“Thank you.”
Stein slipped his sport coat off her shoulders and handed it back to him with a weary smile. She had a precise, elegant way about her. Her movements were graceful, and yet she kept a mysterious distance, as if she invited no one else inside. Frost often chose to be alone, but he enjoyed his solitude when he could get it. Francesca Stein’s aloneness looked like melancholy.
He signaled a policewoman, who accompanied Stein to a squad car. She took a last look at the crime scene before climbing inside. Frost tried to read her mind, and he guessed that she was thinking that her life would never be the same after this night.
Murder was a before-and-after moment.
He knew what that felt like.
Christie’s date, Noah, hummed incessantly. The same chorus of the same song, over and over. Frost found it distracting, but every witness had a different kind of nervous tic. The redheaded man sat on the floor of the lounge, with his back against the pinball machine and his hands wrapped around his knees. They’d already interviewed and dismissed the other patrons from the bar, but Frost wanted to talk to Noah himself.
Frost stood over him. Noah’s head bobbed as he hummed, and he wore an awkward, inappropriate smile. He had a boyish face naturally, and fear made him look even younger.
“Thanks for sticking around,” Frost said.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” He added, “So is she—I mean, did she—?”
“She didn’t make it. Sorry.”
“Wow. I mean, I didn’t really know her, but still—wow. That’s awful.”
“So exactly what happened, Noah?”
“Hell if I know. I went to get her a drink. Cranberry martini. It was her second. When I got back, she was shaking, screaming, covering her eyes. Then she ran out into the street, and bam. That was it.”
“Was she behaving strangely during the evening?”
“No. If anything, she looked bored. Most of the night, we didn’t really click, you know.”
He started humming again. Same song. It was like an earworm on an infinite loop.
“Did you slip her anything?” Frost asked.
His mouth fell open. “No! No, that’s not my style. No way.”
“What about Christie? Did she take anything? Prescription or otherwise?”
“Not that I saw,” Noah said.
“Where were you before you came to the bar?” he asked.
“I took her to dinner at a Japanese place a couple blocks up Bush Street. I’m not much into sushi, but she said she liked it. Always give the lady what she wants on a first date.”
“Whose idea was it to come here afterward?”
“Hers. I said, how about we get a drink, and she suggested this place.”
“Had she been here before?”
Noah shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
“Did Christie talk to anyone else while you guys were together? Or did anyone talk to her? Did you see anyone who seemed to be watching her?”
Noah hummed again, louder, as he thought about the evening. Then he shook his head.
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, Christie was cute. Short skirt, guys go for that. I saw other dudes checking her out. I got the feeling she liked the attention, you know? Pissed me off a little. After all, I was the one paying for dinner and buying the drinks.”
“Was there anyone in particular that she noticed? Or who noticed her?”
“Not that I remember. Sorry.”
“Did Christie talk to you about having been in therapy?” Frost asked.
Noah grinned. “What, like seeing a shrink? No, most girls are smart enough to keep the cray-cray hidden when you start dating them. Comes out sooner or later, though.”
Frost slid out a card and handed it to Noah. “I think that’s all for now.”
“I can get out of here?” he asked.
“Yes. If you think of anything else, my number’s on the card.”
Frost headed for the door of the bar, but as he did, he found that he was whistling under his breath. He was on the street and into the third replay of the chorus before he realized that Noah’s earworm had gotten inside his own head. He was whistling the same song that Noah had been humming, and once a song got into your brain like that, it was impossible to get it out.
Then Frost realized something strange.
The earworm stuck in his head wasn’t new. He’d been whistling a fragment of a song wherever he went for the past couple of days. It popped onto his lips and demanded to come out. Noah had been humming the same song that Frost had been whistling for days.
He went back inside the lounge and nearly bumped into Noah, who was on his way out of the bar.
“What are you humming?” Frost asked.
“Huh? Oh yeah, I do that. I know, it can be irritating. Most of the time, I don’t even know I’m doing it. Women have to tell me to stop.”
“What’s the song?”
Noah listened to the tune on his lips. “I think it’s a Carole King song. It was playing when Christie did her freak-out. I guess it kind of stuck with me, you know?”
Noah was right. It was a Carole King song. Frost had heard it before. Recently. Over and over.
“Which one?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.
“It’s called ‘Nightingale,’” Noah replied. “I always liked that one. It’s a song for lonely people, you know? It’s about the night bird winging his way home.”
18
In her dream, Frankie hiked along the Point Reyes beach with her father beside her.
He took long, determined steps in the sand, and she had to walk fast to keep pace with him. His back was as straight as a light post. His wiry hair defied the wind. He walked the way old men did, with his hands laced behind him. He fired questions at her like an impatient professor.
“Question,” Marvin said. “Is there a formula for measuring acceptable risk?”
She was practically running. “No.”
“Question. Then how do you assess whether a risk is worth taking?”
“It’s a judgment call,” she said, panting. “You have to look at the circumstances in each case.”
“Question. Is it acceptable to pursue your own selfish satisfaction when it causes risk to someone else?”
Slow down, she wanted to say. Slow down!
“I suppose it’s a trade-off. How badly do you want something, and how big is the risk?”
“Question. So it’s okay to risk another’s life or happiness simply because you really want something?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Question. Are you and Jason still sleeping together?”
Frankie stopped.
“What? How dare you ask me something like that? What does that have to do with anything? It’s none of your business!”
Marvin kept walking, leaving her behind. He seemed taller than he was in real life.
Frankie’s senses felt oddly sharp. The noise of the waves was crisp and unnaturally loud, making her want to cover her ears. The beach was littered with hundreds of dead fish, their carcasses swarmed by flies, and rotting flesh squished under her bare toes. A briny smell filled her nose. Everything in the world felt bigger, brighter, and more intense. The ocean. The huge rocky cliffs climbing to the sky. Her father striding ahead of her. It was like a movie playing in her head.
She caught up with him. His voice was softer now.
“Was I a good father?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “No.”
“You’re successful.”
“Not because of you.”
“Did I praise you enough?”
“No.”
“I need you,” her father said.
She cocked her head. “What?”
“You have ten minutes to save me.”
“What?”
She blinked, and her father was suddenly gone. She stood alone on the beach. The wind and waves grew more ferocious, as if she were in the center of a storm. Dead fish washed in with each slap of the tide. Spray soaked her skin. She looked all around to find her father, and then she saw him—a silhouette high on the tall cliff, his arms spread wide. He was going to jump.