But an indictment for what? the naive New Yorker might fairly ask.
Might the crime be using one's public office to enrich himself, pocketing loads of loot from lobbyists?
But wait. That was the crime said to have been committed by former state senator Joe Bruno, wasn't it?
Well, you can be excused for not knowing much about Bruno and his allegedly ill gotten riches.
There's good reason it might have largely escaped you.
The papers and air waves have been over-loaded, you see, with breaking developments about the Paterson dust-up, in which the governor allegedly lied about whether he knew underlings were speaking ill of Caroline Kennedy.
That's the underlying crime, mind you -- that his staffers were spreading gossip about why Kennedy pulled her name out of contention for appointment as U.S. Senator, replacing Hillary Clinton.
Let's not waste many words saying the whispered reasons were, well, reasonable -- that Kennedy was concerned about her suffering Uncle Ted, that she was having marital problems, that she maybe felt Paterson was going to appoint someone else.
And now the press is outraged, just outraged, that Paterson's people would have the gall to say such things, and that Paterson would deny knowing they were saying it.
Of course, there's a bit of hypocrisy here. Some of the very papers that have been beating lately on Paterson were themselves guilty of serious Kennedy abuse, pounding her, in fact, with much greater effect than Paterson's peons ever had.
The press, including very notably The New York Times, continually characterized Kennedy as inarticulate and unprepared, making much of her "you knows" and her testiness with the press -- maybe the most unforgivable crime here of all.
Indeed, it was clear to some, even a couple of weeks back, that Kennedy was not going to clear the biggest hurdle of all, that of the media.
And now here they are, once again, the credentialed scribes, birds on a wire, flying off like winged gang members after some fancied, tasty morsel.
Coming to mind is the one of the funniest books in the English language, "Scoop," by Evelyn Waugh, who went after correspondents and their anxious quirkiness much as they go after their sometimes feckless prey.
Albany, believe me, could use such a satirist now.