Charlie eased himself next to the man. “I hope I’m not interrupting you, Mr. Attorney General.”

Kennedy raised his head and forced a smile. “Hello, Charlie,” he said. The attorney general reached down into the briefcase next to his feet and withdrew what appeared to be a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. Dispensing with any further pleasantries, looking toward the altar rather than at Charlie, Kennedy spoke quietly. “I’m sure you’re concerned about your father.” He peeled back the tinfoil and took a bite. To Charlie, whose olfactory gifts were a constant curse, the smell of fried egg was unmistakable.

“I’m not quite clear what the charges are,” Charlie said. “How can an attorney get in trouble for consorting with known criminals if the alleged criminals are clients?”

“I’m not certain how steeped you are in organized crime, but Sam Giancana is, one, a murderous thug and, two, not one of your father’s clients. And we’re not talking just consorting—there is evidence of conspiracy.”

Charlie knew who Giancana was, of course, primarily because two years ago, Robert Kennedy himself, as Democratic counsel on the Senate committee investigating labor racketeering, had chastised the mobster for laughing while invoking his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination.

“I thought only little girls giggled, Mr. Giancana,” Kennedy had said.

The choir abruptly began rehearsing another song, “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” startling both men. Kennedy chuckled; Charlie, whose heart had been pounding since his father called him that morning, exhaled. What did Kennedy want? But voicing that rage would only hurt his father. He tried to relax and listen to the choir. He held no cards.

“He’s an old man,” Charlie said. “It doesn’t make any sense. Does Rockefeller know?”

“I’m sure there’s very little that goes on in New York that the governor is unaware of,” Kennedy said dryly. “This is very simple, really. We need help combating organized crime, help that your father is refusing to provide. Information.”

Kennedy took another bite of his sandwich. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. The casual arrogance drove Charlie mad. And meanwhile, his father, his poor sad dad, was in a dank cell downtown.