No one in this office is a thief. Where did he stay the first week he was in Port Smith? Check on that. He hasn’t lived with his wife in years, everyone knows that sad tale. Look at what we have, a bitter, ten-cent keyhole peeper taking advantage of a slow-witted young woman who never had a day of luck in her life, all for some psychopathic vengeance for a case he alone botched years ago.

Davis would do better than that. He had a staff of specialists.

“You want me to forget it,” Leland said. “You want me to walk out of here.”

“Yes. That’s what it comes down to.”

He swung away from Roberts. The ash trays had been crying for attention and every cop in the world knew something of the patterns of homosexuals. MacIver had fooled them with the mutilations. Just a little imagination. Leland was sick with the thought of the ease of it. It revealed a vein of deceit and dishonor in everything he had done since that pursuit across the beach: Tesla had scrambled; that had been enough to convict.

Karen told me to think of myself.

In another moment he did not know if he had said it aloud. He brought his eyes back into focus. The desk, the carpet. There was a glow coming through the Venetian blinds. The contents of the tapes would make their way into the newspapers. The district attorney would respond to pressure or someone in his office would be willing to be greased. There was too much money to be made. One of Roberts’ colleagues would try to promote himself by challenging Roberts’ use of professional privilege. No matter how clear the record, Roberts’ connection with Rainbow would be smeared.

“Karen told me to think of myself,” Leland said.

Roberts waited.

“If I do as you say, if I go and tell Norma some lie, the only one I’ll be able to think of is myself. Do you understand?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ve never taken a dime. When I was with the Department, I never even took a bottle of liquor or a bag of groceries. Do you understand that? I’ve always done my job.”

“No one is asking you to be a thief.”

“Where do you draw the line? Why should I draw a line at all? I could be happy with Norma. I might be a grandfather in five years. A honeymoon, a new marriage, would make me feel like a baby again. I’d change jobs, situations, I’d be a quarter of a million richer. It would be a whole new life. I’d love to take off with her. Who wouldn’t? Why shouldn’t I? Some things would be behind me forever. And I could make her happy, too, and that would be good for me.”

“You equate that with street-corner graft,” Roberts said. “It’s the same thing to you.”