The Simple Truth

  McKenna spread his hands. “Look at it this way. Sara Evans may have somehow been duped into helping Fiske. Evans and Wright shared an office. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that Wright overheard something or saw something that made him suspicious about those two.”

  “But I thought Fiske has an alibi for the time of Wright’s death,” Dellasandro said.

  “Yeah, Sara Evans,” McKenna said.

  “And all this stuff with this escaped convict Harms and the questions Evans was asking?”

  Chandler shrugged. “I can’t claim we have it all figured out, but that could be just another red herring.”

  McKenna said, “I don’t think, I know. If there was anything to it, they would’ve told somebody. Evans couldn’t even tell us what was in the appeal. Maybe Michael Fiske took some appeal, so what? John Fiske pops him for the money and he uses this missing appeal as a bunch of mumbo-jumbo to dupe Evans and everybody else.”

  “Well, I’m not letting my guard down until we know for sure,” Dellasandro said. “The people in this building are my responsibility and we’ve already lost two of them.” He looked over at McKenna. “I hope you know what you’re doing with Fiske.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing with him.”

  * * *

  Fiske caught up with Sara in the parking garage. It didn’t take her long to explain what had happened.

  “Sara, I hoped I would never have to tell you this, but Chandler boxed me into a corner the other day. I’m sure I’m the reason you just lost your job.”

  Sara put the shopping bag in the trunk of her car. “I’m a big girl. I’m responsible for my own actions.”

  Fiske leaned up against the car. “Maybe I can go and talk to Ramsey and Knight, try and explain things to them?”

  “Explain it how? What they’re alleging I did, I did.” Sara closed the trunk and joined him. “I assume they told you about your gun?”

  Fiske nodded. “McKenna’s giving me an armed escort to my office so I can hand it over.” He looked at her closely. “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ve suddenly got a lot of free time on my hands. I’ll try to find out about Tremaine and Rayfield.”

  “You sure you still want to help?”

  “At least I won’t have ruined my career for nothing. What about you?”

  “I don’t have any choice in the matter.”

  He looked at his watch. “How about I come by your place around seven tonight?”

  “I think I can manage dinner. Buy some food, a nice bottle of wine. I might even get real ambitious and dust. We can celebrate my last day at the Court. Maybe go for another sail.” She paused and touched his arm. “And finish it off the same way?”

  “I can bag Richmond and stay with you. I know how you must be feeling.”

  “But what about Chandler and McKenna?”

  “I don’t have to do what they say.”

  “If you don’t go, McKenna will probably push for the electric chair. Besides, to tell you the truth, I feel really good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, John, but thanks.” She stroked his face. “Tonight you can be with me.”

  After Fiske left, Sara was about to get in her car when she realized she had left her purse, with her car keys, in the bag in the trunk. She popped the trunk and reached in the bag to get her purse. As she lifted it out, the photo on top caught her eye. She had taken it from Michael Fiske’s office before the police had searched it. It suddenly occurred to her that she did have something very important to take care of. She got in her car and pulled out of the garage.

  She had just been fired as a Supreme Court clerk. Oddly, she didn’t feel like bursting into tears, or slipping her head in an oven. She felt like going for a drive. Down to Richmond. She needed to see somebody. And today was as good a day as any.

  When she drove past the columned facade of her old place of work, a great wave of relief swept over her. It was so sudden that it left her breathless. Then, bit by bit, she was okay. She accelerated down Independence Avenue and didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Fiske hurried down to Knight’s chambers and, surprisingly, was allowed in. Knight sat behind her desk. Ramsey was still there, slumped in a chair. He quickly rose when Fiske entered.

  Fiske plunged in. “I want you to know that anything Sara did or didn’t do was to protect my brother. All she’s trying to do now is help me find who killed him.”

  “And you’re sure that question wouldn’t be answered by your simply looking in a mirror?” Ramsey said forcefully.

  Fiske paled. “You’re way off the mark, sir.”

  “Am I? The authorities don’t seem to think so. If you are a murderer, then I hope you spend the rest of your life in prison. As for your brother’s actions, they reside not far down the ladder from taking someone’s life, at least in my book.”

  “My brother did what he thought was right.”

  “I find that statement positively laughable.”

  “Harold — ” Knight began, but he cut her off with a sweep of his hand.

  “And I want you” — he pointed at Fiske — “to get out of this office and out of this building before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Fiske looked at the two of them. The anger he was feeling right now was the culmination of the last three days of sheer hell. It was as though everything bad that had ever happened to him had been caused by Harold Ramsey. “I’ve seen the nice little sign over the front door of this place: ‘Equal Justice Under Law’? I find that laughable.”

  Ramsey looked ready to attack Fiske. “How dare you!”

  “I’ve got a client on death row right now. If I ever have the ‘honor’ of appearing before you, can you tell me you’ll actually care whether my guy lives or dies? Or will you just be using him and me to overturn a precedent that pissed you off ten years ago?”

  “You insufferable — ”

  “Can you tell me that?” Fiske shouted. “Because if you can’t, then I don’t know what you are, but you’re sure as hell not a judge.”

  Ramsey was livid. “What do you know about anything? The system — ”

  Fiske smacked his chest. “I’m the system. Me and the people I represent. Not you. Not this place.”

  “Do you realize the magnitude of the issues we deal with here?”

  “When’s the last time you sat and ‘judged’ a battered wife? Or a molested child? Have you ever watched a man die in the electric chair? Have you? You sit up here and you never even see a real person. You don’t hear from any live witnesses, you never hear from any of the people you’ll destroy or help by your actions. All you get is a bunch of high-powered lawyers throwing a bunch of paper at you. You have no idea of the faces, the people, the heartbreak and pain behind any of it. To you it’s some intellectual game. A game! Nothing more.” Fiske stared at the man. His voice shook as he said, “You think the big issues are so hard? Try dealing with the little ones.”

  “I think you should leave,” Knight said, almost pleadingly. “Right now.”

  Fiske stared at Ramsey for a few seconds longer and then, calming down, he looked at the woman. “You know, that’s good advice, Counselor, I think I’ll take it.” Fiske turned to the door.

  “Mr. Fiske,” Ramsey boomed out. Fiske slowly turned back. “I have several good friends at the Virginia state bar. I think they should be apprised of the situation. I would think that appropriate action should be taken against you, perhaps resulting in suspension and subsequent disbarment.”

  “Guilty until proved innocent? That’s your idea of how the criminal justice system should work?”

  “It’s my strong opinion that it’s only a matter of time until you’re found guilty.”

  Fiske started to say something else, but Knight, one hand on the phone, said, “John, I would much prefer if you left without the assistance of the guards.”

  * * *

  After Fi
ske was gone, Ramsey shook his head. “Beyond all doubt, the man’s a psychopath.”

  He turned and looked at Knight. She sat there, staring straight ahead. “Beth, I just want to let you know that you’re welcome to use one of my clerks until you find a replacement for Sara.”

  She looked over at him. The offer of a clerk seemed very nice. On the surface. A spy in her camp underneath that surface?

  “I’ll be fine. We’ll just have to work harder.”

  “You put up a good fight at oral argument today, though I do wish you wouldn’t take it personally. It’s a little unseemly when we bicker back and forth like that in public.”

  “How can I not take the cases personally, Harold? Tell me how.” Her eyes were swollen, her voice suddenly hoarse.

  “You have to. I never lose sleep over a case. Even a death penalty one. We don’t decide guilt or innocence. We interpret words. You have to think of it in those terms. Otherwise you’ll burn out.”

  “Maybe burning out early is a preferable alternative to having a long, distinguished career that only challenges my intellect.” Ramsey glanced sharply at her. “I want to hurt, I want to feel the pain. Everyone else does. Why are we an exception? Dammit, we should be agonizing over these cases.”

  Ramsey shook his head sadly. “Then I’m afraid you’ll never endure. And you have to if you want to make a real difference up here.”

  “We’ll see. I may surprise you. Starting today.”

  “You don’t have a chance of overturning Stanley. But I admire your tenacity, even though it was wasted today.”

  “The votes haven’t been counted yet that I recall.”

  Ramsey smiled. “Of course, of course. A formality only.” He put his hands in his pockets and stood in front of her. “And just so you know, I also am aware of your plans to reexamine the issue of the rights of the poor — ”

  “Harold, we’ve just lost our third clerk. A third human being. One whom I care greatly about. The place is in shambles. I don’t feel like talking about Court business right now. I may never feel like it again, in fact.”

  “Beth, we must move on. True, it’s been one crisis after another, but we will persevere.”

  “Harold, please!”

  Ramsey would not back down. “The court goes on. We — ”

  Knight stood up. “Get out.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Get out of my office.”

  “Beth — ”

  “Get out! Get out!”

  Without another word, Ramsey left. Knight stood there for another minute or so. Then she quickly left her office.

  * * *

  After his confrontation with Ramsey, Fiske entered the Court’s underground garage and went straight to his car. He felt numb. He had gotten Sara fired, was being set up for murdering his brother and had just told off the chief justice of the United States. All in less than an hour. In any realm other than total lunacy, that would be called a bad day. He sat in his car. He had no desire to drive to Richmond and watch McKenna try to put the finishing touches on the destruction of his life.

  He pushed his fists against his eye sockets. A groan escaped from him and then he jerked forward as he heard the sound. His eyes widened as he saw Elizabeth Knight tapping on the car window. He rolled it down.

  “I would like to talk to you.”

  He composed himself as best he could. “What about?”

  “Can we go for a short drive? I don’t think I’d risk bringing you back in the building. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Harold quite that upset.”

  Fiske thought he saw a trace of a smile on the woman’s face as she said this. “You want to go for a drive in my car?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a car here. Is there a problem with yours?”

  Fiske looked at her expensive dress. “Well, my car’s interior is basically rust covered with a veneer of grime.”

  Knight smiled. “I grew up on a ranch in East Texas. When my family drove to the little shacks that constituted the town we lived near, we did so on a backhoe with me and my six siblings hanging on for dear life and enjoying every minute of it. And I would like to talk to you.”

  Fiske finally nodded and Knight slipped in the front seat.

  “Where to?” Fiske asked as they left the garage.

  “Take a left at the light. I hope you don’t have anything pressing. It was rude of me not to ask.”

  Fiske thought of McKenna waiting for him. “Nothing important.”

  After he made the turn, Knight started speaking. “You shouldn’t have come back and said those things, you know.”

  “I hope you didn’t come here just to tell me that,” Fiske said sharply.

  “I came to tell you that I feel terribly about Sara.”

  “Join the crowd. She tried to help my brother and then me. I’m sure she just loves the day she ran into the Fiske brothers.”

  “Well, at least one of you anyway.”

  “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.”