Their CEO, who was five years younger than Frost, had gotten into a public feud with the Illinois legislature over tax policy. He’d threatened to relocate the company if he didn’t get his way, and the state’s politicians had called his bluff and lost. Zelyx was on its way to San Francisco, and their shiny new building was already rising above the Mission Bay neighborhood just a few blocks from police headquarters.
Zelyx.
Frost realized that the name kept coming up wherever he went.
Fawn’s sister, Prisha, worked as an in-house counsel for Zelyx. Mr. Jin had catered Zelyx parties, including parties that Fawn had attended.
Greg Howell had a Zelyx connection, too, through his real estate holdings. According to the newspaper articles Frost had found, Howell had been involved in an eminent domain dispute over the land on which the Zelyx headquarters was being built.
And now Frost knew that Alan Detlowe had sought out a security job at an event where Zelyx and its CEO were the heroes of the night. Two days later, Detlowe was dead with his throat cut.
Maybe it all meant nothing.
Or maybe Lombard had played a behind-the-scenes role in San Francisco’s corporate coup.
Frost grabbed his phone and dialed Prisha Anand’s cell phone number. He recognized her silky voice when she answered.
“Ms. Anand? It’s Frost Easton with the police.”
The woman hesitated when she heard his name. “Inspector Easton. I’m afraid to ask, do you have news? Have you located my sister?”
“I haven’t. Have you heard from her?”
“No. I’ve left messages, but nothing. I’m very worried.”
“As soon as I know anything more, I’ll tell you. Right now, I have a few more questions, but I need to ask first, are you at work?”
“Excuse me?”
“I was wondering if you were at home or whether you were in one of the Zelyx offices.”
“I’m working from home,” she told him, “but what difference does that make?”
“I don’t want you answering these questions where anyone else could hear you.”
She took a long pause before saying anything more. “And why would that be?”
“My questions involve Zelyx.”
“I see. Well, you can ask whatever you want, but the odds are that I won’t be able to answer. You have to remember my position at the company. I’m one of their lawyers.”
“Yes, I know that. I don’t believe this involves any privileged information. You told me that your sister was upset about the death of a woman she called Naomi. You also mentioned that you and Zara had attended several Zelyx parties together. I was wondering about the timeline. Did any of those parties happen around the time that Zara told you about the death of her friend?”
Prisha let the silence stretch out. Frost wasn’t sure she was going to say anything at all. “Yes, now that I think about it, we were at a Zelyx party a couple of days before that happened,” she finally replied.
“Did Zara talk to anyone at the party?” Frost asked.
“I don’t remember. It was three years ago.”
“Why was the party going on?” Frost asked.
“Our founder and CEO, Martin Filko, was in town. This was the week before the big Net-Con trade show. Martin was going to be announcing our corporate relocation to San Francisco. The party was an early celebration.”
“Were there any pictures taken?”
“No. No pictures. Martin has a rule about that. It’s one of his little quirks. Why? What do you want to know?”
“Is it possible your sister saw her friend Naomi at that party?” he asked.
“Naomi? An escort? Why would she—” Prisha stopped before she finished her question. She knew what Frost was driving at. “You think Naomi was at the Zelyx party with her client, don’t you? The one who was abusing her. The one she told Zara she wanted to expose.”
“I think it’s possible,” Frost replied.
“Anything’s possible, Inspector, but I have no proof that Naomi was there. And frankly, I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to tell you even if I did.”
“Well, I appreciate the information, Ms. Anand.”
Frost hung up.
He had a timeline of events now, and he didn’t like what it suggested. Fawn had been at a Zelyx party with her sister shortly before the death of her friend Naomi. Then Fawn had lunch with Alan Detlowe from vice, and Detlowe canceled his anniversary plans in order to work the Zelyx event at Moscone Center. Two days later, Detlowe was dead, too.
There was plenty of smoke in the air about this tech company.
But did the smoke mean there was a fire?
Frost decided to play a hunch. Zelyx had made a lot of money for a lot of people, but there was one man who had profited more than anyone else. He used his phone to search for the name Martin Filko. The Zelyx CEO might not like pictures, but it was impossible for an executive at a public company to avoid them altogether. He found the best photograph he could, and he saved it from the web to his camera roll.
Then he called the Zingari restaurant and asked for Virgil. The sleek gay waiter picked up the call less than a minute later.
“Inspector,” Virgil breathed into the phone. “Apparently you can’t stay away from me.”
“I need your phone number, Virgil,” Frost said.
“Gladly. I was hoping you’d ask.”
“I’m going to send you a photograph. I want to know if you’ve seen this man before.”
“Text away, but feel free to use the number whenever you like. You’d be surprised how many straight men change teams when they get to know me.”
Frost laughed. “Just the picture, Virgil.”
He hung up and forwarded the photograph of Martin Filko. Virgil took less than a minute to call back.
“Oh yes. That’s him.”
Frost didn’t want to coach the man at all. “And by him, you mean...?”
“The guy on the boat last August. The one who kept arguing with Greg Howell. He had that amazing woman with him.”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“Definitely. Guy was a first-class dick, and not in a good way.”
“Thanks, Virgil.”
Frost ended the call.
Smoke, meet fire.
If the way to get to Lombard was through his clients, Frost was pretty sure he’d found one. Martin Filko, the billionaire CEO of Zelyx, was leaving a trail of red snakes wherever he went.
29
The building that housed the San Francisco Chronicle was only a block away from Moscone Center, so Frost walked over there to find the investigative reporter named Khristeen Smith. The receptionist told him that she was expected back at the paper within the hour. It was late afternoon, and Frost hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast with Herb, so he left a message for Khristeen to meet him at the restaurant near the Pickwick Hotel across the street.
While he waited over a Greek meze platter, he booted up his MacBook and searched the newspaper’s online archives. He had to go back twenty-eight years to find what he wanted. It was an article by a Chronicle reporter named Stephen Post, and it was the story that had launched the Lombard myth.
Rumors of a Supercriminal Trouble Police
By Stephen Post
Exclusive to the Chronicle
They call him Lombard.
No one knows if that’s his real name. In fact, no one knows if Lombard is a man or woman, one person or many people. But among police investigators, Lombard has become a legend. They will tell you that Lombard is the prime suspect in a string of unsolved murders related to bribery and corruption cases inside and outside government.