“I’m not sure I can describe it. It’s all bits and pieces. There’s this white room, and the woman is on a bed or chaise or something. She’s like — I don’t know, she looks drugged. Tied up, too, so she can’t move. And I remember some guy in a creepy-ass mask. He’s the one torturing her.”
“A mask?”
“Yeah. Some weird grinning mask with bug eyes. Scary as shit. I mean, it’s so bizarre, it can’t be real, right? But I feel like it happened.”
“Have you told anyone else about this?” Frankie asked.
“Are you kidding? No way. Like I said — no notes, right? I don’t want anybody thinking I’m nuts. You can’t tell anyone about this, can you? Doctor — patient privilege or whatever?”
“That’s right,” she said.
Todd exhaled in relief. “Good.”
Frankie hesitated. This wasn’t the kind of question she usually asked a patient. You didn’t challenge their hallucinations. “Listen, Todd, can you tell me one other thing? You said this felt like a dream, and yet you seem convinced that it really happened. Why?”
He slid closer to her on the bench. She was uncomfortable with the lack of personal space between them. He eyed the Bay Trail to make sure that no one else was within earshot. He looked frightened now.
“When this first happened two months ago, I thought it was a dream, too,” he said, “but then I realized it couldn’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Because the women I saw are real. I saw them on TV. That chick who threw herself off the bridge this week? She was one of the women in the white room. I mean, I don’t know her, I’ve never met her, I don’t know who she is. But I remember her.”
14
Frost waited for the cable car to pass, and then he crossed into Union Square. He finished a foot-long hot dog as he walked. Ketchup, pickle relish, no onions. It drove his brother crazy that Frost ate so many hot dogs. Duane was a chef, and he didn’t appreciate Frost’s argument that street-vendor hot dogs were better than just about any other food in the world.
The sun beat down on his neck. Entering the plaza, he passed under the palm trees. The Macy’s building was across the square on his right. People swarmed the park, clustering around musicians, mimes, jugglers, and acrobats. Above the street music, he heard the chants and drums of protesters, and he could see hand-painted signs waving in the air. It was San Francisco. Someone was always protesting something.
He found the terraced steps leading down to Geary Street, and it took him a minute to spot Lucy Hagen among the hundred-or-so people eating lunch on the steps on the warm afternoon. She was small and alone, watching the world go by with a dreamy expression on her face. She wore a belted red dress with black stripes at the hem. Her knees were pressed together, and she wore red high heels. The dress showed off her pretty arms and legs. Her brown hair nestled on her shoulders.
He squeezed his way down the steps and slid to the ground beside her. He whistled a tune that had been stuck in his head all day.
“Hey, Lucy,” he said.
“Oh, hey, Frost.” She welcomed him with a smile.
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch break, but I had a few more questions for you.”
“That’s okay. I like the company.”
Her lunch consisted of a couscous salad with olives and artichoke hearts. She took dainty, uninterested bites with a plastic fork. He guessed that if he’d offered to buy her a hot dog, she would have jumped at the chance.
“You look great,” he said.
“Have to look good for the Macy’s customers, you know.” But he could tell she was pleased with the compliment.
Lucy always looked a little lost when he saw her. Some single women owned the city, and some looked overwhelmed by it. Her big, curious eyes followed the people around her. She was a watcher, not a doer. He had the feeling that she stared at other San Franciscans on the street and wondered how they could make it look so easy. The businessmen. The construction workers in bright yellow. The drag queens. Even the homeless wrapped in blankets.
She noticed him studying her face and went back to her lunch in embarrassment. Her mouth twitched into a frown. “Have they found Brynn’s body yet?”
“No.”
Lucy shivered. “That’s awful.”
“It is. I’m sorry.”
“I checked with her supervisor, by the way. Brynn missed a day of work this week. She didn’t show up. She didn’t call.”
“And you have no idea where she was?” he asked.
“No.”
Frost craned his neck to study the plaza. “Did you say Dr. Stein’s office is nearby?”
Lucy pointed at a tall building on Stockton on the east side of the square. “She works in there.”
“Did Brynn say anything about seeing Dr. Stein lately? Is there a chance she could have gone to her for some kind of follow-up appointment?”
“I don’t think so. She didn’t mention it.”
“Did she say anything at all about Dr. Stein recently?”
“On the bridge, when we were stuck up there, she suggested I talk to her. She said she was pretty good. That’s it.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Lucy closed the plastic lid on her salad, as if she weren’t hungry anymore. She put her chin up, savoring the sun. “I love hanging out here, don’t you? Especially on the weekends. It’s so crazy. All the street performers. All the wild getups.”
“There’s nothing like it in the world,” Frost agreed.
She played with her hair, wrapping a curl around one of her fingers. “So did you always know you wanted to be a detective? Were you one of those little boys who played cops and robbers all the time?”
Frost shook his head. “No, when I was a kid, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do.”
“That’s like me. I still don’t.”
“Yeah, it’s different for some people. My brother, Duane, knew he was going to be a chef when he was five years old. He was cooking dinner for all of us by the time he was seven.”
“People like that amaze me,” Lucy said. “I wish I had a dream like that, but I don’t.”
Frost shrugged. “I think the rest of the world is more like you and me. We just kind of find our way. Things happen, and we figure it all out as we go.”
“Well, I’m still trying to figure it out,” Lucy replied.
“You’ve got time. When I was your age, I was just getting out of USF law school. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do.”
“Oh my God, you’re a lawyer?” Lucy asked.
“I hope that doesn’t destroy your opinion of me.”
“No, it’s just — why aren’t you practicing law?”
“Like I said, things happen,” Frost told her. “I went to SF State as an undergrad and got a dual degree in history and criminology. I was really only interested in history, but my parents said I should get some practical value out of my college education. They pushed law school on me, too. Duane was working ninety hours a week at minimum wage as a cook, and I think they figured one of the Easton boys should go make some money. It didn’t work out that way.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, there were no jobs for lawyers when I got out. That’s okay. I would have hated it.”
“So you joined the police?” Lucy asked.
“Nope.”
She was confused. “What did you do?”
“I drove a taxi for two years.”
Lucy laughed. She reached out and touched his shoulder and then quickly drew her hand back. “Wow, you really are full of surprises.”
“I liked it,” Frost said. “I got to know the ins and outs of the city, all the back roads and back routes. That still comes in pretty handy.”
“Why’d you quit?”