Loose Ends (20 page)

I’d already decided to leave Mira and Talia out of it if I could. “Mm. Yes. Bill got wind of something going down. We staked the place out and saw a van enter and leave when they weren’t supposed to. Chased it, but lost them.”

“You’re supposed to be some hot-shit driver, Cal. How could you lose them?”

“Because I was trying not to be seen and let them get too far ahead, okay?”

“Why didn’t you report the heist?”

“That was Bill’s call. He suspected one of his guys, Lattimer, was helping, and wanted to conduct his own investigation.”

“You were obligated by law to report a crime,” Allsop snapped.

I rolled my eyes. “I worked with you for two years, Jay. Plenty of times you delayed a report when you had a good reason.”

“But once Clawson was dead you should have told us. Would have saved a lot of running around.”

I stared past him at the seascape watercolor on my wall, one my mother had done before she’d adopted abstract as her artistic preference. A sailboat leaned in a stiff breeze, gulls in the background. “Maybe so, but there were other considerations. Ones I’m not at liberty to talk about.”

Allsop made a frustrated sound in his throat. “Lattimer ran. Looks like he took a suitcase of stuff and abandoned the rest in his house. Bought a ticket for Colombia. Pretty much out of reach unless we charge him with a serious crime, and even then…”

“Extradition is a pain in the ass, I know,” I offered.

“You don’t seem all that broken up about Clawson.”

I shrugged, drumming my fingers idly on the arm of my chair. “I’m saddened, but we weren’t close.”

“Why’d he come to you, specifically? He was a good cop once, from what we heard.”

“I was probably the only P.I. he knew, or maybe he preferred to work with a woman. Wanted to handle things, just him and me. Catch them red-handed. A return to glory for the retired cop, you know.”

“But someone must have found out and offed him,” Brody said.

“Lattimer, no doubt,” I replied.

Allsop grunted, skeptical. “Very neat. But the drugs have disappeared and they’re filtering onto the street up and down the coast from Seattle to San Diego.”

“I might be able to help you there. I heard a name. Houdini.” I dug in my desk drawer for the printout of the news reports. Once I found it I got up to make a copy on my machine. I handed the pages to Allsop. “I’m sure Narcotics is all over it, but I got multiple sources that say he’s behind it. You might want to point out that it wasn’t just street candy that they took, but some high-end steroids too. I bet those will show up in the sports world pretty quick.” I was guessing, but it was a safe bet and would make them think I was helping them more than I really was.

I deliberately didn’t mention Luger. I had no evidence he had anything to do with the kidnapping and it was stupid to throw away a potential information source. He was scum, but no worse scum than whoever would take his place if I gave him up.

“Narcotics arrested a pharmacist that helped them get in and out without tripping any alarms.”

I tried not to freeze, tried to stay casual as I thought furiously about what to say. Of course they would connect Mira to the crime. After all, it was her fingerprint on the scanner and her face on the video.

Or at least, it would seem so.

I cleared my throat. “You have the security tapes from Bill’s call center?”

Brody shook his head. “Everything was wiped. Video, call logs, computer files…Lattimer was a hacker, you know? Had convictions for computer crime.”

“Yeah,” Allsop said. “Why would Bill hire a guy like that?”

“He had a soft spot for felons.” I tried to think of what I could do for Mira that wouldn’t implicate me further. Irony of ironies if she got busted for the crime she didn’t actually commit because she was trying to save her daughter. Then again, she was almost certainly an accessory. Karma, maybe.

I decided to reveal one of my cards despite the risk. “You know about the triple homicide and fire in a Richmond warehouse Tuesday afternoon?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Allsop said warily.

“If there was enough saved from the fire, check out the female victim and compare her to your pharmacist – height, weight, build. Take a look at the wig she was wearing. Look for a piece of silicone with a fingerprint on it…and I bet the tires on the van in the warehouse match the tracks you found on the floor of North Bay Distributors.”

Brody scribbled fiercely in his notebook while Allsop’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know all this?”

“I can’t reveal my sources, but I do know that if your pharmacist was involved it wasn’t of her own free will.” Mira would probably crack anyway, but I’d done my best to divert PD’s inevitable belief she’d done it. Cops always went for the simplest explanation because most of the time it was the right one.

But not always.

“What –”

I held up my hand. “My turn.”

“Okay…” Allsop pulled out his smokes and looked a question at me.

I sighed and opened two windows, letting in a cross-breeze, and then shoved my almost-empty coffee cup over toward him as an improvised ashtray. It was all I had handy.

Once he’d lit up, I said, “I want the reports on the warehouse fire and victims. Forensics, evidence, autopsies, the works.”

“Why?”

I shook my head. “Just a hunch, right now. I promise that if I see anything important I’ll pass it to you guys so you can show up Richmond PD. Make you look good to the interdepartmental working group.”

Allsop looked away for a moment. “Even if I got it all, I can’t give you a copy. A long look at it in my office is probably the best I can do.”

“Deal.” I bet Mickey could rig me up a good miniaturized digital camera, spy style. If not, well, my memory was pretty good when I wanted it to be.

“What about the car in Old Sac?” Brody asked.

“Did you find one?”

“Yes. Pricey AMG Mercedes, stolen out of Seattle. Clean as a whistle, no damage. Like all the thief wanted was a ride.”

“I guess so.”

Allsop growled, “What do you know, Cal?”

Half-truths were my defense again. “I spotted an Audi during my case. We determined it was stolen in Old Sac, so I was trying to figure something out. That’s all.”

“What was your case again?” Allsop asked lightly, like he was going to slip it past me.

I shrugged. “Just a missing person. No biggie. Now gentlemen, if there’s nothing else?” By my tone I made it clear it had better be important. Give a cop leave to interrogate you and he’ll go on a fishing expedition.

Allsop glowered for a moment. “No, not right now.” They got up.

I held out my hand to Brody and he took it firmly. When I extended it to Allsop, he stared flatly at it for a moment, and then shook his head.

I lowered my arm.  “Oh, and here I thought we were getting along so well.”

“I can’t forget what you did,” he said.

“Yeah. I remember you backing me up in court,
partner
.” That was pure sarcasm. Allsop had refused to testify during my lawsuit. Unlike a criminal trial, he couldn’t be compelled over departmental objections that cited conflict of interest.

“You won, didn’t you? You proved your case, got your payoff.” He stared hard at me.

“I did, yes. Maybe because it was true and Stanger was dirty. She might have killed me. She did get the bomb tech killed.”

Allsop turned away, admitting nothing, but I felt like I’d won the point. Maybe he’d eventually come around.

I opened the front door for them. “See you. Go catch some bad guys.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Brody said brightly, winking as he went by. I decided to like him because he wasn’t sucking up to Allsop, but I shut the door firmly, a statement of finality. Then I retrieved a broom and dustpan to go back and collect the butt off my front porch, muttering all the while about dirty smokers. Yeah, I lit up occasionally, but I never left my messes for someone else to clean up.

Climbing the stairs to my kitchen, I dumped the contents of the dustpan and the dreck from my cup into the covered trash can, and then washed them both. Afterward, I got a fresh mug, refilled it and moseyed back downstairs, hoping for a relaxing morning.

After sitting down again, I pulled the rubber band off the
Chronicle
and dropped it into the receptacle on my desk organizer before unrolling the newspaper. The scent of the fresh newsprint wafted to my nose in the breeze reminding me of the paper route I’d had as a kid. Dad would help me assemble the inserts and roll them, and then off I’d go with my sack.

Three Dead In Richmond Warehouse Fire
had already been reported in Wednesday’s edition, earning a few column inches below the fold. Apparently the investigation had suppressed any hint of foul play as yet and I resolved to tip Cole Sage off in case he wanted to do a more in-depth piece. 

My musings shattered as I noticed a front-page teaser leading to the business section, titled
Local Drug Distributor Takes Huge Loss
. Quickly I turned to the piece and skimmed along.

(SFC Staff) San Francisco – Following the disclosure of a warehouse pharmaceutical theft exceeding five hundred million dollars in retail value, North Bay Distributors, part of the Rankin Pharmaceuticals Group, has expressed confidence that law enforcement is pursuing all leads and will soon recover the majority of the stolen goods.

“Our inventory is fully insured by Lloyds, so stockholders need have no fear of revenue loss in the long term. We urge all investors to maintain their portfolios and not sell prematurely, locking in their losses. Rankin Pharmaceuticals expects a strong quarter and has more than enough cash reserves to absorb this temporary setback until these routine issues are worked out,” said Harold Milray of public relations firm Starns and Milray.

However,
Chronicle
sources claim Lloyds has sent an elite investigative team to make inquiries about potential improper security procedures that may have led to the loss. One authority with close ties to the insurance industry pointed out that, while Lloyds has never defaulted on a legitimate claim, they are “tough on those who substitute insurance coverage for due diligence.”

Legal experts speaking without attribution indicate that such large losses are usually settled for a fraction of the retail value after prolonged negotiations rather than through the courts.

Despite assurances of the relatively routine nature of the situation, the heist’s unusually high dollar value caused Rankin stock to lose more than forty percent of its asking price the day after the
Chronicle
broke the story. It has since regained more than ten percent and is expected to stabilize higher over the coming weeks for a moderate overall loss. Financial analysts at Stinwell and Pogue have issued statements that they expect a full recovery within three to six months, assuming next quarter’s figures fall in line with predictions.

There was more detail, but that was the gist.

I leaned back, sipping my fresh coffee and thinking about the money Mira had been sending her stockbroker ex, Dennis. Mickey said she’d been doing this since the divorce. After roughly two years, that meant easily two hundred thousand dollars had gone into a numbered offshore account.

Reaching for the phone, I dialed a day trader I knew, a guy I’d helped out of a jam once. “Jindal?” I said when he picked up the phone at his Transamerica Building office. “This is Cal Corwin.”

“Hey, Cal! Long time no hear. You got some more money to invest?”

“Last time you turned my five grand into three, so no, not today.”

“You gotta leave it with me longer. Setbacks happen. You have to ride them out. Play the odds.”

“Sounds more like poker than day trading.”

Jindal laughed. “Is there a difference?”

“You tell me.”

He laughed again. “What can I help you with?”

“Just information, off the record. If I had two hundred grand, insider knowledge and wanted to make the most money I could off this week’s Rankin Pharm situation, what would I do?”

“That ship has sailed, Cal. And where would you get two hundred grand anyway?”

“Not me, you dolt. Hypothetically.”

“You know something?”

“Nothing that will make you money, Jindal, but feel free to infer anything you like.”

I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head along with the chatter of the cube farm around him. I’d visited it once, and unless you had one of the peripheral offices with their magnificent views, life sucked. Once again I was thankful for my own cozy office.

Eventually he spoke. “Okay, I pulled up the charts for the last week. It would be pretty easy to short the stock any time before the story broke because it was on a steady upward trend.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Under SEC rules, you can’t short a stock that’s falling, only one that’s rising overall.”

“Okay. So, how much money could someone make?”

“With two hundred kay? Maybe…almost two mil in the short term and another twenty or so within six months if the predictions are true. That’s a big
if
, though.”

I choked for a moment, spewing coffee onto my desk and the newspaper open upon it. “Twenty million from two hundred thousand? How is that possible?” I asked as I grabbed for tissues and tried to blot my blazer and blouse.

“Leverage. An established investor or trader can borrow on margin, buy puts and calls with the money that bet the stock will move the way he thinks it will.”

“What if he’s wrong?”

“Then he loses it all, has to make it up out of pocket somehow, just like any other loan. Why do you think this job is so stressful?”

I rubbed my hands together to dry off the residual coffee. “Sounds a lot like gambling on a marker to me. Borrowing the house’s money.”

“Like I said – it is.”

I mulled that over. “Okay, so he makes ten times his investment right away. Two million dollars when the stock plunges. Where’s the rest come from?”

“From the rise in stock value,” Jindal said. “Your hypothetical investor has two million in cash. When the price bottoms, he buys as much call action as he can, betting it goes up. Because he’s got inside info, he knows this drop is only a temporary setback, right? Rankin will settle with Lloyds, and their underlying profit structure is sound. In three to six months that will rise by seventy-some percent if the analysts are right and,
voila
, there’s your twenty mil.”