David Ellis - Breach of Trust

“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.

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.