TWELVE
The San Francisco Sentinel building was south of Market on Mission Street. Vivian circled the block several times until she found the right parking space. Then she locked the bike, fed the meter and went into the lobby. When the receptionist looked up at her, she asked for Freddie Fraser.
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist said.
“Tell him it’s Vivian Voss.”
Five minutes later Freddie Fraser ambled into the lobby, notepad in his hand, and smiled at Vivian. He was wearing the same ill-fitting blazer and slacks as before, though he’d apparently removed the fast-food wrapper that was peeking out of one of his pockets. Vivian assumed he’d finished eating whatever was in it.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Freddie said as he came up to Vivian. “Changed your mind, did
