The Crooked Street

17

The escort who called herself Fawn lived in Presidio Heights, two blocks from the red dome of the Jewish synagogue. The area was like a quiet suburb inside the city, with neatly maintained homes and a lineup of mature trees dotting the sidewalk. San Francisco was too pricey for most young families, but if you could afford it, this was a neighborhood for toddlers and golden retrievers. Fawn’s house was a two-story Victorian with a fresh coat of yellow paint and neat window boxes filled with pink flowers on the terraced wall beside the front steps.

Frost wondered if the yuppie neighbors knew what she did for a living.

He rang the front doorbell in the darkness and waited. There was a security camera mounted above the door frame, and as he watched it, the lights of the camera came to life and illuminated him. A woman’s cool voice crackled through an intercom speaker.

“Yes? May I help you?”

Frost held up his badge toward the camera. “My name is Frost Easton with the San Francisco police. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?”

“About Fawn,” he said. After a pause, he added, “And no, I’m not from vice.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” the woman replied.

“Are you Zara Anand?”

“No, I’m her sister. I still don’t have anything to say.”

Frost sighed. “Look, I can run my questions past your neighbors, but I don’t think you or your sister want me doing that.”

There was a long stretch of silence from inside. Then the front door opened in front of him. A small and attractive Indian woman with thick, long black hair studied him from behind the chain on the door. Her dark eyes were smart and suspicious.

“Let me see that badge again,” she said.

Frost held it up, and she reviewed it carefully. When she was satisfied, she undid the chain and let him come inside. The house had a faintly sweet smell of honey. She led him from the foyer into a living room that faced the street, and she sat in a comfortable armchair with a glass of white wine and an open laptop beside her. Her hand, with slim fingers and long gold-painted nails, waved him to a sofa by the window. Their furniture was ornate and made of cherrywood, and the sofa had a geometric design on brown fabric. The wallpaper was a deep burgundy color.

“My name is Prisha Anand,” she said. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Your sister is Zara, is that right?” Frost asked. “But in her work, she uses the name Fawn?”

Prisha took a sip of wine. Her movements were slow and precise, as if she thought through everything in advance before she did anything. She had arching eyebrows that were carefully plucked, a sloping nose, and a jaw that tapered to a sharp V. She wore a scoop-neck yellow blouse that emphasized her long neck, loose black slacks, and open sandals. Her toes matched her gold fingernails.

“Yes. Zara calls herself Fawn.”

“The two of you live here together?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Frost said.

“In other words, how do two young women in their twenties afford it? Is that what you really want to know? I’m an in-house lawyer at Zelyx, and I was there for the IPO. But Zara is an equal breadwinner in the household, and if you know her as Fawn, then I’m sure you know why.”

“I don’t know her at all,” Frost replied, “but her name has come up in one of my investigations.”

“You said you don’t work in vice. So where do you work?”

“Homicide,” Frost said.

Worry fell like a curtain across Prisha’s face. “Is Zara all right?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me where to find her.”

“I have no idea. She left for one of her — engagements — last Tuesday, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since then. Doing what she does, she’s often gone for days or weeks at a time. Men fly her around the world. Africa. The Middle East. South America. It’s a glamorous lifestyle in its way, although it’s not what I would choose for her.”

“Have you tried to contact her?” Frost asked. “I’ve left messages on her cell phone, but I haven’t gotten a reply.”

“That’s not unusual. Her phone is often turned off for long periods of time. I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

Frost didn’t answer. “Do you know anything about this most recent engagement on Tuesday?”

Prisha shook her head. “No. If you think tech companies are stringent about confidentiality, you should see my sister’s business. I never know who she’s meeting or where or how long she’ll be gone. If I had to guess, though, she was heading off on a boat.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She made a joke about bringing Dramamine along. She’s very susceptible to seasickness.” Prisha studied his face and added, “Judging from your expression, I gather that comports with what you think she was doing.”

Frost nodded. “Did she say anything else?”

“No, as I told you, she doesn’t give me details about her work. But I could tell she wasn’t happy about this job. She was nervous and anxious before she left. I didn’t bother asking why. I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of her. It usually means she’s meeting someone who makes her uncomfortable. There are always men like that.”

“How does she find her clients?” Frost asked.

“I’m better off not knowing the specifics,” Prisha replied. “Zara walls off that part of her world. Given that what she’s doing is technically illegal, I think she wants to protect me, since I’m a lawyer. But rich men have networks, especially in Silicon Valley. They know how to find what they want.”

“Have you ever met a man named Denny Clark?” Frost asked. “Or did your sister ever mention that name?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about an Asian chef named Mr. Jin?”

Prisha looked puzzled. “Mr. Jin? Well, yes, we both know him, although I don’t know why that’s important. Zara and I are rather fanatical about dim sum. We’ve eaten at his restaurant in Chinatown many times. He’s catered a few Zelyx parties, too, where I brought my sister along as my guest.”

“So Mr. Jin knows her personally?”

“Oh yes. Needless to say, Zara and I aren’t shy. If we like what someone does, we make a point of introducing ourselves. We’ve chatted with Mr. Jin on several occasions.”

“Would he also know Zara as Fawn?” Frost asked.

Prisha frowned. The question unsettled her. “I don’t see how. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to have those habits. Anyway, as successful as he is, Mr. Jin wouldn’t be in the financial league necessary to afford my sister. So he would have no occasion to meet her outside the restaurant unless he—”

She stopped.

“Unless he catered a party where she was working?” Frost finished the sentence for her.

“Yes. I suppose that’s possible, although Zara never mentioned it to me if he did. Not that she would.”

Frost tried to connect the dots in his mind and see where they led him. There was a cruise on the Roughing It on Tuesday evening. Small group. Expensive, first-class tastes. Mr. Jin prepared the food. Frost imagined him meeting a beautiful young woman among the guests whom he already knows as Zara Anand. But before he can say anything, she introduces herself as Fawn and probably gives him a look with her eyes that asks him to remain silent.

Later he writes the name in his notepad: Fawn.

“What does your sister look like?” Frost asked.

“Zara? She’s very distinctive. That’s the most memorable kind of beauty. You can find many pretty faces, but there aren’t many that would linger in your memory the way hers does.”

“Do you have a photograph of her?”

“I do.”

Prisha leaned over and tapped a few keys on her laptop. She turned the screen so that Frost could see it, and he found himself staring at a young woman who was every bit as royal as her sister suggested. She could have fit in anywhere, from palaces to boardrooms. It was easy to see the family resemblance. Zara looked a lot like Prisha, with the same thick dark hair, but she also had a unique quality that would make a man stop and stare. Her long nose was slightly too long; her big brown eyes were slightly too big for her face; her angled cheekbones were so sharp they looked severe. And yet when it all came together in one package, she was like Helen of Troy launching a thousand ships.

“See what I mean?” Prisha said with a smile.

“I do. It’s also obvious that she’s your sister. You two look very much alike.”

“That’s flattering, but I know the difference. Billionaires don’t pay to have me with them, but they do with Zara.”

“Can you text me that photo?” Frost asked. “It may help me locate her.”

“I can, but only if you stop keeping me in the dark. We’re talking about my sister. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Frost chose his words carefully. “Two of the people who were part of that cruise on Tuesday are dead. Mr. Jin is missing. And I can’t reach your sister, which worries me.”

Prisha’s brown eyes opened wide. “Oh no.”

“That’s why it’s important that I find Zara right away. I need to know what happened on Tuesday, and frankly, I need to make sure she’s safe. Do you have any way of contacting her?”

Prisha got up and paced. She rubbed her hands nervously together. “Only if she turns her phone on. Depending on where she is and what she’s doing, she stays off the grid. It’s part of the job.”

“Is there anyone else she might reach out to? What about your parents?”

“They died years ago.”

“A boyfriend?” Frost asked.

Prisha stopped. “Yes, she has a boyfriend. They’ve been together a few years.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him. Zara has never invited him to our house. She lives her life in compartments, Inspector. When you do what she does, you learn to be careful. I don’t know whether her boyfriend even knows about her ‘career.’ Very few people know anything about her life as Fawn. When she needs to be picked up for an engagement, she goes elsewhere. The limo doesn’t come here.”

“Would you be able to figure out who her boyfriend is?”

“I can try, but I can’t promise anything. Zara may have something in her room that would help me identify him. I’ll see what I can find.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“You have me very scared now, Inspector,” Prisha admitted.

“I understand. I apologize for alarming you further, but I need to ask you something else. Have you had any unusual experiences here at the house since Tuesday night?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you noticed any strange cars on the street? Have you spotted anyone following you? Do you have any reason to think someone might have broken into your house while you were away?”

Prisha thought about it. She wandered to the window and looked outside. “No, there hasn’t been anything like that. When you’re a single woman, you usually have radar for that kind of thing. I haven’t felt unsafe.”

“Okay.”

Frost didn’t tell her what he was thinking. If no one was looking for Fawn, that was probably because they knew she wasn’t a threat. She was one more loose end from the cruise on Tuesday that had already been tied off, like Denny and Carla.

“This may seem like an odd question,” he said, “but do you ever recall Zara mentioning the name Lombard?”

“You mean, like the street?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“It’s just something I’m following up on,” Frost said. He stood up from the sofa. “I appreciate your time, Ms. Anand. If you hear from your sister, I hope you’ll let me know right away. And please tell her to call me immediately. I don’t know whether she’s in danger, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

Prisha nodded. “I will.”

“By the way, you said that Zara looked nervous and upset before she left on Tuesday. You thought she was meeting a client who made her uncomfortable. What exactly did you mean? Has she ever felt in physical danger with any of her clients?”

She looked as if she didn’t know how to answer. “You’d have to understand her world, Inspector.”

“Explain it to me anyway,” Frost replied.

Prisha stood close enough to him that he was in the cloud of her perfume. “The men who can afford a woman like Zara — Fawn — aren’t simply buying sex. That’s part of it, but they’re really buying an experience. And the experience needs to be perfect. When you pay that kind of money, you feel as if you own whoever is with you. They’re your slave. If a girl puts a foot wrong — even accidentally — terrible things can happen. I don’t know that Zara has ever felt in danger herself, but she knows girls who have. A few years ago, a girl was killed, in fact. It was someone Zara knew well. It affected her deeply.”

“Who was this girl?” Frost asked.

“I don’t know her real name. They only deal in aliases. Zara called her Naomi, that’s all I know. I only found out as much as I did because I found Zara crying in her room one evening. She was very upset about what had happened.”

“When was this?”

“A few years ago. Two, three, I’m not sure.”

“How did Naomi die?”

“The police said she overdosed, but Zara said that was a lie. She told me Naomi was clean. The fact is, most of the high-end escorts never do drugs. In Zara’s business, you have to be on your game all the time. Physically, socially, mentally, everything. Drugs don’t mix with that.”

“So what did Zara think really happened to Naomi?” Frost asked.

“She said Naomi was going to expose a client who was abusing her, and the client somehow arranged the overdose to prevent her from talking. Zara was devastated. And angry, too. I tried to talk her out of saying anything — I didn’t want her getting killed, too — but she swore she was going to do something about it. She wanted revenge.”

Frost sat in his Suburban outside Fawn’s house. With his laptop open on the dashboard, it didn’t take him long to find Naomi.

More than three years earlier, a twenty-one-year-old woman named LaHonda Duke had been found near the BART tracks in Balboa Park. She’d died of a heroin overdose. The investigation showed no evidence of foul play. There was nothing in the police file to indicate that LaHonda had led a separate life as a high-priced escort and nothing to confirm that her street name was Naomi.

Even so, Frost knew he had the right victim. One hundred yards away from where her body had been found, Coyle had discovered a red snake on a concrete wall bordering the 280 freeway. LaHonda Duke was on his list.

He dialed Coyle’s number.

“It’s me,” he said when he heard the private detective’s voice. “Do you remember the LaHonda Duke case? It was an OD near Balboa Park. She’s one of the snake victims.”

“Sure,” Coyle replied. “Accidental death, my ass. Someone shot her up.”

“Did you look into LaHonda’s background? Did you find out anything else about her?”

Coyle sounded as if he were gulping down a late dinner. “Like what?”

“Like her being a high-end hooker.”

“No. If she was, I never found it, but those girls are usually pretty good at keeping the secret.”

“Do you remember anything else about her case that would connect her to what’s going on now? Anything that might tie her to Denny or Greg Howell or any of the other victims?”

“I’ll have to pull my file,” Coyle replied, “but I don’t think so.”

Frost sat in the truck and was silent for a moment. He was sure he was on to something. “I’m going to send you a photo. It’s a girl with the street name Fawn. She’s another upscale escort. I want to know if she came up in your research on any of the other snake cases.”

“Sure thing.”

Frost hung up the phone and sent the photo of Zara Anand to Coyle. Then he started up the SUV’s engine and was about to pull into traffic when his phone rang again. The private detective was already calling him back.

“You better get over here,” Coyle told him. “We need to talk right away.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I got the photo, and I don’t need to check my files on this one.”

“What do you mean? You know Fawn?”

“I do. Remember I’d been following that vice cop for a couple weeks before he was murdered? I spotted him having dinner in Pacific Heights with a really stunning Indian brunette. Got some photos of her, too. She wasn’t the kind of girl you’ll ever forget once you lay eyes on her.”

“Let me guess,” Frost said.

“Yeah. The girl was Fawn. She was meeting with Alan Detlowe.”