"That's guilt, which we experience when we believe--on faith--that there are divine rules of conduct. But what if you knew for a fact that there was no God and no rules other than those that you made? If that were true, you would be a free man, because the restraints that kept your desires in check would be released."
"What does this have to do with Ally Bennett?"
"If God does not exist, if superior men play by their own rules, if there is no divine punishment, then Ally Bennett would cease to be a problem."
"You mean that she could be killed?"
"Removed, Tim, the way you erase a disquieting sentence in a brief that you're writing or slap away an insect that has interfered with your peace of mind."
"But there are rules, there are laws."
"Not for everyone. Harold knew that for a fact."
"What are you getting at, Judge? I'm not following you."
"You're afraid to follow me. There's a difference. Answer me this: What would you do if I could assure you that there would never be any consequences if you removed Ally Bennett from your life?"
"You can't give me that assurance. No one can."
"Pretend that I could."
"I . . . I couldn't kill someone even if I knew that I could get away with it."
"What if a burglar broke into your house and was going to kill Megan? Are you telling me that you wouldn't kill him?"
"That's different. That's self-defense."
"Aren't we talking about self-defense? Isn't this woman threatening your life and the lives of those you love? Imagine yourself as a United States senator. That's within your grasp, Tim. Now think forward a few years. Can you see yourself as president of the United States, the most powerful person in the world?"
Kerrigan's mouth dropped. Then he laughed. "Look at me, Judge. I'm not presidential material. I'm a hard drinker, a man who goes with whores to motels where you pay by the hour."
"That is your image of yourself, but ask anyone in Oregon what they think of Tim Kerrigan and they'll tell you that he's a man of great character who has sacrificed personal wealth and fame for public service. Only one person can prove otherwise. Only one person can destroy your marriage and the way Megan perceives you. Only one person stands between you and your dreams and the happiness of your family."
"I can't believe you're saying this. You believe in God. You're a devout Catholic."
Grant didn't answer. He took another sip of his drink.
"You're not seriously thinking of having Ally Bennett murdered?" Tim said. "Tell me that this is a put-on."
Grant continued to sit quietly. For a brief moment, Kerrigan imagined Ally Bennett dead. All of his problems would disappear. He could keep trying to heal the wounds in his marriage and create a life for Megan in which she would be proud of him. But thinking about Megan brought him back to reality.
"I've known you my whole life, Harvey," Tim said, using the judge's first name for the first time in recent memory. "I can't believe that you could kill someone in cold blood, and I can't either. How could I face Megan if I killed someone? It would eat me alive."
Tim stood and began to pace. "And all this talk about morality and God doesn't mean a thing anyway, because if there's one thing I've learned as a district attorney it's that everyone gets caught eventually."
"You're afraid, Tim. That's natural. But you would see things differently if you knew that there were no consequences." The judge paused for dramatic effect. "And that is something that I can guarantee."
"How can you possibly guarantee that we wouldn't be caught?"
"You have more friends than you know, Tim. People who believe in you and want to help you."
"Who are these people?"
"Friends, good friends. That's all you need to know for now. They are policemen who will control the investigation, district attorney's . . ."
Tim's head snapped up.
"Yes, Tim, in your own office. You'll be covered. When Ally Bennett is dead you'll be free. Think about that. Think about what that would mean to Megan."
Grant lifted up the book of military history and took hold of a file that had been under it.
"This shouldn't be that hard for you. You've played by your own rules for years. I have to believe you did it because you believed that there would be no consequences for your actions."
Grant handed the file to Kerrigan, and he opened it. On top was a photograph of Ally Bennett entering his motel room on the night they had sex. There were other shots of them, inside the room, in various sexual positions. Beneath these photographs were pictures of Tim in other places, with other women. The photos covered sexual encounters that had occurred years before. In several pictures, Kerrigan was snorting cocaine or smoking marijuana. The invasion of his privacy that the photographs represented should have made Tim furious, but all he experienced was numbing shock.
"How . . . ?"
"We've known for some time. It's what persuaded us of your potential."
Kerrigan slumped back onto his chair and put his head in his hands.
"I think of you as my son, Tim. I only want to help you out of this terrible predicament. Everything I've said is new, a shock. I can appreciate that it will take some getting used to. But you'll see that everything I've said makes perfect sense and is in your best interest."
"I won't kill her. I can't. I'll resign my job. I'll go to the press and confess to . . . to what I've done. I just can't murder anyone."
"I expected this reaction, Tim. I know it's hard to take the first step. Go home and sleep. You'll think much more clearly in the morning. You'll see that killing Ally Bennett is the only rational way to solve your problems. Your choice is between eliminating someone who wants to ruin you and your family, and protecting your family. Do you want to trade the future of everyone you hold dear for the life of a whore?"
Halfway home, Kerrigan pulled to the side of the road, opened the door, and vomited. He sat with his feet on the ground and his head between his knees. After a while, Tim wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, then threw it away. It was close to freezing, and the cold stung his cheeks. He looked up. The night was clear and the stars were sharp, but the world seemed to waver.
Harvey Grant, a man he would trust with his life, a man he revered more than his own father, had known his most intimate and sordid secrets for years, had been recording his degradation and sharing his knowledge with people Tim probably saw every day. Who were they? How many of them had treated him as if he were normal, while picturing him naked in the most demeaning positions, begging for punishment and reveling in his own debasement?
If Harvey Grant was telling him the truth, the world he thought he knew was being manipulated by a cadre of people who believed themselves to be above the law, people who would kill without compunction to achieve their ends and who were commanding him to kill.
Going to the police or another DA was out of the question. If Harvey Grant, the presiding judge and one of the most powerful people in the state, was involved with this group, then anyone could be in it.