Terminal Justice (33 page)

As he slept he dreamed of a huge knot with people tied to its surface. Strands of the knot’s cord were wrapped around heads, arms, and trunks. The people, all of whom David knew, cried for help. Kristen was begging to be released, Timmy shrieked in terror, and A.J. reached out to him. Interwoven in the strands were Stephanie Cooper and Woody Summers, each beseeching David to act quickly to release them. David rushed to Kristen and began to pull on the cord that was wrapped around her waist, but as he pulled, Timmy screamed out in pain. It was clear that the more he struggled to free Kristen the tighter he made the knot on the others. He might free one, but not without killing another. In his dream, David began to pray. He prayed for a sword to cut the knot. But no sword came. He would not be as lucky as Alexander the Great.

“AM I BORING YOU?” KRISTEN ASKED.

David snapped his head around and cast a confused look at Kristen, who sat in one of the leather guest chairs in his office. The midmorning light cascaded in through the window and danced lightly on her red hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if I was boring you,” she replied firmly. “I’ve been talking, but you haven’t been listening.”

“I’m sorry,” David offered. “I didn’t sleep well last night—too many weird dreams.” There had been many of them, but the dream about the Gordian knot was the only one he could remember in the light of day, perhaps because the dream recurred several times in the night. He struggled with the image. Not that it was difficult to interpret. He didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that his dream was a reflection of his confusion and anxiety over what Woody Summers and Stephanie Cooper had said. The image of those whom he cared about being restrained in a tangle was his subconscious fear of hurting them while attempting to help another. If he chose to do nothing, his friends would remain trapped forever; if he made an effort to help, he would cause greater harm. He was wrong no matter what he did. That was how David felt about Agent Summers’s request for help.

“You’re doing it again,” Kristen said sharply. She studied him for a moment and softened her tone. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

“Just a thought or two bouncing around in my otherwise
empty head,” David said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. “That’s all.”

“Can I help?” Kristen asked. “I’m a pretty good listener.”

David chuckled, “I know. But there’s really nothing you can do. Besides, it’s not a crucial matter.” He watched as Kristen’s face darkened with disappointment. “Don’t go looking like that. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that I can’t put my thoughts into words. It’s sort of a philosophical question, really.” It wasn’t a matter of trust, for David had come to have a profound faith in the woman who sat on the other side of his desk. The weeks of close contact in Africa had seen to that.

“I’m bright, I can handle it.”

“There’s no doubt there,” David agreed, beaming a broad smile. “You’re one of the few people I wouldn’t want to match wits with. But again, I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m just in a mild funk. There’s nothing to worry about. Really.”

Kristen pondered his words as if she were looking for a key that would unlock the door to David’s secret. “Okay, if you say so, but I think you’re holding out on me.”

“Honest, I’m not.” David raised his right hand like a witness taking a court oath and signed an
X
across his chest with his left. Kristen was clearly unconvinced, and David feared that he might be hurting the budding relationship that they were nurturing. She had been patient with him and understanding to a fault. She had not pressed for a deeper commitment on any level but had allowed things to move along under their own power. “All right,” he said, “but this isn’t going to make much sense to you. I’ll give you a question that was asked of me. Are you ready?”

“Ready. But first, who asked you the question?”

“I can’t say yet,” David replied. “It would confuse the issue.”

Kristen pursed her lips then smiled. “If you say so. Shoot.”

“Is it ever right to do wrong?”

“Ooh, a deep question,” she said, rubbing her chin. “I suppose the answer depends on what you mean by right and wrong. If
you’re asking if it’s wrong for a poor man to steal bread for his starving children, that’s one thing. If you’re asking if it’s wrong for a businessman to lie on a loan application to expand his business so that his family might become richer, well, that’s another matter all together.”

“I think we’re dealing with the former,” David replied.

“In that case, I’m not sure there’s a good answer. We might well ask if the poor man would be wrong for
not
stealing the bread if his children died of malnutrition. I think you know that there is no easy answer to this kind of question. No matter what answer you come up with, someone will chime in and say, ‘Yeah, but what about …’ and then change the parameters a little bit.”

“There must be some answer, some solution,” David interjected. “The world can’t operate on a scale of sliding absolutes.”

“Not only can it, David, it does.” Kristen moved to the edge of her seat as she became more emphatic. “I know I’m talking to a minister who knows a great deal more about morality than I do, but you don’t have to live very long before you realize that the world is not fair. Justice is more difficult to get if you’re a minority. That’s not an opinion, it’s a fact that has been demonstrated many times. Is this because there is a deep, dark conspiracy against minorities? Probably not. It’s simply the way things work right now. The same can be said for certain gender issues. Women still make less money for the same work as men. Why? Because there’s a sliding scale of absolutes.”

“But that’s not right,” David objected. “Everyone should be treated equally.”

“Agreed. And not only do I agree, but everyone you ask will agree. So why is the problem still there?”

“Because we don’t live up to our own ideals and laws.”

“Exactly, and that creates an inequitable society in which some have advantages and others are deprived of opportunity. Now let’s get back to your question: Is it ever right to do wrong? Technically, the answer is no. Practically, the answer is yes. Ultimately, the
answer is that it depends on the situation. I suppose it all hinges on motivation.”

“Motivation?” David inquired.

“Sure. If I break the law for no other reason than to enhance my personal wealth or social standing, then I’m wrong because my motivation is selfish and may come at the expense of others. If, however, I break the law to save your life, then maybe I’ve done something good even though I’ve technically become a criminal.”

David raised his hand and rubbed his eyes. Normally the question would be a fun and intellectually stimulating discussion, one in which he would eagerly participate. But now he was dealing with real people in real situations, and like it or not, he was being asked to participate in the discovery of A.J.’s guilt or innocence. Kristen hadn’t disappointed him. Her answers were thoughtful and direct. He wanted to tell her the whole story. He wanted to say,
Listen, Kristen, the funniest thing happened last night. I was watering my lawn when an FBI agent and a CIA agent came by to have coffee and tell me that my friend and boss may be guilty of stealing satellite photos. What do you think about that?
But there was no wisdom in that, and what that decision lacked in wisdom it made up for in danger.

“Does any of that help?” Kristen asked, her eyes fixed on David.

“Maybe. Let me think about it for a while.”

“You’re still not going to tell me what’s troubling you?”

“I can’t. Not yet anyway. Please trust me on this.”

“Trust has a price,” Kristen replied with a playful grin. “You want to keep secrets, then you have to buy me lunch—today.”

David laughed. “Lunch it is. That’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.” He fixed his eyes on her only to discover that she was staring at him. As their eyes connected, David felt a sudden rush of warmth and the image of his lips meeting her lips in an unexpected soft kiss under the moonlight of Addis Ababa flooded his mind. An afternoon lunch with Kristen was just what he needed.

Lunch had been the perfect diversion. Kristen had wanted Chinese, so she and David made their way to a small place on Broadway, across from the Wells Fargo Bank Tower. They ate with chopsticks and discussed matters of absolutely no importance. It was as if she sensed the depth of his turmoil and had determined to distract him for as long as possible. When they left the restaurant, they did so hand in hand, an act that made the world look brighter and infinitely more optimistic to David.

Back in the office, David struggled to push the accusations of impropriety to the back of his mind. He tried to focus on his work, but his thinking kept drifting back to one thought that burned in his mind: Agent Woody Summers would be contacting him and demanding an answer, and David had no idea what he would tell him.

Despite the exertion it took to concentrate, the time passed quickly, and David was surprised to see that the sun was already setting. Most of the staff would have left, each gone home to family and friends. But David didn’t want to leave. If he went home, then that same dark sedan might pull up in front of his house and Agents Summers and Cooper would emerge to put more pressure on him. They were wrong, and David knew it. The problem was proving it without hurting his relationship with A.J. Surely there must be some way to demonstrate A.J.’s innocence. Perhaps he should simply talk to A.J. and tell him about the investigation. But what if Agent Summers was right? If David spoke to A.J., would that make him an accessory? David felt stymied.

“Hello, David.”

Looking up at his open door, David saw the thin frame of Timmy, a plastic trash liner in hand and a huge smile on his face. “Hello, Timmy,” he said, “I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

“That’s ’cause A.J. took me to the Wild Animal Park,” Timmy said with pride. “He couldn’t take me to Africa so we went to the Wild Animal Park instead.”

“Was it fun?”

“It was neat.” Timmy exuded excitement. “We saw lots of animals and stuff, but I ate too much candy and ice cream and got sick on the tram.” David tried to picture A.J. dealing with a nauseated Timmy. “But I got well real quick.”

“That’s great, Timmy.”

“And the next day, A.J. took me to Sea World. Have you ever been to Sea World?”

“Yes I have. Last summer—”

“They got lots of neat stuff there too. I like the penguins and the puffers the best.”

“Puffers?” David asked, confused.

“Sure. They’re like penguins, but different.”

“Puffins,” David said, nodding his head. “I like the puffins too. Did you see them swim?”

“Yeah!” Timmy clapped his hands together, but the sound was muffled by the plastic trash bag. “It was like they was flying underwater. I bet I could fly underwater.” Timmy raised his arms like wings on a plane and ran through the door into David’s office making zooming sounds. “Well, I could if I could swim.”

“We’ll have to teach you to swim, Timmy.”

“Yes!” Timmy jumped up and down twice. “Neat. Will you teach me, David? If it’s okay with A.J., will you?”

“If it’s okay with A.J.,” David agreed.

“Cool! You wanna see what else I got, David?” Timmy reached into his pocket and pulled out a key chain with a single strange-looking key attached. “It’s got Shamu on it. Here, look.” Timmy handed the inexpensive chain to David. “A.J. bought it for me at Sea World. Isn’t it neat?”

David took the small silver chain with a tiny plastic killer whale dangling from it. But what caught David’s eye was not the ornamental orca but the key at the end of the chain. It resembled an ordinary office key, except that the back portion where the user would hold the key was covered in black plastic and had a small microchip embedded in it. Most of the offices in the Barringston Tower had
doors that couldn’t be locked and, therefore, keys weren’t needed. But apparently a few doors were special enough to require a key for access. This made sense to David, but why would Timmy have such a key? “This is pretty terrific,” David said. “And this key is neat. What kind of key is this, Timmy?”

“It’s my key. I need it to get into the rooms to empty the trash. That’s my job, remember?”

“I remember, Timmy,” David replied, giving the key back to him. “And you do a good job too. Do you empty the trash for the whole building?”

“Oh no.” Timmy scowled and shook his head. “There are too many rooms. I just work on A.J.’s floors.”

“You mean the floors used by Barringston Relief.”

“Yeah, but only three floors,” Timmy said proudly. “Floors fifty-one, fifty-two, and fifty-three.” That made sense to David. Taking out the trash for all the offices in a fifty-three story building would be a monumental task for anyone, and especially difficult for Timmy.

“So that key lets you into all the offices?”

“Uh-huh,” Timmy agreed. “It’s a neat key, but I like my new key chain even more.”

“I bet you do,” David said. “Tell me, Timmy, what do you do after you empty the trash?”