“Shoot.”
“I spent the day looking through the records that Mr. Burch’s law firm sent over. They show that Mr. Burch billed from 1:35 P. M. until exactly 2 P. M. for a meeting with Matson. The call from his line to that stockbroker Kovalenko was from 2:04 until 2:09. But Mr. Burch started billing his next meeting at 2:05. Unless Mr. Burch was cheating, he couldn’t have made the call.”
“I’ll find out whether Jack’s line is accessible at his secretary’s desk or the conference room next to his office. Maybe Matson hung around after the meeting and made the call.”
“There are also the Nevada companies. Peterson claimed that Mr. Burch set up a company for Kovalenko with Verona as the registered agent.”
“That’s what he was suggesting.”
“I looked at the secretary of state’s records. Kovalenko wasn’t one of the original officers. He bought it from someone else. And Verona runs a company that does nothing but act as registered agents. If you’re incorporated in Nevada, you need a registered agent there. If you don’t, you can’t operate.”
“And if you don’t operate there, you can’t get the Nevada tax breaks.”
“It looks like half the corporate lawyers in San Francisco use Verona, not just Mr. Burch.”
“What about the Fitzhugh connection?” Gage asked. “Peterson claims that Fitzhugh was Jack’s boy.”
“I found the calls from Mr. Burch to Fitzhugh. And the international call records you took out of Fitzhugh’s house in London show a bunch of calls to Mr. Burch that Peterson doesn’t know about.” Alex Z pointed at the folders. “The bottom one has copies of Fitzhugh’s cell phone bills matched up with Mr. Burch’s.”
Gage flipped it open and scanned a half-dozen lines Alex Z had highlighted in yellow.
“This doesn’t look good.”
“Sorry boss, but I figured you should know.”
“Faith and I will visit Jack tonight,” Gage said, closing the file. “I’ll ask him about it.”
Alex Z rose to his feet and headed toward the door.
“Alex?”
Alex Z turned back.
“Thanks,” Gage said.
CHAPTER 42
B urch was sitting in a reclining chair when Gage and Faith entered his hospital room. The IV lines running to his still-bruised arms were undiminished, but the breathing tube had been removed. If the good color in Burch’s face was a reliable indicator, it was gone for good.
The oxygen mask hung below his chin while he performed breathing exercises with a spirometer measuring lung capacity.
“Come on, Jack,” Courtney said, a cheerleader’s smile on her face, “a little harder. Up to one thousand. You can do it.”
Burch was pink and sweaty from effort and used the excuse of their arrival to stop.
“How are you doing, champ?” Gage gripped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“O…okay.”
“What are the doctors saying?”
“Another six…” Burch broke into a fit of coughing. Gage reached for a tissue and handed it to him.
Courtney took over. “As soon as he gets over this lung infection, they’ll let him go home. Probably no more than six days. Hopefully by Thanksgiving. It’s partly up to Jack.” She frowned at Burch as if he was her child, not her husband. “He won’t eat. He needs to. He’s lost fifteen pounds. They want him to gain five back before he leaves.”
“The food…terrible…leather and…cardboard.” Burch placed the oxygen mask over his face.
“Has Spike come by?” Gage asked, turning toward Courtney.
“This morning,” Courtney said. “He told us about the other jogger who got shot. He’s thinking maybe he doesn’t need to keep the officer guarding the room.”
Gage had also spoken to Spike. The truth was that Spike was under pressure from his department. The chief knew that the U.S. Attorney would soon indict Jack and figured it would look bad in the press if SFPD was protecting a grand jury target.
Gage looked down at Burch. “What do you say we bring in our own people? I’d sleep better at night knowing you had somebody with you all the time, especially since you’ll be moving around a little more.”
“Just tell us who you want us to hire,” Courtney said.
Gage nodded, then looked over at Faith and made a slight motion with his head.
“Courtney,” Faith said, “let’s go down to the cafeteria. You need a break and I’d like some tea.”
“Will you be all right, Jack?” Courtney asked, then looked at Gage. “Of course you will. Boy talk.”
“Just a little,” Gage said.
Gage waited until the door closed, then sat down next to Burch and leaned in close. “I need to know about Fitzhugh.”
Burch drew in a breath, then removed the oxygen mask.
“A disappointment. A great…disappointment. Should’ve told before. But I didn’t understand…how he fit in.”
“How does he?”
Gage winced as Burch erupted into coughing.
“Let me tell you about…” He coughed again, then wiped his mouth. “About how I met him.”
“Just try short sentences, Jack.”
Burch nodded. “Conference. In London.” Burch drew on the oxygen. “Recommended by colleague…Nothing dodgy about him…My London people…too busy. Matson seemed low risk. So I gave him Fitzhugh to…to manage the holding company.”
“What happened?”
“Him and Matson. And Granger. Must’ve done things. On their own. Used my name, my connections. Changed the companies. Got new ones.”
Burch drew on the oxygen. Short, hard gasps on the edge of gagging. Body weakened, wracked by coughs. Breath raspy, wheezy.
Gage reached again for his shoulder. “Why don’t we do this later?”
Burch shook his head. “Got to finish…All in my head…too long… Fitzhugh and Matson…Matson came to my office…asked me to set up a company…to buy real estate and make investments. TAMS Limited.”
“Why didn’t Fitzhugh do it himself?”
“Said Matson was my client…Didn’t want to steal him.” Burch took in a breath, then looked up. “I didn’t understand where Matson was getting his money…He said stock options. But it was too soon…for him to exercise them…Then said inheritance.”
“So you backed off?”
“No choice.”
Gage didn’t show the relief he felt. At least Peterson couldn’t link Burch to SatTek’s money laundering.
Burch’s eyes teared. “Maybe if Fitzhugh hadn’t set up TAMS…”
“So you know?”
“Murdered. Horrible…My secretary found out. His wife, too.” Burch looked up at Gage. Childlike. Tears spilling from his eyes. No longer seeming the international lawyer or daredevil skier, no longer living on the edge by choice.
“Graham, I’m afraid.”
Gage reached his arm around Burch’s shoulders.
“I know. Don’t worry, champ. They had their chance at you, and they’re not getting another.”
Gage remained at Burch’s bedside until his friend fell asleep, then went in search of Faith and Courtney. He found them in the hallway walking back from the cafeteria.
“Courtney,” Faith said, reaching around her shoulders, “you need to tell Graham.”
Courtney looked up at Gage. “Promise you won’t say anything to Jack yet, please.”
Gage nodded. Burch’s tears had told him that the less Burch knew about what was going on outside his hospital room, the better.
“A man came to serve Jack with a subpoena for his files. A class action suit.” She glanced at her husband’s room. “I had to block the door to keep him outside.”
Gage knew this skirmish in the battle would be coming; he just didn’t know when and what angle they’d take. “Did they name Jack?”
“No. They just want his records. Jack will be devastated if he gets named. It’ll be bad enough just to testify.”
“Who’s the law firm?”
“Simpson amp; Braunegg.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Gage tried to herd Courtney toward Burch’s room, but she remained planted.
“Graham,” Courtney peered up into Gage’s eyes, “tell me the truth. Did Jack do something wrong?”