“Can you have someone escort him to the conference room?”
“So you really do know him.”
“I do. And the duke has just enough decent information for me to talk to him every once in a while. Thanks, Bobby.”
I hung up the phone and turned to Conklin. “We have an interview. It’s a guy who’s lived on the streets in the Tenderloin for at least the last ten years. He calls himself the Duke of the Tenderloin. His real name is Barry Seifert. He was some kind of tech guy who just went over the edge with stress. Sometimes he’s good for weird information.”
Conklin nodded. He was probably the easiest partner I’d ever worked with. After so many years of working together, Richie was like the little brother I never had. And now that he and Cindy had finally gotten married—after the world’s longest on-again, off-again engagement—he seemed more than ever like family.
A minute later, a uniformed security guard walked up to my desk and said, “The guy you wanted to talk to is sitting in your conference room. I’m not sure I’d walk in there without a mask on.”
“Why? Does he seem sick? Is he coughing?”
“No… but I don’t think this guy’s taken a shower in the last year. He’s a little on the gamy side. More than a little, actually.”
Rich Conklin clapped his hands. “The perfect way to close out the week.”
CHAPTER4
CINDY THOMAS WASsettling into her desk chair on the second floor of the Chronicle Building on Mission Street.
She’d put a good face on it this morning with Rich, but shewasfeeling a little queasy after last night’s party. She was craving sugar and greasy food, just like when she was hungover back in college. On her way into work, the Shake Shack down the street had been calling her name. Fries sounded awfully good to her, maybe even a burger. But it was too early in the day.
Besides, she had a goal this morning. She was researching the man she’d met last night, Eric Snaff. At the party she’d taken his number, but put him off until she could be more certain of both him and his claim.
She started looking through news articles centered on the smaller cities of the East Bay. The first thing she found on Eric Snaff was that he was a widower and a youth services worker. He’d been working at the same facility near Walnut Creek for almost fourteen years. The article was about how he’d been injured by a broken bottle while breaking up a fight. That explained the scaron his face. It also assured Cindy that he wasn’t just a nut who had wandered in off the street.
The next story Cindy read was about Eric’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Nicole, who had disappeared roughly three months ago. There’d been a tremendous initial effort to find her. Search parties combed the foothills. People volunteered to take tips over the phone. All the usual community involvement when someone disappears. Over the course of a few weeks the involvement became less and less intense.
Cindy found a picture of Nicole. She reallywasbeautiful, just like her father had said. The photo itself was of Nicole playing soccer, her long auburn hair flowing behind her. It wasn’t posed, but she still looked like she’d just stepped off the cover ofVogue.
Cindy had always been organized and logical. At least at her job. She considered the pros and cons of meeting with a stranger like Eric Snaff. There was some risk involved, but after reading all the articles, she thought the danger was minimal. It seemed like Eric was now the only one looking for his daughter. The whole situation made Cindy put herself in his shoes. She’d be devastated too if her child had disappeared.
Cindy decided to make a bold move. She phoned the number Eric Snaff had given her the night before. After a terse hello, he realized who was calling and agreed to meet her.
“Can you meet me at about noon in downtown San Francisco, Mr. Snaff?” she asked.
“Please call me Eric. Very few people ever call me ‘Mr. Snaff,’” he said. “And yes, I can work it out. Where?”
Cindy looked out her window, then said, “How about the Shake Shack off Market Street?”
Might as well kill two birds with one stone.
CHAPTER5
I GAVE RICHConklin a very quick rundown on my history with this informant, Barry Seifert. Instead of heading to the conference room at my normal race-car pace, I walked slowly, so I could hit a few details.
I said, “Barry was some kind of hotshot computer engineer. I’m actually not sure which company he worked for. But something happened and he snapped. Hard. I know he was married, and I think his wife divorced him. Then he eventually just ended up on the streets. He drifted toward downtown and then into the Tenderloin.”
“You know if he still has any contact with his friends or family?”
“He has an adult daughter who worries about him.”
Conklin asked, “What kind of info has he given you in the past?”
“He helped me clear a robbery homicide that occurred near the Galleria. If he hadn’t stepped forward, we’d have one more shooter on the streets today. Luckily, I didn’t have to keep tabs on him until a trial. The suspect took the first plea someone threw his way. Thank God.”
I did a quick check of my watch as we approached the conference room. I said, “Barry does have a lot of wild stories from the street. Lots of depressing stories too. Sometimes he rambles when you talk to him.”
