The Night Bird, page 16
“Why?”
“He’s making you part of his game, Inspector. It’s personal now. If I were you, I’d be very careful. Are you any closer to finding him?”
Frost shook his head. “Not so far. As you say, he’s playing games with us. He’s leaving clues, but the clues haven’t led us anywhere. We don’t have any DNA or fingerprints. He hasn’t shown up on any surveillance cameras. Whoever is doing this is tech savvy, too.”
“Tech savvy?” Stein asked. Her forehead wrinkled with concern.
“Yes, he knows how to cover his electronic tracks, and he seems adept at hacking remote apps. Why, does that mean something to you?”
“No.”
But he thought it did. She was deliberately keeping him in the dark.
Frost retrieved another evidence bag from his pocket. It contained the brass button he’d found in the parking ramp where Christie Parke had been abducted. “Do you recall seeing anyone wearing a suit coat with buttons like this? Or someone with a coat that had a missing button?”
Stein shook her head. “Sorry. It looks pretty ordinary.”
“Unfortunately, it is. I’m not even sure it’s connected to our suspect.”
“I wish I could help, Inspector. I want this person found as much as you do. Probably more.”
“Do you?” Frost asked.
She stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“Do you want him found, Dr. Stein, or are you protecting him? Because I think you’re holding out on me.”
Stein got up from her office chair. She went to a Keurig coffeemaker on the credenza against the wall and made herself a cup of coffee. She gestured to offer him one, but he shook his head. While the mug filled, she didn’t talk. She took the coffee back to her desk and sat down again. She studied him over the lip of the mug as she drank.
“I’ve told you everything I can tell you right now,” she said, as if she were choosing her words carefully.
“I’m a lawyer as well as a cop, Dr. Stein. I know a lawyerly response when I hear one.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult, Inspector. The instant anything happens to free my hands, you’ll be my first call. Until then, I can’t betray my patients. I’m sorry.”
“Does that mean you think this man is one of your patients?”
“I didn’t say that at all.”
Frost sighed in frustration and shifted the focus of his questions. He removed his phone from his pocket and put it on the desk between them.
“Do you ever use music in your therapy?” he asked her.
“Of course. Music is very powerful for activating emotions and memories. I select music carefully for each patient.”
He pushed a button on his phone, and Carole King began to sing.
“Do you know this song?” he asked.
Stein gave him a puzzled look, but she nodded. Her eyebrows rose as she heard the reference to the night bird in the first verse.
“Is this a song you’ve ever used?” he asked. “Have you played it in therapy with any of your patients?”
“No.”
“Well, it seems to mean something to the Night Bird. He used this song with each of the women who died. This seems to be what triggered their breakdowns. In every case, the song started playing, and that was when they had a psychotic reaction. Is that possible?”
Stein listened to the song. He could guess what she was thinking. It was strange to think of this pretty song as a murder weapon. The psychiatrist nodded. “Yes, music can be a trigger for behavior, based on hypnotic suggestions. Sometimes I’ll encourage patients to play a certain song as a soothing technique for their anxiety.”
“Can you interpret anything from his choice of this particular song?” Frost asked. “Does it mean anything to you?”
She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”
He needed to get through to her—to make her talk—but he didn’t know how.
“You said you thought this person was trying to destroy you,” Frost reminded her. “Do you still believe that?”
Stein gave him a thin smile. “The media is hounding me. I’ve basically suspended my practice. I’m sure somewhere along the line, I’m going to get sued over this. So yes, I believe the Night Bird wants to destroy me, and you know what? He may well succeed.”
Frost saw a glimmer of emotion in her face. She didn’t show much emotion at all, but right now, she wavered between anger and tears. “Someone who would go to that much trouble to hurt you isn’t likely to be a stranger,” he told her.
“You’re probably right.”
“So who hates you, Dr. Stein?”
He saw sadness creep into her face. She got up, taking her coffee in one hand and her cell phone and portable charger in the other. The door to the adjoining room was open, and she wandered inside. Frost followed her. He realized that this was the room where she treated her patients. It had the feel of a shrine, like the temple of memory. He knew some people would probably feel comfortable here, but he didn’t like it at all. She used this room to get inside people’s heads, and he didn’t trust anyone who did that.
She was watching him closely. “You don’t like me, do you, Inspector?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Well then, you don’t like what I do for a living.”
He shrugged. “You’re right about that.”
“I’m not an ice queen,” Stein told him. “I know I may seem that way. I grew up with an emotionless father. He was a demanding academic. I learned to keep my own feelings locked away, but I hate to see other people in pain. I’ve devoted my life to helping patients do what I never seem to do myself. Let their emotions out. Deal with their fears. Get past the hurt.”
“I’m not judging you,” Frost said.
“No? Then you’d be the first. There’s been a long line of people telling me what to do my whole life.”
Frost took a step closer. He wanted to make her uncomfortable with his physical proximity, but she let him get within inches of her without any reaction. She wasn’t easily intimidated.
“I don’t have time for true confessions, Dr. Stein. All I want to know is who hates you enough to ruin your life. And who would be smart enough and ruthless enough to kill innocent women as part of his plan. I don’t care how many enemies you have. That has to be a short list. So why don’t you stop hiding behind your ethics and tell me what you know?”
Her eyes were cool. They were always cool. “I’ve already told you what I can. I wish there was something more I could say.”
“So you can live with yourself if this happens again?”
“I’m not the one who’s doing this. I’m a victim, along with these women.”
Frost wanted to curse, but he swallowed it down. “Good-bye, Dr. Stein.”
He walked away, but he stopped when she called after him. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
Her face weighed what she could say and what she couldn’t say. Then she murmured, “Lost time.”
Frost’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Did any of the women experience lost time? Periods of time they didn’t remember?”
“Yes. Christie Parke was abducted from a parking lot. A day later, she went out on a date as if she had no recollection of what had happened to her. Brynn Lansing missed work and missed an appointment without any explanation shortly before the incident on the bridge.”
“That’s when he did it,” Stein said. “That’s when he programmed them.”
“I guessed that, but would a missing day give him enough time?”
“Depending on the person, yes. Some people are extremely suggestible.”
“Would you describe Monica Farr, Brynn Lansing, and Christie Parke that way?”
“Yes. All three were unusually responsive to treatment.”
Frost walked back to her. “How would he know that?”
“Excuse me?”
“How would he know that these women were highly susceptible? It can’t be an accident that he picked them.”
“I have no idea.”
“Is there anyone else who has access to your patient records?”
“No.”
“Not even your assistant?” Frost asked.
“No, she has access to a contact database for appointments, but I keep my patient records myself. And they’re all in writing. I refuse to put psychiatric records online or even in a computer. So he’d have to break into my office to read them, and this building has excellent security.”
Frost thought about it. He went from wall to wall on the lush carpet of Dr. Stein’s treatment room. This room had secrets. Patients talked about their deepest fears here. They shared things that they didn’t share with anyone else in their lives. Only the patients knew. Dr. Stein knew.
And the room knew, too. If the walls could talk, they could spill everything.
He froze.
Maybe the walls could talk.
He stared at Dr. Stein’s phone, which was connected to a portable battery charger. “Could you turn off your phone?”
“What?”
“Please. Just for a minute.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she pushed the button to switch off her phone and returned it to her desk.
“Do you typically keep your phone with you during treatment sessions?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s muted, of course, but I have to be reachable in the event of emergencies.”
“Every time I’ve seen you, your phone has been connected to a portable battery charger. Why is that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been getting terrible battery life. It drives me crazy. I should get a new phone, but I haven’t had time.”
“Have you received any unusual text messages?”
“Unusual?” she asked.
“Letters, numbers, garbage that doesn’t make sense.”
Stein frowned. “Actually, yes, I have received a few messages like that. I just figured it was weird spam. Why?”
“How long has that been happening?”
“About four or five months, I guess. What does it mean?”
“Get your phone checked,” Frost told her. “Or replace it right away. It’s possible someone has hacked it and loaded spyware on the phone. You’d probably never see the footprints, but he could be eavesdropping on your whole life.”
Stein stared at him in horror. “Do you mean someone could be listening to my calls? Seeing all my contacts and e-mails?”
Frost nodded. “Yes, but not just that. Some spyware programs have ambient listening features. They can turn on the microphone of your phone without you knowing it and without leaving any record. He could be right here in the room with your patients during your sessions, Dr. Stein. He could hear everything they tell you. He’d have a roadmap for how to play with their minds.”
26
Lucy squeezed a heavy garbage bag through the doorway of her apartment. It was filled with a year’s worth of old magazines and leftovers from the refrigerator that had grown a layer of green mold. She’d already split open one bag and stuffed everything into a second bag. She could barely lift it, so the plastic dragged along the ground.
She navigated the bag down the stairwell. The plaster on the walls was cracked, and the stone floors had been worn by decades of foot traffic. The stairwell had an ammonia smell. The front and rear doors were gated, but homeless people still found their way inside, and there were mornings where she had to step over pools of bodily fluids on her way to the street.
Halfway down the stairs, her phone rang, startling her. The garbage bag slipped from her hand and tumbled end over end to the next landing. She swore, hoping it didn’t break again. She grabbed her phone from her pocket. “Hello?”
“Lucy, it’s Frost.”
“Oh, hey.” She stayed calm, but she felt a rush of adrenaline, hearing his voice. She jogged down the steps and reclaimed her bag. “What’s up? You don’t have to cancel, do you?”
“No. Ten o’clock at Alembic. I’ll be there.”
“You better be.”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Frost said.
“I’m great. Why?”
“Did you see anything unusual while you were out?”
“This is San Francisco, Frost. When do you not see something unusual?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” she replied, “and no. I kept looking over my shoulder. Nobody was watching me. You’ve got me paranoid.”
“Paranoid is good. What are you doing now?”
“Taking out the garbage. I have to get the place cleaned up. I need to find another roommate if I’m going to stay in the city. Brynn’s parents are supposed to come by this weekend and pick up her things.”
“Okay.”
She could hear his hesitation. “Anything wrong, Frost?”
“Not really. I’m being overly cautious.”
“About what?”
“There’s a chance that Dr. Stein’s office isn’t secure. Someone might be listening to her conversations with patients.”
“Do you think that’s how he found Brynn?”
“Maybe. It also means there’s a chance he overheard you.”
“Oh.”
Lucy didn’t say anything more. She listened to the silence of the stairwell. She lived in the city, so she was no stranger to voyeurs. Someone was always listening. Someone was always watching. But she hadn’t said anything to Frankie Stein that would really be a secret.
“Lucy?” Frost asked.
“I’m here. I’ll be careful.”
“That’s all I ask. See you later.”
“Bye, Frost.”
He hung up. She felt a twinge of loneliness, no longer hearing his voice. He made her feel good. She always saw an ordinary girl when she looked in the mirror, but something about the way Frost looked at her made her see a different side of herself. Someone special. Someone unique. She liked that feeling.
She hoisted the garbage bag as high as she could and struggled to the ground floor of the building. The marble hallway led to a metal back door with a crash bar. She nudged it with her hip and pushed outside to the street, yanking the garbage bag behind her.
The alley was crowded with evening shadows. Grease stains and tar patches made splotches on the pavement. The cool air gave her a chill. In both directions, garages lined the street, and utility wires dangled overhead like spiderwebs. Cars and motorcycles filled the opposite curb. The nearest car, a white Taurus, had its trunk open, but the owner was nowhere to be seen.
Lucy looked up and down the street from Laguna on one end to Octavia on the other. She was alone, except for Dante, the homeless man sleeping off a day of drinking in front of the garage. She recognized the tattered red quilt he used. He was harmless. He didn’t try to get inside their building at night, and in return, the tenants filled his shopping cart with extra food whenever they could.
“Hey, Dante,” she called. She didn’t expect a reply, and she didn’t get one.
She dragged her bag to the black trash bin ten feet away. When she swung open the lid, flies swarmed. The bin was mostly full. She tried to lift the bag over the lip, but the asphalt had scraped the plastic, and as she shoved it into the bin, the bottom tore, and garbage spilled at her feet.
Lucy dumped what she could into the bin, then got on her hands and knees to gather up magazines, spoiled food, and the remnants of two boxes of tissues she’d cried into after Brynn died. She was annoyed, and she wasn’t thinking about anything else.
Up the block, she heard the rusted squeak of wheels on the far end of the alley, near Laguna. The noise was familiar, but something about it bothered her. Looking up, she glimpsed a man pushing a shopping cart across the intersection, and she recognized Dante, with his copper skin and pronounced limp. Her brain stuttered, trying to make sense of it. Just as she realized that something was wrong—that Dante couldn’t be in two places at once—footsteps hammered behind her.
Lucy turned. Her body twisted.
She saw a man looming over her; she saw the hideous mask grinning at her. She had time for one scream that filled the alley. “Help!”
His arm clamped around her throat, choking off her cry. He jerked her off the ground as her body flailed. She kicked viciously backward, but his arm held her tight. His other fist shoved her head sideways in his grip, and she thought her neck would snap. A sharp prick punctured her skin. A beautiful kind of warmth flowed through her brain like a river and washed over her limbs. She went limp with a strange, formless joy. She realized she could breathe again. He’d let go. She was standing, but she was weightless. She saw the garbage at her feet and the empty street, and she knew she was free. She spun around as if to run, but she lost her balance. The terrible mask swam in circles in her face, as if a hundred masks were laughing at her. She tried to follow them, but the gyrations made her dizzy.
Lucy collapsed forward, and he caught her as she fell.
She was only vaguely aware of being lifted into the air. She could see the sky above her. The clouds looked like islands on an indigo sea that rose and fell with the waves in her mind.
They were moving. He carried her across the alley toward the parked Taurus with the open trunk. Fear suddenly made her twitch. It was like staring into an open mouth that would clamp shut and swallow her down. Weakly, she fought, and protests whimpered from her tongue, but he simply rolled her into the maw of the shark. Then her world was dark, and she drifted down until she was far away.
27
Everyone in Todd Ferris’s videos had cell phones.
That was the first thing that Frankie noticed. It didn’t matter where he went—Golden Gate Park, a bar, the BART train, a diner, a bus—he took videos of the people around him, and they clung to their phones like umbilical cords connecting them to the rest of the world.
Frankie stared at her own phone on the coffee table in front of her. It felt like the enemy now. Her security consultant had confirmed Frost’s suspicions. She’d been hacked. For months, her phone had been a two-way street, exposing her entire life to the Night Bird. She had a new phone now, but that didn’t change the horror she felt. The violation.
