Chapter 9
A ex Z’s head bobbed and his shoulders rocked to his band’s newly recorded tracks in his second floor office in Gage’s building as he probed the copies he’d made of Charlie Palmer’s hard drives.
Gage tore off a page from his yellow legal pad, folded it into an airplane, wrote Ready? on a wing, and sent it flying over Alex Z’s head. The multitattooed data analyst glanced up as it bounced off the wall and onto his keyboard, then lowered the volume and turned toward Gage. Mid-twenties. Shaggy hair. Earrings both numerous and, on this day, mythological.
“I didn’t want to scare you by yelling,” Gage said.
“Thanks.” Alex Z held up a finger. “And you gave me an idea for a song.”
“Glad to help.” Gage pointed at Alex Z’s earlobes. “What’s with the Greek mythology theme?”
“I’m thinking of changing the name of the band from Cheezwiz to Zeus’s Deuces. Some lawyer at Kraft sent a letter to our manager. They didn’t like our ‘Smoking Velveeta’ song.”
“Maybe they didn’t understand it.”
Alex Z laughed. “I’m sure they didn’t. It was complete nonsense. I was just searching for a rhyme for ‘toking chiquita.’ ”
“Was that supposed to make sense?”
“Not that I could tell. But with the kind of music we play, nobody can hear the words anyway.”
“Except lawyers.”
Alex Z hunched his shoulders and spread his hands. “Who would’ve thought? I always picture them as having big mouths, not big ears.”
Gage pulled up a chair, then gestured at one of the twin twenty-inch monitors on Alex Z’s desk. “What did you find?”
“A lot of encrypted files. Some of the ones on the desktop were accessed early in the morning on the day Charlie got shot and some on the laptop and server right after he got back from the hospital.”
“Did the burglar get into them on the day of the funeral?”
“He tried, but couldn’t open any. The encryption system Charlie used kept a log of failed attempts.”
“Is there any way to tell if he copied any of the files?”
Alex Z shook his head.
Gage scanned the dozen boxes of Charlie’s software stacked next to the brick wall. “What program did he use?”
“FileLock. Pretty sophisticated.”
“So you can’t break in?”
“Nope.”
“Viz’ll talk to Socorro and get some ideas of the passwords he might have used.”
Gage skimmed the directory on Alex Z’s monitor.
“What about a calendar?”
“No entries on the day he was shot.”
“Billing records?”
“Nothing that day either, probably because he never made it back to the office. He went from the hospital to rehab to his bedroom.”
Gage thought for a moment, feeling as blocked as the burglar and looking for a back way into what Charlie was working on that prompted the break-in.
“Can you get into his timekeeping program and get me his records for the last six months he worked?”
“I can’t get into the program anymore, but I exported all the data before we shut things down at his house.”
As Alex Z opened the database, he said, “Tansy told me he called you. You know what he wanted?”
“I’m not sure, but I know it wasn’t to tidy up his practice. We don’t do his kind of work around here. And he knew it.”
Alex Z’s fingers tapped his keyboard, and Palmer’s records began emerging from the printer. He then pointed at the second monitor.
“You want me to keep working on the antitrust case or pass it off and focus on this?”
Gage glanced over at an unoccupied desk. “How’s Shakir working out?”
“He’s like a bat. He seems to do his best work at night. I can see why he didn’t stay with the Federal Trade Commission. They want nine-to-fivers.” Alex Z nodded toward Shakir’s computer. “I’ve already got him working on the e-mail traffic during the conspiracy. He knows a helluva lot about price fixing and bid rigging. We’re lucky you snagged him.”
“Then turn the whole antitrust case over to him. Make Charlie’s files your priority. We’ve got to figure out what he was up to.”
Alex Z took in a long breath and exhaled, then shook his head. “Getting shot must’ve really rocked his world.”
“Maybe. Maybe it got rocked before that.” Gage reached for Charlie’s time logs. “And we owe it to Viz to make sure it doesn’t rock Socorro’s.”
Chapter 10
Tansy Amaro was waiting outside Gage’s office when he arrived upstairs.
“Can I speak to you for a minute?” Tansy asked.
Gage directed her toward one of two wooden, straight-backed chairs facing his desk, and then asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“Charlie Palmer.” Tansy hesitated, eyes searching Gage’s. “Well
… maybe it’s really about you.”
Gage leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the desk.
“I don’t understand why you have such outrage for Charlie,” Tansy said. “If it’s because of Moki, don’t. I made my peace with what happened long before we ever met.”
“We don’t know exactly what happened,” Gage said. “And with Charlie dead, we never will.”
Tansy shrugged. “Then maybe I’ve made my peace with never knowing. And… and I couldn’t bring myself to put Moki through another trial. Doctors and psychologists testing and tormenting him again. He’d suffered enough. He may not recognize me anymore, but he still feels the pain of being treated like an object.”
She paused again, her eyes losing focus. Gage followed her mind back ten years. Moki Amaro, beaten, not by thugs but by Hummer-riding drunk rich kids from Pacific Heights raised on gangster rap and delusions of turf. More than just beaten. Brutalized because he was a brown-skinned boy in hand-me-down sweats jogging through their upscale neighborhood. The four seventeen-year-olds had claimed self-defense. The lone prosecution witness, a city trash collector, fled the day before trial, and the judge dismissed the case. The person last seen by neighbors walking up the witness’s front steps: a man who the prosecutor suspected was Charlie Palmer, but which he could never prove.
Tansy blinked and her eyes once again focused on Gage. He knew where the conversation was headed so he took the lead.
“In the end,” Gage said, “it wasn’t about any particular thing Charlie did, it was about everything he did. What he was. He had no respect for the truth, even as a cop. That’s why he was the favorite of every politician caught with his hands in a lobbyist’s pocket or in the pants of some young staffer. His so-called investigations were nothing more than blackmailing people into silence or suborning perjury-and that’s what I believe he did to you and Moki. If the truth had come out, those kids would’ve gone to jail, their parents would be paying for his care, and you’d still have a nursing career.”
Gage didn’t have to finish his thought: If it hadn’t been for Charlie’s crimes, Gage never would’ve met Tansy. A couple of years after the beating, Gage’s father asked him to travel to the Rio Yaqui valley in Mexico to find out whether insecticide poisoning might account for the cancers of many of his immigrant Yaqui patients and the birth
