The Night Bird (Frost Easton #1)(93)

Frankie didn’t answer. She closed her eyes and leaned against the cold window of the squad car, but Harmon didn’t take the hint.

“I guess everybody’s a freak about something. Hell, it’s San Fran. People say we got more than our fair share of the weirds, right? I’ve got a brother who lives in North Dakota. Him and his family come out here, and they watch the pride parade, and they can’t believe it. Of course, then he calls on Christmas, and he tells me they’re eating lutefisk. You ever had lutefisk? Soak fish in lye until it’s some kind of jelly? No, thanks, that’s weirder than anything you’ll find in the Castro District.”

Frankie couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good to let go of some of the stress of the past week.

“I suppose you deal with phobias and stuff,” he said.

“Sometimes.”

“Spiders, snakes, germs, all those?”

“All those,” she said.

“Sidewalk cracks,” Harmon said. “Are there really people who can’t walk on sidewalk cracks? What’s that about?”

Frankie sighed. “Phobias aren’t rational, Harmon.”

“Yeah, but sidewalk cracks?”

“Usually, it’s a question of association,” she explained. “Maybe you’re a child who used to hide in your closet when your father came home drunk and violent. Later on in life, you find yourself experiencing intense claustrophobia. You can’t be in a room where the door is closed. To your brain, those places take you right back to that closet when you were a kid.”

Harmon pursed his big lips. “Huh.”

Outside the squad car, they passed Union Square. She could see her office building and the dark windows on the top floor where she had her practice. A parade of patient faces passed through her mind. Not just the recent stories—Monica, Brynn, Christie, Lucy—but many of the people who had been in pain, with fears taking over their lives and making it almost impossible for them to function. She told herself that she’d helped them. She wanted to believe that, but she wasn’t sure anymore.

“Almost home,” Harmon said. “You’re going to get wet.”

The rain kept on, sheeting across the windshield of the squad car. Rivers ran through the street gutters.

“That’s okay.”

“Hell, we need the rain, right? All these years of drought, and we’re finally getting some payback. My brother talks about the snow they get in Williston. Two, three feet at a time. No, thanks. His kids love it, though. My brother sends me pics of them out in the yard building snowmen and snow forts.”

Frankie smiled at the thought of kids playing in the snow. And then, strangely, her heart raced. A heaviness weighed on her chest, and she found it difficult to breathe. It was as if she were buried in cold, white snow.

Harmon stopped at her condo on O’Farrell. A torrent separated her from the doorway of the building, but she didn’t care. She needed to get inside.

“This the place?” he asked.

“This is it. Thank you for the ride, Harmon.”

Frankie climbed out into the deserted street. It was very late. The police officer waited while she swiped her key card to enter the building, and then the squad car peeled away. Her heels tapped on the tile floor of the foyer, but she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. She realized how bone tired she was, but this was more than exhaustion. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, louder and louder. Dizziness rolled over her like a wave, and she put one hand on the building wall to steady herself.

The elevator arrived, and she crossed paths with a stranger. He gave her a charming smile, which looked like the smile of a man who’d gotten lucky tonight. He was still dressed for work, with his suit coat slung over his shoulder and his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Frankie got in the elevator. As the doors closed, she watched the man in the white shirt head for the street.

All she could see was his white, white shirt.

All she could feel was the heaviness of snow.

The elevator climbed.

As it reached the top floor, she watched the doors open, and then she watched them close. She rode the elevator all the way back down to the lobby, and still she couldn’t move. The doors started to close again, but she blocked them with her hand, and she got out. She stood, alone, dripping, on the stone floor. She was utterly unsure what to do.

She had the same uneasy sensation that had drifted like a fog around her brain for days. Something’s wrong.

But now she knew what it was.





48


Frost slouched in an uncomfortable chair in the hospital cafeteria, with his legs stretched out and a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He had a vending machine hot dog on the table in front of him. It tasted like sawdust. The overhead lights had been turned down, leaving him in shadow. The restaurant was empty overnight, except for a maintenance man pushing a wet mop around the floor.

He saw Jess in the doorway. The lieutenant went to the vending machines and bought herself a package of mini donuts dusted with sugar. She joined Frost and sat on the other side of the wide table from him. She ripped open the package and popped a donut into her mouth, then licked the sticky tips of her fingers. She was small and heavy, but she had a fierce charisma.

They sat across from each other in silence. Frost finished his hot dog. Jess ate her donuts. He found himself staring into his coffee cup, rather than at her, but Jess stared directly at him and waited. Sooner or later, she knew he’d talk to her.