Jess shrugged. “Well, that’s one good thing. You got in the way of his plans by spotting him.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not. Cutter’s smart. He led us here for a reason. We’ve been playing his game tonight. I’d feel better if we knew what this was really about.”
“Don’t overthink Cutter,” Jess replied. “After getting out of prison, his ego’s only gotten bigger. He thinks he can tell us exactly what he’s going to do and still get away with it.”
Frost frowned. “I’m not sure he’s wrong.”
“Well, I’m counting tonight as a win. You spooked him.”
“Maybe,” Frost said again.
Jess put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for doing this off the books, Frost. You know, not calling Hayden and letting me stick around here. Cutter made this personal by having the bartender call me. I hate being on the sidelines.”
“No problem, Jess.”
Frost felt the warmth of her hand, which she left where it was. She didn’t have to say anything; the invitation was in her face again. He could slide across the seat, and they’d kiss, and then they’d drive to her place, and they’d have sex. Herb had told him that Jess wasn’t his Jane Doe — his one-of-a-kind mystery girl — but Frost wasn’t sure that he had a Jane Doe waiting for him at all. The only thing that mattered was right now.
But he waited too long, the way he usually did. The moment passed. Right now was already gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Jess peeled away her hand and dug her keys from her pocket. She switched on the sedan.
“Anyway,” she said.
“Yeah, anyway.”
“Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“I will. I’ll keep you posted.”
Frost got out of the car onto the sidewalk on Fillmore and shut the door. The Audi lurched from the curb, sending up spray. Her wheels skidded. Jess always drove fast, but he thought she wanted to put as much distance as she could, as quickly as she could, between the two of them.
His own Suburban was two blocks away. He headed toward Geary past the late walkers leaving the theater. In the rain and darkness, he turned left, and the dirty asphalt glistened. He walked past an old brick post office building to the end of the block, where his SUV was parked next to a fenced soccer field.
He started the truck and did a U-turn. The red light at Geary stopped him, and he waited impatiently for a couple of drunk Japandroids fans to stagger across the street hand in hand. He was tired and wanted to get home. When the intersection was clear, he turned right into an underpass, but as his headlights swung through the crosswalk on the other side of Geary, he spotted a woman coming down the walkway from the street’s pedestrian bridge. He only glimpsed her for a second before she disappeared behind the concrete columns, but something about her made him hesitate.
She was one more brunette wearing a little black dress — but she was wearing a hat, too. The hat had a jaunty angle, pushed low on her forehead. It was a man’s hat. A fedora.
Frost stopped in the concrete tunnel, waited for a car to pass, and then bumped over the barrier and shot back uphill in the opposite direction. He reached Geary quickly, but the girl was already gone. He drove through the intersection under the pedestrian bridge and parked the SUV near the steps of a neighborhood recreation center. He got out and checked the sidewalk in both directions, but he didn’t see her.
She couldn’t have gone far.
The recreation center was locked and dark. Ahead of him was a children’s playground, leading to a fenced set of tennis courts. He jogged to the end of the building, where a narrow sidewalk led to the other side of Hamilton Square. Not far away, he heard the tap of heels on concrete, and he ran again. The sidewalk took him to Post Street.
He saw her. She passed under the glow of a streetlight in the next block, and he could see her hat clearly, just for a second. It was definitely a man’s fedora. She disappeared around the corner, and he followed. His own footsteps were loud. He reached the next block, but when he rounded the corner, he’d lost her again. The street was lined with apartment buildings, but none of the building entrances was near enough for her to have gone inside.
Frost listened and heard nothing except a patter of rain.
He took a few steps down the street. As he neared the gated entrance to a building garage, the woman suddenly stepped out of a recessed doorway directly in front of him. She had a small canister clutched in her fingers, pointed at his face.
“Stop!” she screamed. “This is Mace. Get the hell away from me, or I’ll use it.”
Frost immediately stepped back, his hands up. “I’m sorry, ma’am—”
“You were following me! You better run right now!”
“Ma’am, it’s okay, I’m a police officer.” Frost nudged the flap of his sport coat aside. He used two fingers to slide his identification out of his pocket and lay it open on the ground. Then he backed away again, giving her space. “Check it out. My name’s Frost Easton. I’m a homicide inspector.”
“Homicide.” The woman hesitated. She took a step toward the badge and knelt down to examine it. She picked it up and studied the ID under the streetlight. Her eyes went to Frost’s face. “What do you want with me?”
The fedora was askew on her head. Long brown hair spilled from underneath it. The hat had two yellow braided bands around the brim. Just as Jess had described it.
“That hat you’re wearing,” he said, “did someone give it to you tonight?”
“Yeah, I got it from a guy I met.”
“Did you meet him at an underground bar in Japantown?” Frost asked.
“How do you know that?”
“It doesn’t matter. Were you with him at the Fillmore?”
“Yeah, but we got separated. I figured he bailed on me. Guys do that, you know.”
“What was this man’s name? Did he tell you?”
“Rudy. He said his name was Rudy.”
Frost felt his breathing accelerate. He took a look up and down the street, which was empty. He forced a smile onto his face to put her at ease. He needed her calm in the next few minutes. “And what’s your name?”
“Magnolia.”
“Do you live nearby, Magnolia?”
Her eyes flitted to the badge again to make absolutely sure he was who he’d said he was. She tossed it to him, and he caught it. She slid the Mace into her purse. “Yeah. I have an apartment in the next block. Why? What’s this all about?”
“This is very important,” Frost told her. “The man you met tonight. Rudy. Did you tell him where you live?”
Rudy put the binoculars to his eyes. He examined each of the apartment balconies, to make sure no one was smoking or drinking in places where they could see him. It was late, and most of the rooms were dark, but he checked those that had lights to see if the curtains were closed. He reviewed each of the parked cars in the alley, too. No one was watching the street.
He secured the binoculars and slid his backpack onto his shoulders. He broke cover and slipped across the alley to the building wall. His hands were gloved. The first-floor apartment was protected by a gate, and he used the steel cross section between the bars to hoist himself silently up to the next floor. He swung one leg over, then the other, and dropped down onto the balcony.
The door was locked. The blinds were closed, but he saw no lights inside. He assumed the apartment was empty. He slid the black-handled revolver he’d taken from Jimmy Keyes out of his backpack and secured it in his jacket pocket. The gun was a last resort, but he wanted it accessible. Just in case.