David Ellis - Breach of Trust

“Get one thing clear, Chris. I will never admit that I did anything wrong. This is voluntary or it isn’t happening.”

Moody’s initial reaction was a smirk, but it faded after a moment.

“This is what’s happened so far,” I said. “You guys showed up at my door last night, you played me the overhears, it stoked my sense of outrage, and I agreed to help you ferret out this corruption on a purely voluntary basis. You never specifically told me I was being charged with a crime. You never said anything, one way or the other, about what the future might hold. You didn’t make any promises to me; I didn’t make any promises to you.”

This was unconventional, no doubt. Most people jump at the chance to get immunity, a get-out-of-jail-free card. But there was some merit to this arrangement, from Moody’s perspective. Every government informant, when testifying at trial, gets cross-examined on the deal he cut with the G. It’s standard fare for a defense attorney-you were looking at a severe prison sentence so you cut a deal, and you’d say anything to make those prosecutors happy; therefore, your testimony should be discredited. But what I was proposing to Moody would avoid that problem. I wasn’t getting a deal at all. I wasn’t getting immunity or a promise of any kind. The United States would be free to prosecute me if it so chose.

But the problem Moody would have with my proposal was the same reason I wanted it in the first place: He couldn’t control me. I wouldn’t march to his command. If I wanted to shut this thing down, I could, at any time. I’d be risking the prosecutor’s ire, and a federal indictment, but the decision would be mine.

“Too risky,” Moody said. “You sign this agreement or I convene a grand jury.”

“No, you don’t,” I said. “I’ll be your CI, but it will be voluntary. No plea agreement. No admission of wrongdoing. I’m just an ordinary citizen volunteering to help expose government corruption.” I leaned forward. “And risky? You want to hear risky? I go do whatever it is you want me to do, and I know that at any time, you can start thinking back to how you got your ass kicked in Almundo, and you can decide to take out your humiliation on one of his defense attorneys. I do all this work for you, you get a hundred-count indictment, and then you are perfectly free to throw in one or two more counts with my name on them. Just because you can, Chris. Just because you can. So don’t you talk to me about risky.”

“Sign the letter agreement, Kolarich.” He pushed it in front of me. “It’s the only way.”

“It’s the only way you control me. And that’s never going to happen.” I got out of my chair. “You want to indict me now, indict me. And Charlie Cimino, and Greg Connolly, and all those other scumbags? It will take them about one-tenth of one second to realize that they should probably fold up their tents and go home. Your big undercover investigation is halted in its tracks. You’re stuck with whatever you have on them as of right now, which I’m guessing is not all that much, or you wouldn’t be yanking my chain so hard for my cooperation. Stop me when I’m wrong, Chris.”

Moody rubbed his hand over his face. As much as he longed for the day that I’d be behind bars in a federal prison, he clearly had preferred the immunity route. It gave him power over me. But from his perspective, he pretty much had the same power, anyway. If I didn’t jump high enough for his liking, he could always turn the screws on me. And if I messed around with his investigation, he could always hit me with obstruction of justice, in addition to the underlying case he might pursue against me. He was a federal prosecutor, after all. He had twenty different ways to fuck me.

I figured this would all come into focus for him, eventually, but either Moody was too cautious to say yes immediately or, more likely, he didn’t want to readily agree to something that wasn’t his idea. More quickly than I’d anticipated, he let out a small, bitter laugh.

“These guys you decided to lay down with?” he said evenly. “They’re scum. They make a joke out of the idea of honest government. And I’m going to take them down, Kolarich. Anyone who gets in my way will be sorry.” He got out of his chair and leaned over the table. His voice lowered to a controlled whisper, as our faces were only a few feet apart. “I’ll have a chain around your neck so tight it’ll hurt when you swallow. And after you’re done dancing for me?” He gave me his best Machiavellian smile. “Well, like you said, no promises, right? I guess we’ll see what the future holds.”

Moody’s taunt felt like an appropriate note on which to exit. I was tempted to make another comment about his courtroom skills, should he decide to prosecute me, but it wouldn’t make me feel any better and it would only increase the odds that he’d come after me at some point. Like it or not, I was going to have to behave myself around this guy. A little, at least.

I walked outside into a cold, gray dusk, inhaling the frigid air and feeling my head clear, my perspective broaden. I stifled the instinct to second-guess my decision. I felt like I did after I filed a document in court, or turned in a paper in law school, afraid to review my work after I’d turned it in, sure that I would find an error that countless attempts at proofreading somehow failed to catch. I didn’t want to think about what I’d just done. I didn’t want to reevaluate. I didn’t want to think about Paul Riley, the best lawyer I know, who was sure I was making the wrong decision.

You make your own bed, as they say. I’d gone into this with good intentions, hoping to find some clue to the murder of a man I hardly knew, and instead found myself in the middle of a budding political corruption scandal that already had tarnished me, as well. I had to find a way to come out of this intact. I had to find a way to clear my own name, avoid the same fate that befell Ernesto Ramirez and Adalbert Wozniak, and stop these thugs from selling out the state.

And I had to keep my promise to Esmeralda Ramirez to find out who killed her husband.

As I walked, I wondered if I would have to settle for some, not all, of the above.

“The problem is that it’s not a federal offense to get around competitive-bidding statutes.” Special Agent Lee Tucker looked comfortable in his white button-down shirt, blue jeans, and loafers. He had a wiry frame, a bad complexion, deep-set eyes, a grassy mop of dirty-blond hair. A tin of Skoal tobacco rested in his front shirt pocket. “Or to contribute money to the governor.”

“And there’s plausible deniability,” said Chris Moody. These two people would be my contacts, Tucker, the handling agent from the FBI, and Moody, the assistant U.S. attorney. We were sitting in Moody’s office in the federal building, the following day.

The problem, they were explaining, was that to prosecute the things Cimino and the PCB were doing, prosecutors had to show a quid pro quo-that people were buying their way into these state contracts, that the awarding of the state job was directly and intentionally tied to the campaign contribution. Was it suspicious that a company landed a lucrative contract with the state, only to turn around the following week and give the governor twenty-five or fifty thousand? Sure. Red flags everywhere. But illegal? Only if you could read minds, or if you could get them on tape admitting that there was a direct relationship between the two. And that was very, very hard to do.

“Cimino’s no idiot,” said Tucker. “You guys at the PCB-you can’t even call him on the phone. Or email or fax or text him. Everything’s in person. Right?”

I nodded. Cimino was avoiding all the ways that the feds like to catch people these days. The wire-fraud statute-committing any kind of fraud by way of telephone or electronic communication-was their bread-and-butter nowadays. It was how the feds were able to grab any number of state crimes or other wrongdoing and get federal jurisdiction.