“Oh, I have plenty of regrets when it comes to Darren,” Stein said.
The shadows made her face difficult to read. He wished that he understood her better, but this woman lived in a separate world, where he couldn’t reach her. “You’re wrong about something, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“You said I didn’t like you. I do. I didn’t think I would, but that’s just because I don’t have a great history with therapists. You’re smart, tough, and you care about your patients. I respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“I also need your help,” he said. “Another woman disappeared yesterday. We both know the danger she’s in. I need to find her. Every minute counts.”
Stein closed her eyes. “One of my patients?”
“She came to your office this week. Her name is Lucy Hagen.”
“What do you want? What can I do?”
“Tell me about TF,” Frost said.
He could feel her freeze. “What?”
“You wrote a note. ‘TF. Fall guy.’”
“How do you know about that?” she asked.
“I was in your office. I found the note in your garbage can.”
“You searched my office?” Stein asked. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“You didn’t give me any choice.”
“Did you look at my patient files?”
“No, I didn’t violate anyone’s privacy.”
“Except mine.” She shook her head in dismay.
“I don’t care if you’re angry. The only thing I care about is stopping this man before he hurts anyone else, and you’re standing in my way. I’m not the enemy, Frankie. You’ve got to tell me the truth. You have a patient with the initials T. F., and he knows something about the Night Bird. I need to talk to him.”
“I’m sorry, he’s adamant. No police. I can’t give him up just because you want me to. That’s not how it works.”
“Then talk to him,” Frost said. “Persuade him.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t promise you anything.”
“I need whatever he can tell me.” Frost opened the door of the car, letting in cool air and the noise of the wind in the pines. He hesitated. “Darren told me you lost your father recently. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t seem to care about gestures of sympathy. “What did Darren say about it?”
“It’s not important.”
“I want to know. Please.”
“He said tragedies like that can push someone over the edge,” Frost said.
Stein reached out and took hold of the steering wheel with clenched fists. “That bastard.”
“Does that mean something to you?”
“My father went off the edge of a cliff in Point Reyes while he was hiking,” Stein said.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I haven’t lost a parent, but I can imagine how difficult it must be.”
“It was a complicated relationship,” Stein said. “We weren’t close.”
“Even so.”
Stein stared through the windshield. “Driving here, over the hills, I kept looking over the edge of the cliff. I thought about what it must be like to fall. How your body accelerates. How the ground rushes toward you. What do you have time to think about? What goes through your head? I wonder about his last moments—”
“You shouldn’t do this to yourself,” Frost said, but he wasn’t sure that she was even aware that he was still in the car with her.
“I keep feeling like I’m missing something . . . ,” she began.
Her voice trailed away. Her mouth was open.
He thought, What’s your worst memory?
“Frankie?”
A tremble shuddered in her lower lip. A single glassy tear slipped down her face like melting snow. Her brown eyes were fixed in the darkness. Then, out of nowhere, her entire body convulsed. A spasm jolted her like the touch of a live wire, and she grabbed hold of herself and caved inward.
“Frankie!”
Her body twitched violently; her knees slammed up against the steering wheel. He grabbed one flying wrist. Then the other. He held her as she wriggled in his grasp, and she screamed out one word, drawing it out long and loud: “Stop!”
Seconds later, as quickly as it had come, the seizure washed away. Her body calmed. Her breathing quieted, and her face reddened with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.
“Are you okay? What was that?”
“Grief,” she said. “A panic attack. That’s all. Everything in the world caught up with me for a moment.”
“Come to my car. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine now.”
“You shouldn’t drive.”
She put a hand on top of his. Her skin was moist. “It would help if you could not be a cop for a minute, Frost.”
“I’m not being a cop. Just a human being.”
“Then trust me when I tell you I’ll be fine. It came. It went. It’s not coming back.”
“Do you have some kind of illness? Is it epilepsy?”
“No, there’s nothing like that. Really. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I don’t need anyone to rescue me.”
“I’ll follow you back to the city,” Frost said. “I want to make sure you don’t have any problems.”
“If you like.”
Reluctantly, Frost got out of the car. He hiked down the narrow street toward his Suburban, but he kept looking back over his shoulder. Dr. Stein started the engine of her own car, but she waited for him instead of driving away. He climbed into his SUV and put the truck into drive, and both of their vehicles headed back into the Berkeley hills.
He thought about Francesca Stein as he followed her. She was strange, complicated, and beautiful, like a puzzle box for which there was no key. He liked her, but he didn’t particularly like the way she made him feel. She was out of his league.
35
Frankie parked in the underground garage of her building in the Tenderloin. It was late, and she was alone. She walked to the elevator with her head down and her hands tightly gripping her elbows, as if she could hold herself up that way. When she got home, her condominium was dark. She uncorked an open bottle of wine in the refrigerator and poured herself a glass, which she carried up the stairs to their bedroom. Jason was asleep. She stood at the end of the bed and drank her wine and stared at her husband. When the wine was gone, which didn’t take long, she cupped the glass in her palm.
Eventually, as he shifted, he became aware of her presence. He pushed himself up in bed. “Frankie?”
“Yes.”
Silence lingered between them.
“Are you coming to bed?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, and he leaned over to turn on the lamp on his nightstand. A yellow glow illuminated them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Frankie turned away and went to the windows. She put the toe of her heels against the wall and rested her forehead and palms on the glass. It was like flying. The long fall to the street stretched out below her. “Something happened to me tonight,” she said.
Jason got out of bed. “What is it? Was it Newman? Did he do something to you?”
“No, it’s not that,” she said.
“Then what?”
“I had what I’m pretty sure was a psychogenic seizure.”
Jason folded his arms on his chest. He looked clinical. “How bad?”
“Bad enough. Muscle spasms. Panic. Sweating.”
“Has this ever happened to you before? Have there been previous episodes?”
“No, this was the first.”
He sat back down on the bed. “We should have you tested to make sure there wasn’t a physical cause.”
“That’s not necessary,” Frankie replied. “I know what this was.”
They stared at each other. She could see the truth in his face. He knew where this conversation was going. She should have guessed it much earlier, but she’d written off the mental clues to stress and grief. Doctors made the worst patients.
She turned around and leaned back against the window. Part of her hoped it would give way and let her fall.
“We both know what caused this, don’t we?” she asked him.