Breach of Trust

by David Ellis

  I punched the button. “Marie, my love. Who’s calling? If it’s Halle Berry, tell her I’m not ready for a commitment.”

  “Close,” she said. “It’s Hector Almundo. And he’s here to see you.”

  52

  HECTOR LOOKED LIKE HE ALWAYS LOOKED, WHETHER he was on trial for his life or out on the town, always the colorful shirts and loud ties, the collar pin. He wasn’t skimping on wardrobe, but then again, he didn’t have a wife or kids to spend money on. He was divorced and his wife had remarried, taking him off the hook for alimony. It reminded me of Joel Lightner’s speculation, back during Hector’s trial, that our client was gay.

  Hector made an attempt at complimenting my office, but it was painful and awkward for both of us. This place didn’t exactly compare to Shaker, Riley’s space. But I didn’t mind it. It was starting to grow on me. It would be nice, in theory at least, to measure my progress in the legal profession by such things as the size and quality of my office space over time.

  I say “in theory” because I knew a certain federal prosecutor who had other plans for my future, including a criminal indictment. But I was working on that.

  “I only have a couple of minutes,” I apologized to Hector. Charlie and I were meeting with a state contractor today. But I didn’t tell Hector that, because he might want to walk me to Charlie’s waiting car, and it would be slightly awkward when we had to take a detour to Suite 410 so that Special Agent Lee Tucker could hand me the F-Bird before I met Charlie.

  “Things are working out with Charlie,” he said, taking a seat. It was a statement, I thought, not a question. More than anything, it was Hector reminding me, in case I had forgotten, that he was the one who got me the gig. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “It has its moments.”

  “You know I’ve recommended you for other things, as well. Maddie discussed it with you.”

  So Hector was following up on the offer that Madison Koehler pitched me in the hotel room. He was recruiting me. I’d deferred the idea for a while and wasn’t seriously considering it. I wasn’t interested in helping the government ensnare anyone else. It wasn’t my style. Charlie was different, because he and his buddies were the reason I got caught up with the FBI in the first place, the memos they doctored, but I wasn’t interested in going beyond him. Not to get Madison.

  And certainly not to get Hector. I wasn’t the president of his fan club, but he’d been my client. That bond was inviolable. Technically, we were no longer attorney and client, but it still felt wrong to me. You don’t defend a guy in federal court one day and turn state’s evidence on him the next. I could, as a purely formalistic matter, but I wouldn’t.

  “You should do it,” he said. “We need you.”

  “ ‘We’?”

  “Yes, ‘we.’ ”

  Madison had mentioned that Hector had the governor’s ear. I’d heard the same from some stray comments Charlie had made. I didn’t completely understand it. Hector wasn’t the worst of the worst, but he sure wasn’t the best of the best, either. The way I described him to Talia, in a moment of private candor, was that Hector Almundo was a political thug. He led with his chin and he didn’t take prisoners.

  My take was that, as is often the case in politics, it was a pure case of need. The governor needed the Latino vote, and Hector had been something of a cause célèbre in that community, the poster child for persecution at the hands of white federal prosecutors. And better still, Hector stood up to the G and beat them. To many, he was a hero.

  “I like where I am now,” I said.

  “Jason, you’re not seeing the big picture.”

  No, my friend, I was tempted to say. I see the big picture a hell of a lot better than you.

  “You know how Charlie is, right?” he said. “All about loyalty? Well, the governor’s cut from the same cloth. I mean, look at Greg Connolly. That guy can hardly spell his name, but he and Carl grew up together. So Carl gives him a nice title. A job that, as you know,” he added, with a knowing nod, “can be advantageous in other ways as well.”

  I think Hector liked the fact that I had gotten down in the mud with him. However devoted we were to defending him, regardless of what the evidence showed, it had to be embarrassing to Hector on a personal level to have to explain himself to Paul and me. It was probably psychologically comforting for him to see me joining him in the cesspool now.

  “The point being?” I asked.

  “Well, you know the point. You can be right there with us. You’ll be right there when he gets elected. You can get a lot out of that, Jason. A lot. The sky’s the limit.”

  I nodded warmly enough, shrugged a shoulder.

  “Oh, you’re crazy.” Hector fell back in his chair. “You’re going to turn this down?”

  “I am.”

  “Listen, you don’t have to give up”—he gestured around my office, then remembered how unimpressive it was—“you can still be in private practice. You can do whatever you want.”

  “Including turning down your offer?”

  He shook his head, exasperated. “Is this because of Charlie? We can talk to Charlie.”

  “Hector, I’m not doing it.”

  He thought for a moment. He was thinking of another angle. “You should meet Governor Snow.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He started nodding, warming up to his brilliant idea. “Yes, you should meet him. He’s a good guy. You’ll like him. If you don’t, then turn it down. But give him that chance. Can you give him that chance?”

  “Not interested,” I said.

  He struggled with that for a long time. He couldn’t believe I was turning down this opportunity.

  “Y’know, you’re not just passing on a great opportunity,” he said.

  “No? What else am I doing?”

  “You’re saying no to the governor.” He pushed himself out of his seat. “Make sure that’s what you want to do before you do it.”

  LEE TUCKER WAS ON his phone when I unlocked the door and entered Suite 410. He was at the end of the hallway, and he nodded at me when he saw me. He said something into his cell phone and closed it up. “Hey,” he said. “You’re late. What were you doing?”

  I looked at my watch. “I’m two minutes late.”

  “Okay. So, what were you doing?”

  I went into his office and picked up the F-Bird off the desk.

  “Hey,” he said. “What were you doing?”

  “Hey,” I said, slipping the F-Bird into my jacket pocket. I was hitting the limit with these feds. “What were you doing, Lee? Who were you talking to on the phone? About what? When was the last time you screwed your wife?”

  Tucker gave me his best look of disapproval. “Doesn’t work both ways, superstar. What were you just doing?”

  “I was getting a bikini wax,” I said. “What the hell do you care what I was doing?”

  He thought for a minute and decided to let it go. “We’re thinking maybe it’s time for you to expand,” he said. “To branch out. We’ve squeezed this rag with Cimino pretty dry. We think you should try to position yourself to move on. I mean, we know Cimino’s working with others. But we don’t see that side of it. We need you to get us there.”

  “I’ve got a great idea,” I said. “Why don’t you pay a late-night visit to Charlie and make him an offer he can’t refuse? I’m sure he could take you places I couldn’t.”

  “C’mon, Jason. You know you’re doing a great job with Cimino. You’ve built up credibility. You’ve raised a ton of money for the governor. You’re in a perfect position to climb the ladder. I’m surprised they haven’t asked.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “Have they? Has someone approached you?”

  I looked at my watch. “I’m late.”

  “You’d have to tell us if they did. You understand that, right?”

  “I understand that Charlie doesn’t like it when I’m late.”

  Tucker seemed like he was out of am
munition. He jaw was tightly set. He had his hands on his hips. He shook his head slowly. “Jason, listen to me. The smartest thing you can do right now is say yes.”

  “Who said I was smart?” I walked over to the door. “I’ll finish what I started with Cimino,” I said. “But I’m not taking you on an undercover tour through state government.”

  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 résumé.”

  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.

  54

  AT SIX FORTY-FIVE THE NEXT EVENING, I UNLOCKED the door to Suite 410. Lee Tucker was reading something on his cell phone. He looked up and held a stare on me.

  “Hey.” I nodded to the F-Bird.

  “Number twenty-two today,” he said, his voice flat. “Kinion Consulting.”

  “Right. You got the text messages?”

  “Yeah.” He handed me the F-Bird. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  I grabbed the recording device, slipped it into my suit pocket, and started for the door. Then I stopped and turned back. “Listen, Lee. I realize what you did yesterday. When it was you and me in here. When you asked me if any of the governor’s people had approached me.”

  He nodded.

  “You were giving me a chance to correct my earlier statement. I’m sure Moody didn’t want you to give me that chance. So, that was nice of you.”