Breach of Trust

53

I was in my office by eight the next morning. I had a full day scheduled without anything having to do with the undercover operation. No appointment with Charlie. No meetings with the federal overlords. I had two morning court appearances and a witness interview in the afternoon. In between, I had to get working on a response to a motion to dismiss that was due next week.

After court, I was back in my office beginning the draft of my response. My cell phone buzzed on my desk. The caller ID said it was Joel Lightner.

“That was fast, even for you,” I said. It had been only twenty-four hours since I’d given Lightner the assignment.

“You didn’t tell me this guy was Kiko.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No, fuckhead, you didn’t. Tell me why you want his address.”

“I’m throwing him a surprise birthday party.”

“You don’t know this guy.”

“Then imagine how surprised he’ll be.”

“Hey, asshole? You don’t know this guy.”

I groaned. Lightner meant well. He and Riley-both of them-feeling sorry for me, looking out for me.

“Joel, I know about Kiko,” I said. “My eyes are wide open.”

“They won’t be for long,” he replied. “Not if you get on his wrong side. So what do you want him for? Surveillance? Or a face-to-face?”

Neither, actually, if I was answering his question literally. “Not sure yet,” I said. “But speaking of surveillance?”

“Oh-another high-level gang assassin?”

“Close. A caterer,” I said. “I want you to find a guy named Delroy Bailey. Starlight Catering is the company. Home address, please. And marital status. I think he’s divorced.”

It sounded like Lightner was scribbling a note. “What kind of a name is Delroy?”

“I don’t know. And before you ask-because I know you will-it’s a fishing expedition,” I said. “Call it a hunch.”

My cell rang again ten minutes later. The caller ID read “David Hamlin,” meaning Lee Tucker. I thought about avoiding the call. I was running out of patience with these guys. I was beginning to see an end in sight here. What Tucker had said to me yesterday was right-we’d drawn about all the blood we could out of Charlie Cimino. They had him cold. And I had no interest in implicating other people. I had come into this thing for one reason, to find Ernesto’s killer. And I thought I was close to doing that. When that was done, so was I. Tucker would tell me to keep playing ball, to make Chris Moody as happy as possible, holding out hope he might take a pass on indicting me. But I knew Moody would never let me off the hook. He was going to prosecute me. And I would just have to fight the charges.

“Hello.”

“Jason. We need to talk to you. Come to our office. Right now.”

“I can’t do it right now.”

A pause. “It needs to be now.”

I waited a moment myself. “Suite 410 or your real office?”

“The real one,” he said.

I looked at my watch. It was just shy of eleven. “I’ll be there at three,” I said, and closed the phone.

I showed up at four. I did it the way I typically did. I went to the twenty-second floor of the building, where Judge Graves had her courtroom, carrying a legal-sized envelope. I walked into her chambers, stuffed the envelope in my briefcase, and walked back out. Then I took an interior elevator to the floor of the U.S. attorney’s office. If anyone was keeping tabs on me, I could always say the reason I was in the federal building was to file something in regard to the case I had before Judge Graves.

“Hey.” Lee Tucker waved me into the conference room, where my good friend Christopher Moody was standing by the window, looking out over the cityscape.

“Okay, I’m here. And I don’t have all day.”

Moody turned and looked at me. His mouth was set in what I could only describe as a mild scowl. His eyes were fiery with anticipation.

“The day after the governor’s fundraiser,” he said in an even, icy tone, “Agent Tucker asked you if you made any contacts with any of the governor’s people. You told him no. He asked if you had gathered any useful information. You told him no. And yesterday, he asked you if any of the governor’s people had approached you about working with them.”

He stared at me.

I stared back.

“Somehow, you forgot to mention that on the night of the fundraiser, Madison Koehler offered you a job.”

“Says who?”

That surprised him. “You’re denying it?”

“I just asked for the source, Chris. A question is not a denial.”

A smile slowly crept about the corners of his mouth. “One thousand one,” he said.

He was citing the federal criminal statute for making a false statement to a federal agent. He was saying I had lied to Lee Tucker.

“The hole you’re in keeps getting deeper,” he said. “You need to cooperate now more than ever.”

I looked over at Tucker, to see if he wanted to chime in. He didn’t. Then I turned back to Moody. “You want me to go to work for Madison Koehler?”

“That’s right,” he said, enjoying it.

“The answer is no. Anything else?”

Moody’s smile got broader. He burst into laughter. “Well, you just ain’t afraid of nobody, is that it? You want to show us how big your cock is?”

“I’m not showing you anything,” I answered. “I’m just not going to help you troll for potential defendants so you can pad your resume.”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen this coming. Prosecutors always want to move up the chain. Charlie Cimino was their foothold. They wanted bigger fish.

They wanted the governor.

Moody’s expression slowly deteriorated, as he realized that I was serious. He thought there was no way I’d turn him down. He’d expected capitulation at the mere mention of another criminal charge on which he could indict me. These guys were accustomed to getting what they wanted, when they wanted it. He hadn’t planned this out any further.

“These innocent people you’re so worried about?” he said. “They’re scum. They’re all a part of this. Cimino’s just one of the messengers. These guys are filthy to the core, and I’m going to nail them. And you’re going to help me. You’re going to help me make a case against Governor Snow, Madison Koehler, Greg Connolly-anyone and everyone.”

I didn’t answer. I’d said enough stupid things.

“Including Hector Almundo,” he said.

I waited to make sure he was finished. I looked at each of them, then shrugged my shoulders. “The answer’s no. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said to Tucker. I had an appointment with Charlie tomorrow evening, so Lee would have to hand off the F-Bird.

“Wait,” said Moody, as I was pushing open the door to the conference room.

I turned back to him.

“I’m going to offer you the gift of a lifetime,” he said. “Immunity. For everything. Conspiracy. Obstruction. The one thousand one.”

“Several years in prison, you avoid,” Tucker chimed in.

“You know I’ve got you,” Moody said. “You know you’re going to prison. This is your one chance to avoid it. Your one chance. You walk out the door, the offer goes away.”

Tucker said, “Take it, Jason. Don’t be a cowboy.”

Immunity. I’d turned it down initially, but things had gotten worse for me. It was true that I’d lied to Tucker about Madison Koehler. It was stupid of me. And maybe they had an obstruction case against me. Plus the doctored memos, which everyone at the defense table-Cimino, Connolly, everyone-would swear weren’t doctored at all, but were, in fact, written by me.

I’d have an uphill climb in court. These guys were offering me a free pass. I knew what Talia would say. I knew what Paul Riley would say.

But in the end, it was something primitive, something very simple that drove me. I didn’t like snitches. I used them, myself, as a prosecutor, but there was always a part of me that didn’t respect them. It was something ingrained in me from my childhood. You don’t rat on your friends.

Maybe I was splitting hairs and rationalizing, but I had told myself that what I’d done, thus far with the feds, wasn’t the same thing. I’d gone in on my own terms to catch a murderer, and I was getting close to succeeding now. There was residual damage to Cimino, of course, but it wasn’t something I’d initiated. Those guys at the PCB had screwed me with those doctored memos. So I was screwing them back. It was retaliation as much as anything. And it was finding a killer.

What they wanted from me now felt different. I didn’t know any of these people. I had no beef with them. They very well might be criminals. I had no trouble entertaining that possibility. And if so, I hoped they got their due. But it wasn’t going to be through me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lee.” I walked out the door and caught an elevator going down.