“And the Bureau’s word isn’t good enough?”
I looked out the grimy windows for guidance. The view reminded me where I stood, and where Anthropology stood, in the pecking order of the university. When I’d come to Knoxville to head the department, I’d been promised that the makeshift space in the stadium was only temporary and that we’d get bigger, better quarters soon. I’d also been promised, time and time again, that our shoestring budget would be increased. And yet, twenty years later, here I was, still stuck beneath the lavishly funded football program, still nickel-and-diming the bush-league budgets of my research facility and my faculty and graduate students. The university hadn’t protected me when I’d been falsely accused of murder. Did I really need to worry so much about protecting the university?
I did, I decided. UT hadn’t given me everything I’d hoped for, but along with the shoestring support and the makeshift space, it had given me the freedom and encouragement to build a program in forensic anthropology that was considered one of the best in the world. Without ever once questioning my sanity, UT had allowed me to haul in bodies by the hundreds and watch them rot, just for the sake of science. In a very profound way, the university was my home, and my colleagues and graduate students were my family. I had a responsibility to protect that home and family as best I could.
“Sorry,” I said. “I won’t do it. Not without bringing the general counsel into the loop.”
Price’s face was grim. “Dr. Brockton, I wish you’d reconsider. We will stand behind you if you help us,”
she assured me.
“No offense,” I countered, “but if this backfires on me, and on UT, I want at least some paper trail here within the university that says I didn’t crawl out on this limb without asking permission. Package deal: me and the general counsel.”
“You’re putting us in a very difficult position here,” she said.
“Gee, welcome to the damn club, Angie. If the general counsel gives her blessing, I’m in. If not, I’m out. Simple as that. Sorry.” Price and Rankin exchanged unhappy looks. “By the way, just so you know,” I added, “if the general counsel says she’ll keep it to herself, she will. Her word’s as good as the Bureau’s.”
I expected them to leave. I figured they’d need to discuss my demand in private or run it up the chain of command. But Price didn’t even look at Rankin before she spoke.
“Deal,” she said, extending her hand.
I studied her eyes for a moment. I saw toughness, integrity, and maybe some weariness as we shook.
“The Bureau appreciates your help, Dr. Brockton.”
“It’s an honor to be asked, Special Agent Price. Even if I’m not thrilled about what you’re asking me to do.”
Suddenly someone rapped at the door. It opened before I had a chance to say, “Yes?”
“Dr. B.?” Miranda’s head leaned around the edge. When she saw the FBI agents, she appeared startled.
“Oops, sorry to interrupt. I’ll come back later.”
“You’re not interrupting,” said Price. “We were just leaving.”
Miranda looked a question at me. “Please, come on in,” I said. “I need to talk to you about something.”
She stepped into the office, which now felt crowded and awkward. Her keen eyes swiftly sized up my two visitors: business suits, tidy haircuts, intelligent eyes, and the sort of physical confidence exuded by ex-marines and gifted athletes and skilled marksmen and FBI agents.
“This is my graduate assistant, Miranda Lovelady,” I said. “She’s the real brains of the outfit. Miranda, this is Special Agent Angela Price and Special Agent Ben Rankin.”
She swapped quick handshakes with them, and then all three of them turned to me expectantly.
“Agent Price and Agent Rankin stopped by to ask me for some help.” I sensed Price and Rankin tense up as I struggled for what to say next. “If they can get approval from headquarters, could we squeeze a few Knoxville field agents into the Evidence Recovery training?”
“No problem,” she said.
Something in her eyes shifted ever so slightly, like the merest flicker in a steady candle flame, and I realized that lying to Miranda might prove to be the steepest challenge and the highest cost of the deal I’d just made with the FBI.
CHAPTER 11
THE VOICE IN MY EAR SOUNDED FRIENDLY, BUT IT HITme like a fist.