“Will you, Chris?” Bill asked.
“No.”
Bill’s eyes met King’s. “Shouldn’t she?” he asked.
“Not necessarily, although by not testifying, her own stock in the bureau doesn’t go up. In fact—”
“I resigned,” she said flatly.
“Resigned? Do you feel you have to?” Bill asked.
“No, not at all. If I testify against Ross, all sorts of good things await me. My assignment to Montana is canceled and I stay here in Washington as special agent in charge of national American Indian affairs for the FBI.” She spat out the initials FBI as though trying to fling them as far away as possible. “If I don’t testify, I go to Montana for a six-month probation period. My files will include a negative report from Director Shelton himself for failure to cooperate in ‘matters vital to the bureau’s reputation.’”
“That tough, huh?” Bill said.
“That tough.”
“What do you say?” Bill asked King.
“As an attorney, I’ve counseled Chris that she should testify. I think she owes herself that, and if it helps convict Ross Lizenby, a wrong has been righted. But, as a friend, I can only suggest that Chris follow her own conscience. Obviously, there’s more at stake here than seeing justice done. It might not be just for her.”
King stood and tucked his briefcase under his arm. “I learned a long time ago, Bill, that justice has many definitions. You know that working as you have on Native American affairs. There hasn’t been any justice with our people since the beginning, but we’re not unique. I doubt if there’s anyone alive today who hasn’t been on the receiving end of injustice at least once in their lives. It isn’t just for Sutherland House to have agreed to drop all plans to publish Kneeley’s book. They have enough to proceed, assign another writer, bring at least some of the story to the public.”
“They won’t do that?” Bill asked.
“No. They’ve decided to cooperate in the spirit of—of patriotism and honor.”
Chris and Bill watched King cross the lobby and exit to the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“About what?”
“About not testifying against Ross. I know you want me to because of Sue White Cloud and—”
“Chris.”
“What?”
“I only care if your reason has to do with some lingering feeling for him.”
She shook her head. “Believe me, it doesn’t. If I thought he’d walk free, I would, but I think Helen Pritchard’s testimony will do it. What I’d have to offer is third-hand. It’ll rise and fall on her. Funny, but I think more about his ex-wife. I suppose we’ll never know about that unless he decides to tell about it.”
“You know what confuses me, Chris?”
“What?”
“I’d think the bureau would want it the other way around, have you not testify against him. Hell, it’s embarrassing to have a special agent assigned to a unit investigating serial murders end up the killer of a teenager.”
“There’s been a leak. The press knows about Lizenby and Arizona. The bureau has no choice now but to cooperate. They’re good, Bill, the best in the world. But I don’t fit, at least not anymore. I’m off the team. I just hope those who stay do the job. I’ll miss it. Aside from a few proverbial bad apples, it’s okay.”
They stood on the street in the sunshine. The air was cool; October would soon arrive.
“What will you do?” Bill asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Can I suggest something?”
“Sure.”
“Give me a second.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, leaned on his cane, and read slowly: “Kat cuwitpotu knoqtuhkayin.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the only Passamaquoddy I could come up with to fit the situation.”
She started to laugh. “What does it mean?”
“Roughly, ‘You shouldn’t live by yourself.’ Hey, don’t laugh, it took me a long time to find even that.”
“I’m not laughing,” she said. She touched his cheek, closed her eyes, and laughed even harder.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I love you,” she said.
“And I love you—and you shouldn’t live alone. Live with me. Marry me.”
“Aha?”
“That means yes.”
Other Books by Margaret Truman
Murder on Capitol Hill
Murder in the Smithsonian
Murder on Embassy Row
Murder in the White House
Murder at the FBI Page 25
