“Good evening, Alex.”
“Hello, Nick.” She smiled somewhat nervously.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “I ordered two saganaki as appetizers and souvlaki after that.”
He winked at her, grinning slightly.
“It’s not exactly Le Cirque, but Konstantinos makes the city’s best souvlaki.”
“Whatever that is, I believe you.”
They looked at each other for a moment without saying a word. Alex noticed that Nick looked exhausted and that his face had become thinner. His hair was longer than usual, and a bluish five o’clock shadow covered his cheeks.
“Do you speak Greek?” she asked, just to make conversation.
“A little bit. My mother never learned to speak English properly. People in Greece would immediately identify me as a foreigner, but Konstantinos likes it when I speak Greek with him.”
“But you’re Catholic, right? I thought people in Greece are usually…”
“Greek Orthodox,” he said, nodding. “My parents weren’t religious. They didn’t care what I did. There was a young priest in our neighborhood who looked after the street kids—Father Kevin, you met him the other day. He gave me books to read and took me to church, where I became an altar boy. I think I liked Catholicism’s simple dogmatism of good and evil as a child, and that’s how I’ve felt ever since.”
Nick folded his hands and rested his chin on them. She looked at him closely for the first time. Alex noticed that his eyes weren’t black but rather a very dark brown. They were beautiful and expressive, filled with warmth and a hint of melancholy.
“I believe that there is a certain period in everyone’s life where their character is set for the rest of their days,” he said pensively. “For me it was the time when I discovered the world of education and faith through the Jesuit priest. Good and evil, black and white—that was my perspective of life for forty years. But now I see that this isn’t quite accurate. There are other colors as well.”
The waiter served them an appetizer of baked feta cheese, with tomatoes and cucumber. They clinked their wine glasses and ate in silence.
“Are things going well for you, Nick?” Alex asked after she had finished. A shadow flitted across his face, and he waited until the waiter had cleared the table.
“No,” he replied and sighed. “I’m not doing very well. I immerse myself in my work during the day, and sometimes I even manage not to think about Mary and Chris. But when I come home at night, it feels like I’m standing before an abyss. Mary had always been there—for thirty years.”
His gaze was empty and hollow-eyed. Alex suspected that something was gnawing at him somewhere deep inside; a wild cry waiting to erupt, just as it had at the cemetery.
“I often think about asking her opinion about this and that, and then I realize that she’s not there anymore. It’s terrible.”
Alex looked at him sympathetically. She really wanted to grab his hand and say something consoling, but she couldn’t—not here in public, with his bodyguards watching from the neighboring table.
“People treat me like a monster.” He shook his head in helpless desperation. “Most of the people who I thought were my friends have distanced themselves from me. No one dares to speak to me about Mary, and that’s why they don’t invite me out anymore. Maybe they’re afraid I might burst into tears at the table and embarrass them.”
“They’re not real friends then,” Alex replied. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed if you cried here and now.”
Nick looked at her, and for a moment she thought that he would actually break down.
“I know,” he said, his voice gruff, “and believe it or not, that’s a great comfort to me. It’s strange that even though we hardly know each other, I don’t feel the need to pretend when I’m with you.”
He took a sip of wine. They remained silent for a moment, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.
“Are you really considering resigning?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “Everything I do seems pointless now. But whenever I’m about to give up, I feel I have a great and important duty to perform on behalf of my constituents. I gave them my word, and they trust me. How can I just give up on everything?”
He smiled slightly.
“I have the bank statements for you,” Alex said abruptly. “I thought that was why you wanted to meet with me.”
The smile vanished from Nick’s face.
“You’re still suspicious,” he said, “and I can’t blame you for it. I admit that I actually tried to get information about Vitali from you last Christmas at the Downeys’. But then…”
Alex’s heart started pounding again when she felt his gaze. It was as penetrating as it had been at the Lands End House.
“Then I learned that you’re friends with the Downeys, and I thought that this woman couldn’t possibly be on Vitali’s side if she also spends her weekends with Trevor and Maddy.”
She turned and pulled the rolled-up printouts from her jacket. She had taken them from the bank safe-deposit box that afternoon. Nick stared blankly at the sheets, but then he put on his reading glasses, spread out the papers, and started to read with an expressionless face.
“Unbelievable,” he murmured after a while. “McIntyre…and here, Alan Milkwood from the Department of Buildings and Jerome Harding—those corrupt bastards.”
“Did anyone ever try to bribe you?”
“More than once,” Nick said, looking up, “over and over again. Not only with money. They also offered trades: a kindergarten in return for a building permit, a donation to the NYPD widows and orphans fund in return for dropping criminal charges. That’s how things go in New York City.”
He sighed.
“I’ve always resisted. It’s difficult; at times the temptation is strong. The city has no money to build new schools, and who really cares whether a skyscraper turns out to be three stories taller if hundreds of kids in Harlem or the Bronx enjoy a state-of-the-art kindergarten in return? I’ve stood in my own way many times.”
“Can you use these bank statements for something?” Alex wanted to know.
“If they’re real, then definitely.” Nick smiled grimly and looked at the next page. “I would have been ecstatic if I had gotten my hands on something like this during my days as a US attorney. This is more than just the tip of the iceberg—this is the whole conspiracy.”
“Why don’t you pass it on to the US Attorney’s Office?”
“Alex!” He put the papers down and looked at her seriously. “This is pure dynamite! This is more than just a few headlines in the newspaper. These names and numbers will shake this city’s power structure to the core, and none of these people will simply put up with being accused of corruption. There will be extensive legal proceedings, libel actions, allegations, possibly even deaths. I’ve seen it happen before: in the seventies and eighties with the Mafia, and with Wall Street after that.”
He stared at the stack of papers, shuffled them nervously, and then looked up again.
“Believe me. I know how this goes, how much work is involved, how often the accused manage to squirm their way out with the help of their clever lawyers.”
“But a US attorney, a judge, or even a governor is finished when the public finds out he’s corrupt, right?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Nick admitted, “but do you know what power-hungry people are capable of when they realize they’ve been cornered?”
The waiter served the entrées, and Nick fell silent. They waited until the food was laid out.