Page 67 of Nobody's Hero
‘So, if you can avoid getting shanked, you might reasonably expect to spend another fifty years in here. I’m no somnologist, but that’s bound to keep you awake at night.’
Koenig hadn’t told Cunningham anything she hadn’t already worked out for herself. Prosecuting dirty cops was the gift that kept on giving. It restored public confidence in the police. It showed a prosecutor’s independence from their institutional allies in law enforcement. And the voters loved it.
‘Best you can offer is where I serve my time,’ she said. ‘My own lawyer says I ain’t never getting out.’
‘You were a cop once, Cunningham,’ Koenig said. ‘Try being one again. What’s different about this room? What do you see?’
She looked around. ‘I don’t see shit.’
‘That’s good. At least your face-ass isn’t leaking.’
‘Screw you.’
Koenig waited.
Cunningham shrugged. ‘There ain’t no Liberty.’
The Liberty Interview Recorder was the NYPD’s interview-room recording system. It had three cameras, two fixed and one with pan–tilt–zoom capabilities. Koenig doubted MDC Brooklyn used anything as advanced, but at least Cunningham understood the room was clean.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘There are no cameras, no microphones, and no FBI agents. What does that tell you?’
‘You’re going to beat a confession out of me.’
‘There are no cameras or feds in here, Cunningham, because what we’re about to do will make Special Agent in Charge Isaacs lose his mind.’
Chapter 72
‘Full immunity?’ Cunningham said. ‘You’re offering full immunity?’
‘The attorney general will confirm it shortly,’ Draper said.
‘Even though you know some of the shit I done?’
Draper nodded.
‘I ain’t no rat,’ she said after a few beats. ‘And even if I was, my life wouldn’t be worth spit if I flip on those guys. And don’t give me that “We can protect you” bullshit because you can’t. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.’
‘We don’t care about the East Coast Sweeney,’ Koenig said. ‘And Special Agent in Charge Isaacs doesn’t need you to flip. He has your bank accounts, and he has your friends’ bank accounts. I used to hunt people like you, and the one thing you all have in common is that you don’t understand how money works. How much of an auditable trail it leaves. But the FBI understands. The FBI understands that once it has one bank account, it has them all. It won’t be long before Special Agent in Charge Isaacs has unravelled the whole sordid affair. He’ll get everyone.’
Cunningham swallowed. Hard. It was obvious she hadn’t considered that. ‘They’ll think I ratted them out,’ she said.
‘Way I see it, you only have one option: take the deal and get the hell out of Dodge before the rest of the East Coast Sweeney are hoovered up.’
The phone rang, shrill and loud in the enclosed interview room. Cunningham flinched. Draper reached over and hit the answer button.
‘This is Arianna Dowd, Miss Cunningham,’ a voice said. No preamble. ‘Do you know who I am?’
The United States attorney general wasn’t one for wasting her words.
Cunningham stared at the phone in astonishment. After a moment she said, ‘For real?’
‘Sure as gravity.’
‘Well, I guess I’ve heard of you then.’
Koenig wasn’t surprised that Cunningham knew the AG. Arianna Dowd was that rare thing in DC: a political appointment liked by both sides of the aisle. She grew up in Rockaway Beach, cut her teeth prosecuting Cosa Nostra families in the 1980s, hammered white-collar pension-fund raiders in the 1990s, and was called to the bench in 2001. She was as tough as a bobcat and twice as mean.
‘And what have you heard, Miss Cunningham?’