The Crooked Street

by Brian Freeman

  “Before Alan was killed, did he tell you anything about what he was working on? Did he share information about his cases?”

  “No, he rarely did that. The last thing I wanted to hear about was his work with hookers and drug dealers. All the violence scared me. Of course, sometimes he needed to let it out. Some of the stories he told me about what these women went through, well, it was just terrible. Alan always dealt with them kindly, even when he had to arrest them. He was a rare breed as a cop. He helped them put their lives back together whenever he could. I hate to say it, but that was one of the reasons I found it difficult to trust him. I knew how easily he got emotionally involved with the people he dealt with.”

  “Was there anything like that in those last days?” Frost asked.

  “Not that he mentioned. However, I wasn’t being particularly receptive at that point, so I’m not sure he would have opened up to me anyway.”

  “Do you remember anything unusual happening during that time?”

  Marjorie hesitated. A wrinkle appeared in her forehead and then went away. “No.”

  “Are you sure? You looked like you remembered something.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t anything unusual. Not really. But it did cause a big fight between us. I wish I could take it back.”

  “What happened?” Frost asked.

  “Well, two days before Alan was killed was our wedding anniversary. We’d made dinner plans. He was going to take me to the Top of the Mark. And then at the last minute, he had to cancel. I was upset about it, and I told him so.”

  “Why did he cancel?”

  “That’s the thing. His reason wasn’t very convincing. He said Billy Chee at the Moscone Center hired him to do private security for an event that evening. Do you know Billy? Or was he before your time?”

  Frost nodded. “I know him. We overlapped on the force for a couple of years before he left.”

  “Well, those kind of private corporate jobs are lucrative, as I’m sure you know. Alan made a lot of extra money for us that way. But on our anniversary? I wasn’t happy about it. Honestly, I thought he was making up the whole thing, but Mr. Coyle told me that Alan really did go to the Moscone Center that evening. So I assume it was legitimate.”

  “Did Alan tell you anything else about it?”

  Marjorie settled back in the sofa cushions, looking smaller. She stared at the ceiling as she tried to remember. “I asked him why this job was so important that he had to miss our big day.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said it wasn’t just the security detail. He needed to talk to someone who was going to be at the event.”

  “Did he say who? Or why he needed to talk to this person?”

  “No.”

  “Did Coyle see him with anyone?” Frost asked.

  Marjorie shook her head. “No, it was a private event of some kind. Coyle wasn’t able to get inside. He simply told me that Alan did go to the Moscone Center. That was all he knew.”

  “And Alan didn’t tell you anything more afterward?”

  “No, at that point we weren’t talking,” Marjorie said sadly. “I was angry, and he knew it. I have to live with that. But now that I think about it, I do remember one other thing. I asked Alan how come he couldn’t talk to this person some other time. Why did it have to be on our anniversary? And he said the convention was almost over, and this person was from out of town. He was going to be leaving San Francisco the next day.”

  28

  Frost walked through the cavernous halls of the north building of the Moscone Center, surrounded by thousands of men and women with convention badges slung around their necks. The lobby signs told him that the annual meeting of a national dental society was in town, along with an army of salespeople hawking digital-imaging systems and ultrasonic scalers for the high-tech dentist’s office. Sooner or later, every major trade group in the world made their way to Moscone Center.

  He took the escalators down to the sprawling lower level. The dental trade show was in full swing, and he could see hundreds of vendor kiosks beyond the ballroom doors. Even his police badge didn’t get him past the security personnel with their bar-code scanners, checking the credentials of every participant. Instead, he asked them to call their boss, and he waited in the huge lobby for Billy Chee along with crowds of dentists glued to their phones.

  Billy arrived in less than ten minutes. He was a slim Asian man in a gray suit, with a headset and microphone covering one ear. He was almost fifty, and his thinning black hair left him with a high forehead. He had a tablet computer nestled under his right arm.

  “Billy,” Frost said, shaking his hand. “Look at you, running the world.”

  “Just a couple square blocks of it,” Billy replied with a smile. “Sorry about the cold reception at the door. We tell them nobody gets in without a convention pass, and they’re afraid they’ll get their ass handed to them if they make a mistake.”

  “No problem. You miss the old days?”

  “Not even for a minute,” Billy said. “I don’t have time.”

  Billy Chee had been a popular captain inside the police department until he’d been lured away with three times his police salary to run the security department at Moscone Center. The convention halls were ground zero for threats of corporate espionage, political protests, sexual assault, and mass shootings, and every major event was a potential target for terrorism. It was a big job, and Billy routinely recruited cops as temporary help to bolster the security team.

  “How’s your father?” Billy asked. “This place isn’t the same without him.”

  “He misses the city, but my mom loves Arizona,” Frost replied. His dad had been a convention planner for Moscone Center for most of his career and had led the search team that hired Billy five years earlier. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”

  “Do that. What brings you over here, Frost? I’m sorry to rush you, but I only have a couple of minutes.”

  “That’s all I need. Do you remember Alan Detlowe from vice?”

  “Alan? Of course. Terrific guy, terrific cop. It was horrible what happened to him. It must be two years ago now.”

  “Three.”

  “It’s been that long? Unbelievable. Alan and I were friends on the force, and he used to help me out on some of the larger gigs around here.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. His wife tells me that Alan worked security on an event just a couple days before he was murdered. I’d like more details.”

  Billy nodded. “I remember that. Trent Gorham talked to me about it after Alan was killed. He was wondering if the event raised any red flags for me with regard to Alan’s death.”

  “Did it?” Frost asked.

  “Oh no, nothing like that. There were no major security issues.”

  “What was the event?”

  “As I recall, it was the closing ceremony for a big week-long tech convention,” Billy replied. “Digi-Con or Data-Con or some other Con. They all run together after a while.”

  “Do you remember what Alan’s role was?”

  “Not specifically. Alan was experienced, so I usually kept him with the VIPs. Plus, he was vice, so he knew to alert me if he spotted any working girls crashing the parties. That’s always an issue.”

  “What about that particular night? Did he report any prostitution problems?”

  Billy shrugged. “If he did, it doesn’t ring a bell with me, but it would have been low on my priority list.”

  “Alan told Marjorie that he needed to talk to someone who was attending the event. An out-of-towner. Did he mention anything about that?”

  “Sorry, no. I doubt Alan would have told me if he had a secondary motive in doing the gig. He knows I don’t like it when cops use my events as cover to talk to people who don’t want to talk to them. That makes everyone around here unhappy, and I get angry phone calls. If Alan was looking to question somebody, he would have kept it to himself.”

  “So you don’t know who i
t could have been?”

  Billy shook his head. “We’re talking about an event with a few thousand people in attendance.”

  “And do you have a way of looking up exactly what the event was?” Frost asked.

  “I could do it tonight when I’m back at my desk,” Billy told him.

  “Any chance you could do it now?” Frost asked with a smile.

  Billy glanced over his shoulder at the doors to the trade show. Frost could hear a stream of alerts crackling through the man’s earpiece. Billy sighed and unlocked the screen on his tablet. “Okay, but only because I miss your dad. Hang on, let me check my database.”

  “I really appreciate it.”

  Billy’s fingers buzzed around the screen. When he was done, he slapped the vinyl cover shut, and Frost felt his own phone vibrate a few seconds later.

  “I just texted you the info,” Billy told him. “The convention was one of our largest annual tech shows. Net-Con. Alan worked the gala dinner to wrap it all up. It was a who’s who of top execs from Amazon, Google, Facebook, all the big names. Security was tight. We had a lot of protesters outside, and there were a couple arrests for disturbing the peace. Inside, everything came off without a hitch. My data log doesn’t show any significant incidents. A few medical alerts and that’s all. Alan made no reports of any problems.”

  “Do you have an attendee list?” Frost asked.

  “Even if I did, I couldn’t share it with you. You know that.”

  Frost nodded. He wasn’t even sure the list would help in an event filled with thousands of people. Alan Detlowe could have been meeting anyone inside the convention hall.

  “Well, I need to run, Frost,” Billy told him. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  “No, I’m grateful. Thanks.”

  Billy turned toward the convention doors, but then he retraced his steps. “Listen, if you want more dirt about that event, check in with Khristeen Smith over at the Chronicle. You know Khristeen. She’s never afraid of a quid pro quo with the police when it comes to handing out information.”

  “Khristeen was there?” Frost asked.

  “I’m sure she was. Hell, half the media in town was there, plus most of the national and cable networks, too. It was a huge night. That was when the mayor announced that Zelyx was relocating its headquarters from Chicago to the new high-rise in Mission Bay. You’re talking about a hundred-billion-dollar public company coming to town and bringing along thousands of new jobs. Everyone was covering it.”

  “Zelyx,” Frost murmured. “That was a big deal for the mayor, right?”

  “Big deal?” Billy laughed. “Are you kidding? A new hospital or a new school is a big deal. This was an earthquake. Denver, Los Angeles, Dallas, Phoenix, all the big cities wanted to land Zelyx. And we got it. Believe me, politicians kill for that kind of deal.”

  Zelyx.

  Frost sat in his Suburban on Howard Street near the convention center and let the name roll around his tongue.

  He had no idea what the company actually did. He looked them up on his phone, but the website buzzwords didn’t make their technology any easier to understand. Zelyx built security software for corporate customers, which left them in the shadows for the rest of the public. They’d started in a Northwestern University dorm room, launched an IPO within three years, and grown into one of the largest technology companies in the country.

  Their CEO, who was five years younger than Frost, had gotten into a public feud with the Illinois legislature over tax policy. He’d threatened to relocate the company if he didn’t get his way, and the state’s politicians had called his bluff and lost. Zelyx was on its way to San Francisco, and their shiny new building was already rising above the Mission Bay neighborhood just a few blocks from police headquarters.

  Zelyx.

  Frost realized that the name kept coming up wherever he went.

  Fawn’s sister, Prisha, worked as an in-house counsel for Zelyx. Mr. Jin had catered Zelyx parties, including parties that Fawn had attended.

  Greg Howell had a Zelyx connection, too, through his real estate holdings. According to the newspaper articles Frost had found, Howell had been involved in an eminent domain dispute over the land on which the Zelyx headquarters was being built.

  And now Frost knew that Alan Detlowe had sought out a security job at an event where Zelyx and its CEO were the heroes of the night. Two days later, Detlowe was dead with his throat cut.

  Maybe it all meant nothing.

  Or maybe Lombard had played a behind-the-scenes role in San Francisco’s corporate coup.

  Frost grabbed his phone and dialed Prisha Anand’s cell phone number. He recognized her silky voice when she answered.

  “Ms. Anand? It’s Frost Easton with the police.”

  The woman hesitated when she heard his name. “Inspector Easton. I’m afraid to ask, do you have news? Have you located my sister?”

  “I haven’t. Have you heard from her?”

  “No. I’ve left messages, but nothing. I’m very worried.”

  “As soon as I know anything more, I’ll tell you. Right now, I have a few more questions, but I need to ask first, are you at work?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was wondering if you were at home or whether you were in one of the Zelyx offices.”

  “I’m working from home,” she told him, “but what difference does that make?”

  “I don’t want you answering these questions where anyone else could hear you.”

  She took a long pause before saying anything more. “And why would that be?”

  “My questions involve Zelyx.”

  “I see. Well, you can ask whatever you want, but the odds are that I won’t be able to answer. You have to remember my position at the company. I’m one of their lawyers.”

  “Yes, I know that. I don’t believe this involves any privileged information. You told me that your sister was upset about the death of a woman she called Naomi. You also mentioned that you and Zara had attended several Zelyx parties together. I was wondering about the timeline. Did any of those parties happen around the time that Zara told you about the death of her friend?”

  Prisha let the silence stretch out. Frost wasn’t sure she was going to say anything at all. “Yes, now that I think about it, we were at a Zelyx party a couple of days before that happened,” she finally replied.

  “Did Zara talk to anyone at the party?” Frost asked.

  “I don’t remember. It was three years ago.”

  “Why was the party going on?” Frost asked.

  “Our founder and CEO, Martin Filko, was in town. This was the week before the big Net-Con trade show. Martin was going to be announcing our corporate relocation to San Francisco. The party was an early celebration.”

  “Were there any pictures taken?”

  “No. No pictures. Martin has a rule about that. It’s one of his little quirks. Why? What do you want to know?”

  “Is it possible your sister saw her friend Naomi at that party?” he asked.

  “Naomi? An escort? Why would she—” Prisha stopped before she finished her question. She knew what Frost was driving at. “You think Naomi was at the Zelyx party with her client, don’t you? The one who was abusing her. The one she told Zara she wanted to expose.”

  “I think it’s possible,” Frost replied.

  “Anything’s possible, Inspector, but I have no proof that Naomi was there. And frankly, I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to tell you even if I did.”

  “Well, I appreciate the information, Ms. Anand.”

  Frost hung up.

  He had a timeline of events now, and he didn’t like what it suggested. Fawn had been at a Zelyx party with her sister shortly before the death of her friend Naomi. Then Fawn had lunch with Alan Detlowe from vice, and Detlowe canceled his anniversary plans in order to work the Zelyx event at Moscone Center. Two days later, Detlowe was dead, too.

  There was plenty of smoke in the air about this tech company.<
br />
  But did the smoke mean there was a fire?

  Frost decided to play a hunch. Zelyx had made a lot of money for a lot of people, but there was one man who had profited more than anyone else. He used his phone to search for the name Martin Filko. The Zelyx CEO might not like pictures, but it was impossible for an executive at a public company to avoid them altogether. He found the best photograph he could, and he saved it from the web to his camera roll.

  Then he called the Zingari restaurant and asked for Virgil. The sleek gay waiter picked up the call less than a minute later.

  “Inspector,” Virgil breathed into the phone. “Apparently you can’t stay away from me.”

  “I need your phone number, Virgil,” Frost said.

  “Gladly. I was hoping you’d ask.”

  “I’m going to send you a photograph. I want to know if you’ve seen this man before.”

  “Text away, but feel free to use the number whenever you like. You’d be surprised how many straight men change teams when they get to know me.”

  Frost laughed. “Just the picture, Virgil.”

  He hung up and forwarded the photograph of Martin Filko. Virgil took less than a minute to call back.

  “Oh yes. That’s him.”

  Frost didn’t want to coach the man at all. “And by him, you mean . . . ?”

  “The guy on the boat last August. The one who kept arguing with Greg Howell. He had that amazing woman with him.”

  “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “Definitely. Guy was a first-class dick, and not in a good way.”

  “Thanks, Virgil.”

  Frost ended the call.

  Smoke, meet fire.

  If the way to get to Lombard was through his clients, Frost was pretty sure he’d found one. Martin Filko, the billionaire CEO of Zelyx, was leaving a trail of red snakes wherever he went.

  29

  The building that housed the San Francisco Chronicle was only a block away from Moscone Center, so Frost walked over there to find the investigative reporter named Khristeen Smith. The receptionist told him that she was expected back at the paper within the hour. It was late afternoon, and Frost hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast with Herb, so he left a message for Khristeen to meet him at the restaurant near the Pickwick Hotel across the street.