"I don't think it's in my best interest or the best interest of the commonwealth for me to continue to serve in my position." I am out with it.
He just stares at me.
"I'll submit this more formally, of course, in writing. But I've made my decision. I am resigning as of January first. Of course I'll stay on as long as you need me, while you search for my replacement." I wonder if he was expecting this. Maybe he is relieved. Maybe he is angry.
"You're not a quitter, Kay," he says. "That's one thing you've never been. Don't let assholes run you off, goddammit."
"I'm not quitting my profession. Just changing the boundaries. No one's running me off."
"Oh yes, boundaries," the governor observes, leaning back against the cushions and studying me. "Sounds like you're becoming a hired gun."
"Please." We both share the same contempt for experts whose choice of which side to represent is based on money, not justice.
"You know what I mean." He relights his cigar and stares off, already forming a new plan. I can see his mind working.
"I'll go to work as a private contractor," I say. "But I will never be a hired gun. Actually, what I've got to do first won't earn me a dime, Mike. The case. New York. I've got to help and it's going to take a lot of my time."
"All right. Then it's simple. You go to work as a private contractor, Kay, and the commonwealth will be your first client. We'll hire you as acting chief until there's a better solution for Virginia. I hope your rates are reasonable," he drolly adds.
This isn't at all what I expected to hear.
"You look surprised," he observes.
"I am."
"Why?"
"Maybe Buford Righter could explain," I start to say, and indignation rises again. "We have two women horrendously murdered in this city, and no matter what, I don't feel it's right that their killer is now in New York. I can't help it, Mike. I feel it's my fault. I feel I've compromised the cases here because Chandonne came after me. I feel as if I've turned into a liability."
"Ah, Buford," Mitchell blandly comments. "Well, he's a good enough guy but a lousy commonwealth's attorney, Kay. And I don't think letting New York have the first crack at Chandonne is all that bad an idea in light of the circumstances." His words have the weight of many considerations, not the least of which, I suspect, is the way Europeans would react if Virginia executed a French native, and Virginia is known for the number of people it puts to death every year. I autopsy every one of them. I know the statistics all too well. "Even I would be a little at odds as to how to handle this case," Mitchell adds with a drawn-out pause.
I have the sensation that the sky is about to fall. Secrets crackle like static electricity, but there is no point in my prying. Governor Mitchell will not be coaxed into relaying any information he isn't ready to give. "Try not to take all this too personally. Kay," he gives me advice. "I support you. I'll continue to do so. I've worked with you a long time and know you."
"Everybody tells me not to take any of this personally." I smile a little. The ominous feeling strengthens. He will continue to support me, as if to imply there are reasons he shouldn't.
"Edith, my kids, staff, all tell me the same thing," he is saying. "And I still take things personally. I just don't let on that I do."
"Then you had nothing to do with Berger_with this rather remarkable change of venue, so to speak?" I have to ask.
He sharpens his ash to a point, slowly rolling the cigar, puffing, buying time. He did have something to do with it. He had everything to do with it, I am convinced. "She's really
good, Kay." His nonanswer is an answer.
I accept this. I resist prying. I simply ask him exactly how he is acquainted with her.
"Well, you know we both went to UVA law school," he says. "Then when I was AG, I had a case. You should remember since it had to do with your office. The socialite from New York who took out a huge life insurance policy on her husband one month before she murdered him in a Fairfax hotel. She tried to pass it off as a suicidal shooting."
I remember all too well. She later named my office and me in a lawsuit, accusing us of racketeering, among other things, for allegedly colluding with the insurance company to falsify records so no claim was paid to her.
"Berger got involved because it turns out the woman's first husband had died under suspicious circumstances in New York some years earlier," Mitchell says. "Seems he was an older man, frail, and drowned in the bathtub just one month after the wife had taken out a huge life insurance policy. The medical examiner found bruises that might have indicated a struggle, and pended the case for a very long time, hoping the investigation would turn up something conclusive. It didn't. The D.A.'s office just couldn't make the case. Then the woman sues the medical examiner there, too. For slander, emotional duress, baloney like that. I had numerous conversations with the people up there, mostly Bob Morgenthau, the D.A., but also with Jaime, comparing notes."
"Guess I'm wondering if the feds might try to make Chan-donne flip and snitch on his cartel family. Let's make a deal," I say. "And then what?"
"I think you can bank on that," Mitchell replies solemnly.
"So that's it." Now I know. "He is guaranteed not to get the death penalty? That's the deal."
"Morgenthau's not known for putting people to death," he says. "But I am. I'm a tough old bird."
The governor has just clued me in on the negotiations that have gone on. The feds get to work on Chandonne. In exchange, Chandonne is tried in New York, where he is assured he will not get the death penalty. No matter what happens,
Governor Mitchell doesn't look bad. It is no longer his problem. It is no longer Virginia's problem. We won't incite an international incident by sticking a needle in Chandonne's arm. "That's a shame," I sum it up. "Not that I believe in capital punishment, Mike, but it's a shame that politics have gotten into the mix. I just listened to several hours of Chandonne's lies. He's not going to help anyone take down his family. Never. And I'll tell you something else, if he ends up in Kirby or Bellevue, he'll somehow get out. He'll kill again. So on the one hand, I'm glad there's an excellent prosecutor on the case and not Righter. Righter's a coward. But on the other hand, I'm sorry we've lost control of Chandonne."
Mitchell leans forward and places his hands on his knees, a ready position signaling our conversation has ended. He isn't going to discuss the matter further with me, and that also speaks volumes. "Good of you to come, Kay," he says. He holds my stare. This is his way of saying, "Don't ask."
Chapter 19
AARON LEADS ME BACK DOWN THE STAIRS AND gives me a slight smile as he opens the front door. The trooper waves at me as I drive through the gates. There is a sense of closure, of finality as I wind through Capitol Square, the mansion disappearing in my rearview mirror. I have left something. I have just walked away from my life as I have known it, and I have discovered a wrinkle of distrust for a man I have always admired so much. No, I don't think Mitchell has done anything wrong. But I know he hasn't been forthright with me, not totally. He is directly responsible for Chan-donne's leaving our jurisdiction, and the reason is politics, not justice. I sense it. I am sure of it. Mike Mitchell is not the prosecutor anymore. He is the governor. Why should I be surprised? What the hell did I expect?
Downtown seems unfriendly and foreign as I follow 8th Street to get on the expressway. I watch the faces of people driving past and marvel that virtually none of them is present in the moment they occupy. They drive and look in the mirror and reach for something on the seat or fool with the radio or
talk on the phone or to their passengers. They don't notice the