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it was a joke and his response was as sarcastic as he thought Espinoza’s comment was. Two of the jurors nodded as they listened to the court reporter read back Espinoza’s last bit of testimony:
    “Sarcasm is sometimes harder to detect than we realize.”
    It had come to me while listening to Paul and Joel Lightner give each other the what-for in Paul’s office. I could imagine the two of them having this very exchange, in jest. I just needed Joey Espinoza to confirm for me that he and Hector engaged in similar sarcastic jabs, and he’d been kind enough to oblige me.
    I had nothing else to gain from further exploration of this topic. Paul Riley, in his closing argument, would dissect each of the four recorded conversations, making two simple observations: first, in each case, Joey Espinoza had forced the topic of the Cannibals into the conversation; and second, each of Hector’s responses could plausibly be interpreted as sarcasm. That, plus Joey Espinoza’s political ambitions, painted a nice picture: This had been the Joey Espinoza Show, from start to finish, and the only reason Hector Almundo was standing trial was that Joey had to finger someone to try to save his ass from twenty years in prison.
    I smiled as the jury heard the read-back of Joey’s testimony. I looked over at Chris Moody, who apparently had failed to find the humor in it.

6
     
    I SPENT THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON GOING AFTER Joey Espinoza a bit more aggressively, having sucker-punched him on the main point we wanted to make. It wasn’t hard, after that, to establish that Joey had actually spoken with several elected officials about assuming Hector’s senate seat if he became attorney general—Joey probably figured I would call those other officials to testify, so he couldn’t very well deny it. And then, of course, the obvious motivation that a man looking at twenty years had in cutting a deal that landed him only eighteen months in Club Fed. The only thing he could give the feds, that they didn’t already have, was Hector, so he embellished and tried to manufacture carefully crafted conversations to make it look like his boss was part of the criminal enterprise.
    Back at Shaker, Riley afterward, the atmosphere was subdued celebration. “I’d offer you lunch,” said Paul, “but I think you just ate Joey Espinoza’s.”
    “Outstanding, Jason.” My client, Hector Almundo, nattily attired in an olive suit, was jubilant.
    “The Joey Espinoza Show,” Paul continued. “They saw it today, Hector. They watched him and they saw him as manipulative. And the ‘dry sense of humor’ stuff? Priceless.”
    “The cocksucker.” Senator Almundo, favoring a more concise summary in his own lyrical way, collapsed into a chair in the conference room. What angered him about Espinoza was not the criminal actions of Espinoza or the Columbus Street Cannibals; neither Paul nor I had much doubt that Hector had known exactly what was taking place on the west side. No, his anger toward his former aide was based on one thing, and one thing only—the betrayal.
    “We still have a lot of work ahead.” I said, opting for the humble voice of reason.
    “Maybe,” said Paul. “After today, I’m not sure we put on a case at all.”
    Inside, I was doing leaps. I felt my new position in the private sector greatly enhanced with today’s events. My secretary had pulled up early Internet accounts of the trial on his BlackBerry and the verdict, pardon the pun, had been a knockout for the defense. When we walked back into the firm tonight, we’d been greeted by other lawyers at the firm, who had been reading about it blow-by-blow online, with the customary mix of congratulation: sincerity blended with envy.
    But all I wanted to do was go home and see my wife and daughter, Emily Jane. I threw my notepad on the conference table and reviewed my checklist, to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. My big cross-examination was over, the jury instructions were done, the