I gave her and the woman who ran the shelter my business card. Both seemed reluctant to take it—Sasha looked like she didn’t care, and Rory looked at Conklin like taking it would be cheating on him.
This may not have been a specific lead, but it piqued my interest.
CHAPTER37
AS SOON ASwe left the shelter, I dragged Rich Conklin over the Bay Bridge into Oakland to the California Department of Transportation on Grand Avenue.
I could’ve picked most state administrative offices out of a lineup easily. Virtually every building that housed something like motor vehicles or highway safety looked the same: three stories, painted an odd dark yellow color, with plain windows. They were almost all classic mid-sixties architecture, very practical.
The Caltrans headquarters was different. It was two thirteen-story buildings connected by an atrium extending up as high as the buildings, with a skybridge linking the buildings on the top floor. It really wasn’t a bad-looking structure.
I knew exactly who I was looking for. I hadn’t risked a phone call because it’s always easier to ask forgiveness than ask permission. At the reception desk I didn’t even use my official ID. All I said was “Lindsay Boxer, here to see David Roberts.”
The woman at the desk reached over, picked up the phone, punched in four digits, and said, “Someone’s here out front for you.”
I sat down in the hard plastic chair next to Rich.
He said, “You have an actual contact here who can look at toll records?”
“I do.”
“How did you meet him?”
“I taught a class he was in on how to avoid fraud years back. David was not only my sharpest student but also by far the sharpest dresser. He’s got astoundingly good taste.”
Just then a side door opened and David popped his head out. As soon as he saw me, he smiled and motioned for us to follow him. After we stepped into the hallway, I introduced him to Rich. I’ll admit I was a little disappointed to see David wearing unremarkable trousers and a yellow polo shirt.
I had to say to him, “What’s with the stupid get-up?”
“We all go through stages, my dear. Currently I’m testing out ‘Normcore,’ a seemingly incognito look. One where I dress like every other drone in the building.” Something about his courtly Tennessee accent made it sound like he was joking. I wasn’t sure.
“How’s that going?”
“It’s not nearly as much trouble as picking out an outfit and accessorizing. On the other hand, I don’t really stand out.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I think you still look quite dapper.”
“You’re such a sweetheart. But no, it doesn’t make me feel any better at all.”
We walked at a slow pace toward his office. David asked Conklin a few questions, then said, “If you can keep this one on the straight and narrow, I’m sure you’ll earn your pay.”
David shut the door to his office once we were inside. He lowered his voice a little and said, “Let’s do this the same way we’vedone before: Give me your information, and if there’s some useful results, you can send me a warrant.”
I said, “David, you’re the best.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, darling.”
I gave him the license number and description of Eric Snaff’s white Jeep Cherokee and asked if he could look at the last three months. David worked on his computer, typing away and giving noncommittal grunts, until he finally whistled through his teeth.
I leaned forward in my chair and said, “What do you see?”
David moved out of the way so I could look at his computer screen. It was just Eric’s driver’s license. David said, “I see a very good-looking man.” Less than a minute later, he added, “A good-looking man who’s been coming into San Francisco quite a bit over the last few months.”
I saw a long list of FasTrak transponder dings on the screen. David printed out the information, nine sheets of it.
I did a quick check to see if the toll records showed Eric Snaff getting into San Francisco about an hour before I saw him at Claire’s party and leaving around eight that evening, as he’d claimed.
It did.
