Free Murder at the FBI by Margaret Truman Page B

stretched his arms in front of him. “Check out the number in the phone book.”
    “I am. There was no area code, and the exchange isn’t from around here. We’ll try them all tomorrow.”
    “Okay.” He got up and did a series of waist bends. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.
    “Going home, soaking in a hot tub, and getting to bed early. I had a tennis game tonight but I canceled.”
    “Maybe you’d feel better if you played.”
    “I doubt it. You?”
    “I need gym time. I’m tight. Want to meet for breakfast?”
    “Sure. Au Pied De Cochon?”
    “Sounds good to me.”
    ***
    Chris Saksis decided to jog once she got home. She ran for an hour along Massachusetts Avenue,past the stately mansions of Embassy Row, then back by way of Dumbarton Oaks Park. As she was letting herself in her apartment, the phone started ringing. She ran to it and picked it up. “Hello,” she said.
    “Chris. It’s Bill.”
    “Bill, it’s so good to hear from you.”
    “I wanted to touch base and let you know I’ll be in Washington in a couple of days.”
    “That’s wonderful. Tell me about it.”
    Bill Tse-ay and Chris Saksis had been lovers. His father was an Apache, and had started a national newspaper covering American Indian affairs. When his father died, Bill continued to publish it. He was even more of a crusader for Indian rights than his father had been, and it was his single-mindedness that contributed, in part, to the relationship with Chris ending. Bill had been quietly critical of Chris’s decision to join the FBI. He considered it, in some symbolic way, selling out. She saw it differently, felt that a good way to help her people was to achieve status and influence within the prevailing power structure. There were other factors, of course, that caused them to drift apart, at least romantically, but there remained a strong bond that each of them understood.
    Bill gave her his travel plans and said he’d call the minute he arrived. They started to exchange stories about their current lives but decided to save them for when they were together. He did ask before hanging up whether there was anyone new in her life.
    “I guess not, Bill, although I have met someonewho—well, I
am
interested, but it’s early in the relationship. You?”
    “Afraid not. Once you’ve met a Christine Saksis, everybody else pales, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
    They laughed. “I forgive you. Can’t wait to see you.”

9
    “Bill called last night,” Chris said as she and Ross lingered over a second cup of coffee at Au Pied De Cochon.
    “Bill?”
    “Bill Tse-ay.”
    “Really?”
    “He’s coming to Washington in a couple of days. I’d love you to meet him.”
    Lizenby looked past her to an adjacent table.
    “Ross.”
    He returned his attention to her. “What?”
    “I said I’d like you to meet Bill.”
    “Why would I want to do that?”
    “Because—because he’s a nice guy and he’s part of my life and—”
    “We’ll see. What are you doing today?”
    “Specifically? Well, I’m running down the phonenumber for Raymond Kane and following up on some other aspects of the list of people who’d seen Pritchard the day he was killed and—”
    Lizenby waved for a check.
    “Ross, are you angry about something?”
    The waitress brought the check and Lizenby pulled money from his wallet. When the waitress was gone, he stood and said, “Let’s go.”
    She started to ask again whether he was angry, decided to drop it, and walked to her car.
    “This thing is dragging on too long,” he said as she put the key in the lock.
    “What thing?”
    “Pritchard, this whole Ranger crap. The guy wasn’t worth it.”
    She cocked her head and looked at him. “What does that matter?”
    “It matters to me. I want this resolved fast so I can get the hell out of this fiasco called Washington, D.C.”
    She was hurt, but she fought against demonstrating it. “I’ll see you at the office,” she said curtly.
    “Yeah.