"Oh, and what happened to 'Charlie wasn't calling the shots'? You think Snow doesn't know anything about what happened to you and Greg Connolly that night?"

These guys had listened to every word of the F-Bird from last night. They'd heard what both Madison and the governor had said about Greg Connolly. They'd heard Charlie Cimino say that he hadn't told Madison anything about it.

Chris Moody did one of his patented chuckles, filled not with humor but condescension. "You think because Madison Koehler and Governor Snow played dumb last night, it means they don't know anything?"

"You weren't there," I said.

"No, but I know these people. I know them and I know a hundred people like them. They aren't going to admit it to you, Jason. Don't be so damn nave. These people are programmed to lie. They're smart enough not to admit anything out loud."

Their skepticism wasn't surprising, nor was it unfounded. I was as cynical as the next person. But I was there last night. I saw both of them, Madison and the governor, when they talked about Greg Connolly. I didn't trust anyone in this room or anyone working for the governor, but I trusted my instinct, and it told me that neither of them had anything to do with Greg's murder.

"I don't think either of them knows," I said. "And I'm not sure I want to do this anymore."

"You're not-" Lee Tucker's head snapped in my direction. "What, you're announcing your retirement?"

"Maybe I am."

"Kolarich, I'm really not in the mood for this." Chris Moody pushed himself out of his chair. This conversation was upsetting him terribly, not simply because I was resisting him but because I was going to be his star witness at trial, and if asked, I would testify that I believed what each of these people were saying about Greg Connolly.

"Okay." Lee Tucker, ever the peacemaker, raised a steady hand. "You think what you think; we think what we think. But keep pushing, Jason, okay? If you're right, then you'll just prove that to us. What's the harm in probing the subject a little harder?"

I didn't answer. I was running out of steam here. I'd found what I was looking for. I'd finally figured out who was behind the murders and why. And I'd done plenty for the feds. They had Charlie Cimino on countless felonies, including a pretty good case on the murder of Greg Connolly. They had Madison Koehler and Brady MacAleer on the illegal trades for union endorsements-both the appointment of George Ippolito to the supreme court and the jobs for the other union boss's people, for whom we'd had to bend and twist a number of laws. They had three of the main players in the governor's inner circle dead to rights. Moody could ask those people what the governor knew and when he knew it.

Moody was staring at me, chewing on his lip like he was debating something. "The governor's going to appoint George Ippolito to the supreme court tomorrow," he said.

I looked at him. "How do you know that?"

He gave me a look that told me I didn't need to know that information. Madison had made it sound like it might be a few days away. But if she'd changed her mind, she wouldn't have told me.

"Shit," I said. "Are you going to move before then?"

He shrugged. "It's being debated right now. A lot of it depends on you, Counselor."

Sure. Right now, they were playing offense. Every day brought more admissions from the governor's people. Every day without an arrest was a day that the federal government could build a stronger case. The spigot would shut off the moment the arrests were made.

And as of right now, from my tally, the main target of their investigation-Governor Carlton Snow-had made a grand total of one clearly incriminating statement, his suggestion about getting those pro-choice groups to cough up money to get him to veto that abortion bill. I hadn't heard anything else on that subject, and it was entirely possible that nothing was happening on that front. And beyond that, the governor had only made veiled references to the things going on under him.

Which meant that they had the governor's people, but not the governor. Would they dance on the people they had-Madison, Charlie, Brady-to get more? Sure. Of course. And they'd probably succeed. But there was nothing more damning than getting it from the governor's mouth.

"Jason, listen." Lee Tucker framed his hands. "We never expected you. We never expected to get this close inside. But you're here. You've helped us expose corruption at the highest levels of government. Now we're this close to Snow. Jason, they're insulating him. It's how this always works. His top advisers filter everything. It all stops at them, and then when no one else is around, they whisper in his ear. They carry out this charade for the exact reason that we're having this conversation-so the governor can deny everything."

"Maybe they don't tell him," I said.

"Bullshit," said Chris Moody.

Tucker raised his hands higher, keeping the fragile detente. "Okay, okay-but let's see then. Maybe today's our last shot, Jason. Let's assume it is. Will you see what you can get from Snow? Tonight's the night Antwain Otis dies, right? You're going to be having discussions with him? You'll have some time with him. Will you at least try?"

I wasn't sure where my head was at this point. Having finally fulfilled my own personal mission, and feeling sure that the governor knew nothing about the murders, I was really doing nothing more than being a classic snitch in an undercover operation. It felt different. It felt like something that wasn't me.

"Lee," said Moody, "we're talking to Jason like it's a friendly request. I think he forgot that he's got criminal liability hanging over him. He's working for our gratitude and mercy."

Judging from Tucker's face, he wasn't pleased with this turn of events. Tucker was a guy who always liked to use honey to catch the bee.

"And the fact that I almost got killed while helping you isn't enough?" I said. "And that I continued to risk my life for you? We forget all that, I guess?"

Chris Moody shrugged. "You're the one who didn't want a deal. I offered you immunity more than once."

He was right. I'd rejected a plea bargain because I didn't want even a tacit admission of criminal wrongdoing. I didn't want the word immunity attached to my name, because no matter how you sliced it, it meant you were a criminal who caught a break.

And I'd wanted my freedom. I wanted to be able to stop working for them whenever I pleased. Like now. But I'd known the risks, and now they were staring at me square in the face.

"So I take one more shot at the governor, you spare me an indictment? And you move in before Ippolito gets appointed? I got that pretty much correct, Chris?"

"Hey, look." Now he was playing the slippery one. "I'm just saying, we'll take all of your cooperation, and lack thereof, under advisement. I never promised differently." He raised a finger, then reached for a folder behind him. He held up a thick document that was stamped DRAFT. It was an application for an arrest warrant, along with several affidavits to be signed by FBI agents.

I took it in my hands. The draft application requested arrest warrants for Governor Carlton Snow, Madison Koehler, Brady MacAleer, and Ciriaco "Charlie" Cimino.

"Is this the document we file?" he asked.

Then he removed a second document from his folder. "Or is this the one?" he said.

He handed me the second document. It looked largely the same as the first, but with one addition. The document requested a warrant to arrest Jason Kolarich.

I put my hand out. Lee Tucker handed me the F-Bird.

"I guess we'll find out," I said.

86.

I WAS TEN MINUTES LATE TO APPLE JACKS, A POPULAR breakfast spot just north of the commercial district. A lot of lawyers have their pretrial eggs here before heading down for a day in court. It felt like ages since I'd been one of those people.

Hector already had a booth for us. He looked fresh and eager, his wardrobe matching his attitude-olive suit with olive shirt and brownish-red tie and that fucking tie clip.

"I ordered you some eggs," he told me, which was his way of reminding me I was late. I wanted to reach across the table and shove the tie clip into his windpipe, but instead I just acknowledged his power move and let it go.

"Today's the endorsements, don't forget," he said, as if I'd given him some reason to think I'd forgotten. "With SLEU and the Laborers, we're golden. It's our fucking election."

He was reminding me that Governor Snow was going to win, and that was all that was supposed to matter.

"So like I said last night, Carl feels terrible about what happened."

Our food arrived. Mine was eggs over easy with toast and bacon. My stomach was growling but the way I was feeling about Hector right now, I wouldn't hold down the meal if I ate it.

"He's very grateful that you can be discreet, Jason. And what you should be doing, right now, is thinking about what you want when Carl is elected to a full term. I was serious, what I said last night. The sky's the limit for a talented lawyer like you. You want to be on the bench? You want a boat full of legal work sent your way? You just need-"

"Hector, stop," I said reflexively, when I couldn't stand hearing his voice any longer. I took a breath, because this was the last thing I wanted to do, but I had to get through it.

"I want to clear the air here, Hector. You and I need to be square on a few things."

Hector didn't particularly enjoy being interrupted, but his curiosity was trumping his pride. Plus, his number one goal here was protecting the governor, so he was proceeding with caution.

"I got into this thing because of you. Not Charlie Cimino and not Carlton Snow. Charlie's a good guy and the governor's okay, but I'm loyal to you. You understand?"

I made a point of not looking at my food as I spoke, because I wasn't sure how much more of this crap I could spew without becoming physically ill. But Hector? Talk about my words finding a soft landing. I'd hit his sweet spot.

"Good," he said.

"I think you're going to be governor someday, and I want to be there with you. I think you're twenty times the person Carlton Snow is, and all the rest of them. But if I'm with you, if we're a team, then we have to be on the same page. You have to talk to me. You have to be more careful. We have to be more careful. Okay? Or I'm out. I'm out, as of now."

Hector shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean-and listen, I'm not your lawyer anymore, okay? You understand that."

"Right," he said, more as a question. Didn't matter-he'd acknowledged my point. He'd just eviscerated any possible contention that this conversation was protected by attorney-client privilege.

"But that doesn't mean you can't trust me. For some reason, you think you can't. Why is that?" I leaned forward over the table. "You, of all people, wonder whether I can keep a secret? You? How many secrets of yours have I kept? How many? Adalbert Wozniak? Ernesto Ramirez? Greg fucking Connolly? Did I ever say a word?"

It was a risk, I knew, throwing out all these names at him, but it was the only way I knew how to work this conversation.

Hector watched me intently, his face coloring. He was thinking things over now and wasn't sure how he felt about the progression of this talk. His eyes darted toward the other tables to ensure maximum privacy. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said cautiously.

"See, if that's the way you play it, then I'm out," I said. "You're taking way too many risks and if you don't start talking to me before you do things, you're going to get into trouble. And I'll walk away before I get jammed up. Life's too short."

Hector was still debating this, but his instinct was to default to a denial. "I don't know what secrets you're talking about."

I looked around, as if I were concerned that others might be listening, and then leaned inward and spoke in a quiet but harsh voice. "You think I don't know why you came to me, after Talia died, and offered me a contract in state government? That lunch we had? You think I don't know it was because of Ernesto Ramirez?"

He squinted his eyes. "Ernesto . . . ?"

"Oh, like you don't know who he is." I threw my napkin on the table. "I'm done, Hector. I'm done with this."

Hector reached out toward me, all but grabbing my arm across the table. "Just hold on a second. Just-say what you're going to say."

I pretended to stew, which was easy because it wasn't hard to feign hostility toward Hector at this point.

"You and I both know who Ernesto Ramirez is," I said. "The guy who knew the real reason behind Bert Wozniak's murder? The guy who knew about you and Delroy Bailey? About Starlight Catering? I mean, really, Hector, you think I didn't know all of that? Did you hire good lawyers to defend you or shitty ones?"

Hector was speechless. I'd unloaded a lot there. I was acting as if it was something I'd known all along, as opposed to just putting it all together in the last twenty-four hours. That suited my purposes.

My heart was pounding but my hands were steady. "You felt bad about what happened," I said. "That weekend, when I was supposed to take Talia and Emily to her mother's? I mean, that's why you offered to give me some legal work through the state afterward, right? That was you trying to make it up to me. Trying to ease your guilt."

Hector winced. His eyes dropped. He ran his fingers over his coffee cup.

"For what's it worth," I said, "I don't blame you. You couldn't have known I'd be waiting for Ernesto to call." I was mustering all of my will to control myself and think of the bigger picture. It was not an easy task. Breathe in, breathe out.

Hector's chin rose up. He looked over my shoulder, scratched his cheek, cleared his throat. Delay tactics, all of them. Nervous responses. He nodded to the waiter, who refilled Hector's coffee. "The timing wasn't ideal," he said, after the waiter departed. "But I didn't have a choice. I wasn't thinking about your personal schedule, Jason. You may remember that I was on trial for my life? Remember that part? And here you are, running this one-man crusade to find this guy and get him to talk. I was days away from the trial ending and you were about to open a very messy can of worms."

My eyes rose to his. He was having trouble keeping eye contact. This wasn't something he enjoyed recalling. I wasn't having a load of fun, myself.

"So, yeah, I'm sorry-okay?" That, alone, was a lot for a guy like Hector to say, and he seemed almost annoyed at the same time he was repentant. "Yeah, of course, I wish the timing-I wish it had been different with your wife and all. But I didn't have a choice. I couldn't have that guy Ramirez out there flapping his mouth. He was a threat, and I did what I had to do. I didn't have a choice."

There it was, the rationalization that helped Hector sleep at night: I didn't give him a choice. Ernesto Ramirez was my fault, not his. Therefore, Hector's subsequent reaction-having Ernesto killed-wasn't his fault, either. And the fact that it coincided with my waiting for Ernesto in my office instead of driving my family downstate? Well, even I would concede, I couldn't put that on him. I'd finally turned that page last night, and I wasn't going to flip back to an earlier part of that story.

Still, Hector felt bad enough about how things shook out to follow up with me and try to give me something, the only thing a guy like him could give me-a perk from his government position. Ironic, wasn't it? Had Hector not invited me to lunch and discussed the idea of getting some fat-cat contract with the governor's office, I would never have made my way into the Procurement and Construction Board or the governor's inner circle. The one thing that Hector did that was born of some goodwill was the thing that ultimately would result in his downfall.

And the one time he actually said something heartfelt would be the final nail in his coffin. Hector Almundo had just admitted on tape to the murder of Ernesto Ramirez.

One admission down, one to go.

87.

MY HANDS WEREN'T SO STEADY ANYMORE. I WAS thinking about my family, about Essie Ramirez and her two kids. I was thinking about the F-Bird in my suit pocket, which now contained Hector's confession to Ernesto's murder. It was like a loaded gun. But I had to stay focused. I couldn't screw this up now. I still needed Greg Connolly. And this was my last chance.

"My point isn't to make you feel bad about what happened," I said. "My point is that you were reckless. We could have neutralized Ernesto Ramirez some other way, if you'd told me. For Christ's sake, you didn't have to have him killed."

Hector grimaced with that final word. He didn't like hearing it aloud.

"Spoken," he said, "like someone who wasn't staring at twenty years in prison."

"I know, Hector, but look what that got you. You cover up Adalbert Wozniak by killing Ernesto Ramirez. Then you have to cover up Ernesto Ramirez by killing Greg Connolly. Maybe you're okay on Wozniak now, since you were acquitted-but that still leaves two murders. And one of those two was one of the governor's best friends and top aides."

Hector was back to his standby denial mode. He drew his shoulders in.

"The last I checked," said Hector, his voice calm and even, "Greg Connolly's death was being chalked up as a mugging on Seagram Hill."

That was an answer that my federal friends would have described as slippery.

"Yeah, but tomorrow's another day," I said. "You thought you got away with Ernesto Ramirez, too, right? And then suddenly, Greg Connolly's talking to the feds and you have exposure. Now you think you're okay on Greg Connolly but who knows who else might turn on you? I mean, who else knows about that?"

Hector worked his jaw, his eyes narrowed in thought.

I said, "Joey Espinoza knows. Maybe not about Greg. But he knows about the contract you got for Delroy, right? And the real reason Wozniak died? I'm sure he'd know about that. And he knows about your relationship with Delroy, too. I mean, that's why his wife is on Charlie's payroll."

Hector's expression went flat. "Joey knows how to use leverage."

"Right. You give his wife a cozy job while he's in prison and he'll forget to mention a couple of things to the feds. He'll give Christopher Moody information about the Columbus Street Cannibals, because they're already hot on that trail, but he dummies up about Adalbert Wozniak. And Delroy Bailey. He buys his wife some financial security while he goes to the slammer."