“Impossible.”
McKenna asked very few questions but listened intently to the ones asked by Chandler.
“The precise details of cases pending before the Court are so well insulated from the public that there would be no way anyone could know what a specific clerk is or isn’t working on.” Perkins smacked the tabletop with his palm to emphasize the point.
“Unless that clerk told someone.”
Perkins shook his head. “I personally run them through the drill on security and confidentiality as part of their orientation. The ethical rules which apply to them are very stringent. They’re even provided with a handbook on the subject. No leaks are permitted.”
Chandler looked unconvinced. “What’s the average age of the clerks here? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
“Something like that.”
“They’re kids, working at the highest court in the land. You telling me that it’s impossible that they might let something slip? Not even to impress a date?”
“I’ve been around long enough to know better than to use the word impossible to ever describe anything.”
“I’m a homicide detective, Mr. Perkins, and believe you me, I got the same damn problem.”
“Could we back up to square one here?”Dellasandro said. “From what I know about the case, it seemed that robbery was the motive.” He spread his hands and looked expectantly at Chandler. “How does that involve the Court? Have you searched his apartment yet?”
“Not yet. I’m sending a team over tomorrow.”
“How do we know it’s not something connected to his personal life?” Dellasandro asked.
Everyone looked at Chandler for an answer. The detective glanced down at his notes without really focusing on them. “I’m just covering all the bases. Going to a homicide victim’s place of work and asking questions is not even remotely unusual, gentlemen.”
“Certainly,” Perkins said. “You can count on our full cooperation.”
“Now why don’t we have a look at Mr. Fiske’s office,” Chandler said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The man glided cat-smooth down the corridor. He was six-foot-three, lean but strongly built, with wide shoulders fanning out from a thick neck. He had a long and narrow face; the skin chestnut brown and smooth, except for deep tracings of lines at the eyes and mouth, like the whorls of a fingerprint. He wore a crumpled Virginia Tech baseball cap. A short-haired black and gray beard outlined his jaw. He was dressed in worn jeans and a faded, sweat-stained denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off a pair of thick, veiny forearms. A pack of Pall Malls poked out of the shirt’s front pocket. He approached the end of the hallway and rounded the corner. As soon as he did so, the soldier sitting next to the doorway of the last room on the hall rose and held up a hand.
“Sorry, sir, this area is off limits to everyone except necessary medical personnel.”
“My brother’s in there,” Joshua Harms said. “And I’m going to see him.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Harms eyed the soldier’s name tag. “I’m afraid it ain’t, Private Brown. I visit him at the prison all the time. Now you let me in there, you hear me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, then I’m gonna go round up the head of this hospital and the local police and the damn commandant over at Fort Jackson and tell ’em you refused to allow a family member to visit a dying relative. Then they’ll all take turns kicking your butt on down the road, soldier boy. Did I mention I spent three years in Vietnam and got me enough medals to cover your whole damn body? Now you gonna let me in or we gonna have to go down that other street? I want your answer and I want it right this damned minute.”
An unnerved Brown looked around for a minute, unsure of what to do. “I need to call somebody.”
“No, you don’t. You can search me, but I’m going on in there. Won’t be long. But it’s gonna be right now.”
“What’s your name?”
“Josh Harms.” He pulled out his wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license. I been over the prison a lot over the years, but I don’t recall ever seeing you.”
“I don’t work at the prison,” he said. “I’m on temporary assignment here. I’m in the reserves.”
“The reserves? Pulling guard duty on a prisoner?”
“The correctional facility specialists who flew in with your brother went back yesterday. They’re bringing in some replacements tomorrow morning.”
“Hallelujah for them. Now, we ready to get this done?”
Private Brown stared at him for another few seconds. “Turn around,” he said finally.
Josh did so. Brown started to pat him down. Right before he reached his front pants pocket, Josh said, “Don’t get excited, but there’s a pocketknife in there. Just pull it out and hold it for me. You hold it good and tight, son, I’m right partial to that knife.”
Private Brown finished the pat-down and straightened. “You got ten minutes, and that’s it. And I’m going in with you.”
“You go in with me, then you’re deserting your post. You desert your post in the Army or the reserves and you gonna end up where my brother is.” He looked at the man�