“I imagine there was money to be made for certain parties whether or not it ever reached the finish line,” I said. “No part of the buffalo goes to waste when it comes to corporate profiteering.”

He nodded along.

“The Jeffers Project represented over forty miles of tunnels and installations at Davis-Bacon wages, baby. Bribery, kickbacks, double-dealing. Something for everybody. You’re right. Pockets were getting lined, win, lose, or draw.”

“We mustn’t neglect infrastructure,” I said. “Prostitution and gambling. Drugs. The real support an army of laborers, technicians, and overseers would cherish most.” I didn’t need to be an ex-mob associate to savvy this truth. I’d lived in a state famous for its oil pipeline, maritime industry, and construction empires. Pimps and dealers can still make a fortune in Alaska.

“I have a good, good feeling. You understand the ways of the world.”

“What went wrong besides the stuff in the papers? Infighting?”

“Infighting, for sure,” he said. “The billionaires are rivals who set aside differences, but peace didn’t last. Place was also cursed as the pharaoh’s tomb. Like I said, my nephew worked there. Had a cushy gig in the Special Operations department, counterespionage. Which I kinda sorta arranged after he begged me. Relentless kid. He died on-site.”

“Cloak and dagger. It got rough?”

“The job was less glamorous than it sounds. He sat on his ass so much, he grew hemorrhoids.”

“What happened?”

“Tragedy, sayeth the corporate overlords,” he said. “Sean committed suicide. The site was under construction for eleven years. There were eight fatal accidents before Sean died—trench collapses, vehicle crashes, an explosion or two. A suspicious person might fantasize about a connection between Sean’s death and those accidents. I’m not quite that paranoid, but I can’t speak for your state of mind. Congress said no más and reneged on their funding pledge. The billionaires weren’t willing to absorb the funding deficit. Project died with a whimper.”

“Case closed,” I said.

“Nailed shut. Insurance didn’t kick about the fact Sean offed himself. Paid his wife to the penny. Except, my sister isn’t sanguine about the ME’s findings. She has a legit gripe. ‘Suicide’ was convenient for the company. Death by misadventure would’ve opened them to more liability.”

“And misadventure suggests a whole world of sinister possibilities,” I said.

“Either way, local PD and Feds conducted a shitty investigation. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Par for the course, considering nobody wanted to step on corporate toes. But when it’s your flesh and blood . . .”

“The wife good with the verdict?”

“She gives nary a fuck. Linda got her pot of gold.”

“Obviously you checked her finances, made sure there weren’t any outsize withdrawals . . .”

“Yeah, buddy. Nothing. She’s super fucking smart, though. Could have waited until after the heat was off to move money to an accomplice.”

I put a mental pin there.

“Sean’s mom doesn’t buy the authorized account, but no one ever listens to Cassandras. She turns to you, the resident cop. And . . .”