“Okay.”
Hayden clapped one of his big paws on Frost’s shoulder. “Look, Easton, if you still don’t trust me, I get it. It pays to be careful. But do you trust Gorham? Do you think he’s been straight with you?”
“Not necessarily.”
Hayden nodded. “Then your instincts are good. Gorham knows a hell of a lot more about the Denny Clark case than he’s told either of us.”
“How do you know that?” Frost asked.
Cyril interrupted from where he was standing near the shipping crates. “Because I’ve been tracking him. I know where he’s been.”
The captain gestured for Cyril to join them. “Obviously, this is off the record, Easton. If anyone knew about this, it would put my position in the department at risk. A few months ago, I asked Cyril to investigate Gorham. That included putting a GPS tracker on his personal vehicle. I didn’t get a warrant. I just did it. I needed to know whether I was right about him.”
“What did you find out?”
“Well, for one thing, Gorham keeps a place across the bay and lives well beyond his means. That’s suspicious in itself. But we didn’t find anything that we could specifically tie to Lombard, not until this week.”
Cyril dug in his pocket and extracted a computer-printed map that showed a close-up of the beachfront parking area near the San Francisco Bay Trail. The parking lot was circled with red marker. He handed it to Frost. “You know where this is?”
“Sure. It’s the trail that leads along the water to the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“That’s right,” Cyril said. “Lots of people go jogging down there. I didn’t think anything of it when it showed up on Gorham’s GPS record. Then you started talking about Denny Clark and his boat.”
Frost’s eyes narrowed. “Why is that important?”
“Because Gorham parked there last Wednesday at six o’clock in the morning. That lot is only a couple hundred yards from the yacht harbor. Gorham was down there when Denny Clark’s boat was coming in from its mystery cruise.”
“Did he tell you that?” Hayden asked.
“No,” Frost murmured. “He didn’t.”
“That’s why you need to be careful. Trent Gorham is not who you think.”
Frost stared at the map. He was afraid that he’d made a serious mistake. “It may be too late, sir. I briefed Gorham a few hours ago.”
“What did you tell him?” Hayden asked.
“Among other things, I told him that I know Lombard hasn’t found one of the witnesses from the cruise last Tuesday. Mr. Jin is still alive.”
The captain shook his head. “Well, in that case, you better find Mr. Jin before Gorham does, or he won’t be alive for long. You asked me whether Gorham was a Lombard operative. Originally, I thought so, but based on everything Cyril has uncovered, I’ve come to a different conclusion.”
“What’s that?” Frost asked.
“I think there’s a real possibility that Trent Gorham may be Lombard,” Hayden told him.
36
Frost sat alone in his SUV for nearly half an hour after the meeting was over and Hayden and Cyril had both left. There were few signs of life in the homeless city underneath the freeway. He watched a stray dog nose among the tents, and every now and then a hand poked out with food. When the dog barked at a rat scurrying under the barbed wire fence, Shack stirred from his nap on the dashboard and peered through the windshield. Then he curled back into a tight ball and fell asleep again.
Trent Gorham may be Lombard.
The idea sounded crazy.
And yet it was impossible to ignore the fact that Gorham had been hiding his role in the Denny Clark case from the very beginning.
As the cold seeped inside the truck, Frost finally drove away under the freeway. Car engines roared from the lanes overhead, and headlights splashed across the pavement. At the end of the block, he debated which way to turn. He was tired, but he was so close to Duane’s food truck that he knew he should stop and see his brother. There were things he needed to say. It was late, and the food park was closed, but Duane would still be there. He always was.
Frost drove two blocks until he saw the kaleidoscope of painted food trucks under the streetlights. Most of the cars outside had left, so he parked near the gate and strolled inside. A few customers lingered with drinks on the benches, but the serving windows on the trucks were closed and locked. He headed for the rear fence, where Duane’s truck had a permanent location. He had to step aside as one of the large vans rumbled past him toward the exit. Muffled Spanish music played from inside a paella truck. The inviting aromas of dinner hung in the air.
Near Duane’s truck, a chalk sign still advertised the evening menu. Short ribs braised in mirin and soy. Edamame tortilla salad. Monterey chicken egg rolls. Raymonde’s waka waka guacamole, whatever that was.
He went around to the back and then stopped short.
Duane sat on the rear steps outside the truck door. His white chef’s coat was unbuttoned, revealing a black T-shirt underneath, and he wore only cargo shorts. His feet were bare. His long black hair was loose. He clutched the neck of an expensive bottle of tequila and swigged it, letting some of the alcohol spill onto his coat.
His brother, who almost never drank, was drunk.
“Duane?” Frost asked. “Are you okay?”
“Hello, bro!” Duane told him in a loud voice. “Sorry, you just missed Tabby. She left half an hour ago.”
There was something in the way Duane said Tabby’s name that made Frost stiffen with concern. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Duane took another extended swallow of Patrón. “Tabby ended it with me, that’s what’s going on. She and I are over. Done.”
“What?” Frost felt as if a snake had wrapped itself around his chest and begun to squeeze. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that the one woman I have ever loved in my entire life just told me she was really sorry, but she doesn’t love me anymore, and she doesn’t want to lead me on or prolong the pain or pretend to feel something that she doesn’t. So that’s it. Engagement off. Thanks for the memories.”
“Oh my God,” Frost said. “Duane, I am so sorry. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know it’s not me. It’s her. It’s all her. I’m a great guy, and she hates the idea of hurting me. I shouldn’t blame myself. That made me feel so much better.”
Frost struggled with what to say. He’d expected bad things after the previous night, but he hadn’t expected this. “Give her some time, Duane. I’m sure she’ll come around. She’s just confused. This isn’t about you and her, it’s about everything else that’s going on in her life. I’m telling you, this is not the end for you two.”
Duane blinked at him through drunken eyes. His jaw hardened with anger. “Well, at least she has a shoulder to cry on.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means. If Duane’s too busy and doesn’t have time, she can always run to Frost. My brother is always right there for her.”
He felt heat on his face. “Duane, come on.”
“Come on nothing. Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I haven’t noticed how the two of you are together?”
“There is nothing between us,” Frost insisted, but his denial felt limp and false even as he said it.
“Oh, who are you trying to kid? I saw it all over your face last night. And hers, too.”
“Look, I’m sorry. Last night was awkward, I know that. She and I both drank way too much. That’s all it was. Nothing happened, and nothing was going to happen.”