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"He should hurry up."

"I think he will. He definitely does not want any of this to become an election issue. Though how he can avoid it at this point beats me. The circumstantial case against him keeps building. One thing I'd like to know is, how come Louderbush's staff was making official inquiries out at SUNY

about Stiver's suicide? Was Louderbush trying to scope out whether or not Stiver had mentioned Louderbush in a suicide note or elsewhere in an incriminating way? You don't happen to know anybody on Louderbush's staff, do you? I asked Tom Dunphy if he had a mole there and he didn't."

"I only know Louderbush's people very casually. There's somebody I could ask though. A

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"Isn't A

Timmy chortled. "Well, if you really need to know..."

"Know what?"

"This guy, Frogman Ying, was famous for his incredibly long tongue. He was a Taiwanese Chinese-American who sort of got passed around among A

"Frogman?"

"His real name was Alex."

"You think he's still in Albany?"

"I've seen him around. He works for the taxation committee as I recall. He could work magic with numbers, A

I said, "Do straight women confide these sorts of things to their straight male friends or just their gay male friends?"

"Oh, I think you know the answer to that one. It's one of the ten reasons we were invented."

"What are the other nine?"

Timmy said he'd have to consult Walter Scott's Personality Parade for the answer to that, and meanwhile he'd try to track down the gifted Mr. Ying.

I decided that Louderbush had concluded that he didn't need the Serbians harassing me anymore and I could safely return home. Crow Street did feel cozy and secure when I found a parking spot with inches to spare and maneuvered deftly into it. One of the few useful things I had learned in high school was parallel parking—algebra is overrated as a 156

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key to the good life—and I never failed to whisper thanks to my old driver ed teacher, Mr. Galitsky, whenever I practiced this essential urban skill.

Timmy wasn't home. He phoned and said he was having brunch with his old friend A

I checked my e-mails—nothing from Bud Gia

and ate a bowl of Bola granola and put some coffee on.

My cell phone went off, and there it was again, Louderbush's number.

"This is Strachey."

"Yes. Mr. Strachey."

"I missed you last night. That Motel 6 set me back fifty-nine ninety-five. But let's try it again. I know you think this is as important as I do."

"Yes, I apologize. Anyone can tell you, missing appointments is out of character for me. But I had to deal with a situation before I spoke with you. I dealt with that situation, and now I'm clear going forward."

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"Okay."

"I want to sit down with you and with one other person who is deeply affected by all this."

"All right."

"That other person is my wife."

What was this? "That sounds awkward."

He breathed heavily. "You have no idea."

"So she knows? About you and Greg Stiver?"

Another long pause. "Is this call being recorded?"

"No. If it was, I would be legally required to inform you of that fact."

I could all but see him rolling his eyes. "Yes, and I'm sure you're a law-abiding investigator, Mr. Strachey. Just like the law-abiding investigators who followed Eliot Spitzer into post offices and hotels."

"Yes, and I'm sure you're a law-abiding public official. Oh, thanks, by the way, for calling off the Serbians. They nearly ripped my ear off the first time I ran into them."

"I have no idea what you're referring to, and I have no need to know what your private eye snooping-into-people's-privacy type of life must be like. What I'm telling you is, I'm willing to meet with you, and when I told my wife, Deidre, what I was pla

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McCloskey will drop this entire wrongheaded line of investigation, and find something better to do with your time and your bushels of money."

"Wrongheaded in what way?"

"You'll see. Can you meet Tuesday morning? I'm at home in Kurtzburg now and won't be back in Albany until Monday night. I have a friend who maintains a suite at the Crowne Plaza. Could you meet there?"

"I could drive out to where you are today or tomorrow.

You're what, just west of Rochester?"

"No, don't come here. If you come here, it's no deal. I can't have someone like you being seen with me in my district. I'm sure you get that."

"Someone like me? Mr. Louderbush, can you hear yourself talking? If you did, you'd have to wonder."

More breathing. "I know what you think of me. And I admit some of it's deserved. But you don't know the whole story.

Far from it. That's what you're going to hear on Tuesday, the whole story. And then you're going to think better of me. I promise you that you will think better of me."

It sounded like a con to me, and what I was mostly thinking about was the wire I'd wear and the additional evidence I'd end up with it that further revealed Louderbush's irredeemably rotten character.

We set the time and place for the Tuesday morning meeting, and I immediately called Timmy to update him on Louderbush's brazen gamesmanship. He was in the midst of his brunch with A

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willing to meet me later that afternoon. Ying had told Timmy that Kenyon Louderbush was a great man who would make a great governor, and Ying was happy to hear that the Stiver family was setting up a memorial scholarship in Greg's name.

He remembered Greg as one of a number of bright, promising young conservatives who had supported Assemblyman Louderbush and whose careers, academic and otherwise, had been boosted by the assemblyman. Greg was one of several college students who had been mentored by Louderbush.