Grant didn't answer. He took another sip of his drink.
'You're not seriously thinking of having Ally Bennett murdered?' Tim said. 'Tell me that this is a put-on.'
Grant continued to sit quietly. For a brief moment, Kerrigan imagined Ally Bennett dead. All of his problems would disappear. He could keep trying to heal the wounds in his marriage and create a life for Megan in which she would be proud of him. But thinking about Megan brought him back to reality.
'I've known you my whole life, Harvey,' Tim said, using the judge's first name for the first time in recent memory. 'I can't believe that you could kill someone in cold blood, and I can't either. How could I face Megan if I killed someone? It would eat me alive.'
Tim stood and began to pace. 'And all this talk about morality and God doesn't mean a thing anyway, because if there's one thing I've learned as a district attorney it's that everyone gets caught eventually.'
'You're afraid, Tim. That's natural. But you would see things differently if you knew that there were no consequences.' The judge paused for dramatic effect. 'And that is something that I can guarantee.'
'How can you possibly guarantee that we wouldn't be caught?'
'You have more friends than you know, Tim. People who believe in you and want to help you.'
'Who are these people?'
'Friends, good friends. That's all you need to know for now. They are policemen who will control the investigation, district attorney's . . .'
Tim's head snapped up.
'Yes, Tim, in your own office. You'll be covered. When Ally Bennett is dead you'll be free. Think about that. Think about what that would mean to Megan.'
Grant lifted up the book of military history and took hold of a file that had been under it.
'This shouldn't be that hard for you. You've played by your own rules for years. I have to believe you did it because you believed that there would be no consequences for your actions.'
Grant handed the file to Kerrigan, and he opened it. On top was a photograph of Ally Bennett entering his motel room on the night they had sex. There were other shots of them, inside the room, in various sexual positions. Beneath these photographs were pictures of Tim in other places, with other women. The photos covered sexual encounters that had occurred years before. In several pictures, Kerrigan was snorting cocaine or smoking marijuana. The invasion of his privacy that the photographs represented should have made Tim furious, but all he experienced was numbing shock.
'How . . . ?'
'We've known for some time. It's what persuaded us of your potential.'
Kerrigan slumped back onto his chair and put his head in his hands.
'I think of you as my son, Tim. I only want to help you out of this terrible predicament. Everything I've said is new, a shock. I can appreciate that it will take some getting used to. But you'll see that everything I've said makes perfect sense and is in your best interest.'
'I won't kill her. I can't. I'll resign my job. I'll go to the press and confess to . . . to what I've done. I just can't murder anyone.'
'I expected this reaction, Tim. I know it's hard to take the first step. Go home and sleep. You'll think much more clearly in the morning. You'll see that killing Ally Bennett is the only rational way to solve your problems. Your choice is between eliminating someone who wants to ruin you and your family, and protecting your family. Do you want to trade the future of everyone you hold dear for the life of a whore?'
Halfway home, Kerrigan pulled to the side of the road, opened the door, and vomited. He sat with his feet on the ground and his head between his knees. After a while, Tim wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, then threw it away. It was close to freezing, and the cold stung his cheeks. He looked up. The night was clear and the stars were sharp, but the world seemed to waver.
Harvey Grant, a man he would trust with his life, a man he revered more than his own father, had known his most intimate and sordid secrets for years, had been recording his degradation and sharing his knowledge with people Tim probably saw every day. Who were they? How many of them had treated him as if he were normal, while picturing him naked in the most demeaning positions, begging for punishment and reveling in his own debasement?
If Harvey Grant was telling him the truth, the world he thought he knew was being manipulated by a cadre of people who believed themselves to be above the law, people who would kill without compunction to achieve their ends and who were commanding him to kill.
Going to the police or another DA was out of the question. If Harvey Grant, the presiding judge and one of the most powerful people in the state, was involved with this group, then anyone could be in it.
What about the FBI? He could contact someone in Washington, D.C., but what would he say? The story sounded insane. And the judge had those photographs, which would completely discredit him.
There was suicide, of course. Kerrigan wiped his eyes. We all die. Why not go now and save himself this pain? He'd made a mess of his life, so why not end it? The idea of escaping to the peace of death was tempting.
Then Kerrigan thought about some of the things that Grant had told him. The judge was certain that he could kill Bennett with impunity. If he did do this one terrible thing, his immediate problems would be solved and his future could be something he had never even dreamed about. At first, the suggestion that he could become a president of the United States seemed preposterous, but it did not seem so ridiculous when he examined the idea objectively.
Winning an election to the Senate was easy to imagine. He looked like a senator, he was famous and popular throughout the state. And once he was a United States senator, it was easy to imagine himself as president. Any senator was in a position to try for the highest office.
Kerrigan remembered how excited Cindy was about the prospect of his running for Travis's seat. Megan
