The Simple Truth

  I want. We see who makes it farther. I know you had it hard inside, but it ain’t no picnic on the outside. I got me my own little prison right out here. And nobody’s convicted me of a damn thing.”

  “God made all of us, Josh. We all his children. Ain’t no good trying to divide us all up. I seen plenty of white folk beaten up in prison. Evil comes in all forms, all colors. Bible says so. I ain’t judging nobody except on themselves. Only way to do it.”

  Josh snorted. “Look at you, saying that. After all Tremaine and them done to you. You telling me you don’t hate them, want to kill ’em?”

  “No. If I felt that way, that’d mean Vic took the love from my heart. Took my Lord away from me. He does that, that means he’s controlling me. Ain’t nobody on this earth strong enough to take God from me. Not old Vic, you or anybody else. I’m not dumb, Josh. I know life ain’t fair. I know black folk ain’t riding on top of the world. But I ain’t adding to the problem by hating people.”

  “Shit. You got the gold card from God to hate every white person ever born.”

  “You’re wrong. I hate them, it’s like hating myself. I went down that road when I first went to prison. Hated everybody. The Devil had me, but the Lord took me back. Can’t do it. Won’t do it.”

  “Well, that’s your problem. Sooner you get over that the better.”

  * * *

  “That was a big oversight on your part, Frank. You take out Rider and his wife, but you didn’t search his office?”

  Rayfield’s grip tightened around the phone. “Well, tell me exactly when I was supposed to do that. If I had done it before we killed him, he would’ve gotten suspicious and maybe gotten away. If we had gotten caught going through it now, there would’ve been questions I don’t have answers for.”

  “But you just told me they ruled it a murder-suicide. The cops aren’t going to investigate that anymore.”

  “Probably true.”

  “So you can hit his office. Like tonight.”

  “If the coast is clear, we’ll do it.”

  “Have you found the letter Harms got from the Army?”

  “Not yet — ” He broke off as Tremaine burst into his office, waving a piece of paper. “Hold on.”

  Tremaine slid the paper in front of Rayfield, who went pale as he read it. He looked up at a grim Tremaine.

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “That SOB hollowed out one of the bed supports. Pretty slick,” Tremaine grudgingly conceded.

  Rayfield spoke into the receiver. In terse sentences he conveyed the contents of the letter.

  “Was this your doing, Frank?”

  “Look, if the guy had died in the stockade the way we planned, they would’ve done an autopsy, right? Well, this was the only way to cover that hole. We all agreed.”

  “But, Christ, Harms didn’t die. Why didn’t you have it expunged from the system later?”

  “I did! Don’t you think if I hadn’t, it would’ve come out during the investigation? Rider wasn’t stupid, he would’ve pounced on that as a defense.”

  “So if you took it out of the record back then, why did the Army send him that letter all these years later?”

  “Who knows? Some dipshit clerk could have come across a piece of paper and put it back in, or these days entered it into a database. Once in the Army’s official record, you never know if something’s going to resurface, no matter how hard you tried to bury it. It’s the biggest damn bureaucracy in the world. You can’t account for everything.”

  “But it was your job to stay on top of it.”

  “Don’t tell me what my job is. I tried to stay on top of it, but it’s not like I could check on it every stinking day for the last quarter century.”

  The voice sighed. “So now we know what triggered Harms’s memory.”

  “Any strategy comes with risks.”

  “Well, maybe Rider had a copy of this letter.”

  “I don’t see how Rufus Harms could’ve had access to a copier, and the letter wasn’t part of what he filed with the Court, we know that for a fact.”

  “But we can’t be sure that he didn’t. That’s all the more reason for you to go over Rider’s office tonight.”

  Rayfield looked up at Tremaine and then said into the phone, “All right, we’ll hit it tonight. Fast and hard.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Senator Knight warmly greeted Fiske and Sara as they entered the foyer. Behind him, they could see the place was filled with the business and political elite of the nation’s capital.

  “Glad you could come, John,” Jordan Knight said, shaking his hand. “Sara, you look radiant as always.” He gave her a hug and they exchanged pecks on the cheek.

  Fiske looked over at Sara. She had changed out of her business attire and into a light summer dress of soft pastel colors that accented nicely her suntanned skin. The bun was gone and her hair swept appealingly around her face.

  She caught Fiske staring at her and he quickly looked away, embarrassed, before accepting a drink from one of the waiters. Sara and Jordan Knight did the same.

  Jordan looked around, seemingly a little embarrassed himself. “I know the timing on this damn thing is atrocious.” He eyed Sara closely when he said this. “I know Beth feels the same way, although she won’t admit it.”

  Sure she does, thought Fiske.

  Jordan pointed his drink toward an elderly man in a wheelchair and spoke softly. “Kenneth Wilkinson unfortunately isn’t long for this world. He’s a scrapper, though, and he might fool us all. But he’s lived a long, inspiring life. My mentor and my friend. I’m a better man for having known him.”

  “Didn’t he introduce you and your wife?” Sara asked.

  “That’s another reason I owe him so much.”

  Fiske watched Elizabeth Knight methodically work the room, as polished and poised as any experienced politico. Fiske scanned the room again but didn’t see any sign of Ramsey or Murphy. He wondered if they had boycotted the event. He did note several of the other justices looking nervous and uncomfortable. The fear that a madman wanted to mount your head in his trophy case could do that to you.

  His eyes passed over Richard Perkins hovering in the background. There were armed guards everywhere and Fiske knew the hot topic of the evening was the two murdered clerks. Fiske’s eyes narrowed as he spied Warren McKenna knifing through the crowd like a shark looking for flesh to devour.

  “You two make a great team,” Sara said.

  Jordan Knight touched his glass to hers. “I think so too.”

  “Your wife ever think about running for political office?” Fiske asked.

  “John, she’s a Supreme Court justice. It’s a lifetime appointment,” Sara exclaimed.

  Fiske kept his eyes on Jordan. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone left the Court in pursuit of another job, would it?”

  Jordan looked at him keenly. “No, it wouldn’t, John. As a matter of fact, over the years Beth and I have talked about that. I’m not going to be in the Senate forever. I’ve got a seven-thousand-acre ranch out in New Mexico. I can easily see myself running that until the end of my days.”

  “And maybe your wife becomes the Virginia senator in the household?”

  “I never presume to know what Beth will do. It actually adds a level of excitement to our marriage that I think is incredibly healthy.” He smiled at his remark and Fiske felt himself smile in return.

  Sara was raising her glass as a thought hit her. “Senator, can I use a phone?”

  “Use the one in my study, Sara. It’s more private.”

  She glanced at Fiske but said nothing. After she had gone, Jordan said, “She’s quite a young woman.”

  “I wouldn’t disagree with that,” Fiske said.

  “Since she’s been clerking for Beth, I’ve come to know her quite well. I’ve been almost like a father figure, I guess you could say. She has a brilliant future ahead of her.”

  “Well, she’s got a great role model in your wife.” Fi
ske almost choked on his drink as he said this.

  “The absolute best. Beth does nothing halfway.”

  Fiske thought about this remark for a moment. “I know your wife is a real go-getter, but she might want to cut back on her schedule until the case is solved. You don’t want to give some maniac a free shot.”

  Jordan studied Fiske over the rim of his glass for a moment. “Do you really think the justices might be in danger?”

  Fiske didn’t really think so, but he wasn’t about to say that to Jordan. If he and Sara were wrong in their conclusions, he didn’t want anyone letting down his guard.

  “Let’s put it this way, Senator, if anything happens to your wife, no one will care what I think.”

  Jordan’s face slowly went pale. “I see your point.”

  Fiske noticed a line forming to talk to the man. “I won’t take up any more of your time. Keep up the good work.”

  “Thank you, John, I intend to.”

  Senator Knight started to receive the other guests. He needn’t have bothered to work the room, Fiske thought. His wife had probably already hit all the important players.

  * * *

  In Jordan Knight’s study, Sara dialed home for messages. She had forgotten to check earlier, and she was desperately hoping to hear back from George Barker, the newspaper editor from Rufus Harms’s hometown. Her hopes were rewarded when she heard the old man’s deep voice on her answering machine. He sounded a little contrite, she thought.

  She snatched a piece of paper from the notebook on the desk and wrote the name down: Samuel Rider. George Barker had left only the man’s name; apparently, after twenty-five years, that was all the information his files had contained. She had to find out Rider’s office address and telephone number right away. As she looked up, she saw the way to do it. The bookshelves on the far wall of the study held a set of current Martindale-Hubbells, the official directory of the legal profession, which purported to have the name, office address and phone number of virtually every attorney licensed to practice in the United States. It was divided by states and territories, and she decided to opt for the local jurisdictions first. As she looked through the index for the commonwealth of Virginia, her search was rewarded as she spotted the name Samuel Rider. Flipping to the page indicated, she found a brief bio of Rider. He had been in the JAG in the early seventies. That had to be the man.

  She dialed the phone number to his office, but received no answer. She dialed Information for his home phone number, but it was unlisted. She hung up, thoroughly frustrated. She had to talk to the man. She thought a moment. The timing would be very tight, so there was only one way to do it. A phone directory was on the desk and she used it to look up a number. It took only a few minutes to arrange things. She and Fiske had a couple of hours before they could leave. With any luck they would be back by early tomorrow morning.

  As Sara opened the door to the study, Elizabeth Knight was standing there.

  “Jordan told me you might be back here.”

  “I had to make a phone call.”

  “I see.”

  “I guess I’ll get back to the party.”

  “Sara, I need to talk to you in private for a moment.”

  Elizabeth Knight motioned her back into the study and then closed the door behind them. The justice had on a simple white dress, minimal makeup and a tasteful sapphire necklace. The white dress made her skin seem even more pallid. However, she wore her hair down and the dark strands were striking against the white background. When she made the effort, Sara thought, Elizabeth Knight could be a very attractive woman. She apparently picked those moments with great care. At this moment, Elizabeth Knight looked very uncomfortable.

  “Is there something wrong?” Sara asked.

  “I dislike delving into the personal lives of my clerks, Sara, I really do, but when it reflects on the image of the Court, then I feel that it is my duty to say something.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Knight collected her thoughts for a moment. Ever since the realization that she had, however unwittingly, condemned Steven Wright to death, her nerves had been in tatters. She felt like lashing out at someone, even if unfairly. It was not her habit to do such a thing, but the fact was she was upset with Sara Evans. And she did care about her. Thus, the young woman was going to feel the justice’s wrath. “You’re a very smart woman. A very attractive and smart young woman.”

  “I’m afraid I still don’t — ”

  Knight’s tone changed. “I’m talking about you and John Fiske. Richard Perkins reported that he saw you and Fiske leaving your home together this morning.”

  “Justice Knight, with all due respect, that is my personal business.”

  “It is certainly more than your personal business, Sara, if it reflects negatively on the Court.”

  “I don’t see how that could possibly be the case.”

  “Let me see if I can make it clearer for you. Do you think it would sully the Court’s reputation if it became known that one of its clerks was sleeping with the brother of her slain colleague on the day after his murder was discovered?”

  “I am not sleeping with him,” Sara said forcefully.

  “That is quite beside the point. Public opinion is driven by perception rather than by fact, particularly in this town. If a newspaper reporter had seen you and Fiske leave your home this morning, what do you think the headline would’ve read? Even if it just recounted the actual facts of the reporter’s observations, what do you think would be the likely perception of the reading public?” When Sara didn’t answer, Knight continued. “Right now we don’t need any additional adverse complications, Sara. We have quite enough of them to deal with.”

  “I guess I never thought that part through.”

  “That is exactly what you must do if you want to have anything other than a mediocre legal career.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t repeat the mistake.”

  Knight stared hard at her, then she opened the door. “Please see that you don’t.”

  As Sara passed her, Knight added, “Oh, Sara, until the identity of the murderer is definitively ascertained, I wouldn’t put your complete faith or trust in anyone. Whether you’re aware of it or not, a large percentage of murders are committed by family members.”

  Astonished, Sara turned to face her. “You’re not implying — ”

  “I imply nothing,” Knight said sharply. “I’m only conveying a fact. You do with it what you will.”

  * * *

  Bored, Fiske meandered through the apartment when he felt someone at his shoulder.

  “There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  Fiske looked around. Agent McKenna was staring at him.

  “McKenna, I’m seriously considering a lawsuit against you, so get the hell away from me.”

  “Just doing my job. And right now I want to know where you were at the time your brother was murdered.”

  Fiske finished his glass of wine and then looked out the broad bank of windows. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “They haven’t ascertained the time of death yet.”

  “You’re a little behind in the investigation.”

  “Is that right?” Fiske said, a little taken aback.

  “Between three and four A.M. Saturday. Where were you during that time?”

  “Am I a suspect in this case?”

  “If and when you become a suspect, I’ll let you know.”

  “I was working at my office in Richmond until about four in the morning on Saturday. Now you’re going to ask me if anyone can corroborate that, right?”

  “Can anyone?”

  “No. But I went to the Laundromat around ten that morning.”

  “Richmond’s only a two-hour drive from Washington. You’d have plenty of time.”