sure they have a clue about who he really was.”
Viz turned toward Gage and spread his hands.
“But how could they? All they ever saw were movie stars and politicians calling him, begging for his help. And it wasn’t like he could ever go to career day at their school and describe what he really did for a living.”
“What about Socorro? You think she understands?”
“I’m not sure she’s ever seen past what she thought she saw on their first date.” Viz shook his head and blew out a breath. “And I hope she never does.”
They sat in silence listening to an airplane banking over the city and heading east, the engine roar fading until it merged with the rumble of traffic and the growl of container ships powering across the bay toward the Port of Oakland.
Gage glanced in the direction of the Palmer’s Victorian mansion on Russian Hill, beyond the concrete and steel of the financial district and the brick-lined alleys of Chinatown, his mind’s eye seeing it standing among oaks and weeping willows.
“Charlie called me a couple of times after he got home from the hospital,” Gage said. “I was on the road until that final one.”
“That’s what I heard from Socorro. It shocked the hell out of me. I always figured you’d be the last on his list. It’s not like you two were ever friends. But then I started thinking maybe he got desperate, frustrated because SFPD hadn’t found out who shot him.”
Gage shook his head. “I don’t think that was it. Spike Pacheco told me Charlie didn’t seem to care whether or not the guy got caught. He hardly even looked at the photo spreads Spike showed him. It’s not SFPD’s fault the case dead-ended.”
Viz peered over at Gage. “Dead-ended how? On the back burner or off the stove altogether?”
“It’s a matter of diminishing returns. There was nothing more Spike could do without Charlie’s cooperation.”
“Were you going to help him, whatever it was?”
Gage pointed over his shoulder toward the lobby and the reception station. “If Tansy had her way.”
Viz smiled. “I’ll bet she’s still trying to save him.”
“Saving a dead man would be a helluva trick.”
“I don’t know, boss,” Viz said. “They say Yaquis can do things other humans can’t.”
Gage took in a long breath, then exhaled. “Not this time.”
“How about at least playing the childhood friend card to get Spike to jump-start the investigation? Big guy like you, little guy like him, must’ve been a dozen times you saved his ass when you were growing up together. You’ve got to have something in the bank.”
“There’s nothing more to go on. The leads have dried up.”
“What about the new ones?”
Gage turned toward Viz. “Did Charlie tell your sister something Spike doesn’t know about?”
“No.” Viz half smiled and then wrapped his hope inside a prediction. “The new ones you’re gonna come up with.”
“You playing the sister card?”
“When it comes to Charlie, that’s the only one I’ve got.”
One of Gage’s other investigators walked up the steps. She paused to squeeze Viz’s shoulder and express her condolences, then continued into the building.
Gage angled his thumb toward the entrance. “You want some coffee?”
“I better.” Viz picked up his hat. “It was a long night. Socorro couldn’t sleep, so I stayed up with her.”
They rose and walked through the double glass doors. Muffled sounds of printers and copiers and a dozen telephone conversations flowed from the hallways beyond. With clients scattered across the world’s twenty-four time zones, Gage’s office operated on a 6 A.M. to midnight schedule, with investigators working overlapping shifts. Toxic spills in India or industrial sabotage in Dubai or securities frauds in London weren’t limited to between nine and five, Pacific time.
Viz paused at the vacant reception desk. “Where’s Tansy?”
“Moki had an early doctor’s appointment.”
Viz’s face darkened as he looked down at the empty chair. “It’s heartbreaking. I don’t know how she does it. I’ve never understood why she didn’t send him back to the reservation. I mean it’s not like he’ll even know she’s not around.”
“You wouldn’t let other people take care of Socorro if something happened to her.” Gage pointed at Viz’s chest. “You’re a lot more like Tansy than you let on.”
Viz spread his arms. “Actually, I’m about two and a half Tansys.”
“How’s that? You gain a few pounds?”
“No. I think she lost a few.”
Viz inspected Tansy’s blotter calendar on which she kept track of the locations of the investigators as they traveled. The boxes for the first two weeks in September were marked with a code for Gage’s name.
“I didn’t think to ask about your trip,” Viz said, looking back at Gage. “You find the guy who stole the fiber- optic design?”
“In Zurich. Thanks for asking, but I know you’ve got more important things on your mind.” Gage glanced at the calendar. “You need some time off?”
“Just a day or so. Funeral stuff. Their kids are coming up from UCLA tomorrow and they’ll stay close by her. I’m not much for sitting around.”
“Since when? That’s how you spend most of your life. It’s part of your job description. I know. I wrote it myself.”
“Well…” Viz shrugged. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Gage led Viz down the hallway to the kitchen and poured them both mugs of coffee.
“You think Socorro will want me to look into the shooting?” Gage asked, handing one to Viz.
“I don’t know. She’s not the sort of person who’s going to let her life turn on whether the guy gets caught. She knows how twisted people get who live for revenge.” Viz paused, and his eyes went vacant. Then he looked back at Gage. “But still, there’s got to be a lot of uncertainty. And it’s hard to live with a mystery, especially since whoever it was killed him in the end.”
Chapter 4
An hour after he’d left the president, Landon Meyer was still light-headed with a kind of breathlessness he hadn’t felt since his college rugby days when the world condensed into exhilarating, time-freezing moments. His hands vibrated as he raised the highball glass of bourbon from his desk to his lips.
H e’d steeled himself as he was escorted into the Oval Office. President William Duncan sat in an elbowed mahogany armchair. Chief of staff Stuart Sheridan stood by a window facing the Rose Garden. Duncan only stood long enough to shake Landon’s hand and to direct him to the couch.
It had never struck Landon more clearly than at that moment that if Brandon was his Machiavelli, then Sheridan was the president’s. Except Duncan and Sheridan could have been twins separated at birth. Duncan had been raised in a coal-mining town and wore the weathered face of struggle, while Sheridan had summered in the Hamptons, a childhood of ease. Both were in their late sixties, hair dusted with gray, faces keen and self-satisfied despite the historic reversal of roles in the Su-preme Court nomination process that was moments away.
“I think we should skip the niceties,” President Duncan said, “and start at the bottom line.” He offered a thin smile. “We can make nice later, if necessary.”
“I’ve given this a great deal of consideration, Mr. President-”
Duncan raised his palm. “Skip that part.”
Landon felt himself redden as if he was receiving a dressing-down in front of his classmates.
“Mr. President-”
