Deadline(109)

            “Flowers—”

            “I’ll buy you a handcrafted boutique beer the next time you see me.”

            “Fuck you, and your girlfriend, and all her children. . . . Shit, here’s Rogers, fuck you again.”

            He slammed the phone down and Virgil said to Jenkins and Shrake, “Everything’s running smooth.”

            “I got that impression,” Shrake said. To Jenkins: “How fast can we get to the Iowa border?”

            Virgil sat in Masilla’s outer office for nearly an hour, while Jenkins and Shrake went down to the lobby to talk to the two attractive receptionists. After an hour, he took a call from his friend in the AG’s office, who was calmer, and perhaps even collegial: “Mr. Masilla will cooperate in every way he can, and we have faxed him a letter saying that we will give strong consideration to leniency should it prove that he inadvertently violated any Minnesota statutes.”

            “What if he violated them on purpose?”

            “Rogers insisted on a wording that makes the intent of the letter . . . mmm . . . questionable, so that if it goes to court, a court might reasonably find that we have offered him immunity. Or, a court could find the other way, and decide we didn’t, but there would be a strong presumption of a leniency.”

            “Jesus, sometimes I feel like my hands are dirty.”

            “You owe me a beer, my friend, and, Virgil, if you ever do this again, I’ll put you in jail for contempt of attorney, I swear to God.”

            Virgil called Shrake and Jenkins, who came up a minute later and looked happy as they got off the elevator, and Virgil asked, “You got dates?”

            “We do,” Jenkins said. “They’re golfers, can you believe that? We’re playing golf tomorrow afternoon, unless we have to shoot somebody. What happened with Masilla?”

            “We’re about to find out.”

            —

            ROGERS SAID, “My client is eager to help. We’ve spoken with the AG’s office, and so we’re ready to go ahead. If you don’t mind, we’d like to record this session, just so there’s no question afterwards about what was said.”

            “It’s okay with me,” Virgil said. “We’ll all have to make some speeches before we start asking questions.”

            Rogers had a recorder, a small but high-fidelity pocket recorder of the kind used by musicians and lawyers. He made his speech, beginning with, “As you know, we’ve spoken to the attorney general’s office, and as we understand it, we have been given blanket immunity from prosecution as long as Mr. Masilla gives you his frank cooperation.”

            Virgil identified himself on the tape and replied with, “We have no idea of the details of the agreement you worked out with the attorney general’s office, what degree of immunity your client may or may not have been given, so you’ll have to decide on a case-by-case basis which questions you will answer or refuse to answer, depending on your understanding.”

            They argued about that, politely, for a few minutes, and then Virgil turned to Masilla and asked, “Mr. Masilla, have you, in your position as auditor of the Buchanan County school system, noticed any fiscal irregularities—”

            Masilla replied with, “I was given only limited access to the school records, but in my examination I noticed what seemed to be some inconsistent reporting of costs. . . .”

            That went on for more than an hour. Virgil was able to build a picture that implicated the school superintendent, the finance officer, and all the members of the school board in fiscal irregularities “which I pointed out from time to time, and recommended strong action upon.”