“What did he say?” Frost asked.
“He didn’t laugh. Actually, he was kind of jumpy and nervous. When I pushed him about the cash, he called it hush money. And then he clammed up and wouldn’t say a word.”
Hush money.
Denny, Carla, Mr. Jin, Chester all walked away from the Tuesday cruise with wads of cash to make sure they didn’t tell anyone what they’d witnessed on the boat.
First they got paid off. Then they got killed.
But what did they see?
“You said you left with Chester on Wednesday night?” Frost asked.
“Yeah. After midnight. Chester shared an apartment on Hyde with six other guys. Sometimes I’d crash there, too, but I had a late date on Wednesday. We walked together for a couple blocks; then he went his way and I went mine. That was it. I haven’t heard from him since. It’s not like he and I were boyfriends, but I would have expected something more after hanging out together for a couple of years. He didn’t say a word to me about this Idaho crap.”
“Have you talked to any of his roommates?”
Virgil nodded. “I called. I was a little pissed at him, you know? They said they didn’t even see him before he split. He must have been up and out before dawn, left a month’s rent behind in cash. Some movers showed up to get his stuff. Totally weird.”
Frost didn’t think it was weird at all. It was Lombard.
Behind them, the jazz singer finished her latest song. Frost applauded and won another smile from her. Virgil whistled, and then he waved at a manager who was standing on the other side of the bar, tapping his watch. The waiter checked his fingernails and fixed his white hair again.
“I have to go, man.”
“Sure. Thanks for the information, Virgil. One last thing, did Chester say anything else about the Tuesday cruise when you guys were walking home? Even the smallest detail?”
Virgil got up from the table and smoothed his skintight black outfit. “No, like I said, he was jumpy all evening. He didn’t want to talk. He was paranoid, too, like somebody was out to get him. He swore someone was following us on the street. It had him freaked out.”
“Following you?” Frost asked.
“Yeah. There was this car behind us going real slow. But come on, it’s the Tenderloin. It was just some guy cruising and checking us out.”
“What kind of car?”
Virgil shrugged. “A BMW, I think. Dark, like charcoal.”
24
Neon lit up the Embarcadero near the bay at Fisherman’s Wharf. It was late evening and cold. The restaurants and fish shacks were closed, the street performers were long gone, but the sidewalk was still crowded with tourists. Frost walked quickly beside the water, which glowed with hazy reflections. He was surrounded by silhouettes and drunken laughter. He passed between the bright lights of the Franciscan restaurant and the Boudin bakery and headed toward the deserted warehouse buildings of Pier 45. No one followed him.
At the pier, seagulls huddled near the concrete walls, and the pavement was dotted with dried guano. A salty, fishy smell blew in with the wind. The alley between the warehouses was empty. He didn’t see Trent Gorham among the loading docks, and he glanced at his watch. It was exactly ten o’clock.
Frost waited for the other detective by a wooden railing that bordered the inner harbor. The sand-colored warehouse buildings were behind him. Beyond the wharf, high-rises climbed the city hills like dominoes. He leaned on the railing and watched the spars of the fishing boats sway in their slips. This was where he and Denny had berthed the Jumping Frog. They’d lived on the boat, eating, drinking, and playing poker until the early hours. Sometimes they’d been alone; sometimes tourist girls had joined them for the night. He could remember the sweet taste of Dungeness crab claws fresh out of the pot, dripping butter and garlic. They’d played their music loud. They’d slept in their clothes. For a few months, he’d never been happier in his life.
He recognized their old boat in the harbor. It was still there, still in the same berth, years after Denny had sold it. The new owners had fixed it up with fresh paint and rechristened it. The Jumping Frog was now Daze Gone By, which seemed appropriate. The boat was dark; no one was sleeping on it now.
When he checked his watch again, he saw that it was ten fifteen. Gorham was late. He wondered if the other detective was coming at all, and the worry crept into his mind that the meeting might be a trap. He thought about leaving, but then his phone buzzed with an incoming text.
It was from Gorham.
Keep going.
Frost continued along the harbor past the warehouse building. Where the road ended, a narrow driveway led between the warehouse wall and the green waters of the inlet that led out to the bay. He saw Gorham standing twenty feet away. The other cop wore a tan windbreaker zipped to his neck and black khakis. The yellow lights made his blond hair look snow white.
As Frost came closer, Gorham took one hand out of his jacket pocket and pointed a gun at Frost’s chest.
Frost stopped dead and raised his hands slowly. He’d been certain all along that Gorham was hiding things from him, but he hadn’t expected this. “Are you going to shoot me, Trent? Is that the plan?”
“I’m just being cautious. Take your gun out of your holster and put it on the ground.”
“Okay.”
“No sudden moves, Easton.”
“Whatever you say.”
Frost used one hand to open the flap of his jacket, and he carefully withdrew his gun with two fingers. He bent his knees, not taking his eyes off Gorham, and put the gun on the ground.
“Back up,” the other detective instructed.
Frost did. Gorham walked closer until he was standing beside Frost’s gun. He hadn’t lowered his own weapon yet; it was still pointed at Frost’s heart at a range from which the other cop couldn’t miss. Gorham’s long arm was stretched straight out and as solid as an arrow.
“Identification,” Gorham barked.
“What?”
“Identification,” Gorham repeated sharply.
“What the hell are you talking about, Trent?”
Gorham’s pale eyes narrowed. His finger was bent around the trigger. Frost felt sweat gathering on his neck, and his heartbeat accelerated. The silence between them stretched out, long and dangerous. Then Gorham’s head tilted slightly back, and the cop’s face softened. His elbow dipped, and he secured his gun and slipped it inside his jacket again. He squatted and retrieved Frost’s gun and passed it to him by the handle.
“Sorry,” Gorham told him, “but I’ve learned the hard way not to trust anyone.”
“I don’t trust people, either,” Frost replied, “especially not cops who pull their weapons on me.”
“I’ll explain, but I needed to make sure you weren’t playing me. I’ve been watching you for twenty minutes. If you had someone with you or if you’d been followed, I would have spotted it. But I still didn’t know if you were one of Lombard’s operatives. They all have special ID codes to identify themselves. I had to find out if you were clean.”
“And I passed the test?” Frost asked.
“So far. I hope I’m right about you, because I’m betting my life on it.”
The two men wandered to the edge of the water. There was no railing here. Debris floated below them.
“You’re pretty paranoid over a myth,” Frost said.
“Lombard’s not a myth. He’s as real and as lethal as it gets.”
“He? Lombard is one person?”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” Gorham said. He turned to face Frost. “I’ve never met anyone who has actually seen him or knows who he is. His network is blind. No one knows who’s in and who’s not. There’s a central admin who manages them by phone, but she’s as anonymous as Lombard is.”