes lowered to Venus’ fishnet stockings showing beneath the blanket. Venus tried to cover her legs. “Why don’t you give me your real name and save me the trouble of calling Vice?”

  Venus gave her a snide smile. “Olivia Walker.”

  Inspector Brooks wrote it in her pad, then shifted her gaze to Athena. “And you?”

  Athena didn’t answer. In fact, she just stared at El Griego’s body. She’d been doing that for the past hour.

  If her head didn’t hurt so bad, Venus would have been freaked out. “She ain’t talking,” she said, tightening her grip on Athena’s hand.

  Inspector Brooks looked at the paramedic.

  The paramedic shrugged. “She’s said nothing since I came on scene. Just keeps staring into the alley.”

  “Okay, what’s her name?” said the detective, shifting her attention back to Venus.

  “Athena.”

  One brow lifted over the detective’s dark eye.

  Venus held up the bloody gauze in a gesture of futility. “Hey, that’s all I know. She show up on the street one day and El Griego, he
call her Athena. He was all up on them Greeks and such.”

  “El Griego? The victim.”

  Venus made a face. “El Griego ain’t no victim. El Griego ain’t never been no victim.”

  “Sorry, let me rephrase that. The dead guy?”

  “Yeah, that’s El Griego.”

  “What’s his real name?”

  “Alberto something. I don’t know.”

  The detective’s attention moved back to Athena. She gave her a critical stare. “How old is she?”

  Venus looked into Athena’s battered face. Her upper lip was split and her left eye was swollen. “Couldn’t tell you, but she don’t look more’n fifteen.”

  “Did she tell you where she was from?”

  Venus shrugged, the blanket slipping. She caught it with her free hand and tried to pull it back up, but not before the detective caught her torn shirt. It hung off one shoulder and only covered her to her midriff. She pushed her lank hair away from her face.

  “She said she didn’t want to talk about the past, but she wasn’t like the rest of us. All the time she’s quoting the Bible and such, and you should hear her sing. She knows this gospel crap and all.”

  “El Griego your pimp?”

  “He ain’t my husband.”

  “Same with Athena?”

  “What’da you think?”

  “You want to tell me what you saw?”

  Venus rolled her eyes. “A gun went off in my face. I didn’t see or hear nothing. I was too busy bleeding out my frickin’ ears.”

  “How long were you incapacitated?”

  “Incawhatatated?”

  “Unaware of your surroundings.”

  “Oh.” Venus lifted her hand and let it fall against her thighs. “I don’t know. A minute or two.”

  “Did you notice any witnesses? Anyone see the shooting?”

  “How would I know that? I was bleeding out my frickin’ ears!”

  Inspector Brooks held up a hand. “Okay, okay.”

  The handsome detective moved toward them and Athena whimpered, her eyes snapping to his face. Venus dropped the gauze and covered her hand with both of her own. “It’s okay,” she whispered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair off Athena’s forehead. “He’s a cop.”

  “This is Inspector D’Angelo, my partner,” said Inspector Brooks. She had to look up at him, he was so tall.

  Venus studied his high cheekbones and blue eyes surreptitiously. He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.

  “It appears El Griego there was their pimp.”

  Inspector D’Angelo gave a short nod. “Which one blew out the back of his skull?”

  “According to Officer Holmes, it was Athena here, but she’s not speaking. We’re gonna check her hands for powder.”

  “Good,” he said, then curled his hand around the detective’s elbow and tugged her away. “You need to see something.”

  Venus followed them with her eyes as they walked toward the body again. Beside her, Athena loosened her hold on Venus’ hand, but her eyes were still fixed on the blanketed form lying out in the rain.

  * * *

  “How old is that kid?” asked Marco as they walked toward the body.

  Peyton shook her head. “She won’t talk to me, but the other one said she guessed about fifteen. That’d be my guess, too.”

  “Fifteen. Shit. She prostituting?”

  Peyton shrugged. “Probably.” They halted by the body and Peyton looked back at the ambulance. “Most likely a runaway who got hooked up with the wrong guy.”

  Marco chewed his lip, but didn’t say anything. Then he nodded at the uniformed officer standing guard over the body.

  The officer bent and pulled the blanket away from the vic’s feet.

  “Check out the bottom.”

  Peyton crossed around the body and bent over, staring at the tread on his Converse sneakers. “Hand me your flashlight,” she asked the officer.

  He snapped it off his belt and gave it to her.

  Pressing the button, she shined the beam on his right shoe, then shifted it to his left. The raindrops cut through the beam of light, pattering on the asphalt. “Blood?” she said, shining the light up his pantlegs. She clicked it off and straightened, looking down the alley. “Any bloody footprints?” she asked, turning back to the officer.

  “Didn’t notice anything. Probably nothing left with all this rain.” He covered the vic’s feet again. “There’s plenty of it all around here though.”

  Peyton looked at the pool of blood under the victim’s body, but it was mostly centered near his head, except where the back of his skull and brains had splattered against the brick wall of the building to their left. “He didn’t walk in his own blood. Not with half his head missing.” She shuddered involuntarily, just as glad that Marco had viewed the rest of him and spared her. “Anyone canvas the rest of the alley?”

  “Yeah, weren’t sure if there were other shooters,” said the officer.

  “Let’s take another walk, why don’t we?” She pointed the flashlight at the body. “He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  The officer shrugged. “What we looking for, exactly?”

  “Partial footprints. Blood. Anything that wouldn’t normally be here.”

  He gave her a wry look. “Really? In the Tenderloin?”

  Peyton held up a hand in acquiescence. “Okay, anything stranger than usual in the Tenderloin.”

  The officer gave a grunt and fanned out from them. “Still doesn’t help,” he grumbled under his breath.

  Peyton ignored him and methodically worked her way down the alley, shining the flashlight. A few dumpsters lined either side, looming menacingly out of the darkness. She looked between each of them, but it was too dark to see much. They’d have to come back out tomorrow morning and do a more thorough canvas of the area.

  “Brooks?” came Marco’s voice.

  She angled toward the middle of the alley. He pointed at a higher part of the asphalt. A bloody tread mark was just visible, the outer edges already diluting with the rain. They continued down the alleyway, finding another tread mark on the edge of a pothole. The alley ended at the backdoor of an abandoned apartment building. The lower windows were covered with plywood and painted with graffiti. Marco reached out and traced the line of one mark.

  “The vic has this tattooed on his neck,” he said, turning to Peyton.

  She lifted the flashlight and shined it on the graffiti, then slid it across to a poorly boarded up door. A pair of two by fours crisscrossed over it, but there was a gap between the top and the bottom where the bottom one had been pulled down. On the upper edge of the bottom board was a bloody footprint.

  The officer stepped closer and peered into the building as Peyton and Marco drew their guns.

  “Call for backup,” said Peyton, stepping toward the opening.

  “Aren’t you gonna wait?” asked the officer.

  Peyton stepped over the bottom board. “Just call and then wait out here. Send the backup in though.” She slid under the upper board and stood straight, shining the light across the floor. A number of dark footprints sprang up in the flashlight’s beam, leading through a short hallway and across the derelict lobby of the apartment building. Marco forced his larger bulk between the boards and straightened beside her, reaching up to brush dust from his hair.

  “In movies, this is where the vampire drops down on the two dumb cops searching the building,” he said, lifting his gun.

  “And me without my garlic,” answered Peyton, raising her own gun.

  “Garlic doesn’t work. It just pisses them off.”

  “Good to know. Pissed off vampire has got to be all bad.”

  “So, we follow the footprints.”

  “Unless you have a better idea.”

  “Yeah, let the uniforms do this.”

  “Where’s your adventure, D’Angelo? When was the last time you got to go exploring a spooky building in the pouring rain.” She moved toward the footprints, hold
ing her gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other.

  “You know there’s a whole hobby built around doing this.”

  “Following bloody footprints?”

  “No, exploring abandoned buildings. Idiots go all over the country, finding these places in big cities, then exploring them.”

  “Seems like a good way to get your head blown off by a gang banger or a drug dealer.”

  “That’s part of the excitement.”

  A bank of elevators rose on their left, the doors forced open and the cables showing in the gap. The outer doors of the building were also boarded up with plywood, but a few had been pulled away, allowing a muted light to filter through the dusty panes of glass. They followed the footprints across the lobby to a hallway that ran along the side of the elevators. Peyton could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck rising and her wet clothes stuck to her body. Overhead they could hear the rain drumming on a skylight in the ceiling two stories above them.

  Something gave a shriek and ran past their feet. Both she and Marco jumped, whipping their guns up and bracing them with their free hands. After a tense moment, Peyton let out her held breath and shined the flashlight back down the hallway. Beady eyes reflected back the light.

  “Rat,” she breathed. “Not vampire.”

  Marco let out a tense laugh. He reached over and pulled the beam of the flashlight down to the threadbare carpet. The full imprint of a Converse shoe was visible in dark red blood. A few feet away loomed a door marked Staircase.

  They positioned themselves on either side of the door and Marco nodded at Peyton. She nodded back, then he turned the handle, throwing the door open. Peyton could just make out the shadow of a body lying on the landing as Marco caught the door and pushed it open again, bracing it with his shoulders. She crept to the opening and shined the light across the feet, also wearing Converse, to the legs in dark Dickies, across the torso, the arms outflung to either side, and then…nothing.

  Peyton took a step closer and ran the beam over the top of the body where the head should be, but there was nothing. Legs, torso, arms, then nothing. The body had no head. She dropped the flashlight and slumped back against the wall, her breath coming too quick and bile rising in her throat.