The Simple Truth

by David Baldacci

  Rufus had already pulled on his prison pants and shoes. He had left off the shirt, opting for just his T-shirt instead. He had one thing clutched in his hand:the Gideon Bible. He didn’t feel free yet, but he was only seconds from it. “Twenty-five years’worth of ready.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Chandler looked around Michael Fiske’s office. Located on the second floor of the building, it was large, with high ceilings, and half-foot-wide moldings. There were two massive wooden desks, each with a computer workstation, shelves filled with volumes of law books and case reporters, and a portable book caddy. There were wooden cabinets and stacks of files placed on the desks. The place was organized in a disorderly fashion, he concluded.

  Perkins looked at Chandler. “There has to be someone from the Court present while you search. There are many confidential documents in here. Drafts of opinions, memos from justices and other clerks, that sort of thing, pertaining to undecided cases.”

  “All right. We won’t remove anything that may relate to pending cases.”

  “But how can you know if it does or not?”

  “I’ll ask you.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not even a lawyer.”

  Chandler said, “Well, then get somebody down here who is, because I’m going through this office.”

  “It may not be possible today. Can it wait until tomorrow? I believe all the clerks have gone home. Chief Justice Ramsey didn’t think they should work late considering what happened.”

  “Some of the justices are still here, Richard,” Klaus said.

  Perkins cast an unfriendly glance at Klaus, who looked over at Dellasandro. “I didn’t want to bring the justices into this until it was absolutely necessary. But let me see what I can do,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to lock this door until I get back.”

  Chandler took a step closer to Perkins. “Look, Richard, I’m the police. Now, maybe I’m wrong and you don’t mean what I thought you did by that very stupid remark.”

  Perkins’s face flushed, but he left the door unlocked, motioned to Klaus to accompany him, and they walked off. Dellasandro stayed behind, talking to McKenna.

  Chandler went over to Fiske. “I get the feeling this has all been scripted out long before we got here.”

  “McKenna knew your name before you were introduced.”

  “They’ve obviously already done some digging.”

  “Well, I guess you can’t blame them.”

  “I’m gonna go over and talk to McKenna,” said Chandler. “Never know when we might need a favor from the Feds.”

  Fiske leaned back against the wall and checked his watch. He still hadn’t reached his father.

  The door a short way down the hall from his brother’s office opened and a young man came out.

  Fiske nodded his head. “Busy place.”

  “Are you with the police?”

  Fiske shook his head and extended his hand. “Just an observer. I’m John Fiske. Mike was my brother.”

  The young man went pale. “Oh God, it’s awful. Awful. I’m so sorry.” He shook Fiske’s hand. “I’m Steven Wright.”

  “Did you know Mike well?”

  “Not really. I just started this session. I clerk for Justice Knight. I know everyone thought the world of him.”

  Fiske looked at the door Wright had come out of. “Is that your office?” Wright nodded. “I guess there’s been a lot of activity at my brother’s office.”

  “You bet. People have been in and out all day.”

  “Like Mr. Perkins, Chief Dellasandro?”

  “And that gentleman over there.”

  Fiske looked to where he was pointing. “That’s Agent McKenna from the FBI,” Fiske said.

  Wright shook his head sadly. “I’ve never known anyone who’s been …” He stopped and looked embarrassed.

  “It’s okay. I know what you mean.” Suddenly all of Fiske’s attention was trained on a pair of people walking toward him. His focus, actually, was on only one. Despite her obvious physical attractiveness, the woman looked, Fiske concluded, like the tomboy next door. Someone you could play touch football or chess with. And end up losing.

  Sara Evans eyed Fiske. She had seen him come into the building earlier and guessed what he was here for. She had stayed close by in case they needed one of the clerks to talk to. That’s why Perkins had “found” her so quickly. She stopped directly in front of Fiske, causing Perkins to abruptly do the same.

  “Oh,” he said, “John Fiske, this is Sara Evans.”

  “You’re Michael’s brother?”

  “Let me guess, he never mentioned me,” said Fiske.

  “As a matter of fact, he did.”

  They shared a firm handshake. The whites of her eyes were smudged with red, as was the tip of her nose. Her voice sounded tired. Fiske noted that she clutched a handkerchief in her other hand. He had the feeling they had met before.

  “I’m very, very sorry about Michael,” she said.

  “Thank you. It came as a tremendous shock.” Fiske blinked. Was there something in her eyes when he said that? Something that said it wasn’t all that shocking to her?

  Perkins looked at Wright. “I didn’t know you were in your office.”

  “You might have tried knocking,” Fiske suggested.

  Perkins cast him an unfriendly glance and walked over to Chandler and McKenna.

  “Hi, Sara,” Wright said, a smile breaking across his face.

  From the way Wright was looking at her, it was obvious to Fiske that he was infatuated with the woman.

  “Hello, Steven. How are you holding up?”

  “I don’t think anyone’s gotten much work done today. I’m thinking about leaving soon.”

  Sara looked at Fiske. “Everyone thought the world of your brother. It’s rocked all of us, from the chief justice on down. But it doesn’t come close to equaling your loss, I know.”

  She said this so strangely that Fiske did a double-take. Before he could say anything, Perkins rejoined them.

  “All right, Detective Chandler from D.C. Homicide is waiting along with a gentleman from the FBI,” Perkins said to Sara.

  “Why do they want to search Michael’s office?”

  Perkins’s tone was blunt. “That’s none of our business.”

  “It’s part of the investigation, Ms. Evans,” Fiske explained, “in case there’s a connection with his murder.”

  “I thought it was a robbery.”

  “It was a robbery, and the sooner we can convince Detective Chandler that it has nothing whatsoever to do with the Court, the better,” Perkins said huffily.

  “If that happens to be the case,” Fiske said.

  “Of course, but it is the case.” Perkins turned to Sara. “As I explained on the way down, your task is to ensure that no confidential documents are seen or taken.”

  “Confidential meaning exactly what?” she asked.

  “You know, anything having to do with pending court cases, opinions, memos, that sort of thing.”

  “Shouldn’t I be involved in that decision, Richard,” came a new voice, “or is that outside my jurisdiction?”

  Fiske easily recognized the man approaching them. Harold Ramsey strode toward them like a vintage ocean liner grandly pulling into harbor.

  “Chief, I didn’t see you there,” Perkins said nervously.

  “Obviously not.” Ramsey looked at Fiske. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Michael’s brother, John Fiske,” offered Sara.

  Ramsey held out his hand; his long, bony fingers seemed to wrap twice around Fiske’s. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. Michael was a very special young man. I know that you and your family must feel his loss terribly. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”

  Fiske acknowledged Ramsey’s sentiments, feeling like a stranger at a wake, awkwardly receiving condolences for a deceased he could not name.

  “I will,” he said solemnly.

  Ramsey looked at Per
kins and inclined his head toward Chandler and McKenna. “Who are those men and what do they want?”

  Perkins explained the situation in a fairly efficient manner, although it was clear that Ramsey had already thought five steps ahead by the time Perkins finished his account.

  “Would you ask Detective Chandler and Agent McKenna to step over here, please, Richard?”

  When introductions had been made, Ramsey turned to Chandler. “It seems to me that the better way of approaching the problem is to sit down with Justice Murphy and his clerks and take an oral inventory of the cases on which Michael was engaged. Understand that I’m trying to balance your right to investigate this crime with the Court’s responsibility to keep confidential its opinions, until such time as they become publicly known.”

  “Okay.” And I don’t want anyone trying to pin any leak on me, Chandler thought to himself.

  Ramsey continued. “I see no reason why you can’t examine Michael’s personal effects, if he kept any here. I only ask that any documents pertaining to the Court’s work be set aside until you have had your discussion with Justice Murphy. Then, should there appear to be a connection between a case Michael was working on and his death, arrangements can be made for you to investigate any link thoroughly.”

  “All right, Mr. Chief Justice,” Chandler said. “I’ve actually already spoken briefly with Justice Murphy.”

  McKenna quickly agreed with this approach.

  Ramsey turned to Perkins. “Richard, please advise Justice Murphy and his clerks that Detective Chandler will want to meet with them as soon as possible. I’m assuming tomorrow after oral argument would do?”

  “That’ll be fine,” Chandler replied.

  “I’ll also make available the Court’s legal counsel to assist you in coordinating matters and addressing any concerns of confidentiality that may arise. Sara, you’ll be available tomorrow, won’t you? You were close with Michael.”

  Fiske eyed her. How close? he wondered.

  Ramsey once again extended his hand to Fiske. “I would also appreciate being advised of funeral arrangements.”

  Ramsey then turned to Perkins. “Richard, after you speak with Justice Murphy, please come to my office.” The meaning in his tone was clear.

  After Ramsey and Perkins had left, Chandler watched as McKenna looked into Michael Fiske’s office again. “Chief Dellasandro,” Chandler said, “to be as least disruptive as possible, I’ll bring a team in tomorrow to search the office, so we only have to do it once.”

  “We appreciate that,” Dellasandro replied.

  “However, I want this door locked until I come back,” Chandler continued. “Nobody goes in, and that means you, or Mr. Perkins, or” — he looked pointedly at Agent McKenna — “anybody else.”

  McKenna glared at Chandler as Dellasandro nodded his agreement.

  Fiske looked around and caught Wright staring at Chandler. Wright abruptly closed his office door, and Fiske heard the lock turn. Smart man, he thought.

  As Fiske and Chandler were leaving the building, a voice made them stop.

  “Do you mind if I see you out?” Sara said.

  “Okay with me,” Chandler said. “John?”

  Fiske shrugged noncommittally.

  Chandler smiled as they walked along. “Why do I have the feeling we were just in the presence of the Almighty?”

  Sara smiled. “The chief has that effect on people.”

  “So you clerk for Justice Knight?” Fiske asked.

  “Going on my second year.”

  As they rounded a corner, they almost collided with Elizabeth and Jordan Knight.

  “Oh, Justice Knight, we were just talking about you,” Sara said. She made introductions all around.

  “Senator,” Chandler said, “we appreciate what you’re doing for the District. Without the special funding you just pushed through for the police department, I’d be conducting homicide investigations via bicycle.”

  “We’ve got a lot more to do, as you know. The problems were built up over a long time, and they’re going to take just as long to correct,” Knight said in a political stumping tone. He looked at Fiske and his voice softened. “I am sorry about your brother, John. I didn’t personally know him. I don’t make it up to the Court much. If I have lunch with my wife too often the media thinks I’m trying to influence her decision making. I guess they forget we share the same house and bed. But please accept my heartfelt condolences to you and your family.”

  Fiske thanked him and then added, “For what it’s worth, I voted for you.”

  “Every vote counts.” He looked over at his wife and smiled warmly. “Just like it does up here, right, Mrs. Justice? How did Brennan put it? You need five votes to do anything? God, if I only had five votes to worry about I’d be thirty pounds lighter and my hair would still be black.”

  Elizabeth Knight didn’t smile. Her eyes were as red as Sara’s, her skin paler than usual. “Sara,” she said, “I’d like to meet with you after the afternoon session tomorrow.” She cleared her throat. “And I’d like you to speak with Steven about the bench memo on Chance. I have to have it by tomorrow at the latest. If he has to work through the night, I have to have it.” Her voice was almost shrill.

  Sara looked shaken. “I’ll tell him right away, Justice Knight.”

  Knight gripped one of Sara’s hands. “Thank you.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Please also remember that the dinner for Judge Wilkinson is tomorrow night at seven o’clock at my home.”

  “It’s on my calendar,” Sara said a little reluctantly.

  Elizabeth Knight finally looked at Fiske. “Your brother was a very gifted lawyer, Mr. Fiske. I know it may sound callous discussing these details, but the business of the Court stops for no one.” She added a little wearily, “I learned that lesson a long time ago. Again, I’m very sorry.” She checked her watch. “Jordan, you’re going to be late for your meeting on the Hill. And I have some work to finish.” She looked at Fiske. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  Fiske shrugged. “Like you said, the machine stops for no one.”

  After the Knights had departed, Sara commented, “Justice Knight is tough, but fair.” She glanced quickly at Fiske. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

  “Sure she did,” Fiske said.

  Chandler stepped in. “Well, she probably had to work three times as hard as a man to get where she is. You don’t ever forget that sort of experience.”

  “That’s a very liberated mind-set,” Sara said.

  “If you knew my wife, you’d understand.”

  Sara smiled. “Ramsey and Knight are from different walks of life, although they tend to work together on many issues. He seems overly accommodating to her. Maybe he doesn’t like confrontation with women. He’s from a different generation.”

  “I don’t think gender has anything to do with it,” Fiske remarked bluntly.

  “She’s a brilliant jurist,” Sara said defensively.

  They all heard the beeping sound. Chandler reached down to his belt, held up the pager and looked at the number on its screen. “Can I use a phone?” he asked Sara.

  She led the way.

  Chandler rejoined them a minute later and shook his head wearily. “Couple of new customers for me to interview. Shotgun wounds to the heads. Lucky, lucky me.”

  “Can you take me back to the station so I can pick up my car?” Fiske asked.

  “Actually, I was heading the other way.”

  “I can drive you,” Sara said quickly. Both men looked at her. “I’m finished for the day. Not that I got much accomplished.” She looked down and smiled a little wistfully. “The ironic thing is, I know Michael wouldn’t approve. I’ve never seen anyone so dedicated, so hardworking.” She looked at Fiske keenly, as though giving added