IRS, New York City detectives and investigators for federal prosecutors, all under Charles LeClair, himself a federal prosecutor. LeClair, son of a black air force general and a German actress, was an ambitious man who lived for his conviction rate, one of the highest in the federal court system. Outwardly genial, he was a master of the political aspects of his job and a spellbinding performer in and out of the courtroom. Decker had distrusted him on sight.
Decker had one other qualification that interested LeClair: he was sleeping with Dorian Raymond’s estranged wife.
At their first meeting LeClair had said to Decker, “I’ll touch on this lightly. I am aware of your relationship with Mrs. Raymond. And, as I’m sure you know, she does see her estranged husband from time to time. So this brings us to pillow talk.”
LeClair managed to look embarrassed, as though reluctant to do this to Decker. He was almost convincing.
“Bear in mind that we have a purpose in being on this task force, and so long as we maintain that view, we maintain our usefulness in law enforcement. You have your career, I have mine. We can help each other or we cannot help each other.”
Decker considered himself warned. Everybody in law enforcement, Decker included, had an eye out for the main chance. Advancing your career was the name of the game. At the same time one had to avoid stepping on the wrong departmental toes or getting crushed in the numerous power games surrounding police work. LeClair was simply being up front with Decker by telling him that on the task force, LeClair’s career came first and everybody else’s came second. In law enforcement, the power and all of the money were with Washington. LeClair was Washington. And he had warned Decker.
Management Systems Consultants was under investigation because it had sabotaged an inquiry into the crime connections of Senator Terry Dent, New York’s most powerful congressman. If LeClair could bring Dent down, his own career was made; he would end up in Washington, the center of attention at embassy parties and the object of constant media exposure. LeClair also wanted to bring down Constantine Pangalos, the lawyer for Dent, MSC and the Molise family. When Pangalos had been a federal prosecutor and LeClair had been a member of his staff, the two had been friends. But it was now time to show who was the better man.
LeClair leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Relax, Decker. Cross your legs or loosen your tie or dig the wax out of your ears or something. Your file says you’re into karate. Always wanted to try that myself. Never got around to it. How long have you been practicing?”
“I’ve been training fifteen years.”
“I’d better treat you with respect. Fifteen years. Still keeping it up?”
“I train two hours a day. Every day.”
“No shit. Where do you find the time?”
“I make time. I run at four in the morning or midnight or when I can. I jump rope and do stretching exercises at home. A lot of times I work out on my own, usually when the dojo’s empty.”
“A man who flies his own flag. I like that. Ever use it on the street?”
“Yes.”
LeClair was impressed. He studied Decker; that kind of persistence made the detective special, a man with certain strengths and weaknesses. LeClair would have to learn what they were and how he could use them.
LeClair then turned conciliatory. “Sorry about bringing Mrs. Raymond into this, but I don’t have to tell you that guys in our line of work don’t have a private life. Our marriages, bankbooks, sex lives, personal mail can all be poked into by inspectors and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it Anyway, Decker, I’m here to make it as easy on you as I can. I need you and I need you working happy. Singing and dancing on the old plantation.”
In spite of himself Decker smiled at that one. But when it came down to the short strokes, LeClair could hurt him more than he could hurt
Decker had one other qualification that interested LeClair: he was sleeping with Dorian Raymond’s estranged wife.
At their first meeting LeClair had said to Decker, “I’ll touch on this lightly. I am aware of your relationship with Mrs. Raymond. And, as I’m sure you know, she does see her estranged husband from time to time. So this brings us to pillow talk.”
LeClair managed to look embarrassed, as though reluctant to do this to Decker. He was almost convincing.
“Bear in mind that we have a purpose in being on this task force, and so long as we maintain that view, we maintain our usefulness in law enforcement. You have your career, I have mine. We can help each other or we cannot help each other.”
Decker considered himself warned. Everybody in law enforcement, Decker included, had an eye out for the main chance. Advancing your career was the name of the game. At the same time one had to avoid stepping on the wrong departmental toes or getting crushed in the numerous power games surrounding police work. LeClair was simply being up front with Decker by telling him that on the task force, LeClair’s career came first and everybody else’s came second. In law enforcement, the power and all of the money were with Washington. LeClair was Washington. And he had warned Decker.
Management Systems Consultants was under investigation because it had sabotaged an inquiry into the crime connections of Senator Terry Dent, New York’s most powerful congressman. If LeClair could bring Dent down, his own career was made; he would end up in Washington, the center of attention at embassy parties and the object of constant media exposure. LeClair also wanted to bring down Constantine Pangalos, the lawyer for Dent, MSC and the Molise family. When Pangalos had been a federal prosecutor and LeClair had been a member of his staff, the two had been friends. But it was now time to show who was the better man.
LeClair leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Relax, Decker. Cross your legs or loosen your tie or dig the wax out of your ears or something. Your file says you’re into karate. Always wanted to try that myself. Never got around to it. How long have you been practicing?”
“I’ve been training fifteen years.”
“I’d better treat you with respect. Fifteen years. Still keeping it up?”
“I train two hours a day. Every day.”
“No shit. Where do you find the time?”
“I make time. I run at four in the morning or midnight or when I can. I jump rope and do stretching exercises at home. A lot of times I work out on my own, usually when the dojo’s empty.”
“A man who flies his own flag. I like that. Ever use it on the street?”
“Yes.”
LeClair was impressed. He studied Decker; that kind of persistence made the detective special, a man with certain strengths and weaknesses. LeClair would have to learn what they were and how he could use them.
LeClair then turned conciliatory. “Sorry about bringing Mrs. Raymond into this, but I don’t have to tell you that guys in our line of work don’t have a private life. Our marriages, bankbooks, sex lives, personal mail can all be poked into by inspectors and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it Anyway, Decker, I’m here to make it as easy on you as I can. I need you and I need you working happy. Singing and dancing on the old plantation.”
In spite of himself Decker smiled at that one. But when it came down to the short strokes, LeClair could hurt him more than he could hurt
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