The Simple Truth (39 page)

Chandler shook his head.
“Come on, McKenna.”

“I’m not saying she’s in on the whole thing. I’m saying maybe she has a thing for Fiske and she’s doing what he tells her to.”

“They just met.”

“Is that right? You know that for sure?”

“Actually, no.”

“Okay, he convinces her he’s done nothing wrong, but some people might try to frame him.”

“Why do you have such a thing against Fiske?”

Now McKenna erupted.
“He’s got a smart mouth. He comes off as holier than thou, the defender of his brother’s memory, only they seemed to have no contact recently. He and Evans spent the night at her house doing who knows what the day after his brother’s body is found. He’s got a shotgun for some reason. He’s nosed his way into the investigation, which means he knows just about everything we do. He’s got no alibi for the night of the murder and five minutes ago we found out he’s a half million bucks richer because his brother is dead. What the hell am I supposed to think? Are you saying your cop radar’s not even tingling over this?”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Maybe I have been too lax with him. Rule number one: Don’t trust anybody.”

“Good rule to live by.”
McKenna paused and then added,
“Or die by.”
He walked off leaving a very shaken Chandler staring after him.

Fiske knocked on Rider’s office door. He squinted through the glass.
“Dark inside.”

“He’s probably at home. We need to find out where that is.”

“Well, the guy also might be eating dinner out, or out of town on business. He might even be on vacation. Or — ”

“Or something could have happened to him,”
Sara said.

“Don’t get overly dramatic.”
Fiske clasped the doorknob and it turned easily. He and Sara exchanged a significant glance. Fiske looked up and down the hallway. That’s when he saw the cleaning cart and relaxed slightly.
“Cleaning crew?”

“And they’re cleaning in the pitch-dark because …?”
Sara responded.

“That’s just what I was thinking.”
He pulled Sara away from the door and over to the cart. He rummaged around, before pulling out a pair of Vise-Grips from a toolbox.

Whispering, he said,
“Go down near the exit stairs. If you hear anything, run to the car and call the cops.”

She grabbed his arm and whispered back,
“I have a much better idea. Let’s go call the police together right now and report a burglary.”

“We don’t know that it is a burglary.”

“We don’t know that it isn’t either.”

“If we leave, they could get away.”

“And if you go in there and get killed, what exactly is that going to accomplish? You don’t even have a gun — you have that thing, whatever the hell that is.”

“Vise-Grips.”

“Great, they could have guns and you have a tool.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Lady is for sure right. Too bad you didn’t listen.”

Fiske and Sara whirled around.

Josh Harms stood there, his pistol aimed at them.

“Wall’s mighty thin. Figured when we heard the door start to open, and then all that whispering, you two were going to go for the cops. Can’t let you do that.”

Fiske studied him. He was big but not bulky. Unless they had run into a routine burglary, this man had to be Josh Harms. He eyed the gun and then scrutinized Josh’s features, trying to size up quickly whether he had it in him to pull the trigger. He had killed in Vietnam; Fiske knew that from reading the news reports. But killing them would have to be in cold blood, and Fiske just did not see that in Josh Harms’s eyes. But that could always change. Mouth, do your magic, he told himself.

“Hello, Josh, my name’s John Fiske. This is Sara Evans with the United States Supreme Court. Where’s your brother?”

Behind him, from the open doorway leading into Rider’s office, appeared a man of such huge proportions that both Sara and Fiske knew he could only be Rufus Harms. He had obviously heard Fiske’s words.

“How you know all that?”
Rufus said while his brother kept his pistol tightly on the pair.

“I’d be glad to tell you. But why don’t we talk inside the office? You have that APB out on you and everything.”

He motioned to Sara.
“After you, Sara.”
Out of the Harms brothers’ line of sight, he gave her a reassuring wink. He only wished he could feel as confident on the inside. They were confronted with a convicted murderer who had been in a hellhole for twenty-five years, which had probably not made him any nicer, and a wily Vietnam vet whose trigger finger was looking itchier with every passing second.

Sara walked into the office, with Fiske behind her.

Josh and Rufus eyed each other quizzically. Then they followed the pair inside and shut the door behind them.

* * *

The Jeep sailed through the back roads on the way to Samuel Rider’s office. Tremaine was driving; Rayfield sat beside him. The two-seater Jeep was Tremaine’s private vehicle. They were both off duty now and had decided against checking out a military vehicle from the motor pool. In case anyone came upon them while they were searching Rider’s office, they had settled upon a cover story: Sam Rider, Rufus Harms’s old military attorney, practiced in the area and had recently visited Harms in prison for an unknown reason. Rider and his wife had been killed. Harms and his brother could have committed the murders; perhaps Rider had mentioned to Harms that he kept cash or other valuables at his home or office.

Tremaine glanced over at Rayfield.

“Something wrong?”
Tremaine asked.

Rayfield stared straight ahead.
“This is a big mistake. We’re taking all the risks here.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“If we get the letter that Harms filed, along with Rider’s letter, maybe we can forget about Harms.”

Tremaine looked sharply over at him.
“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Harms wrote that letter because he wanted out of prison. He killed the little girl, but he really didn’t
murder
her, right? Well, he’s out of prison. He and his brother are probably in Mexico right now waiting on a plane to South America. That’s exactly what I’d be doing.”

Tremaine shook his head.
“We can’t be sure of that.”

“What else is he going to do, Vic? Write another letter to the Court and say, what? ‘Your Honor, I wrote you before with this crazy story I can’t prove, but something happened to my appeal, and my lawyer and the clerk who got it are now dead. So I escaped from prison, I’m on the run and I want my day in court.’That’s bullshit, Vic. He’s not going to do that. He’s going to run like hell. He
is
running like hell.”

Tremaine considered this.
“Maybe. But on the off chance that he isn’t as smart as you think he is, I’m going to do everything I can to blow him away. And his brother. I don’t like Rufus Harms. I’ve never liked the guy. I’m getting my ass shot up in Nam and he’s back in the States safe and sound, three squares a day. We should’ve just let him rot in the stockade, but we didn’t,”
Tremaine added bitterly.

“Too late for that now.”

“Well, I’m going to do him a big favor. When I find him, his next cell is going to be seven feet long, four feet wide and made of pine. And he ain’t getting a damn flag on it.”
Tremaine punched the gas even more.

Rayfield shook his head and settled back down in his seat. He checked his watch and then looked down the road. They were almost at Rider’s office.

* * *

Sara and Fiske sat on the leather couch while the Harms brothers stood in front of them.

“Why don’t we just tie them up and get the hell out of here?”
Josh said to his brother.

Fiske jumped in.
“I think you’re going to find we’re on the same side.”

Josh scowled at him.
“Now, don’t go taking this the wrong way, but you’re full of shit.”

“He’s right,”
Sara said.
“We’re here to help you.”
Josh snorted but didn’t bother to respond.

“John Fiske?”
Rufus said. He studied Fiske’s features, remembering where he’d seen similar ones.
“That clerk they killed was family, wasn’t he? Brother?”

Fiske nodded.
“Yes. Who killed him?”

Josh broke in:
“Don’t tell them nothing, Rufus. We don’t know who they are or what they want.”

“We came here to talk to Sam Rider,”
Sara said.

Josh looked over at her.
“Well, unless you’re gonna put on a séance or something you’re gonna have a real hard time doing that.”

Fiske and Sara looked at each other and then back at the brothers.

“He’s dead?”
Sara asked.

Rufus nodded.
“He and his wife. Made it look like suicide.”

Fiske noted the file clutched in his hand.
“Is that what you sent to the Court?”

“You mind if I ask the questions?”
Rufus said.

“I’m telling you, Rufus, we’re your friends.”

“Sorry, but I don’t make friends nowhere near that easy. What’d you want to talk to Samuel about?”

“He filed that for you at the Court, didn’t he?”

“I ain’t answering no questions.”

“Okay, I’ll just tell you what we know and then you can take it from there. How’s that sound?”

“I’m listening.”

“Rider filed it. My brother got it and took it out of the Court’s system. He came to the prison to see you. Then he ended up dead in an alley in Washington. They made it look like a robbery. Now you tell us Rider is dead. Another clerk was killed too. I think it’s connected to my brother’s death, but I’m not sure why.”
Fiske stopped talking and studied the two men.
“That’s all we know. Now, I think you know a lot more. Like why all this is happening.”

“You know so much. You with the cops?”
Josh demanded.

“I’m helping the detective in charge.”

“See, Rufus, I told you. We got to get out of here. Cops probably on their way right now.”

“No, they’re not,”
Sara said.
“I saw your name in the papers Michael had, Mr. Harms, but that’s all I saw. I don’t know why you filed it or what was in it.”

“Why does a prisoner file something with a court?”
Rufus asked.

“Because you want out,”
Fiske said. Rufus nodded.
“But you have to have grounds to do that.”

“I got me the best grounds of all: the simple truth,”
Rufus said forcefully.

“Tell me what it is,”
said Fiske.

Josh edged toward the door.
“Rufus, I got a bad feeling about all this. We stand here talking to them and the cops are closing in. You’ve already said too much.”

“They killed his brother, Josh.”

“You don’t know if he really is his brother.”

Fiske pulled out his wallet with his driver’s license.

“This’ll at least prove we have the same last name.”

Rufus waved it off.
“I don’t need to see that. You got the same way about you too.”

“Even if they ain’t in on it, what the hell can they do to help?”
Josh asked.

Rufus looked over at Fiske and Sara.
“You both talk real good and quick. You got an answer to that one?”

“I work at the Supreme Court, Mr. Harms,”
Sara said.
“I know all the justices. If you have evidence that shows you’re innocent, then I promise you it will be heard. If not by the Supreme Court, then by another court, believe me.”

Fiske added,
“The detective on the case knows something is fishy. If you tell us what’s going on, we can go to him and get him to explore that angle.”

“I know the truth,”
Rufus said again.

“That’s great, Rufus, but the fact is, in a court of law it’s not the truth unless you can prove it,”
Fiske said.

Sara said,
“What was in your appeal, then?”

“Rufus, don’t you answer that, dammit!”
Josh yelled.

Rufus ignored him.
“Something the Army sent me.”

“Did you kill the little girl, Rufus?”
Fiske asked.

“I did,”
he said, looking down.
“At least my hands did. The rest of me didn’t know what the hell was going on. Not after what they done to me.”

“What do you mean by that? Who did what to you?”

“Rufus, he’s looking to trick you,”
Josh warned.

“Messed with my head, that’s what,”
Rufus said.

Fiske eyed him sharply.
“Are you pleading some sort of insanity? Because if you are, you don’t have a chance in hell.”
He watched Rufus intently.
“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Why you say that?”
Rufus said.

“Because my brother took whatever was in that appeal very seriously. Seriously enough that he broke the law by taking it, and lost his life trying to help you. He wouldn’t have done that for some twenty-five-year-old insanity plea. Tell me what it was that cost my brother his life.”

Josh put one big hand on Fiske’s chest and pushed him hard against the back of the couch.
“Look here, Mr. Smart-ass, Rufus here didn’t ask your brother to do jack-shit for him. Your brother was the one that blew this whole thing up sky-high. He had to come check Rufus out cuz he’s some old colored man sitting in some old prison for some old crime. So don’t sit there singing that song ’bout your ‘righteous brother.’”

Fiske ripped the hand away.
“Why don’t you go to hell, you sonofabitch!”

Josh moved the pistol closer to Fiske’s face and said menacingly,
“Why don’t I send you there first? I catch up with you later. How’s that sound, whitebread?”

“Please don’t,”
Sara implored.
“Please, he’s just trying to help.”

“I don’t need no damn help from the likes of you.”