“Well.” Cyril stood and stretched, checked the clock. “You can be damned sure I won’t. Get dressed. We’ve got a ship to catch.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

Kostos walked Lillian out of the Icepick and flagged down a cab. He even tried to pay her fare.

“Please,” she said. “It’s not necessary.”

He waved her off. “Company funds. Let the boss slather on a little, will you? This whole interview racket is bringing in bread and cheese and he couldn’t be happier.”

“In that case, thank you.” She could still be gracious, even if she felt like she’d been peeled raw.

“No, thank you. That was a rotten aria in there. An eleven o’clock song and it’s only just gone nine.”

It felt long past midnight, and her patience with Kostos had been worn thin by an hour of invasive questions: Her childhood with Cyril; had they gotten along? What about their parents? Why did she think he had done what he did? How had she felt when she thought he was dead? When she learned he had survived? What were her thoughts on the proposed tribunals? Who had she supported before Frye put forward the idea? After? What about now, given the allegations against Frye? Had she known Aristide Makricosta well? What about Lehane?

She had answered, mostly, with honesty. It would do Cyril no harm now, and might even help. She had tried to keep the focus on the upcoming election—Sacred arches, only three weeks away!—subtly underlining Saeger’s suitability as a candidate without explicitly giving her support. The official endorsement of a DePaul wasn’t a burden Saeger needed to bear right now, even with her numbers ticking steadily up. An independent federal commission had begun to unearth some unsavory facts about the bombing at Frye’s warehouse, and the police response to it, and with every new revelation, Saeger gained in the polls.

Kostos caught Lillian at her tactics each time. He brought the questions back around to her brother, her family, and the sticky strings that tied them to the Ospies, the Catwalk, civil war. It was an hour of parry and failed riposte, fighting not to give ground and failing. She felt exhausted, as if she had really been on the strip.

“Who’s your next victim?” she asked.

“We’re gonna fill a couple slots with university folk and expert commentators while we work on this,” he said. “Any news from Higata?”

“She may come around to it,” said Lillian. “But she’s busy setting up a practice. I’m not sure when she’ll have the time.”

“She tell you to say that? Or you come up with it on your own?”

“I’m afraid it’s the truth,” said Lillian. “I seem to be telling a lot of that tonight.”

The cabby, still idling at the curb, cleared her throat.