The Simple Truth by David Baldacci
Fiske hesitated again. Keeping the stolen appeal a secret was beginning to become very awkward. “I don’t know, but I might have an idea why Wright was killed.”
“Other than as a red herring?”
“Let’s say his death might have served a dual purpose.”
At that moment Sara joined them, trying very hard to conceal her excitement.
“John, can we talk for a minute?”
“Ms. Evans,” Chandler said with a broad smile, “I hope your drive to Richmond was pleasant and uneventful.”
“Let’s just say it was different,” she said quickly. “John, I really need to talk to you.”
“Can I catch up with you later, Buford?”
“And you can tell me your theory.”
As they walked off together, Chandler’s smile faded. He was wondering if he had just lost his “unofficial” partner to Sara Evans.
* * *
Minutes after Sara had left her office, Justice Knight had stopped by to see her. She started to leave a written message when she saw the Chance bench memo with Wright’s attached note. She sat down in Sara’s chair and read the note. After she finished, it suddenly dawned on Knight what she had done. She had instructed Wright to work late, all night if necessary. He had done so, left the building late and someone had killed him. Her precious bench memo. She had never really focused on this chain of events before. A gush of air came out of her lungs so hard it almost choked her. She put the memo down and rushed from the room.
A minute later she raced past her astonished staff and locked the door to her office. She looked around the spacious, beautiful room, with even its own fireplace. Here she had sat and contemplated her little strategies, her philosophies of life. And it had cost a young man his life. She threw off her pumps, collapsed in a corner, covered her face and wept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Back at her office, Sara spent the next thirty minutes filling Fiske in on everything she had found out. “When Barker calls back with the attorney’s name, we can talk to him and maybe really start getting somewhere.”
“That would be nice.”
“Do you believe Michael went to see Harms in prison?”
“It really complicates matters that the guy’s escaped.”
Sara had a sudden terrifying thought. “You don’t think Michael was somehow mixed up in that, do you?”
“My brother would not be part of anything illegal.”
“I didn’t mean intentionally.”
“According to the newspaper reports, Harms escaped from a hospital in Roanoke after Mike’s body was found. But I’m not saying that the timing is just coincidental.”
“Do you have any brilliant deductions?”
“I think I know why Wright was killed.”
“Why? Because he knew about Harms? About what Michael had done?”
“No, he was killed because he saw something. Something he shouldn’t have.”
Sara drew her chair closer to his. “What do you mean?”
“Wright’s office — your former office — is right down the hallway from Mike’s. Wright was going to be working all night.”
Sara slumped in her chair. “Right. Because I told him he had to.”
“No, because Knight told you to tell him he had to. Well, his body was found in a park that wasn’t on his way home. Chandler told me that he was killed between midnight and two last night. If he was working all night here, what was he doing in that park?”
“You believe someone took him there and killed him?”
“More to the point, someone took him from inside the Court to the park and killed him.”
Sara gaped. “Meaning the killer was here?”
Fiske nodded. “I don’t know if the person works here, but I believe he was physically present here last night.”
“What could Steven have seen that cost him his life?”
“I think he saw someone go into Mike’s office. Yesterday, Wright heard Chandler tell everyone that the office was off limits to everyone. Whoever went into Mike’s office might not have known that Wright was in his office. I assume you don’t broadcast when you’re working late.”
“Like last night, often we don’t even know until the last minute.”
“Right. So somebody goes into the office looking for something — ”
“Like what?”
“Who knows? Copies of the appeal that Mike took. Telephone messages, something on his computer.”
“But that’s an awfully big risk. There’s security here twenty-four hours a day.”
“Well, if the person knew the police were going to search the office thoroughly the next morning, he’d only have a limited amount of time to do it.”
“That makes sense.”
“So Wright hears something, or he’s finished his memo, he comes out, and runs right into whoever.”
“If your theory is correct, do you think Steven knew the person who killed him?”
Fiske took a deep breath and sat back. “I think he had to. Otherwise he would’ve raised the alarm right away. And I saw Dellasandro lock the door to Mike’s office. There’s no sign of forced entry. The person had a key.”
“But someone must have seen something, then.”
“Not necessarily. If the killer is familiar with the layout of the Court, then he’d know ways to avoid being seen with Wright until they got out of the building.”
“So it might be somebody he trusted.”
Fiske looked at her. “Like one of the justices?”
Sara stared back, horrified. “I’ll accept a lot, but I can’t accept that.” She had a sudden thought. “Maybe it was McKenna? Steven would have trusted him, FBI and all.”
“How could McKenna be involved in this?”
“I don’t know. He’s the first one who occurred to me.”
“Because he’s not with the Court and he slugged me?”
Sara sighed. “Probably.” Then she remembered something and tore through the papers on her desk until she found it. “I can tell you about what time Steven left.” She picked up the memo Wright had left for her. Across the top of the memo was a date and time stamp. She flipped the papers around so Fiske could see it.
“The word-processing system automatically puts the date and time stamp on documents because we go through so many drafts. That way we can quickly tell what’s current or not.”
Fiske looked at the time stamp. “This was printed out at one-fifteen this morning.”
“That’s right. Steven finished the memo, printed it out, put it on my desk and then presumably left.”
“And saw whatever he saw.”
Sara suddenly looked puzzled. “Wait a minute. Something doesn’t make sense here. When a clerk works late, ordinarily what happens is one of the Court police officers will give the clerk a ride home, if you live nearby.” She looked at Fiske. “The police here are really good to us.”
“And at one-fifteen the metro’s not running, is it?”
“No. Besides that, Steven lived barely a five-minute car ride from here. He’s gotten rides home before.”
“So the chances are very good that Wright got a ride home from somebody at the Court?”
“Leaving here at one-fifteen in the morning, I’d say it was a really safe bet.”
“How about a cab, though? Maybe at that hour there weren’t enough guards to spare to take him home.”
Sara looked doubtful. “I guess it’s possible.”
“If a police officer did take him home, that should be easy enough to check. I’ll tell Chandler.”
“So where does that leave us?”
Fiske shrugged. “We need to see Harms’s military file. I’ve got an old friend with the Army JAG. I’m going to call and see if he can help expedite the process. Until we know who’s involved in all this, I want as few people as possible to know we’re looking around.”
Sara shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“You know what?” she said.
CHAPTER FORTY
While Sara went back to work, Fiske telephoned his lawyer friend at the JAG office, Phil Jansen, and relayed his request. Among other things, he asked Jansen to obtain a list of the personnel stationed at Fort Plessy during the time Rufus Harms was there.
When Fiske rejoined Chandler, he related his theory of why Wright had been killed. Chandler was impressed. “We’ll check the cab companies too. We can only hope somebody saw or heard something.”
Chandler stared intently at the young man. “So, did you find out anything interesting with Ms. Evans during your time together last night?”
“I think she’s a good person. A little impulsive, but a good person. Very smart.”
“Anything else? At our initial meeting, Ramsey said that she and your brother were close. She have any reason why he might have been killed?”
“You might want to ask her that.”
“Well, I’m asking you, John. I thought we were a team.” He moved closer to Fiske. “I’ve got way too much I don’t understand on the front end of this case without having to watch my backside. You were a police officer; you should understand about covering somebody’s backside.”
Fiske said angrily, “I never let a partner down.”
“Good to hear. So tell me about last night.”
Fiske looked away, thinking how best to handle this. Withholding information was not the best course. So how could he do the right thing with Chandler and avoid destroying Sara’s life and his brother’s reputation?
“Can we get some coffee around here?”
“In the cafeteria. I’ll even buy.”
A few minutes later they were in the ground-floor cafeteria. The Court’s afternoon session was in progress and thus the cafeteria was fairly empty.
Fiske sipped on his coffee while Chandler watched him.
“John, it can’t be that bad, unless you tell me you’re the one running around popping people.”
“Buford, if I tell you something, then you have very specific rules as to what you do with that information and who else learns that information.”
“That’s true. And those rules are what’s stopping you from coming clean?”
“What do you think?”
“I think let’s talk hypotheticals, okay? Now, my job is to collect the facts and to use those facts to ultimately arrest somebody for a crime. If we’re not talking facts, but just theories — like your theory of why Wright was murdered — then I can follow up that theory but I don’t have an obligation to report it to anyone until it’s proven correct by the discovery of facts to corroborate it.”
“So we can talk theoretically and it’ll just stay between you and me?”
Chandler shook his head. “Can’t promise it will stay between you and me. Not if it becomes a fact.”
Fiske looked down at his coffee cup. Sensing he was losing him, Chandler tapped his spoon against Fiske’s cup.
“John, the bottom line here is finding out who murdered your brother and Wright. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is. That’s all I want.”
Really? Chandler suddenly doubted that. “Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you can hurt people at the same time you’re trying to help them.”
“Just your brother? Or somebody else?”
Fiske knew he had already said too much. He decided to go on the offensive.
“Okay, Buford, let’s discuss theories for a minute. Let’s suppose that somebody at the Court took an appeal before it was put into the Court’s system.”
“Why and how?”
“Apparently the how is easy. The why isn’t.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Now let’s suppose that somebody else at the Court saw this appeal, discovered that it wasn’t on the system, but didn’t say anything about it.”
“I take it the why on that is also complicated?”
“Maybe not. Let’s further assume that the person who took the appeal did so for a good reason. And that this person went somewhere, to visit the person who had filed the appeal.”
“The eight hundred miles on your brother’s car?”
Fiske stonily eyed the detective. “That’s a fact, Buford, I’m not discussing facts.”
Chandler took a drink of coffee. “Go on.”
“And let’s suppose that the person filing the appeal was a prisoner.”
“Is that a fact or just speculation?”
“I’m not prepared to say.”
“Well, I’m prepared to ask. Where is this prisoner?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you ’don’t know’? If he’s a prisoner, he has to be in some prison somewhere, doesn’t he?”
“Not necessarily.”
“What the hell does that — ” Chandler abruptly closed his mouth and stared across the table. “Are you saying this person escaped from prison?” Fiske didn’t answer. “Please don’t tell me that your brother got all suckered by some con’s BS plea for help, went to the prison, helped bust him out and then the guy killed him. Dammit, please do not tell me that.” Chandler’s voice rose in his agitation.
“I’m not telling you that. That’s not what happened.”
“Okay. This appeal … do you know what it says?”
They had gone well beyond theories now, Fiske knew. He shook his head. “I’ve never even seen it.”
“So how do you know it exists?”
“Buford, I’m not going to answer that question.”
“John, I can make you answer that question.”
“Then you’re going to have to.”
“You know you’re taking a risk here.”
“I do.” Fiske finished his coffee and stood up. “I’ll grab a cab back to pick up my car.”
“I’ll drive you. I do have other cases I’m working, even if this is the only one the world cares about right now.”
“I think it would be better for both of us if you didn’t drive me.”
Chandler pursed his lips. “Suit yourself. Your car’s in the back lot. Keys are on the front seat.”
“Thanks.”
Chandler watched Fiske leave the cafeteria. “I hope she’s worth it, John,” the detective said quietly.
* * *