‘And how long did you work there?’

‘Six months.’

Hardy slid from the desk and crossed to his window. ‘Let me be sure I’ve got it right, he said. ’Draper hired you to become a clerk for the Ninth? How many clerks does he have?‘

‘Three.’

‘For a year each?’

‘Right. That’s the term.’

Hardy thought so. He went on. ‘When I was getting into practice right after the Civil War, a federal clerkship was considered the plum job of all time right out of law school. Is that still the case?’

This brought a small smile. ‘Everybody seems to think so.’

‘But you quit after six months so you could try out as a replacement player during the baseball strike?’

Graham sat back finally, unclenched his hands, spread them out. ‘Arrogant, ungrateful wretch that I am.’

‘So now everybody in the legal community thinks you’re either disloyal or brain dead.’

‘No, those are my friends.’ Graham took a beat. ‘Draper, for example, hates my guts. So does his wife, kids, dogs, the other two clerks, the secretaries – they all really, really hate me personally. Everybody else just wishes I’d die soon, as slowly and painfully as possible. Both.’

Hardy nodded. ‘So Giotti didn’t call you when he found your dad?’

Graham shook his head. ‘I’d be the last person he’d call. You walk out on one of these guys, you’re a traitor to the whole tribe. That’s why I came to you – you’re a lawyer who’ll talk to me. I think you’re the last one who will.’

‘And you’re worried about the police?’

A shrug. ‘Not really. I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re thinking.’

‘I doubt they’re thinking anything, Graham. They just like to be thorough and ask a lot of questions, which tends to make people nervous. This other stuff with your background might have made the rounds, so they might shake your tree a little harder, see if something falls out.’