An initial toxicology screening confirmed high levels of alcohol and opioids in Filko’s system, police said, but they noted it was too early to speculate whether the death was suicide or accidental.
As CEO of Zelyx, Filko was in the process of relocating the company’s headquarters to a new high-rise under construction in the Mission Bay neighborhood of San Francisco. A joint press release from the mayor’s office and the Zelyx board this morning promised that Filko’s death would have no impact on the relocation, which the statement called “a highly strategic move that is in the best interests of Zelyx and the people of San Francisco...”
Frost stopped reading.
Herb whistled in surprise. “Well, well, well. Apparently, Mr. Filko outlived his usefulness.”
“Apparently so,” Frost agreed, his lips pushed together in thought.
“Another gesture of goodwill?” Herb asked.
“Murder isn’t exactly goodwill, no matter who the victim is.”
“Well, in this case, I can’t say I’m sorry. Based on everything you told me, Mr. Filko had to go. The mayor and the city still get the Zelyx jobs but none of the awful baggage of its CEO. Everybody wins.”
Frost read the article again, and he could hear Prisha’s voice in his head. I know it’s not the choice you’d make, but it’s the best thing for everyone.
“So this was the deal they made,” Frost said.
Herb’s eyebrow cocked. “What?”
“Prisha and Zara paid Lombard to get rid of Martin Filko once and for all. As you say, with Filko gone, everybody wins. Fawn gets her revenge. That’s also why Prisha wasn’t worried about Lombard coming after them. They have as much to lose as he does if Lombard gets caught. They’d wind up in prison for murder.”
Herb frowned. “Is it brave or foolish to get in bed with the devil?”
“It never ends well,” Frost replied.
“No, I can’t say I approve of their methods,” Herb agreed, “even if their hearts were in the right place. It’s a dangerous thing to assume the ends justify the means. However, I’m not going to cry over the loss of Mr. Filko.”
Frost shook his head. “Except for every Martin Filko, there’s also Trent Gorham. And Mr. Jin. And Carla and Denny and who knows how many others? This man is a monster. He has to be stopped.”
Frost stared at the crowd again. His eyes went from face to face, wondering if Lombard was right there, looking back at him. He’d made a promise in the Bugatti, and sooner or later, he’d keep it. It didn’t matter how long it took. The two of them would meet again. He knew when they did, only one of them would walk away alive.
Herb had the look of a man who could read his mind and didn’t like what he saw. “I’ve lived long enough to be sure of one thing, Frost, although you may not want to hear it.”
“What’s that?” Frost asked.
His friend took him by the shoulder. “Sometimes the road to justice is a crooked street.”
47
When Frost got home to his house on Russian Hill after dark, he walked inside to the briny aroma of shellfish and the thump of Twenty One Pilots singing “Stressed Out” on his speakers. That could only mean one thing.
Duane.
He found his brother in the kitchen. Duane still wore his white chef’s coat, with his long black hair tied up in a ridiculous man bun. Below the coat, he wore khakis and Crocs. The patio door was open, letting warm air into the downstairs. The city’s spring heat wave continued with no end in sight. Shack sat on the counter, supervising the cooking process and getting the occasional nibble of crab as Duane made a stir-fry.
His brother’s shoulders bobbed to the song. The volume was loud enough that Duane didn’t even notice Frost until he was standing next to him. He acted as if it were no big deal to be here in Frost’s house, and any other time, it wouldn’t be. Duane pointed at a blender half-filled with thick orange slush.
“Carrot juice?” he asked.
“Are you kidding?” Frost replied. He went to retrieve a beer.
After he opened a bottle of Sierra Nevada, Frost examined the damage to his brother’s face. The rainbow colors around Duane’s eyes had begun to fade, but he still wore a bandage over most of his nose.
“What did you do to yourself?” Frost asked. “Walk into a door?”
Duane shot him a sideways glance. “Something like that.”
“You should be more careful.”
“Uh-huh. You look like you’ve seen better days, too.”
“I have definitely seen better days,” Frost agreed.
He sat on a stool at the kitchen island as Duane worked. They didn’t say anything for a while. Shack hopped over to the island and climbed onto Frost’s shoulder. A chunk of crab in an Asian marinade flew off the grill, and Frost ate it before Shack could grab it for himself. It was delicious, because everything Duane cooked was delicious.
The music shifted from Twenty One Pilots to Tove Lo.
“So did Mom call you?” Frost asked finally.
“Yup. You?”
“Oh yeah.”
“She fights much better than we do,” Duane said.
“She sure does.”
Duane finished off the stir-fry and scooped the crab and noodles into bowls. “You hungry?”
“Not really,” Frost said.
His brother shrugged. “Yeah, me neither.”
Duane covered the bowls with plastic wrap and stored them in the refrigerator. He found a tulip dish in one of the cabinets and made up a bowl for Shack. Then the two brothers took their drinks and headed out to the patio. The cool fog hadn’t overtaken the heat of the day, and they sat around the table in the darkness, both of them sweating. Duane sipped carrot juice. Frost played with the bottle of beer between his fingers. Shack wandered out to the patio and sprawled on the table between them.
Ten minutes later, Duane said, “So you and me, we’re pretty different.”
“That we are,” Frost said.
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know. Did Mom drop you on your head or something?”
“Weird, I was going to ask you that,” Duane said.
They both chuckled. The ice broke a little between them, which it was bound to do in the heat.
“You know, I try hard not to be a bad person,” Frost said, “but I guess sometimes I fall short.”
“Why on earth would you say that?” Duane asked him. “You are the best person I know.”
“I hit you. I hit my brother.”
“Well, I hit you, too. Don’t forget that. You may be better at it, but I got in the first punch.”
“I should have taken it and walked away,” Frost said. “After all, you were right. I broke the two of you up. I never, ever meant to do that, but I guess I did. And I am really sorry, Duane.”
His brother looked away at the city below them. His lips were pinched with unhappiness, which was a rare thing for Duane. His brother was almost always happy. It was something Frost envied about him. And yet maybe he was content because, on most days, Duane lacked a capacity for self-reflection. He lived every second as it happened to him, whereas Frost spent every second thinking about the next one. They both lived in traps of their own making.
“You didn’t break us up,” his brother replied. “People change. Tabby changed. That’s not your fault.”
“No, I was in the middle. Just like you said.”
“I’m trying to give you an out, bro. Work with me here.”
Frost smiled. “Okay.”
“I went to see her,” Duane went on. “Not to get her back. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Actually, I told her she was right. I was pretending, just like her. Things weren’t working between us. I wasn’t putting her first. My life is in the kitchen, period. Sooner or later, if we’d stayed together, I would have screwed it up.”