The Crooked Street

by Brian Freeman

  “I got your message. Here I am.”

  “I’m glad you came, but you should stay away from this area,” Frost warned him. “Don’t go back to your father’s apartment. If people aren’t looking for you right now, they will be soon.”

  Fox shrugged. “If they see me, they have to catch me. Nobody catches Fox.”

  “Don’t underestimate these people,” Frost said. “Have you heard anything from Mr. Jin?”

  “Not a word. You know where he is yet?”

  “No, but the good news is, he’s alive.”

  “Yeah? How can you be sure?”

  “Because Lombard’s still looking for him,” Frost said. “That’s also the bad news. Your father’s not safe.”

  “Is this about Denny and the boat?”

  “Yes.”

  Fox frowned. “Word on the street is that the guy who killed Denny ate a train. So why is Lombard still after Mr. Jin?”

  “There’s a lot we don’t know about that cruise last Tuesday,” Frost said. “Mr. Jin may be the only one who has the answers. That’s why Lombard wants to keep him quiet. If you see your father or he contacts you, make sure he does not go home. Got it? Call me, and I’ll meet the two of you wherever you are.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I wish you’d let me find you a safe place to stay until we locate him,” Frost said. “I can protect you.”

  Fox laughed at the suggestion. “Protect me? You seen a mirror lately? You don’t look so good. Maybe I should be protecting you.”

  Frost laughed, too. “Well, I could do a lot worse than you for a bodyguard, that’s for sure. But you said yourself that everybody sees everything around here. If you hang out in Chinatown, Lombard will know it, and sooner or later your luck is going to run out.”

  The boy winked. “It’s not luck, man.”

  “Don’t get cocky, Fox. You’re good, but Lombard has a lot of people working for him.”

  “So do I. Around here, people have my back.”

  “Oh?”

  “See for yourself,” Fox said.

  The boy snapped his fingers.

  A moment later, a sharp crack like the explosion of a bullet erupted behind Frost. He ducked and spun around and yanked his gun into his hand. The acrid smell of black powder filled his nose. He looked for a shooter but saw no one, and then he focused on the homeless man crouched against the opposite wall. The old man’s eyes glittered with amusement in the reflections from the street. He flicked something from his fingers, sending a ribbon of sparks through the air. A firecracker hit the ground, sizzled, and then exploded with a bang.

  The homeless man laughed so hard he began to hack into his blanket.

  Frost turned around again. Fox was already gone. No more than a few seconds had passed; there simply hadn’t been time for him to disappear entirely. He squinted down the alley, but the boy wasn’t there. Then he heard more laughter, directly over his head this time. Frost looked up.

  Fox stood six feet over the alley, balanced on a metal strip of pipe bracketed to the brick wall. He had barely an inch on which to stand. As Frost watched, the boy sidestepped along the pipe like a ballet dancer and launched himself across the open space to the nearest fire escape, which seemed like an impossibly long jump. He grabbed it, dangled, and then swung his leg over his head in a way that made it look as if he had no bones in his body.

  In the next second, he was standing on the platform of the fire escape.

  “Don’t you worry about Fox,” he called as he began to climb the building with the grace of Spider-Man. “You just find Mr. Jin for me.”

  35

  When Frost got back to his Suburban in front of the Chinese restaurant, his phone rang as he climbed inside the truck.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Inspector,” Cyril Timko told him. “The captain wants a face-to-face right away.”

  Frost didn’t bother asking what the meeting was about. “Okay, I’ll get back to headquarters now.”

  “Don’t bother. Hayden wants to do this outside the office.”

  “Where?”

  “Follow me,” Cyril said. “And turn off your phone.”

  Frost spotted a flash in his rearview mirror as the high beams of the car behind him switched on and off. The car pulled from the curb onto Washington, and as it passed Frost’s SUV, Cyril waved through the open window of a black Accord. Frost clicked off his phone, then got into traffic and stayed on the sedan’s bumper. Cyril headed west through Chinatown but soon made a series of turns to dodge the one-way streets and cable car tracks. Eventually, he took Hyde south to Market, where he crossed into the SoMa neighborhood.

  Even at night, traffic made it a slow crawl. The farther Cyril went, the closer he got to the street park where Duane had his food truck, and Frost began to wonder if the captain planned to meet him there. But no. Two blocks from the park, Cyril turned onto a one-way street that led under an elevated off-ramp from 101. There, he bumped onto the sidewalk next to a barbed wire fence and stopped. Frost parked behind him.

  They both got out.

  Frost took a wary look at the area below the overpass, which was an urban jungle of homeless tents and graffiti.

  “This is where Hayden wants to meet?” Frost asked.

  “The captain wants this under the radar,” Cyril replied.

  They walked under the freeway’s rusting I beams, and Cyril flicked his finger toward the black loading door of a warehouse. Someone had spray-painted a caricature of the 1970s stripper Carol Doda on the outside. At the steel door, Cyril pulled out a key and unlocked it and slid the door up on tracks. The inside was cool and pitch-black. Cyril waved Frost ahead of him and then followed him inside and shut the door again. Frost was blind in the darkness, and his unease made him slip his hand inside his jacket close to the butt of his gun.

  Then Cyril turned on bright overhead fluorescents.

  “Hayden will be here soon,” Cyril told him. He fired up his e-cigarette and added with a smirk, “Don’t worry, you won’t need your gun.”

  Frost studied the loading dock. There were two white panel vans parked inside. The floor was concrete. He saw import crates stacked in ten-foot columns, smelling as if they’d come directly from container ships at the harbor. The space was quiet except for the occasional hiss as Cyril inhaled his vape pen. The other cop leaned against the crates, watching Frost but making no attempt to engage in conversation.

  Fifteen slow minutes passed with the two of them alone. Frost began to get impatient, but finally, he heard the bang of an interior door and the click of leather shoes on the stone floor. The captain emerged from behind one of the vans, walking with a slight limp. He wore a business suit, which was a surprise. Frost couldn’t remember seeing him out of his dress blues. Hayden’s bulk tested the seams of the fabric.

  “Hello, Easton,” the captain’s foghorn voice rumbled.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  Hayden shot a glance at Cyril. “Anyone follow you two?”

  “No, sir. We’re good.”

  Hayden nodded, satisfied. “Sorry for the cloak-and-dagger,” he told Frost, “but I didn’t want anyone in the department to see us talking. I own this building, and I keep an office here.”

  Frost didn’t ask how the captain could afford seven-figure San Francisco commercial real estate. The city ran on sweetheart deals for people in power. “What did you want to talk about, sir?”

  “I’m sure you can guess. Lombard.”

  “I thought Lombard was a myth,” Frost replied evenly.

  “Yes, I know that’s what I said, and if anyone asks, that’s still the story. The official word is that Lombard doesn’t exist and never has. That’s what we tell anyone from the press, too. Is that understood? I don’t want to read otherwise in the papers.”

  Frost got the message. Hayden knew he’d met with the reporter from the Chronicle, and that meant he was being watched.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “I don’t imagine you�
�re surprised to learn that Lombard is real,” Hayden went on.

  “I’m not surprised at all, but why keep it a secret?”

  “Two reasons. First, the best way to catch Lombard is to lull him into thinking we still don’t believe he exists at all. If he gets complacent, maybe he’ll make a mistake.”

  “And the other reason?” Frost asked.

  “I’m fairly sure that Lombard has spies in the department. That’s why I’m careful what I say inside Mission Bay. For the time being, the only people who know about this are the three of us in this room.”

  Frost’s eyes went to Cyril and then back to Hayden. “Not that I’m complaining, but why do you trust me? You and I haven’t exactly been allies over the years.”

  Hayden’s face broke into a smile. “You’re direct, Easton, I’ll give you that. Whatever you may think, I’ve always liked that about you. The fact is, no, I didn’t know if I could trust you. That’s why I’ve been cautious. But you’ve convinced me that you’re not in Lombard’s pocket.”

  “How did I do that?”

  “You didn’t buy the Diego Casal story. You kept pushing. Look, the Denny Clark murder smelled of Lombard’s involvement from the beginning. That’s why I was there as soon as it happened. I told you that I thought this might be a drug-related homicide because I wanted to see if Lombard took the bait. Which he did. If you were working for him, you would have dropped the case as soon as we had a witness who claimed that Casal was on Denny’s boat. You didn’t. You’re still investigating. So it’s time to bring you into the loop so we can work together.”

  “Off the books?” Frost asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “In other words, I disobey your official orders by going after Lombard, and if I screw up, you burn me?”

  This time, Hayden and Cyril both smiled. “Yes, that’s about the size of it,” the captain admitted. “I could lie and tell you otherwise, but you wouldn’t believe me. The fact is, you’re already disobeying my orders about Lombard, right? You’re still going after him. At least this way, we’ll have an understanding, which is more than you have now.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “First, bring me up to date on what you’ve found out. Who was really on Denny Clark’s boat last Tuesday? I know it wasn’t Diego Casal. What happened that brought Lombard into play?”

  Hayden made his inquiry sound smooth and casual. He was simply a captain looking for an update on a sensitive homicide investigation. Maybe. Or maybe he was using this entire conversation as a ruse to find out whether Frost had uncovered the truth. If Frost mentioned the mayor or Zelyx or Martin Filko, then it was still possible he wouldn’t leave the loading dock alive. And Lombard would know that Belinda Drake had betrayed him.

  Frost thought about what Gorham had said. I only told one person what I was doing. Captain Hayden. No one else knew.

  He thought about Belinda. Trust no one.

  And Herb. Don’t talk to the cops.

  “Is there a problem, Easton?” Hayden asked when Frost was silent.

  “You said you like that I’m direct. Well, I’ll be direct, sir. I’m in a deserted loading dock. My phone is off. No one knows where I am. A suspicious man might be concerned.”

  “Secrecy protects all of us,” Hayden replied. “I explained that.”

  “You also said there were spies inside the department, and there’s no way to know who.”

  Hayden nodded his huge head slowly. “In other words, how do you know that I’m not on that list? Or Cyril?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Let me guess. Trent Gorham told you not to trust me.”

  Frost didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t have to pretend,” Hayden went on. “I know you and Gorham have been meeting. That’s why I wanted to see you right away. You need to be very careful with Gorham. The more you tell him, the more you put yourself at risk.”

  “Are you suggesting that Gorham is a Lombard operative?” Frost asked.

  “Is that such an outrageous idea? Don’t you find it strange that Gorham has managed to take the lead on so many cases that seem to be connected to Lombard? And that most of those cases have gone unsolved?”

  Frost frowned. The captain knew how to play on his doubts. “Gorham told me about finding a Lombard spy a couple of years ago. He tried to use her as a mole, and she was killed. Do you remember that?”

  “I do. She was a staff attorney in the prosecutor’s office.”

  “Gorham says you were the only one who knew about it. He didn’t tell anyone else. So how did Lombard find out?”

  “I wish I could tell you. However, I wasn’t the only one who knew. I shared the details with a handful of senior people inside and outside the department. The idea of prosecutions being compromised is politically sensitive. I couldn’t keep it to myself.”

  “Do you mind if I ask who you told?”

  “The chief. A couple of other captains. The mayor. Two people on the city council. It wasn’t a large group.”

  Frost kept his reaction off his face, but he’d heard what he expected. The mayor.

  “Anyway, someone obviously leaked it,” the captain went on. “Probably a staffer in one of their offices. That’s why I’m very cautious now about spies.”

  “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 whe
ther 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.