The Crooked Street

20

Frost stared at the snake.

The paint was still wet, dripping from its jaws like blood. He’d found it two blocks from Coyle’s building on a concrete pillar underneath the 280 freeway. This one looked rushed, as if the killer had been in a hurry to get away. Frost wondered if the plan had been to have a second snake painted under the first one. If he hadn’t stumbled across his gun, he’d be dead, too.

He reached around to the back of his head and felt sticky blood in his hair. The cut on his leg throbbed. When a speeding truck above him made the freeway shudder, the vibration shot like spasms up his neck and made his headache worse. He closed his eyes and squeezed his forehead.

“You look like crap, Easton.”

Frost turned around. Trent Gorham stood a few feet away, his shoulders slightly slumped on his tall frame. Behind him, at the end of the block, the whirling lights of emergency vehicles clustered near Coyle’s building. Frost leaned against the highway column, feeling dizzy.

“I’m fine,” Frost told him.

“That’s not what I hear. The EMTs want you in the ambulance to tape up your leg, and then they want you at the hospital for a CT scan. You could be dealing with a concussion.”

“I’ll worry about that later.”

“Not later. Now. You need to get checked out. I’ll put you in cuffs if I need to.”

Frost didn’t protest. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about Coyle,” Gorham added. “The guy was a wacko, but I have to admit, I liked him.”

“I liked him, too.” Frost nodded his head at the graffiti on the freeway column. “Another murder, another snake. Do you still think this is just a crazy conspiracy?”

Gorham’s pale blond face gave nothing away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over his shoulder at the police officers standing nearby. They were out of earshot, but he lowered his voice anyway.

“A snake doesn’t prove anything, Easton. Half the people on the street probably knew about Coyle and his serial-killer-snake theory. If it was me going to knock him off, I’d paint a snake nearby, too, just to throw us off the scent.”

“You don’t believe that,” Frost said.

Gorham shrugged. “All I’m saying is that Coyle was a private detective. When you dig into people’s dirty laundry for a living, you make enemies. The suspect list is going to be a mile long. Don’t be surprised if this one goes unsolved.”

“It seems like that happens a lot with you, Trent. Whenever there’s a snake involved, the case goes nowhere.”

The taller inspector took a step into Frost’s space. The man’s sheer size made him intimidating. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Easton. You have absolutely no idea.”

“Then why don’t you fill me in? Because I’m pretty sure you know more than you’re telling me.”

Gorham snapped his mouth shut without saying anything more. He stepped away and grimaced as he watched the lights of the freeway traffic overhead. He pinched his big nose between his fingers with a snuffling noise.

“I’ll have one of the uniforms drive you to the hospital,” he went on, ignoring Frost’s question. “You’ll need to write up a full statement tomorrow about what happened to Coyle. Hayden and Cyril want a debrief about Denny Clark, too, so think hard about what you’re going to tell them. My advice is to steer clear of snakes if you don’t want to look like a fool.”

Gorham turned away, but Frost grabbed his arm.

“Hold on, Trent. Coyle had a flash drive with him before he was killed. The drive contained all of his surveillance notes from when he was following Alan Detlowe. I want a copy. I want to dig through whatever Coyle found.”

“The Detlowe murder is my case,” Gorham snapped.

“Yeah, but now there’s a link between Detlowe’s murder and what happened to Denny Clark. And Denny’s death is my case.”

“What’s the link?” Gorham demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“Fawn. The escort. Denny called her, remember? Coyle also saw Fawn talking to Detlowe the week before he was killed.”

Gorham’s face reddened. His voice got louder. “So what? Alan was a vice cop. He was on a first-name basis with half the hookers in the city. It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“I don’t think this was an ordinary meeting,” Frost told him. “Fawn was upset about the death of one of her friends — another escort who went by the alias Naomi. I think Fawn asked Detlowe for help, and he started digging into Naomi’s clients. That may be what got him killed. Coyle’s notes might tell us who Detlowe was going after.”

“And how will that help you with Denny Clark’s murder?” Gorham asked.

“Because there’s a good chance that whoever killed Naomi and Detlowe killed Denny, too.”

Gorham shook his head. “I think you’re out in left field on this, but it doesn’t matter. There was no flash drive.”

“What?”

“We didn’t find a flash drive on Coyle’s body. There was nothing in his outer office. Whoever killed him must have taken it.”

Frost scowled with frustration. Another lead had been stripped away. But it also meant he was knocking on the right doors. Denny. Detlowe. Fawn. Lombard. They were all connected.

“I need to get back to the crime scene,” Gorham went on when Frost was silent. “We’re done here. Go get somebody to look at your head.”

The other detective began to walk away toward the warehouses of Toland Street, but then he stopped and retraced his steps.

“Hey, Easton,” Gorham leaned in and whispered. “I’m not saying you’re right about the snakes, but if you are, that means you were lucky to walk away alive. Whoever took out Coyle missed you. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky, huh? You should think about that.”

The sun through the bay window in his Russian Hill house finally woke Frost up. He lay on his back on the sofa in the living room, with his right arm draped to the floor. He blinked and saw two pairs of eyes watching him. One pair belonged to Shack, who was in a sphinx position on his chest. The other pair belonged to Tabby, who sat on the carpet next to the sofa with her legs crossed.

“You’re alive,” she said. “Are you okay? I was worried about you.”

Frost saw that her pretty mouth was pressed into a frown. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. There’s no concussion, just a monster headache and a nasty cut on my leg. What are you doing here?”

“The hospital called Duane. Duane called and asked if I would check on you. He’s busy with the food truck.”

“What time is it?” Frost asked. “I didn’t get home until dawn.”

“Noon.”

He groaned and sat up, dislodging Shack. He was late. The sudden shift sent little knives up his neck, making him wince. Tabby got off the floor and took a seat next to him on the sofa. Her eyes noted the blood on his jeans.

“Are you really okay?” she asked.

“Some coffee, some Advil, I’ll be good to go.”

“What happened? They didn’t give Duane any details.”

“I came out on the losing end of a fight. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Tabby’s forehead crinkled with displeasure. Her voice rose. “Don’t lie to me, Frost. I heard on the news that somebody got killed. Tell me the truth. Did you almost get killed, too?”

“Yeah, I was lucky,” Frost admitted.

Tabby closed her eyes and inhaled loudly. “I don’t know how the spouses of cops do it. If I had to live with that fear every day—”

“Hey, I’m here. That’s the main thing.”

“Don’t you wonder whether it’s really worth it? I wish you would just give it up and do something else.”

“Yeah, I think about that sometimes myself. Then I think, what if I hadn’t been out on that pier with you last fall? Bad things will always happen. At least I have a chance to do something about it.”

Tabby picked up Shack from the floor and stroked him in her lap. “I know. You’re right. I’m being selfish. And I’m sorry about raising my voice. I think you’re getting some of the firepower I was aiming at Duane.”

“Are you guys having problems?” Frost asked.

“We had a huge fight last night. The worst I can remember.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, I didn’t handle it well. There was a lot of yelling. I told him he wasn’t listening to me and that he didn’t care what was going on with my life. And then he started asking how come I didn’t want to set a date for the wedding, and I was in his face about him not realizing what I’ve been through and how I needed more time. It was all real mature.”

“Duane likes to fight,” Frost said. “It’s how he communicates. Duane Beaston, remember? Then he always makes up.”

“Well, I don’t like to fight. I hate it. But I also know he’s right.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been putting him off about the wedding. I’m not ready to take that step.” She grabbed Shack from her lap and hugged the cat to her chest. “The truth is, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Not with him.”

“Tabby,” Frost murmured. “Come on. You said yourself this is just a phase. Duane loves you. You love Duane.”

Her green eyes shone with tears. “Do I? I don’t know anymore. Lately I don’t know what I feel.”

He was shocked to hear her say that. “Why the change?”

“I wish I could tell you. I’m trying to figure everything out myself. Life is just so complicated right now. I’m sorry, Frost. Here I am putting you in the middle, and that’s not fair of me. Duane’s your brother. I know you have to put him first. Really, I’m sorry. Please don’t say anything to him.”

Tabby put Shack down. She wiped her eyes and looked embarrassed. Then she changed the subject. “Did you find Mr. Jin?”

“No.”

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

Tabby twisted her fingers together. She still looked uncomfortable. “This other man who was killed last night, did you know him?”

“Not well, but yeah, I knew him. He was a decent guy.”

“Why was he killed?” Tabby asked.

“He knew things that somebody didn’t want exposed. The irony is that he’d been talking about it for years, and nobody listened to him. Me taking him seriously is probably what got him killed. As it is, I still don’t understand how they—”

Frost stopped in midsentence.

“What?” Tabby asked.

He didn’t answer. He sat there, frozen to silence, thinking through the chain of events from the previous night. The meeting with Fawn’s sister. His phone calls to Coyle. The attack on Coyle’s office. He realized it couldn’t possibly be an accident that Lombard had targeted them just minutes after Coyle told Frost about the connection between Fawn and Detlowe.

“They knew,” he murmured to himself, barely aloud.

“Knew what?” Tabby asked in a normal voice.

Frost put a finger over his lips to warn her to stay quiet.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just thinking aloud. Hey, would you mind making me a cup of coffee? I need some caffeine today.”

Tabby gave him a puzzled look. “Sure. Okay.”

She headed for the kitchen, and Shack followed her. Frost got up from the sofa with a wince and retrieved his black sport jacket from the chair where he’d thrown it when he returned from the hospital. He held the jacket up in his hand and rifled through the pockets. Left side, right side, breast, inside. He found nothing. Maybe he was wrong.

Tabby came back into the living room with coffee from his Keurig machine in a Mark Twain mug. He took a sip and put the mug down. She waited for him with her arms crossed and a curious, expectant expression on her face. He studied the sport jacket in his hand again, and this time he flipped both of the lapels back. Still nothing. Then he turned the jacket around and flipped up the collar.

There it was.

The square electronic device was smaller than a postage stamp. It clung to the inside fabric of the jacket with little metal teeth. He tried to remember who’d bumped into him and where it might have happened, but it could have been anywhere.

Tabby saw the bug and opened her mouth in horror to say something, but he quickly held up his hand to stop her. She shut her mouth without saying a word. He put the jacket back on the chair and walked up to her. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he put his arms around her waist and put his face next to her cheek and whispered in her ear.

“It’s a listening device.”

She murmured back. “Well, don’t you want to destroy it?”

“Not yet. I don’t want them to know I’ve found it.”

“How long has it been there?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s so creepy. Who would do that?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

There was nothing else to say. At that moment, they had no reason to be as close as they were. And yet they didn’t move. His hands were on her waist, they were face-to-face, but he didn’t let go right away. She was warm and soft and close. The sun through the bay window turned her hair to fire.

Frost stepped back and let his arms fall to his sides. He bent down and retrieved his coffee. “I have to go,” he said. “I’m late.”

“Me too.” Tabby’s voice was hushed. Her eyes blinked with confusion.

“Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course. Do you want me to come back tonight? I mean, if you want me to cook dinner for you, I can—”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I just thought—”

She didn’t go on. Her words hung there, unspoken, and they both left them there. Without saying anything more to him, she turned and walked away. He heard the quick tap of her shoes in the foyer, then the opening and closing of the front door. She was gone.

He was alone.

Then he looked at his jacket and remembered that he wasn’t alone at all. It was time to figure out who was behind this.