Breach of Trust

CLOSING STATEMENT

“We’re all good, Mr. Kolarich. See you over there?”

“Sure. Great,” I said.

I looked out the window of my empty townhouse at the moving van parked at the curb. The back door was closing up, and all my possessions were moving about five blocks south. The only thing I hated more than packing was unpacking, so I wasn’t looking forward to the next few weeks.

It would be Thanksgiving soon, and then of course Christmas, and I wasn’t looking forward to the 2008 holiday season any more than I had the 2007 season, back when I’d been starting up with Charlie Cimino and everyone. It felt like more than eight months since the arrests. I wasn’t sure I could pin down a sensation of time and distance. The whole thing felt, in many ways, like it had never happened.

But happened, it had. Three days ago, Edgar Trotter won election to the governor’s mansion, having defeated Secretary of State Willie Bryant in an upset. Many people thought it would be a Democratic year, thanks to Barack Obama, but the scandal had tainted the Democrats too fiercely. We only had a Democratic governor for eighteen months, the argument went, and they managed to fuck it up that quickly with a sensational scandal.

Governor Carlton Snow had lost the primary, of course, after the scandal broke less than a week before the voters went to the booths in March. I didn’t really follow the details but I recall a landslide. Many were surprised that Snow even stayed in the race, but the ballots were already printed, et cetera, and of course he denied any guilt.

The governor’s indictment a few weeks ago couldn’t have helped Willie Bryant, either. Turned out, everyone around Governor Snow flipped. Charlie Cimino, to my surprise, was first on board the federal bus in early April, but I understand he’s not pleading guilty to the murder, only the extortion stuff that he and I did. Hector Almundo cut a deal in May-again, not to the murder but agreeing to testify to the governor’s knowledge of certain wrongdoing. By the summer, Madison Koehler and Brady MacAleer were spilling their guts to Christopher Moody as well. I lost track of the order, but the two union guys, Gary Gardner and Rick Harmoning, have also been seen going in and out of grand jury rooms at the federal building.

The governor saw his indictment coming, naturally, and the word is his lawyers are trying to work something out with the feds as well. I don’t know how that will play out.

Charlie and Hector will probably spend the rest of their lives in prison on the murder charges, which I highly doubt they can beat. Madison and Mac will probably do somewhere between five and ten. The governor? Probably the high side of that same range.

I probably will never have to testify. The corruption stuff will probably all go down in plea bargains, without a trial ever taking place. Perhaps I’ll have to testify at a federal murder trial against Hector and Charlie, but my guess is that those guys will take a plea on that at some point. The evidence against them is overwhelming, my testimony aside, including the cooperation of all four of the goons who pulled off Greg Connolly’s death. Hector and Charlie are toast.

Federico Hurtado-Kiko-is literally toast. Apparently the Latin Lords decided that he’d become a liability, given the federal government’s interest and Kiko’s depth of knowledge of criminal wrongdoing in their empire. Someone put a bullet in his brain, then doused him in gasoline and lit a match.

Me? I’m just “Private Attorney A.” The papers had a field day with the arrest warrants issued back in March and the subsequent indictment, decoding all the described participants-“Lobbyist 1,” “Public Official D,” “State Contractor 39”-and they guessed correctly about me. I’ve never admitted it or offered comment of any kind, but I actually received some favorable coverage, in any event. The U.S. attorney’s office had made me the big hero, after all.

“Okay, kiddo.”

I turned back. Shauna had her coat on. One look at me, and she knew I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. She walked up to me and lightly grabbed my arm.

“You okay?” she said. Her eyes moved to the mantel in the living room, the framed photograph of Talia in the hospital, holding Emily Jane, the only item of mine still remaining in the house.

She took the frame and handed it to me. “They’re always with you, right? They always will be, Jason. Wherever you go. This is just a house.”

I tried to smile. I couldn’t find words.

“I’ll be in the car,” she said, breaking away from me. “Take all the time you want.”

I took a deep breath. “No, that’s okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”

I took Shauna’s hand and walked out of the townhouse, the picture frame clutched against my chest.