Duncan straightened his shoulders.
“That’s not going to happen.”
Gage handed Faith her cup, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I think we’ve lost TIMCO.”
“Hawkins? Is that what Babu called about?”
Gage nodded. “Murdered.”
Faith shuddered.
“Now we have no admissible evidence.”
“Unless you can work back from whoever killed him.”
“That’s assuming the killing was related. For all we know, it was something else. Maybe revenge for Hawkins’s mistreating a girl.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No. But we’ll never know for certain. There’s nothing left of the crime scene except dirt and rotting mangos, and nothing left of Hawkins except ashes.”
“And Babu?”
“There’s not much he can do. I’m positive the local cops he’d have to rely on have already been paid off by whoever did it.”
G age called Joe Casey as he drove toward his office.
“Can you find out if a Robert Marnin came through customs recently?”
“Hold on.”
Casey came back on the line a few minutes later.
“He flew into Newark. Flight AI-191 from Paris a few days ago.”
“Thanks.”
Gage disconnected and slipped his phone into his shirt pocket.
AI-191. AI. Air India. A redneck like Boots Marnin wouldn’t fly Air India from Paris unless the flight originated in Delhi, Mumbai, or Kolkata.
Gage looked up from the Bay Bridge at the fog intertwining itself in the financial district. Then his mind cleared: Charlie Palmer, the OSHA inspector Karopian, and Wilbert Hawkins weren’t killed for revenge.
They were chosen one by one because they were links in an evidentiary chain Gage had followed hand over hand; one that now had exploded into a thousand pieces, just like the valve that had set off the TIMCO firestorm.
Gage shook his head and exhaled. At least there’s no one left to kill.
He drove on for a half mile, then found himself gripping the steering wheel.
Unless whoever was behind the killings stopped thinking like a lawyer.
I nstead of taking the exit toward the Embarcadero, Gage continued on the freeway to the off-ramp nearest the Hall of Justice. After a couple of hours researching criminal files in the superior court clerk’s office, Gage realized he was wrong.
There was one person left to kill.
Chapter 80
The Elf was leading a different Wolf when Gage pulled to stop on the one-way Folsom Street in front of the Bootstrap at eleven-forty that night. Apparently Jeffrey Stark, Charlie Palmer’s physical therapist, hadn’t taken all that well to the yoke.
Gage stepped out of his car as they came even with him. The overhead streetlight gave Elf’s face a yellow pallor. His eyes widened and he dropped the leash.
Gage shook his head. “This isn’t about you. I’m trying to find Jeffrey. His cell phone is disconnected.”
“He fell behind on the payments so it got turned off.”
“And I went by the place where he told me he was staying. Nobody answered the door all day.”
Elf’s eyebrows narrowed. “Why’s everybody so interested in Jeffrey?”
“Who’s everybody?”
“The company he worked for-”
“Physical Therapy Associates?”
“Yeah. They called me like six times in the last two days, real anxious to contact him.”
“Why you?”
Elf glanced over at his Wolf. “He put me down as his next of kin on his application.”
The Wolf glared at Elf, then stomped away.
“Sorry,” Gage said.
“No problem.” Elf tilted his head toward the club. “There’s lots where he came from.”
“Practically a candy store.”
Elf’s eyebrows went up. “You’re not…”
Gage shook his head again.
“Too bad.”
Gage smiled. “Anyway I think I’m a little old for you.”
Elf smiled back. “I don’t know. I’ve seen Sabrina like a hundred times. Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. May and December.”
“Sorry.”
Elf shrugged. “So what’s up with Jeffrey?”
“I’m trying to figure that out. Do you know why the company was trying to contact him?”
“A job, I guess. But I’m not sure why they ever hired him.”
“Because of the identify theft convictions?”
Elf nodded. “The state revoked his license because his victims were all people he was treating. Mostly old folks recovering from hip and knee replacements.”
“Then why did Physical Therapy Associates take him?”
“It’s not like he applied. They came to him. Like out of the blue. A couple of days after he got out of jail.”
“When did they last call you?”
“Three hours ago. I got tired of them bothering me so I told them about his new job working as a security guard at the MetroTowers construction site.”
“Which shift?”
“Midnight until eight.”
Gage checked his watch. Eleven forty-five. He pulled out a business card and handed it to Elf.
“I’ll head over,” Gage said, “but if you hear from him before I get there, tell him to go to a safe place and give me a call.”
Elf peered up at Gage. “A safe place? What do you mean a safe place?”
Gage opened his car door.
“He’ll know.”
G age made the half-mile drive to New Montgomery Street in two minutes. He squinted as he cruised the half-block construction site trying to see past the halogen lights flooding the perimeter. He caught glimpses of rebar rising from the unfinished below-ground parking structure and a latticed crane rising up fifteen stories, its mast topped by a horizontal jib. He finally spotted a brown modular construction trailer stationed along the alley behind the site. He parked on a side street next to a half-finished condo tower and retrieved a semiautomatic from a lockbox in his trunk.
Gage ducked in and out of the shadows until he reached the single lit window of the trailer, and then climbed the metal steps and stretched over the railing until he could peek inside.
The body in the chair was slumped over the desk.
Damn. Too late.
