'I see.'
'Do you?' she asked. 'I'm now one of the five highest-ranking women in the Bureau. At thirty-five, I'm the youngest. There are only three female SACs, the Bureau has an awful reputation with feminists, a clique of females on the Hill are pressuring for reform… and, by the way, two high-level assistant directorships are scheduled to open next year.'
I said, 'And George is undermining you?'
'Destroying me.'
'Like… how?'
'Every trick in the book-isolation, cutting off my information flow, spreading rumors, stealing credit for my work. He's very clever.' After a moment she confided, 'He's making my life hell.'
In fact, George had made my life very difficult for a few weeks and I hadn't even been working under him. But basically, set aside his vanity, ambition, and penchant for treachery, and George wasn't such a bad guy.
We had passed through the exit and were now outside in the parking lot, standing beside Jennie's shiny black government sedan. Somewhere nearby, a helicopter was waiting to whisk us off to Richmond and Mrs. Calhoun Barnes. It was an ideal night for flying-a beautiful evening, not a cloud in the sky, lots of glittery stars, the air still and humid. Also nearby, somebody, perhaps named Jason Barnes, was plotting another murder.
We stopped walking, and she continued to hold my arm, and it became, well… a little distracting. Between this case and her diabolical boss, Jennifer Margold was under crushing pressure. She looked nonplussed, but I wondered if it was getting under her skin. The sexes tend to handle these things differently. Men get grouchy, and/or they drink a lot, or they climb up on a watch-tower with a sniper rifle. Women feel compelled to be nurtured, they need physical contact, reassurance. It all goes back to the womb, I think. I'm not really good at reading women. I said, 'You're smarter than him.'
'Perhaps.'
'Outthink him.'
'In this game, the fox sometimes beats the owl.'
She pulled my arm and turned my body, and we ended up facing each other, about a foot apart, maybe less. Her breath smelled cinnamony, and a cool breeze blew the hair off her forehead. She smelled and looked yummy The woman was in distress and was vulnerable, which surely accounted for the spasm of protective machoism I was feeling. We looked into each other's eyes and I realized I was attracted, a little infatuated, and curious to see where this was going. But I was already involved, and of course, mixing office politics and sex is a recipe for getting doubly screwed.
I recalled a woman friend once informing me that what makes men different from women is simple: A woman wants one man to satisfy her every need, where a man wants every woman to satisfy his one need. Not true- simply not true. But true enough.
She said, 'This is my problem… not yours. I'm telling you because… because, I don't want you getting cut down in the crossfire.'
'I can take care of myself.'
She smiled. 'Still… watch your back.'
'No problem. I've handled George with one arm tied behind my back.'
I had the sense that my mucho-machoness wasn't selling, but she said, 'Oh yeah. Over a woman… right?' When I failed to reply, she said, 'Is it… I mean, are you… still involved?'
'Are you?'
'Well… call ahead for Saturday nights.'
'I meant, anybody special?'
'Me? You know, the occasional billionaire bachelor… a few Nobel prizewinners. The problem with D.C. is you never meet anyone interesting.' I think she was kidding and maybe replying in kind to my maladroit evasiveness. She squeezed my arm. 'What about your
'Oh… me? Well, it's a little complicated.'
'Complicated?'
After a moment I said, 'She's not exclusive.' I added, 'So… I guess, I don't have to be. Right?'
'I don't know your arrangement.'
'Well… neither do I.'
Which raised the ever-evocative question-was it a good thing? Actually, Janet's career, my career, and the time and distance between Washington and Boston were in the middle, we both knew it, and neither of us had taken a single constructive step to rectify it. That said something, I think. Ours was a sometimes thing, leaving me too much free time, too much freedom, and we all know idle hands become playful hands.
Of course, I'm Catholic, and coital loyalty and that till-death-do-you-part thing are big with us. So is the obvious corollary, the get-it-all-out-of-your-system-first thing. I said, 'Don't worry about it.'
'Why would I be worried about it?'
'Oh.' Had I misread a signal here?
She smiled. 'We're partners. Partners should know a little about each other, right?'
'Right. So… are you a cream and sugar in your coffee person?'
'Tea person, Earl Grey preferably. No additives.'
'Blood type?'
'A pos. Yours?'
'Ice water.'
She laughed.
Anyway, a mass murderer was running around Washington, her boss was cutting her throat, mine wanted to throttle me, and there I stood, lightheaded and giddy, making an idiot of myself.
Time to change the subject, and I said, 'Richmond'
'Right. Judge Calhoun Barnes, what do you know about him?'
'As your boss said, he was on the short list for the next Supreme Court opening.'
'Why is that past tense?'
'He died.'
'Oh. Well, he must've been a good judge.'
'Judges are always in the eye of the beholder. The profile I read on him described him as a law-and-order fanatic, ultra-conservative, a strict constructionist, brutal on criminals. Great guy, if you're a prosecutor. A monster, if you're the accused, or representing the accused.'
She looked at me and asked, 'Do you know how he died?'
'I do.'
'Don't keep things from me.'
I smiled. 'Find out when we get there.'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As I said, it was one of those perfect nights to fly, clear skies in every direction, silvery moon, no wind or choppiness, and it was smooth sailing as we left Washington in our wake.
I was becoming very intrigued with the woman beside me, and as I knew virtually nothing about her, this was a little presumptuous and possibly premature. When somebody dissects criminal minds for a living, you have to wonder.
After we got comfortable, I said to her, 'Tell me why you decided to become a shrink'
After a moment, she smiled. 'As in all shrinks are nuts and what's a nice girl like me doing in a strange place like this? Isn't that what you're asking?'
'Exactly.'
'Watch it, pal.'
I smiled. 'I would think it's very challenging to remain sane when you study the criminal mind. Doesn't it-' 'Get to me?' After a moment she said, 'You know the hardest part? Putting yourself in the frame of the victim. That
