"It's that bad?" I watched my fingers work the fringe on a throw pil ow

"They've got enough to nail him into tomorrow"

"What is it they've got?"

"When they tossed his apartment they found enough methamphetamine to fry a third world nation and over ten thousand dol ars' worth of stolen parkas."

"Parkas?"

"Yeah. Those Kanuk things everyone's pissing their pants to own."

"And?" I'd twisted the fringe so tightly it sent pain up my hand and into my wrist.

"And witnesses, videos, marked bil s, and a trail of stink leading right straight to the center of the dung heap."

Bertrand's voice betrayed his emotion. He took a deep breath.

"There's more. A shitload more. But I can't talk about it. Please understand, Tempe. Look, I'm sorry I left you hanging. It took me a while to work through this myself. I just didn't believe it, but -- "

He broke off, afraid to trust his own voice.

"I guess the guy never quite left his past behind."

As a col ege student Ryan had gotten into booze and pil s, eventual y dropping the academic life for life on the edge. A knifewielding cokehead had nearly kil ed him, and the wild child reversed course, became a cop, and rose to the rank of lieutenant-detective. I knew al that. But stil ...

"I learned that someone ratted Ryan out, and for al I knew it could have been you. But it's not important now. The sonovabitch is dirty and he deserves what's coming down."

For a very long time neither of us spoke. I could feel Bertrand's stare, but refused to meet it or say a word. The microwave beeped, then shut off.

Silence. Final y I asked.

"Do you real y think he did it?" My cheeks felt hot and my chest burned below my sternum.

"For the past few days I've done nothing but chase down leads to show that he didn't do it. Anything. Anyone. Al I wanted was one tiny hint of doubt."

When he gestured with thumb and index finger, I could see a tiny tremor in his hand.

"It wasn't there, Tempe." He ran a hand over his face. "But it doesn't matter anymore.

"It does matter. It's the only thing that matters."

"At first I thought, no way. Not Andrew Ryan. Then I learned the case against him."

He took another deep breath.

"Look, Tempe, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for this whole goddam mess I'm not sure who I am anymore or where the world's going. And I'm not sure if it's worth the price of a ticket to ride."

When I looked up Bertrand's face was fil ed with pain, and I knew exactly what he was feeling. He was trying not to despise his partner for succumbing to the greed, al the while hating him for the deep, cold emptiness his betrayal had created.