Nan and I walked back to my office, going over our checklist of things to do. I pressed the elevator to take us to the eighth floor.

“What’ll you give me for not telling anyone about your giant flop?”

“I’m running out of IOUs. I had to promise my life away to get Mike to take me to Salma’s apartment last night.”

“I’m much easier,” Nan said. “I’ll take lunch at Forlini’s when you come up for air. I want to hear how things are going with Luc.”

“Luc, Paris, and all the romance that went with the week seem light-years behind me,” I said as we approached Laura’s desk.

“Ah, Paris. Only the extra pounds remain. I have a feeling you’ll work it off in the next month.”

“You’re later than I expected, Alex,” Laura said. “And another casually chic outfit, I see?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Not even about the dirt that’s clinging to the back of your hair?” she said, following us into my office so that she could straighten me out before handing me my messages. “And don’t bother to look at these yet. Go see the district attorney. Rose said it’s ugly in there. He’s chewing her head off waiting for you.”

“See what I mean, Nan? The boss is gunning for someone. I hate to be in the crossfire until I figure out who the target is.”

“You’re all set with the conference room, Nan,” Laura said. I’d be lost without her self-starting efficiency and ease of operating in a maelstrom. “I’ve reserved it for the next couple of weeks, and there are actually two official Ukrainian interpreters able to start working with you today.”

“Great. All we need is a way to get our victims back to us. Go ahead, Alex. I’ll call Donny Baynes and get us on the same page.”

“Am I supposed to be knocking out subpoenas for the phone company?” Laura asked. “Mike left a message with some numbers for a Salma someone. Landline and cell, right?”

“Not until Nan opens a grand jury investigation,” I said, putting my hands together as if praying to my colleague. “Jump the line, Nan. Make it dinner, and all the gossip I know.”

“Last thing for the moment,” Laura said. “Lem called. Wants to know what you did with the congressman’s package. Something about what he was expecting this morning.”

“Package? Is that a new euphemism for piece of ass? Don’t call him back, Laura. Resist Lem’s charm and his persistent calls. Tell him nothing.”

“You know he’ll show up here if you ignore him.”

“I’ll take my chances,” I said, heading off to see Battaglia. “Lem would be comic relief by the time the boss gets through with me.”

THIRTEEN

The security guard buzzed me into the executive suite. The handful of lawyers who held administrative positions had offices in Battaglia’s inner sanctum, and I passed by them as I walked toward Rose Malone, his longtime loyal assistant. Her expression often mirrored the district attorney’s mood, and today it was unusually cold.

“Good to see you, Alex. Go right in.” We didn’t even bother to exchange our usual pleasantries.

I made the turn into Paul Battaglia’s large office. He was sitting at the conference table at the far end-not his desk-and he wasn’t alone.

“I told you she wouldn’t keep you waiting very long, Boss,” Pat McKinney said. “Look at that, Alex probably ran all the way down here. Sweats must be the new power suit, no?”

The chief of the Trial Division was a perennial thorn in my professional side. McKinney was a few years my senior, and although he was reputed to have capable investigative skills, his rigid and humorless manner made him an unpopular choice to lead the hundreds of smart young lawyers who staffed the division that was the heart of every good prosecutor’s office.

“Good morning, Paul,” I said, closing the door behind me. “It’s so rare for you to compliment my outfit, Pat. I’m flattered.”

“How’d it go at City Hall?” the DA asked.

“I left the mayor and Scully bickering over staging the next phase of things.”

“Really? Bickering about what?”

“The commissioner wants to use Gracie Mansion because it’s so convenient to Salma Zunega’s apartment. Statler said no and asked us to leave.”

“Why won’t he let Keith use the mansion?” Battaglia asked, sitting up straight and making eye contact with McKinney.

“He wouldn’t talk in front of Mike or Mercer or me. I don’t know.”

“You don’t usually defer to authority so meekly, Alex,” McKinney said. He saw Battaglia reaching for a new cigar and stood up to strike a match for him.

“She barely said a word yesterday,” the DA spoke out of the corner of his mouth, as he dragged on the Cohiba to get it lighted.

I didn’t realize Battaglia had lifted the gag order he had imposed for my meeting with Mayor Statler. “Just depends on whether I respect the person giving orders, Pat.”

“There’s something very serious I’ve got to tell you, Alexandra. I’m going to take you into my confidence on this, because it may impact what’s going on with Ethan Leighton and, well, even with his mistress. Obviously, Pat knows about it too. Can I trust you with this?”

I stood up to leave. “Maybe that’s a leakier boat than I want to get in, Paul.”

“Sit down. Sit right down.”

McKinney’s affair with Ellen Gunsher, who ran the office GRIP unit-Gun Recovery Information Program-had not only broken up his marriage, but it had also made him the laughingstock of many of the lawyers and cops. Gunsher’s mother was a former newswoman whose career had washed up due to her own carelessness and unprofessional behavior. But McKinney was always trying to stay in her good graces by feeding her exclusives on crime investigations that should never have been discussed.

“Did the mayor bring any other politicians into the conversation today?”

“No. No, he didn’t.”

“The reason I wanted you to go over there this morning without me-and without Tim-was that I thought Statler might have let down his guard and mentioned names in response to what you told him.”

“That didn’t happen. Of course, he and the commissioner were still together when I left.”

“How about Lem Howell, Alexandra? I’m sure he’s tried to speak to you since yesterday.”

“Actually, yes, Paul. Laura says he called me this morning. I expect he’s peeved because Salma Zunega didn’t show up for his first meeting with her today.”

“That’s the way to go, Boss,” McKinney said. “Lem Howell. Lem thinks he taught Alex everything she knows. Maybe she can get something out of him?”

I watched carefully as they talked between themselves. McKinney’s sharp, pointed nose and pinched mouth morphed into a rodentlike face when he schemed, especially in regard to someone he disliked.

“That’s an idea.”

“What’s an idea?” I asked.

Paul Battaglia stowed his cigar on the edge of an ashtray, a sign that he was ready for a serious talk. “Have you met the lieutenant governor yet?”

“No, Boss.”

Eliot Spitzer, the New York governor who resigned after the scandal caused by his involvement with the ultra-high-priced prostitutes of the Emperors Club VIP ring, had also been a prosecutor in Battaglia’s office in his first years out of law school. When he stepped down, Lieutenant Governor David Paterson was sworn in as his replacement.

A year later, in a special statewide election, a powerful former state senator from the Albany region named Rod Ralevic succeeded Paterson as the new lieutenant governor.

“Ralevic. You know the name?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you know that the feds have had him under investigation for months?”

McKinney was like the cat that swallowed a canary and then washed it down with a bald eagle. He loved being in the know while I looked dumbfounded.

“No, sir.”

“Don’t you want to know why?” McKinney said.

“I assume Paul’s about to tell me. Don’t forget to wipe your mouth, Pat. I think there are some bird droppings on your lip.”