Terminal Justice (3 page)

“Is tomorrow too soon?” A.J. asked.

“Tomorrow will be fine. I hope …”

Once again the door to the office slowly swung open and Sheila entered.

“Yes, Sheila?” A.J. asked.

She was carrying a blue file folder. Her face was taut and shadowed by a dark cloud of emotion. She looked at A.J. the way someone looks at another to communicate a silent and important truth.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I thought you should see this.” She handed him the folder.

A.J. took the file and opened it. The color drained from his face.

“Thank you, Sheila,” he said with a forced smile. “David has agreed to join our team.”

“Welcome,” Sheila said coolly.

David didn’t need his communication expertise to know that his presence was now awkward. Whatever was in the file had clearly upset them both.

“Thank you,” David said. “I’m looking forward to working here.”

There was an uneasy silence as A.J. stared at the file’s contents.

“Well,” David said, “I’m sure you have work you want to do, and I think I’m going to treat myself to a celebration dinner. So if there’s nothing else …”

“Thank you for coming,” A.J. said, clearly distracted. “I know that you’re going to be a big addition to Barringston Relief.”

“I’ll see you to the door,” Sheila said.

A.J. Barringston watched as Sheila closed the door behind David. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he said sullenly.

“We can’t be sure, but—” Sheila began.

“I can. It’s him. I can feel him half a world away.” A.J. returned his attention to the file and removed its contents: a one-page memo marked, EYES ONLY and three photographs. The memo was unnecessary; the photos said everything. Each photo was an aerial snapshot of a burned-out camp—a Barringston camp. The brown
earth was marked by areas of scorched ground where tents that had housed the feeble once stood. Ghostly wisps of smoke that had danced above the pyres were frozen in place by the photo. In the middle of one of the pictures lay two bodies, arms and legs strewn in awkward positions. A label identifying the bodies was glued to the photo. One read: UNIDENTIFIED SOMALI NATIONAL; the other: DR. JUDITH RHODES.

“Communications dispatched a helicopter from Mogadishu when Rhodes didn’t check in,” Sheila explained. “That’s what they found.”

“It’s him all right.” A.J. slammed the photos down on the desk. “He’s gone too far.” A.J. leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Have Peter pull Judith’s personnel file. I want to talk to the family. They shouldn’t have to hear this over the television. Also, have Kristen hold a press conference.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Where’s Roger?”

“He arrived in Egypt last night.”

“I hope he hasn’t unpacked,” A.J. said seriously. “It’s time for him to take another trip.”

DAVID ARRIVED FOR HIS FIRST DAY OF WORK AT 7:50. The traffic along Interstate 8 had been grueling and hadn’t improved when he turned south on Interstate 5. It had taken him nearly fifty minutes to make the drive from El Cajon in the east county to downtown. If the Barringston building hadn’t had a private parking garage, he would have been late for his first day on the job.

The night had passed quickly. David had indeed celebrated his new job with dinner at a small Italian restaurant in La Mesa. The meal was good, but he still felt uncomfortable eating alone. He had almost always had company when he ate out, if not his wife, then a church member. The last six months David had eaten all his meals alone, turning down the kind invitations from church members who struggled to maintain contact with him after his resignation. He loved those people, but he found it impossible to face them without an overwhelming sense of embarrassment.

He knew the embarrassment was misplaced; he had done nothing wrong. But his wife had left him for another man—a church leader at that. She left him, the church, and the city. She left him with the task of disclosing the awful truth of her infidelity to the congregation. He had to share the news of the abandonment. He did so in a quiet and uncritical way, making great efforts to appear strong and resilient, but those who knew him well knew that his mind and soul had been shattered.

The church had been supportive. The congregation poured out
their love in many ways; they also talked among themselves. They pleaded with him to stay on as their pastor. “No one can replace you,” they said. But Carol, his wife, had been able to replace him. Frequently waves of insecurity and inadequacy washed over him like a tsunami overwhelming a coastal community. The debris left behind was not the residue of houses and shops but the flotsam of pride and dignity. He had trouble sleeping at night, and when he did sleep he had unsettling dreams.

Despite the efforts of several church members, deacons, and other local pastors, David closed himself off, building a fortress around himself constructed of fear, anger, and self-pity. For months David lived the life of a recluse, screening all his phone calls through his answering machine.

One day he received a letter from Barringston Relief. They said they had been referred to him by the alumni association of San Diego State University where he had done graduate work in speech communication before going off to seminary. The alumni office had been made aware of David’s new status when he had, on a whim, fired off a résumé to his alma mater looking for a teaching position. Unfortunately, there had been no budget for it.

Reluctantly, David called the phone number listed in the letter. It took only moments for David to be connected to Peter Powell, the head of personnel. Peter had gone straight to the point: They were offering David a job as a speechwriter. David needed a job. The savings he had been using to support himself would be depleted in less than two months. As a pastor, his income had been livable but limited. He was far from being a man of means. Intrigued by the offer and pressed by need, he agreed to meet with Powell the next day.

Now he found himself at the start of a new career. He had always been goal driven, and the thought of undertaking a new project excited him. He felt privileged—no blessed—that he should find a job with such a noble purpose. Certainly it would be different from his work as pastor, but he was resilient. He could adjust.

Stepping from his car, he started toward the bank of elevators. A message left by Peter on David’s answering machine had said that someone would meet him and take him to his new office. Before he could reach the elevators, the doors parted and a woman exited. Her hair was shoulder length and dark red, and her eyes were a deep blue, the deepest he had ever seen.

“David O’Neal,” she said, smoothly stepping toward him. “I’m Kristen LaCroix, and I’ve been asked to show you around.” Her walk was peculiar. She held her head high, chin elevated, and moved with a strutting gait.

David had studied body language most of his adult life. The topic had consumed him in college and graduate school, and he had found it useful in the ministry. David intuitively sensed that Kristen LaCroix was subconsciously attempting to divert his attention. He found her so stunningly attractive that diverting his attention from anything else would be easy, but years of conditioning prodded his subconscious to seek an answer.

He discovered the truth quickly and was embarrassed to find it so obvious. Kristen’s unusual gait was caused by a physical defect. Glancing at her feet, David saw a prosthetic shoe with a sole that had been built up approximately two inches. Her right leg was shorter than her left.

“So you’re my guide,” he said, shaking her hand.

“I am.” Her smile was flawless and bright. “Peter had planned to do the honors, but he’s rather tied up.”

“Well, then,” he said, “I’m in your hands.”

“How about a short tour?” Kristen asked as she led the way into the waiting elevator car. “It’ll help you get your bearings.”

“I’ll take whatever help I can get.” He watched as she punched the elevator button. The cab rose smoothly. The hum of motors filled the car. “How long have you been with Barringston Relief?”

“Just under five years. I was recruited from a public-relations firm in Los Angeles.”

“Is that what you do here? Public relations, I mean.”

“Yes,” she replied succinctly. “I oversee all press releases, contact with the media, and related activity.”

“You must enjoy it.”

Kristen glanced at David with puzzlement. “On most days,” she replied quietly.

David caught the look. “Did I say something wrong?”

“You haven’t heard?” she asked. “You must not have seen the news last night.”

“No. I ate out and then went home and read.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “What happened?”

“One of our overseas personnel was killed,” she said solemnly. “She was murdered by a terrorist.”

“I’m sorry,” David said quietly. That explained A.J.’s behavior yesterday. “Did you know the person?”

“Her name was Dr. Judith Rhodes. She had been transferred from Ethiopia to Somalia three weeks ago. As you probably know, Somalia is experiencing yet another drought and famine. Because of all the problems the UN had in 1993, few countries are willing to help. Dr. Rhodes asked for the transfer. She knew the dangers, but she asked to go anyway. I gave a short press conference last night. It was on the evening news.”

“Do they know who the killer is?” David asked.

“We know,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Not officially, but we know.”

The elevator stopped with a small lurch, and the doors opened. As they exited the elevator Kristen said, “We have an open communication policy here, David. There are very few secrets. That means that everyone associated with Barringston knows about Dr. Rhodes. In fact, they knew before the media. Our ranks are filled with caring people, and many of them are taking the news very hard.”

David understood the implication. In times of grief, people often seem preoccupied and distant. He could expect a subdued mood.

“This is our school,” Kristen said. “Actually, it’s part of our school. This floor houses our elementary classes; the junior high and high school students meet on the floor above us.”

“You actually have a fully graded school here?” David looked around. He was standing in a large and brightly lit foyer with a view of San Diego’s high-rise buildings. A wide hall led from the foyer.

“Yes, and we’re quite proud of it. It was A.J.’s idea. He felt that parents would feel more comfortable coming to work if they knew their children were nearby. This room is used for lunch gatherings. Parents can share lunch with their children if they want.” Pointing down the hall, she said, “That corridor leads to the classrooms. The children are in class now, that’s why it’s so quiet. The other corridor leads to the library, science rooms, language labs, and other such things.”

“So a Barringston employee’s child can go from first grade through high school in this one building?”

“Actually, they can start in our preschool. We also have a full gymnasium in the building next door. The children who come to school here get the best in education. All our teachers are paid executive salaries and have studied in the best colleges. High school students are guaranteed jobs in the firm if they do well.”

“Do you have any children here?” David asked.

“No,” she laughed. “I have no children, no husband, and no dog. I’m not much of a collector.”

“Collector? I’ve never thought of relationships as collecting.”

“I’m sorry,” she said smiling. “I don’t mean to make light of marriage. It’s just that I’ve never been drawn to it. I tend to be a little compulsive and self-absorbed. I wouldn’t make a very good wife.”

David nodded. “Being a spouse and parent isn’t easy, and it doesn’t come with an instruction manual.” He thought about his own failed marriage. Like most abandoned spouses, he assumed the breakdown was his fault. He had played the what-if game to the
hilt.
What if
he had been more sensitive?
What if
he had been home more?
What if
he had expressed his love more clearly?

He knew that no good came of those questions. He also knew from experience and training that there was little he could have done to prevent his wife’s departure. The simple truth was that she had found someone she’d rather be with, and there was nothing David could do about it.

The tour continued. Kristen showed David the research library with its multiple computers and current and past issues of every pertinent periodical. What they didn’t have, Kristen had assured him, they could get.

On the forty-seventh floor were apartments used by employees who liked to work late. Here they could catch a few hours sleep, shower, and return to work. The floor also contained the cafeteria.

David had been the most impressed by the research facility on the forty-ninth floor and the communications center on the fifty-second floor. The research wing looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. Scientists, in white lab coats huddled over computers, microscopes, glassware, and devices that David couldn’t identify.

“The Barringston philosophy,” Kristen had said, “is not merely to feed the hungry, but to provide the means for them to feed themselves.” She went on to describe the drought-resistant grain crops that had been developed as well as high-protein beans, nuts, and other foods, many of which had patents pending. David also learned that medical research was done in conjunction with Baylor College of Medicine in Houston, Texas. Several revolutionary advancements had been made in rehydration, vitamin supplements, and the reversal of tissue damage caused by hunger.