“So your theory is I drove up to Washington, killed my brother in cold blood, dumped his body in the middle of a heavily black area, with such skill that no one noticed me do it, drove back to Richmond and washed my underwear. And the motive is?” As soon as Fiske said the last sentence, his next breath caught in his throat. He had the perfect motive: five hundred thousand dollars in life insurance. Shit!
“Motives can always come later. You have no alibi, which means you had the opportunity to commit the murder.”
“So you think I murdered Wright too? Remember, you told the justices that you think the two murders are related. I do have an alibi for that one.”
“Just because I said something doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“Fascinating. Do you take that same philosophy with you to the witness stand?”
“During the course of an investigation I’ve found it’s not always good to show your hand. The killings could be completely unrelated, which means any alibi you have for Wright’s murder means nothing.”
As Fiske watched McKenna walk off, a very unsettling sensation went down his spine. Even McKenna wouldn’t be so stupid as to try to pin the murder of his brother on him, would he? And why hadn’t Fiske known about the autopsy results ascertaining the time of his brother’s death? Fiske immediately answered that question: The information flow from Chandler had dried up.
“John?”
Fiske turned around and looked at Richard Perkins.
“Got a minute?” the man asked nervously. The two men went over to a corner. Perkins looked out the window for a moment as though preparing what he was about to say. “I’ve only been the marshal at the Supreme Court for two years. It’s a great job, prestigious, not too much stress, pays quite well. I oversee almost two hundred employees, everybody from barbers to police officers. I worked at the Senate before that, thought I’d probably retire there, but then this opportunity came up.”
“Good for you,” Fiske said, but he wondered why Perkins was telling him this.
“Even though your brother’s death didn’t take place at the Court I felt a real responsibility for his safety, for everyone who works at the Court. Now with Wright’s death, I’m just reeling. I’m not used to handling things like this. I’m a lot better at payroll issues and overseeing the orderly functioning of bureaucracies than I am being in the middle of a homicide investigation.”
“Well, Chandler is really good at his job. And of course you’ve got the FBI on the case too.” Fiske almost bit his tongue when he said this. Perkins picked up on it.
“Agent McKenna seems to hold some kind of grudge against you. Have you ever met the man before?”
“No.”
Perkins looked down at his hands. “Do you really think there’s some crazy out there with a vendetta?”
“It’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“But why now of all times? And why target clerks? Why not the justices?”
“Or other court personnel.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might be in danger too, Richard.”
Perkins looked astonished. “Me?”
“You’re the head of security. If this person wants to show that he can pick people off at will, then he’s flouting the security of the Court. He’s flouting you.”
Perkins seemed to consider this. “So you think the deaths are definitely connected?”
“If they’re not, it’s one helluva coincidence. Frankly, I don’t believe in coincidences that big.”
“And Chandler too?”
“Maybe. I’m sure he’ll keep you informed.”
As Perkins walked off, Elizabeth Knight powered by. It was as though the crowd automatically parted for her.
A hand pressed against his shoulder. “Meet me outside the building in ten minutes.” It was Sara’s voice, but by the time Fiske turned around he could only see her disappearing into the crowd.
Visibly frustrated, he looked around and picked up on Elizabeth Knight’s movements again. She probably forgot Kenneth Wilkinson was even here, he thought. At his own party too. He was thus very surprised when Elizabeth went over to Wilkinson and spoke with him briefly. He watched as she wheeled him out onto the lighted and empty terrace, where he could see her kneeling beside the wheelchair, holding one of Wilkinson’s hands and talking to him.
Fiske mingled a bit more and then couldn’t keep himself from heading out to the terrace. Elizabeth Knight looked up and then quickly rose from her kneeling position.
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I have to leave and I wanted to say hello to Judge Wilkinson.”
Knight stepped back and Fiske went forward and introduced himself. He shook Kenneth Wilkinson’s hand and passed along his congratulations for the elderly man’s long career in public service. As he started back into the room, Knight stopped him.
“I assume you’re leaving with Sara.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I guess that’s up to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sara has a wonderful future ahead of her. But little things can sometimes disrupt careers with great potential.”
“You know, Justice Knight, I think you have a real problem with me, and I’m not sure why.”
“I don’t know you, Mr. Fiske. If you’re anything like your brother, then maybe I don’t have a big problem.”
“I’m not like anybody else. I try not to compare people or make nice, neat assumptions. They seldom prove true.”
Knight appeared taken aback by this but said, “I actually agree with you.”
“I’m glad we could agree on something.”
“However, I do know Sara, and I care about her very much. If certain actions you take reflect negatively on her and thus on the Court, then you’re right, I do have a problem with that.”
“Look, all I’m concerned about is finding out who killed my brother.”
She looked at him keenly. “Are you sure that’s all?”
“If I weren’t sure, well, you know what, it’s a free country.” Fiske thought he saw an amused expression pass across her face.
She crossed her arms. “You don’t seem the least bit intimidated by a Supreme Court Justice, Mr. Fiske.”
“If you knew something about me, you’d understand why.”
“Perhaps I should make a point of finding out about you. Perhaps I already have.”
“I guess that can be a two-way street.”
Knight’s expression turned dark. “Confidence is one thing, Mr. Fiske, disrespect is quite another.”
“I’ve found that also to be a two-way street.”
“I hope you appreciate my concerns for Sara. They are genuine.”
“I’m sure they are.”
She started to turn away and then looked back at him. “Your brother was a very special person. Highly intelligent, the consummate legal analyst.”
“He was one of a kind.”
“With that said, I’m not sure he was the most able lawyer in his family.”
Knight walked away, leaving a surprised Fiske behind. He stood there for a minute trying to analyze her words. Then he left the terrace and made his way down in the elevator to the lobby. He looked around but didn’t see Sara. A horn beeped and he saw her car ease up to the front door. He climbed in and looked over at her. “Where are we going?”
“To the airport.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to see Samuel Rider, Esquire.”
“And who is Samuel Rider, Esquire?”
“Rufus Harms’s attorney. George Barker called back with the name. I looked Rider up. He practices outside of Blacksburg, only a couple hours east of the prison. I tried his office, but there was no answer. His home phone’s unlisted.”
“So why are we flying out there then?”
“We have his office address. It’ll be late by the time we get there, so it’s a long shot he’ll be in his office. But it’s also not a big town: We should be able to find somebody there who can give us his home address or at least his phone number. And if we’re right about his involvement, he could be in danger. If something happens to him, we may never find out the truth.”
“So you really think he’s the one who called the Court? The one who filed the appeal?”
“I wouldn’t bet against it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Twenty-five minutes later Fiske and Sara arrived at National Airport, and Sara pulled into one of the parking garages. After that they made their way to the general aviation terminal. “Are you sure we can get a flight out?” Fiske asked.
“I chartered a private plane to take us there.”
“You did what? Do you know how much that costs?”
“Do you know how much it costs?”
Fiske looked sheepish. “No, I mean it’s not like I ever chartered a friggin’ plane before. But it can’t be cheap.”
“It’s about twenty-two hundred dollars for a round-trip flight to Blacksburg. I maxed out my credit card.”
“Then I’ll pay you back somehow.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t like owing people.”
“Fine, I’m sure I can figure out lots of ways for you to pay it off.” She smiled.
A few minutes later they approached a small twin-engine jet sitting on the tarmac. Fiske watched as a boxy 737 lumbered down the main runway and then lifted gracefully into the air. Everywhere was the nauseating smell of jet fuel and the irritating whine of engines.
Sara and Fiske headed up the steps of the sleek jet, where they were met by a man in his fifties with short white hair and a wiry build. He introduced himself as the pilot, Chuck Herman.
Herman looked up at the skies. “I got the flight plan filed okay, but we’re a little behind in the takeoff schedule. They had some delays earlier because of a software glitch in the control tower and everybody’s paying for it.”
“We’re on a short time fuse, Chuck,” Sara said. The later they arrived at Rider’s office, the less likely it was that they’d find someone to help them. In addition, she couldn’t be late for work again.
Herman looked proudly at his aircraft. “Not to worry. We’re only talking a seventy-minute trip, and I can step on the gas if need be.”
They all moved into the cabin and Herman indicated chairs for them to sit in.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get a cabin steward in here on such short notice. Do you two want anything?”
“A glass of white wine,” Sara said.
“How about you, John? Can I get you anything?” Fiske declined. “The fridge is fully stocked with food. Please help yourself.”
Ten minutes after takeoff, the flight became very smooth, like gliding on a calm pond in a canoe. Sara unstrapped her belt and looked over at Fiske. He stared out the window at the sinking sun.
“How about I fix up something to eat? And I’ve got some interesting things to tell you.”
“Same here.” Fiske unstrapped himself, followed her back and sat down at the table, where he watched Sara make up some sandwiches.
“Coffee?”
Fiske nodded. “Something tells me it’s going to be a long night.”
Sara finished making the food and poured out two cups of coffee. She sat down across from Fiske and looked at her watch. “The flight is so short we don’t have all that much time. There aren’t any rental car places at the airport in Blacksburg. We can take a cab to a rental place in town and get a car there, though.”
Fiske took a bite of sandwich and swallowed it down with some coffee. “You mentioned some things that happened at the party.”
“I had a run-in with Justice Knight.” She recounted the story to Fiske. He then shared his own experience with Knight.
“A hard woman to figure out,” Fiske remarked.
“Anything else?”
“McKenna asked me if I had an alibi for the time my brother was murdered.”
“Are you serious?”
“I don’t have an alibi, Sara.”
“John, it’s not like anyone believes that you could have murdered your own brother. And how would that tie in to Steven’s death?”
“If the two are connected.”
“So did McKenna have a theory as to what your motive might be?”
Fiske put his coffee down. It might be good to get somebody else’s view, he thought. “No, but the fact is, I have a perfect motive.”
Surprised, she put down her coffee. “What?”
“I found out today that Mike had taken out a half-million-dollar life insurance policy on himself and named me as the beneficiary. That qualifies as a top-rank motive, don’t you think?”
“But you said you just found out today.”
“Do you seriously think McKenna will believe that?”
“That’s strange.”
Fiske cocked his head at her. “What is?”
“Justice Knight said something along the lines that most homicides are committed by family members, and that I shouldn’t trust anybody — meaning, I’m sure, you.”
“Was she ever in the Army that you know?”
Sara almost laughed. “No, why?”
“I was just wondering if she could have anything to do with Rufus Harms.”
Sara smiled. “But now that we’re on the subject, how about Senator Knight? He might have been in the Army.”
“He wasn’t. I remember reading in the Richmond papers during his first Senate campaign that he was physically unable to be in the Armed Forces. His political opponent at the time was a war hero and he tried to make a big deal out of Knight not serving his country. But he did, in an intelligence capacity, good record and all, and the whole thing went away.” Fiske shook his head in frustration. “This is silly. We’re trying to pound square pegs in round holes.” He took a long breath. “I hope Rider can help us.”
* * *
Dressed in overalls, the man pushed the bulky cleaning cart down the hallway and then stopped outside one office, noting the stenciled lettering on the frosted glass door: SAMUEL RIDER, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. The man cocked his head and looked around, listening intently. The office building was small and Rider’s law office was one of only a half dozen places of business on the second floor. At this hour, the town and the building were pretty much deserted.
Josh Harms tapped against the door and waited for a response. He tapped again, this time a little louder. Josh had left Rufus in the truck parked in the alley while he reconnoitered the area. He had found the cleaning supply closet and hatched his plan in case someone showed up. He tapped on Rider’s office door once more, waited another couple of minutes, pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. Within twenty seconds, Rufus, who had been trailing him in the darkness of the hallway, joined him. Rufus wasn’t wearing a cleaning uniform; there hadn’t been one in the storage closet that came close to fitting him.
Josh pulled his lock-pick equipment and within a few seconds they were on the other side of the office door in the receptionist’s area.
“We got to move fast. Somebody might show up,” Josh said. Tucked inside his belt was his pistol, fully loaded, a round chambered.
“I’ll look here and you go into Samuel’s office and start