The Simple Truth (49 page)

“What does that mean?”

“Sara liked and respected your brother. But she didn’t love him, although, quite frankly, I think he was in love with her. But her heart lies elsewhere.”

“Is that right? And she told you this?”

“John, I really don’t like to admit to any gender bias, but I also refuse to ignore some basic realities: I doubt if my eight male colleagues have any clue whatsoever, but it’s clear to me that Sara Evans is very much in love with you.”

“Your womanly intuition?”

“Something like that. I also have two girls of my own.”
She noted his curious look.
“My first husband died. My daughters are grown and on their own.”
Knight put her hands in her lap and looked out the window.
“However, that’s not really why I wanted to talk to you,”
she said.
“Turn right, up here,”
she said.

As Fiske did so, he asked,
“So what is on your agenda? You people seem to always have one.”

“And you find that somehow wrong?”

“You tell me. Seeing the games you people play doesn’t give me warm fuzzies.”

“I can respect that point of view.”

“I’m in no position to really judge what you do. But, to me, you’re not judges, you’re policymakers. And what that policy will be depends on who lobbies hard enough to get five votes. What does that have to do with the rights of one plaintiff and one defendant?”
As soon as Fiske had finished speaking he had a sudden, depressing thought: He had no room to complain about the Court and how it operated. He spent all his time dodging the truth on behalf of his clients. In a way, that was worse than anything the Court did or didn’t do in the name of justice.

They drove in silence for a minute until Knight broke it.
“I started out as a prosecutor. And then became a trial judge.”
She paused.
“I can’t tell you that your feelings are wrong.”
Fiske looked mildly surprised.
“John, we could debate this until we’re both sick of it, but the fact is there is a system in place and one must work within that system. If that means playing by its rules and, on occasion, bending them, so be it. Perhaps that’s an oversimplified philosophy for a complex situation, but sometimes you have to go with your gut.”
She looked at him.
“Do you know what I mean?”

He nodded.
“My instincts are pretty good.”

“And what do your instincts tell you about Michael and Steven’s deaths? Is there anything to this story of the missing appeal? If there is, I would really like to know about it.”

“Why ask me?”

“Because you seem to know more than anyone else. That’s why I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“Are you really hoping that I killed my brother and I’m using this appeal as a red herring? That way the Court doesn’t get a black eye.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said as much to Sara at your party.”

Knight sighed and sat back.
“I’m not sure why I did. Perhaps to scare her away from you.”

“I didn’t kill my brother.”

“I believe you. So this missing appeal may be important?”

Fiske nodded.
“My brother was killed because he knew what that appeal said. I think Wright was killed because he was working late, came out of his office and saw someone at the Court going through my brother’s office.”

She turned pale.
“You believe someone at the Court murdered Steven?”
Fiske nodded.
“Can you prove that?”

“I hope so.”

“That can’t be, John. Why?”

“There’s a guy who’s spent half his life in prison who’d like to know the answer to that.”

“Does Detective Chandler know all this?”

“Some of it. But Agent McKenna has pretty much convinced him I’m the bad guy.”

“I’m not sure Detective Chandler believes that.”

“We’ll see.”

As Fiske dropped Knight back at the Court, she said,
“If everything you suspect is true and someone at the Court is involved in this …”
She stopped, unable to continue for a moment.
“Do you realize what this could do to the Court’s reputation?”

“I’m not sure of a lot in life, but I’m certain of one thing.”
He paused and then said,
“The Court’s reputation isn’t worth an innocent man dying in prison.”

Rufus looked anxiously over at his brother, who had just finished an exhausting coughing fit. Josh tried to sit up a little, thinking that would help his breathing. His insides, he knew, were all but destroyed. Something important to keeping him alive might burst at any moment. He still held the pistol against his side. But it didn’t look like a bullet would be needed to end his life. At least, not another one.

It was fortunate for them that Tremaine and Rayfield hadn’t come in an Army vehicle. But the Jeep did have one crushed side from being broadsided by the truck and this would draw unwanted attention to them. At least it had a cloth top, which prevented anyone from getting a good glimpse of what was inside.

Rufus didn’t know where he was going, and Josh moved in and out of lucidity too much to really help him. Rufus flipped open the glove box and pulled out a map. He studied it quickly and traced the route to Richmond with his finger. He had to get to the highway. If he had to he would stop and ask directions. He pulled the little card out of his shirt pocket and glanced at the names and telephone numbers. Now he just had to find a phone.

* * *

When Fiske and McKenna arrived at Fiske’s office, the FBI agent said,
“Let’s get to it.”

“We wait for the police,”
Fiske said firmly.

Just as he said that, a police cruiser pulled up and Officer Hawkins climbed out.

“What the heck’s going on here, John?”
Hawkins asked, perplexed.

Fiske pointed at McKenna.
“Agent McKenna thinks I killed Mike. He’s here to get my gun so he can do a ballistics test.”

Hawkins looked at McKenna with hostile eyes.
“If that’s not the biggest bunch of bullshit I ever heard …”

“Right, thanks for your official assessment — Officer Hawkins, is it?”
McKenna said, coming forward.

“That’s right,”
Hawkins said grimly.

“Well, Officer Hawkins, you have the consent of Mr. Fiske to search his office for a nine-millimeter pistol registered to his name.”
He looked at Fiske.
“I’m assuming you are still giving that consent.”
When Fiske didn’t respond, McKenna looked back at Hawkins.
“Now, if you have a problem with that, then let’s go talk to your boss and you can start planning another career outside of law enforcement.”

Before Hawkins could do something foolish, Fiske grabbed his sleeve and said,
“Let’s just go get this over with, Billy.”

As they walked into the building, Fiske commented,
“Your face looks a lot better.”

Hawkins smiled, embarrassed.
“Yeah, thanks.”

“What happened?”
McKenna asked.

Hawkins looked at him sullenly.
“Guy decided to take a ride on drugs. He was a little difficult to arrest.”

There was a stack of mail and packages in front of Fiske’s office door. He picked them up and unlocked the door. They went inside and Fiske walked over to his desk and dropped the stack of mail on it. He slid open the top drawer and looked inside. He stuck his hand in and fumbled through the contents before looking up at both men.
“It was right in this drawer. I actually saw it the day you came to tell me about Mike, Billy.”

McKenna crossed his arms and eyed Fiske sternly.
“Okay, has anybody else had access to your office? Cleaning crew, secretary, delivery people, window washers?”

“No, nobody. Nobody else has a key, except for the landlord.”

Hawkins said,
“You’ve been gone, what, two days or so?”

“That’s right.”

McKenna was looking at the door.
“But there’s no signs of forced entry.”

Hawkins said,
“That doesn’t mean anything. Person who knew what they were doing could pick that lock and you’d never even know it.”

“Who knew you kept the gun here?”
McKenna asked.

“Nobody.”

“Maybe one of your clients took it so he’d have a piece of ordnance to knock over a bank with,”
McKenna said.

“I don’t interview clients in my office, McKenna. They’re usually in prison by the time I get the call.”

“Well, it looks like we have a little problem here. Your brother was killed by a nine-millimeter slug. You have a nine-millimeter Sig registered to you. You admit it was actually in your possession as of a few days ago. Now that pistol is missing. You have no alibi for the time of your brother’s death and you’re a half million bucks richer because of his death.”

Hawkins glanced over at Fiske.
“A life insurance policy Mike took out,”
Fiske explained.
“It was for Mom and Dad.”

“At least that’s your story, right?”
McKenna added.

Fiske edged closer to McKenna.
“If you think you have enough to charge me, then do it. If not, get the hell out of my office.”

McKenna wasn’t fazed.
“I believe Officer Hawkins has your consent to search your entire office for the gun, not just the drawer you said it was in. Now, friend or not, I would expect him to carry out his sworn duty.”

Fiske backed off and looked over at Hawkins.
“Go ahead, Billy. I’m going down to the corner café for something to drink. You want anything?”
Hawkins shook his head.

“I could use a cup of coffee,”
McKenna said, following Fiske out.
“It’ll give us a chance to have a little talk.”

* * *

Sara pulled her car into the driveway. She took a deep breath. The Buick was there. As she got out of the car, the smell of cut grass hit her. It was comforting, taking her back to high school football games, lazy summers in the peace of the Carolinas. When she knocked on the door, it was jerked open so quickly she almost fell off the stoop. Ed Fiske must have watched her drive up. Before he could slam the door in her face, she held the photo out to him.

There were four people in the photo: Ed and Gladys Fiske and their two sons. They all wore broad smiles.

Ed looked questioningly at Sara.

“Michael had it in his office. I wanted you to have it.”

“And why’s that?”
His tone was still cold, but at least he wasn’t screaming obscenities at her.

“Because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

Ed took the photo from her.
“I got nothing to say to you.”

“But I have a lot to say to you. I promised someone something, and I like to keep my promises.”

“Who? Johnny? Well, you can tell him that it’s no good sending you over to try to mend things.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here. He told me not to come.”

He looked surprised.
“So why are you here?”

“That promise. What you saw the other night wasn’t John’s fault. It was mine.”

“It takes two to tango and you ain’t telling me no different.”

“May I come in?”

“I don’t see why.”

“I’d really like to talk to you about your sons. I think you need to know some things. Some information that might make things a little clearer. It won’t take all that long and I promise you, after I’m done, I won’t ever bother you again. Please?”

After a long moment, Ed finally moved aside and let her pass. He closed the door noisily behind them.

The living room was much the way it had been the first time she had seen it. The man liked things tidy. She imagined his garage full of tools kept in the same manner. Ed motioned to the sofa and Sara sat down. He went into the dining room and carefully placed the photo among the others there.
“You want something to drink?”
he asked grudgingly.

“Only if you’re having something.”

Ed sat down in a chair across from her.

“I’m not.”

She looked at him closely. Now she could more clearly see the rough outlines of both sons in his face, his build. The mother was there too, though more in Michael than in John. Ed started to light up a cigarette and then stopped.

“You can smoke if you want. It’s your house.”

Ed replaced the pack of smokes in his pocket and slid the lighter back in his pants pocket.
“Gladys wouldn’t let me smoke in the house, just outside. Old habits are hard to break.”
He crossed his arms, waiting for her to start talking.

“Michael and I were very close friends.”

“I’m not sure how close you could’ve been after what I saw the other night.”
Ed’s face started to flush.

“The fact is, Mr. Fiske — ”

“Look, just call me Ed,”
he said gruffly.

“All right, Ed, the fact is we were close friends. That’s how I saw it, but Michael wanted more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Sara swallowed hard, her own face reddening.
“Michael asked me to marry him.”

Ed looked shocked.
“He never said anything to me.”

“I’m sure he didn’t. You see”
— she hesitated for a moment, very nervous about what his reaction would be to these next words —
“you see, I told him no.”
She shrank back a little, but Fiske just sat there, trying to digest this.

“Is that right? I take it you didn’t love him.”

“I didn’t — not like that, anyway. I’m not sure why I didn’t. He seemed perfect. Maybe that’s what scared me, sharing my life with someone like that, trying to keep my standards up that high for a lifetime. And he was so caught up in his work. Even if I had loved him, I’m not sure there would have been room for me.”

Ed looked down.
“It was hard raising those two boys. Johnny was good at most everything, but Mike … Mike was flat-out great at anything he wanted to do. I was working all the damn time and didn’t really see it that good when they were growing up. I see it a whole lot better now. I bragged a lot on Mike. Too much. Mike told me Johnny wouldn’t have nothing to do with him, and wouldn’t really say why. Johnny really keeps to himself. Hard to get him to talk.”