Her face was younger, angrier, and more raw. Her hair was even fuller. This was a woman who had something to prove. She looked in jeopardy, surrounded by sculpted monsters. The scar on her neck was covered by the cotton fabric of a yellow turtleneck that matched the paint of the house.
Frost opened Eden’s memoir to a random page. He read a few lines, then closed it again. He almost felt as if he were a voyeur spying on an intimate moment in her life, even though she had put it out there for the world to see.
He stared at her research boxes about the Golden Gate Murders, which he’d left on the floor near the sofa. He went to the kitchen, opened a pale ale, and returned to the living room to sit down again. Shack made a small, annoyed groan at all the activity. Frost apologized to the cat, then propped his feet on the coffee table and lifted the printed manuscript pages from the box.
The Voice Inside.
He turned to the prologue of Eden’s book, which started with the first meeting of Nina Flores and Rudy Cutter in the coffee shop at the Ferry Building. He could hear Eden’s voice in his head, like the narrator of an audio book, as he read what she’d written. He liked her quirky style and insights. She looked for unusual details, the fragments of a life that told you who a person really was.
With Nina, it was the fluffy brown hair piled on her head like a chocolate ice cream cone and dripping down the sides of her face. That image summed up Nina. Sweet but a little messy.
With Cutter, it was the melted ice in his latte, the way he stayed and stayed at the coffee counter long after his cold drink had turned warm. In Eden’s hands, the ice slowly sweating into the coffee became a scene out of a horror movie, as something grotesque and dark took shape inside Cutter’s head.
Frost spent an hour reading before he put aside the manuscript pages.
He realized that Eden had a good eye for the things about a crime that were important. Her first chapter cut to the heart of everything. This mystery had begun right there in the Ferry Building. The chain started with Nina Flores, and typically the oldest link in the chain was the easiest to break.
Was Cutter already thinking about murder when he met Nina? No. You don’t hand your credit card to a girl you were thinking of killing a few days later. So what happened between them in the coffee shop that electrified Rudy Cutter? Twenty years had already passed since Cutter’s wife murdered their daughter, and as far as anyone knew, he had never been a violent man. And then came Nina, a girl he’d never met, a pretty, innocent girl on her twenty-first birthday. Cutter met Nina, and suddenly he pried open his coffin door like a vampire discovering the night.
Why?
Why did Cutter sit there and make his plans to murder Nina as the ice melted in his drink?
Frost didn’t see any answers in Eden’s book, but she had given him a place to start. He went back to the third page of the manuscript, where he’d underlined a passage:
Days later, weeks later, years later, nobody at the coffee shop remembered Rudy. Nina’s best friend, Tabby Blaine, prepared his order, but she didn’t notice anything about him other than iced latte, dark roast, extra ice, no straw. How was he dressed? No idea. Was he angry, happy, sad? Not a clue. Rudy didn’t make an impression. To Tabby, to everybody he met, Rudy was an invisible man.
Tabby Blaine.
Tabby wasn’t just Nina’s childhood friend, she was also Nina’s coworker.
His brother was dating a woman who had been there at the exact moment when the destinies of Nina Flores and Rudy Cutter collided.
17
By ten o’clock at night, the food trucks of SoMa had closed their windows, and the customers were gone. Even so, Frost knew that Duane typically stayed late into the night, cleaning up from dinner and prepping for the next day’s lunch menu. More often than not, his brother slept in his truck.
But he didn’t usually sleep alone.
The street food park was located in the shadows of the 101 freeway, in an area of warehouses and parking lots. The guard at the gate knew him and rolled back the barbed-wire fence to let him inside. Every time he came here, the food trucks were different, but Duane’s Asian-Mediterranean fusion truck was one of the anchors, always in the same place at the back. The smells of dinner lingered around him, from shawarma to fish tacos.
The truck was locked up tight, but he heard Duane’s voice and a woman’s musical laughter. When he rapped his knuckles on the door, Duane answered it, smiling, but his smile was quickly replaced by a scowl.
“What do you want, Frost?”
“Hi to you, too. Can I come in?”
“Depends. Do you have a warrant?”
“That’s funny, Duane.”
Frost climbed inside the truck. He squeezed past his brother, who was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that read “Keep on Truckin’.” Duane squirted a thick orange liquid into his mouth from a plastic bottle. His brother had a bizarre fondness for carrot juice.
Tabby sat on the floor at the other side of the truck, with her bare legs and bare feet stretched out. She looked at home wherever she was. She had a beer bottle in her hand, her red hair was mussed, and so were the buttons on her clothes. The zipper on her skirt was partly undone. He’d obviously interrupted something.
“Sorry to barge in on you two,” Frost said.
“If you want dinner, you’re too late,” Duane said. His brother leaned close to his face and smelled his breath. “Pop-Tarts? Really?”
“The care packages have been a little skimpy lately.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy. You could learn to cook, you know.”
“Shack has a better chance of learning to cook than me,” Frost replied.
Duane took another squirt of carrot juice and didn’t say anything more. He was still angry. Frost kept stubbornly silent, too. Tabby stood up with a sigh and rebuttoned her blouse. She shoved her feet back into flats. If she was waiting for the two of them to grow up, Frost could have told her that wasn’t going to happen.
“Duane Easton, apologize to your brother right now,” Tabby snapped.
“For what?” he protested.
“For being a dick.”
Duane opened his mouth to defend himself, but then he shrugged in resignation. It didn’t take much to break the ice between the two brothers after an argument, but they typically needed outside help. “Well, that’s fair. Sorry, bro.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Frost replied. “I sprang the whole Rudy Cutter thing on you, and I did it badly. Believe me, I don’t like it, either.”
“Have you talked to Mom and Dad?” Duane asked.
“Not since the hearing. I need to call them.”
“They’re flying in from Tucson tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
Tabby answered from the back of the truck. “The family support group is getting together on Saturday. With Cutter getting out, we all thought we needed to talk about what was going on.”
Frost felt guilty again, as if this were his fault. “Where are Mom and Dad staying?”
“With the Holtzmans,” Duane replied. “Near our old house.”
“Are they pissed at me like you are?” Frost asked.
“No, they’re not. And listen, bro, I’m not mad. It was just a shock.”
Tabby walked over and slung an arm around Duane’s waist. Her green eyes were flirty. “Okay, Beaston Boys, this is all very sweet, but speaking for myself, I’m still pretty horny, and the only way this is going to work out is for one of you to leave. Now, who’s it going to be?”
For the first time in his life, Frost saw Duane at a loss for words. He began to think his brother had genuine feelings for this girl, and he could see why.
“Actually, Tabby, I wanted to talk to you,” Frost said. “It won’t take long.”
“To me?” she answered. “The plot thickens. About what?”
“Nina.”
Her face fell. The innuendo disappeared. “Oh. Of course. Sorry, here I am being inappropriate, and you’re in the middle of d
ealing with—” She stopped, and she looked up at Duane with an apology on her face. “I’m going to let Frost steal me away for a couple minutes, okay?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Duane clapped Frost on the shoulder. “I’ll work on the care packages, bro.”
“Thanks.”
Frost descended the steps from the food truck, and Tabby followed behind him. The night air was cool, and she shivered. In the pale glow of the streetlights, her red hair looked darker, like mahogany. She still had a beer bottle in her hand. It was empty, but she played with it uncomfortably between her fingers.
“I talked to the police about Nina back then,” she said.
“I know.”
“What did you want to ask me?”
“You told me that you and Nina grew up together, but I didn’t realize the two of you worked together, too. You were there when Rudy Cutter came to the coffee shop, right?”
Tabby’s face was dark. “Yes.”
“What do you remember?”
“About Cutter? Nothing. They didn’t identify him as a suspect until three years after Nina was killed. When I saw his photograph, I didn’t recognize him. Why would I? Except for a handful of regulars, I typically didn’t remember faces. There were just too many of them.”
“I was thinking more about Nina,” Frost said.
“What do you mean?”
“On her birthday. What was she like?”
Tabby smiled. “That girl was so excited. Twenty-one years old! To us, that was the big time. I’d hit twenty-one a couple weeks earlier, so watch out, world. A bunch of us went to a Mexican bar in the Castro that night. Three shots of tequila, and Nina was in the bathroom throwing up.”
“It’s nice that you guys were so close,” Frost said.
“Yeah, we were. I was the one who reported her missing the next week. The police jacked me and her family around—no offense—but I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t like her to drop out of sight.”
“Did she mention anything strange before she disappeared? Somebody watching her? Being followed?”
Tabby shook her head. “No.”
“What about any secret boyfriends?”
“Nina? No way. She wasn’t involved with anybody.” Her expression became troubled. “The police didn’t hide something from us back then, did they? There was no sexual assault, was there?”
“No.”
“That would have made it worse.”
“I know.” And he did know. That had always been his darkest worry about Katie, too. Whatever twisted pathology drove Cutter, it wasn’t about his sexual fantasies. This was something else.
“I’m sorry, Frost, I can’t imagine why he came after Nina. Believe me, I’ve racked my brain all these years to think of something. Nina never hurt anybody. She was just a sweet, decent soul.”
“Tell me more about her birthday,” Frost said. “What was the day like at the coffee shop?”
Tabby stroked her fingers through her deep red hair with both hands. “It was fun. I got her balloons, and we tied those up everywhere. She wore a big crown all day, because it was her day, and she was the queen. She was wearing some big buttons on her T-shirt that she’d made from old photos of herself. Her high school grad photo. Me and her in her bedroom getting ready for a party. All of her siblings at Christmas. She kept singing, too. ‘Happy birthday to me.’”
“What did the customers think about this?” Frost asked.
“Most of them got into it. Nina got some great tips. The men sure liked it. She was showing off the buttons on her shirt, and let’s just say Nina had a lot more to show off under there than me.”
“Nobody got upset?”
“Not that I remember.”
Frost shook his head. He’d been to that coffee shop in the Ferry Building dozens of times. It was small. If you sat at the counter, the baristas were right in front of you. Cutter would have had plenty of time to study Nina Flores close-up while he drank his latte. The young woman would have had plenty of time to brag to him about her birthday. It was a half hour that had changed both of their lives. He just didn’t know why.
“Do Nina’s parents still live nearby?” Frost asked. “I want to talk to them.”
“Yes, they’re in the same little house on Silver Avenue they’ve owned for years. My parents had a place one block over, but they retired up in Oregon a couple years ago. I haven’t seen Mr. and Mrs. Flores for a while now. I don’t know if they’ll be at the support group this weekend or not.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry, Frost, I wish I could be more help.”
“No, I appreciate it, Tabby,” he said. “And thanks for the other thing, too.”
“For what?”
“Being a mediator between me and Duane. We need it sometimes. Stubborn Easton boys and all.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that,” Tabby said.
They were silent for a moment in the chilly air. He heard the noise of trucks on 101 behind them. Her cheeks were pink. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ground. He felt oddly awkward around her, but he was rescued by a chime from his phone. It was a text message from Jess.
Need to see you right away.
“I have to go,” Frost said.
“Of course. I understand.” Tabby turned toward the food truck, but then she looked back at him with a curious smile and a toss of her red hair. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I know I’m putting you on the spot, but I was hoping you could tell me if I’m making a horrible mistake. With Duane, I mean.”
“Why would you think that?” Frost asked.
Tabby rolled her eyes. “Your brother is a great guy, but he doesn’t exactly have a reliable track record when it comes to relationships.”
“You’re right about that. All I can tell you, Tabby, is that Duane seems different around you than with other girls.”
“Yeah, maybe. That’s what he says, too. I like him, but I don’t want to get serious with someone who’s not capable of being serious. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I get it.”
“When I fall in love, I fall hard and fast. That’s why I’m careful about what I get myself into.”
Frost weighed his words and then said, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re making a mistake. Not about how Duane feels.”
She stared at him, as if trying to decide whether he was simply telling her what she wanted to hear. Then she closed the distance between them again and kissed him softly on the cheek. When she was done, she wiped away the smudge of her lipstick. Her eyes didn’t know where to look.
“Thank you, Frost.”
At that moment, he felt a sudden chemistry with her that took him by surprise. He wasn’t looking for it, he didn’t want it, but there it was.
18
When Frost rang the bell at Jess’s apartment, she answered the door with a knife in her hand. He put up his arms in mock surrender. After she saw that he was alone, she opened the door wider and put the knife down on a table by the entry. He nudged past her.
“Taking no chances?” he asked.
“No.”
“Well, that’s smart.”
Jess locked the door behind him. He’d been to her apartment many times before. It wasn’t fancy; she didn’t waste time or money on frills. She could eat, sleep, watch TV, and work on a computer here, but not much else. The white walls were mostly empty. She’d lived in this apartment since she and Captain Hayden had divorced almost two years earlier, but it wasn’t really a home. The only home Jess had was at work. He didn’t know how she was going to adjust to the idea of not being a cop.
“Did anyone see you?” she asked.
“No. If Hayden was watching you, he’s pulled his surveillance. And the media gets bored easily.”
“Guess I’m already old news,” Jess said.
Without asking, Jess went to the kitchen to get him a beer. Frost let himself out onto her second-floor balcony.
It was small, and she hadn’t decorated it with ferns or flowers like the other apartments near her. She had two uncomfortable chairs, and he sat in one of them and put his feet on the railing. The apartment looked out on the alley at the back of the building and the green cliff leading up to Chestnut Street.
Jess joined him, handing him a bottle. She leaned her strong arms on the railing and stared into the darkness.
“Did you talk to your lawyer?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
“She says perjury is a serious felony,” Jess said.
“No kidding.”
“Yeah. She’s trying to do a plea bargain. A judge could give me four years, but she thinks we can get it down to a year. It depends on whether the DA wants to make an example of me. ‘We won’t tolerate bad behavior by the cops.’ That sort of thing. He probably has to have his political people do a poll first.”
“Nobody wants them to come down hard on you, Jess. Inside or outside the department.”
“We’ll see.”
He got out of the chair and stood beside her. He took a drink of his beer and then put the bottle on the concrete next to him.
“I picked up the research materials from Eden Shay,” he told her. “I’m starting to review them. She talked to a lot of people. I’m hoping there may be something in her notes.”
“You want me to look at them, too? Off the record?”
“No, I can handle it,” Frost said.
“Okay. Whatever.”
The Voice Inside (Frost Easton Book 2) Page 11
