Steven Gore - Power Blind

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.”

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 to tell. I’ll have to check my calendar.”

“What’s-”

“Bloody bullshit is what’s up. Why an American microchip manufacturer wants to do a joint venture with a Russian company instead of just thumping them out of existence is beyond me. But that’s what they want and that’s what I’ll give them.”

Burch was the point man for dozens of the Fortune Global 500 not only because he was a brilliant legal strategist, but because he had the personal authority that allowed him to land in the midst of negotiations with enough force to flatten out the kinks even in the most complicated international deals.

“You think you can FedEx me some Alka-Seltzer?”

“Sure. How much?”

“Ten pounds-but enough of my whining like a stuck donkey. You need something?”

“Have you ever heard of a company called Pegasus Limited in the Caymans?”

“Pegasus… Pegasus… I don’t think so. Let me call you back in a couple of minutes.”

Gage’s cell phone rang as he drove along the pier-bordered waterfront toward his office.

“I called a colleague who works the corporate governance end of things on Grand Cayman,” Burch said. “Pegasus Limited is a part of the Pegasus Group and handles insurance.”

“Captive?”

“Exactly. Offshore self-insurance, but only for U.S. corporations. Big ones who need coverage beyond the losses allowed by their domestic carriers.”

“Do they have an office there?”

Burch laughed. “According to him, only inside a mailbox. He has no idea who operates it or from where, or even if they’re still in business. He said the name hasn’t come up for a few years. He’ll send someone over to the Company Registry to find out if they’re still active.”

Gage disconnected and called Alex Z in the Oakland loft.

“Would you run the name Pegasus Limited in Charlie’s accounting records?”