and important operation, or who murdered Diane. How frustrating. Embarrassing, too."
"But then, you were pretty sure you had your murderer."
"I thought I had a reasonable suspect."
"Why didn't you have Bian arrested? I would."
"It was all circumstantial. No evidence linked her to Diane's murder, and Daniels's case could have been suicide." She picked at something on the table, a piece of lint, maybe. "You yourself told me that it looked like suicide."
Actually, I had said that it was murder made to appear like suicide. Phyllis has an amazing memory for details, incidentally. I nodded anyway.
She said, "In my judgment, a premature arrest was too risky." She smiled and added, "She would have lawyered up, and you know what a mess lawyers make of things."
I nodded again, though this was not exactly true. The toughest part of a homicide investigation is finding a suspect and a motive. There are no perfect crimes, only unsolved ones, but sometimes you have to find the suspect to find the imperfections. Detective Barry Enders, in fact, absent both suspect and motive, had already collected evidence sufficient for any competent prosecutor to put Bian away for a long time. Every criminal investigator knows this, I knew this, and I was sure Phyllis knew this, too.
I said, "Regardless, you had to understand the dangers of placing a murder suspect inside an investigation about a crime in which she had a conflict of interest. She was the killer, after all."
"Turn that logic on its head--can you think of a better place to park a suspect than right under your nose?"
"How about in jail?"
The boy reappeared with a plate of appetizers, a combination of squiggly dead things and rice squashed into marble-size balls. Phyllis said something to him in Vietnamese, and he laughed and scampered back into the kitchen. The kid was obviously charmed by her. I really needed to have a talk with him.
Phyllis speared a rice thing with a chopstick and handed it across the table. She said, "Try one of these. They're marinated in vinegar and sugar. Quite tasty."
I bit into it. Not bad. An interesting combination of sweet and sour, yin and yang, sort of easy and hard to take at the same time--like Phyllis.
She speared another one, popped it into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. She said, "Putting Bian into the investigation was the key that unlocked everything. We learned how the leak occurred, who was responsible, and why."
"And what about the collateral damage?"
"I don't worry about that." She noted, "The country doesn't really understand this war. Nor does it seem to care to. Turki al-Fayef was right about that. Forgive my cynicism, but our people are more interested in Tom Cruise's silly antics on Oprah's couch than who's giving secrets to the Iranians. In a week, the Saudi princes will be forgotten, washed away by a hurricane or a gruesome murder somewhere. And Mahmoud Charabi, should he ever come back to Washington, will be welcomed like a visiting dignitary."
Sad. But also, I thought, probably true. But I was also sure that she understood that at some point, America could care. And if what happened in this case ended up on the front page of the morning newspaper, that point might be tomorrow night. That's why she and I were sharing this table and pretending to enjoy each other's company. Phyllis had been dispatched to make sure I kept my mouth shut.
"So why did you pick me?" I asked her.
"I trusted you to do the right thing. I still do."
"And what is the right thing, Phyllis?"
She did not answer. She didn't need to.
I asked, "Why didn't you tell me about Bian?"
"I needed you to learn the truth about the compromise of our intelligence, and about Mahmoud Charabi."
"Instead of discovering my partner was a murderer."
"Yes. Our job is intelligence, not law enforcement. I warned you about that at the beginning, Sean. You should have listened." She added more warmly, "You should be proud of all you accomplished. I'm proud of you."
"Can we cut the crap? You're here to make sure I don't squeal and to find out what it will cost."
She studied her chopsticks, then looked me in the eye and asked, "What will it cost?"
"More than you can offer. Important people have done bad and dishonorable things. They deserve to be punished. They need to be punished."
She speared another rice ball and studied it a moment, which I guess was easier than studying me. She said, "The Director and I were at the White House