“Do you think he confronted Filko at Net-Con?” Frost asked.
“Knowing Alan, I’m sure he did. A sleazebag like Filko wouldn’t have intimidated him, no matter how much money the guy had. Alan probably made some veiled threats to see how he reacted. Obviously, Filko freaked out and used Lombard to eliminate him.”
Frost studied the sailboats on the water. “And Fawn?”
“She saw what happened to Alan. I’m sure she was scared that she’d be next. That’s a good incentive to keep your mouth shut.” Gorham’s head swiveled, and he stared at Frost from behind his sunglasses. His sandy hair was windswept. “So we know what really happened on the boat, and we can’t prove any of it. What do we do now?”
“We find Mr. Jin,” Frost replied. “He’s the last witness. If Lombard gets to him first, he’ll disappear permanently.”
Gorham worked his tongue around his jaw to get a piece of popcorn that was stuck in a tooth. “Okay, I’ll start canvassing Chinatown. I’ve got a lot of contacts over there from my vice days. If Mr. Jin is hiding out in the community, someone will know where he is.”
“I’ll check at his restaurant,” Frost added. “Maybe they can point me to family and friends. Plus, I want to find his son, Fox, again. He shouldn’t be on the streets. If Lombard is desperate, he wouldn’t hesitate to snatch the boy.”
Gorham stood up from the bench. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll do the same,” Frost replied. “I’m going to talk to Prisha Anand, too. Fawn’s sister.”
Gorham looked down at him with a frown on his face. “Is that such a good idea?”
“Fawn’s dead. She should know.”
“Yeah, but what can you tell her? The story in the media is that Diego Casal killed Denny. If you mention the mayor or Filko, you’re putting her in jeopardy.”
“I don’t have to tell her anything about that. Not yet.”
“You don’t think she’ll start asking questions? You already mentioned Zelyx, didn’t you? She’s going to connect the dots and wonder what’s going on. The safest thing is to say nothing at all.”
“Maybe so, but I’d rather not leave her in the dark,” Frost said.
Gorham ate more popcorn and watched the pedestrians on the sidewalk. His face was unhappy. “Look, it’s just a matter of time before she finds out the truth. The odds are that Fawn’s body will wash up along Ocean Beach sooner or later. It’s harsh, but why not wait?”
Frost nodded but made no promises. “I still want to talk to her.”
“Do what you have you do,” Gorham said. “I think you’re making a mistake.”
He wandered away with his big shoulders slightly hunched. When he passed a wastebasket, he dumped the remains of his popcorn box inside. Frost stayed on the bench, watching as the other detective disappeared in the crowd. The next time he spotted the man’s profile, Gorham was on the other side of the Embarcadero, passing between the palm trees in front of the Hyatt Regency.
He thought about what Gorham had said about Fawn’s body washing up on Ocean Beach. Gorham was right. The ocean usually gave up its dead eventually, even if the body was nothing but bones when it rolled up on the sand. His remark was an offhanded comment, a meaningless detail that probably meant nothing.
Even so, it nagged at Frost’s mind like a loose thread.
Ocean Beach was an oddly specific location for Gorham to mention. Frost had never told him that the Roughing It was out on the Pacific when Fawn went over the side.
Prisha Anand answered the door at her home in Presidio Heights. When she saw Frost, the expression on her face was eloquent in its horror. She only expected one thing from him, and that was to hear that her sister was dead.
She led him silently into the same heavy Victorian living room in which they’d met before. A fire roared in the fireplace, making the room warm and smoky. She waved him to the sofa, but she could hardly even look at him as she sat down herself. Her fingers kept moving nervously, as if she didn’t know how to calm them.
“So?” Prisha asked.
He was genuinely undecided about how much to tell her. “I don’t know anything for certain,” he said finally.
“But you know something. Yes?”
“Well, it looks increasingly likely that Zara was on a boat on Tuesday evening and that she didn’t make it back alive. Without a body being found, of course, we can’t be absolutely certain.”
Prisha didn’t cry. Her face didn’t move. Her only reaction was in the shallowness of her breathing. She got out of the chair and turned her back on him and stood like a statue in front of the fire. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t move for a long time. Frost waited for her.
Eventually, she turned back, and her face was flushed. She straightened her hair with delicate movements and arched her back as if she were summoning her courage.
“I studied the news after you came here the last time. I know about this man you mentioned, Denny Clark, and how he died. Now they’re saying he was on a cruise with drug dealers and that one of those men killed him. Is that the cruise Zara was on? Did this same man kill her?”
Frost hesitated. “That’s possible.”
“So was this drug dealer her client?” she asked.
“Again, that’s—”
“Possible, yes, everything in the world is possible. Except I don’t think you believe that, and I don’t believe you’re telling me the truth, Inspector. Do you think I’ve forgotten the questions you asked me? About Fawn and her friend Naomi? About the Zelyx party where I brought my sister? Those questions don’t seem to have much to do with a dispute over drugs.”
He wanted to tell her more, but he couldn’t. Gorham was right. It would have been better to say nothing at all. As it was, his silence enraged her. Prisha stalked across the room, and her voice rose like the violins at a symphony.
“Did someone at Zelyx murder my sister?”
Frost shook his head with regret. “I can’t answer that question. I’m sorry.”
Her hand flew across the space between them and slapped his face with an audible crack. He took the blow with no reaction, but when he touched the tender spot on his cheek, his fingers came away with blood where the metal of her ring had cut him. The sight of it shocked her. She spun away and sat down and buried her face in her hands. Frost found his way to the small powder room in the front hallway.
He ran cold water from the sink and washed away the blood, but it bled again when he stopped. His face throbbed. He found a tissue and pushed it against his cheekbone and held it there, staring at his own eyes in the mirror, until the flow of blood diminished.
When he left the bathroom, Prisha was in the doorway of the living room. She stared at her feet to avoid meeting his gaze.
“I apologize,” she said. “That was unforgivable of me.”
“I understand how upset you are. I wish I had more information to share with you.” When she still didn’t look up, he added, “Do you mind if I look at Zara’s bedroom?”
She spoke in a hushed voice. “It’s upstairs on the left.”
He took the varnished wooden steps to the second floor. Zara’s door was closed, and he opened it and turned on a light. The windows faced the street. It wasn’t a particularly large room, but it was furnished with expensive antiques and dark, heavy wallpaper. Zara had money and good taste. He saw Bulgari face and hand cream on the nightstand, along with a copy of Zafón’s The Shadow of the Wind. A mirror with an ornate, slightly tarnished brass frame was hung over her redwood dresser. He opened some of the drawers and found neatly folded lingerie. In her closet, which was almost as big as the bedroom itself, he saw the wardrobe of someone who could dress perfectly for any occasion. She could be intellectual, erotic, businesslike, fun, demure, anything that the situation demanded.