“Because…” Gage hesitated to say the words to the mother of a daughter, but she wanted the whole truth and seemed ready for it. “Because that’s where the girls were.”
“Young girls?”
“Very young.”
“Did Charlie know about that?”
Gage shrugged and said, “I have no idea,” and then turned the conversation back to TIMCO.
“Basically, they paid out a couple of million dollars to Brandon Meyer’s firm, Charlie, the OSHA inspector, and Hawkins to save thirty million in a civil judgment and prevent the prosecution of the plant manager and corporate officers for manslaughter.”
Socorro reached out and touched his arm. “I need to go see Mr. Porzolkiewski. I need to apologize for… for us.”
“That’s not a good idea. I didn’t tell him about Charlie’s part in it. I was afraid he’d use it as a bridge to Brandon Meyer and walk over it carrying a gun. He’s-” Gage caught himself. He wasn’t going to tell her he was almost certain Porzolkiewski shot Charlie.
“He’s what?” Socorro wiped her eyes.
“He’s… a very angry man.”
She drew back. “You don’t think he’d go after Brandon?”
“He might-despite there being no evidence linking Brandon to what Charlie did. It could’ve been someone else in Brandon’s firm. Maybe just a deal between TIMCO and Charlie directly without the firm involved.”
“Did Charlie…” She searched his face. “Did Charlie do this kind of thing a lot?”
“A lot? That I don’t know.” Gage knew he did, but she only needed to know about one other. “There’s a woman whose son was beaten up in Pacific Heights.”
“Tansy? The woman who answered when Charlie telephoned.”
“Yes, Tansy.”
“Is it because of Charlie that she works for you?”
“Indirectly.”
They fell silent, listening to the rain, watching flower petals beyond the screen bounce as drops struck. Socorro’s aging golden retriever ambled in and rested its head in her lap. She petted it without looking down.
Gage picked up their cold coffees and emptied the cups into the kitchen sink. He returned and refilled them from the carafe and sat down.
“Do you know what was on Charlie’s mind when he called me?” Gage asked, looking over at her.
“He wouldn’t say,” Socorro said, gazing out toward the garden. “But my guess is regret. I think for the first time in his life, he understood what suffering was. I think it’s why he broke down when he heard Moki’s name.”
Socorro paused and her eyes went blank.
“All those years as a police officer,” she finally said, “he was oblivious to what it meant to be a victim. I mean he said the right words in the right tone. Sympathy. Understanding. But he didn’t mean them.”
She blinked and then looked over at Gage.
“I noticed the change in him about a week before he died. Brandon called. They argued about something. When Charlie hung up his face was white, like he’d suddenly found himself at a cliff edge, looking down. He seemed defeated afterward.”
“Could you tell what the argument was about?”
“Specifically, no. But generally about trust. Something had broken down between them. That, and somebody had been chosen to do the work Charlie used to do. Something important had to be done and Brandon was tired of waiting for Charlie to get better.”
“What exactly was Charlie doing?”
Socorro shrugged. “I don’t know. But not doing it left him feeling abandoned.”
She lowered her gaze, seeming to finish a thought in her head, then nodded and reached into her sweatpants pocket. She pulled out a folded check and held it out toward him.
“I need you to find out where Charlie’s money came from.”
Gage shook his head. “I can’t let you hire me.”
“I’m not. The people whose lives he ruined are hiring you. I merely wrote the check. Even if money can’t remake the past, at least they can learn the truth of what it really was. That’s what you did for Mr. Porzolkiewski.”
He accepted the check from her. Fifty thousand dollars.
“I’ll charge my expenses,” Gage said, “and give you back the rest.”
Gage folded it and slid it into his jeans pocket.
“And there’s one more thing.” Socorro pulled out another folder from under her chair. “Charlie left an insurance policy with the children as beneficiaries.”
“From who?”
“A company I hadn’t heard of until Charlie showed me the paperwork. It’s called Pegasus Limited. It’s in the Cayman Islands.”
“How much was the policy for?”
“Two million. One for each of them.”
“Has it been paid out yet?”
“I haven’t notified the company of Charlie’s death. I’m not sure I want them to have the money if it’s…”
“Tainted?”
“Yes, tainted.”
Socorro rose from her chair. She wobbled and reached a hand toward the armrest. Gage stepped forward and put his arm around her waist, then guided her to a sofa in the living room and laid an afghan over her. She stared up at the ceiling and closed her eyes.
“There was something else I was going to tell you,” she said. “But my mind has gone blank. I can’t think.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
She opened her eyes again. “I don’t know. I guess yesterday.”
“Or the day before?”
She forced a smile. “Maybe.”
Gage walked into the kitchen and fixed an omelet and brought it to her. She was sitting up when he returned.
“I know what it was,” Socorro said. “The key.” She pointed at the low table by the front door. “It goes to a storage locker. It was in an envelope with the rental agreement.” Her brows furrowed. “I didn’t even know Charlie had it.”
“Have you gone inside the locker?”
“No. I just found the key last night.”
Chapter 34
Gage telephoned San Francisco corporate lawyer Jack Burch as he drove from Socorro Palmer’s house. He’d skirted around downtown and the financial district and was working his way toward the Embarcadero. The light rain had heavied and fog wisped along the pavement and grayed the storefronts.
Burch’s chewing couldn’t disguise his Australian accent.
“Early lunch?” Gage asked.
“Late dinner.”
“Where are you?”
“Moscow. It’s nine-thirty.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”
“It was last minute. Got here yesterday.” Burch paused, then laughed. “Maybe it was this morning. It’s hard
