The Simple Truth (52 page)

“Because I’m scared.”
He nodded at her.
“Fear drives me. The longer I was a cop, the more it became ‘us against them.’Young, angry, attitude, with a pistol to back it all up.”
Fiske stopped speaking and watched through the glass partition as people inside bought refreshments. They appeared carefree, happy, pursuing some tangible goal in their lives; they were everything he wasn’t, couldn’t be.

He looked back at Sara.
“I kept arresting the same guys over and over and it seemed like before I filed the paperwork they were back on the streets. And they’d blow you away like stepping on a cockroach. See, they lived the game of ‘us against them’ too. You lump people together. Young and black, catch ’em if you can. Blues coming at you? Kill ’em if you can. It’s quick and you don’t have to make choices about individuals. It’s like a drug addiction.”

“Not everybody does that. The whole world isn’t made up of people like that.”

“I know that. I know that most people, black, white or whatever, are good people, lead relatively normal lives. I really want to believe that. It’s just that as a cop I never saw any of that. Normal ships didn’t sail by my dock.”

“So did the shooting make you rethink things?”

Fiske didn’t answer right away. When he did, he spoke slowly.
“I remember dropping to my knees to check the guy, who it turned out was faking a seizure. I heard the gun go off, my partner scream. I pulled my pistol at the same time I was turning. I don’t know how I got a round off, but I did. It hit him right in the chest. We both went down. He lost his gun, but I kept mine. Pointed it right at him. He wasn’t more than a foot from me. Every breath he took, blood kicked out of the bullet hole like a red geyser. It made this swishing sound I still hear in my sleep. His eyes had started to freeze up, but you never knew. All I knew was that he had just shot my backup, and he had just shot me. My insides felt like they were dissolving.”
Fiske let out a long breath.
“I was going to just wait for him to die, Sara.”
Fiske stopped talking as he recalled how close he had come to being another blue in a box, buried and mostly forgotten.

“Your father said you were found with your arm around him,”
Sara gently prompted.

“I thought he was trying to grab my gun. I had one finger on the trigger and one finger stuck in the hole in my gut. But he didn’t even put his hand out. Then I heard him talking. I could barely make out what he was saying at first, but he kept saying it until I did.”

“What did he say?”
Sara asked gently.

Fiske let out a breath, half expecting to see blood kick out of his old wounds, his tired, betrayed organs calling it quits on him forty years early.
“He was asking me to kill him.”
As if in answer to her unspoken question, Fiske said,
“I couldn’t. I didn’t. It didn’t matter, though, he stopped talking a few seconds later.”

Sara slowly sat back, unable to say anything.

“I actually think he was terrified he
wasn’t
going to die.”
Fiske shook his head slowly, the words becoming more difficult to put together.
“He was only nineteen. I’m an old man already, next to him. His name was Darnell — Darnell Jackson. His mother was a crack addict, and when he was eight or nine she would whore him out for drug money.”

He looked at her.
“Does that sound horrible to you?”

“Of course it does. Yes!”

“To me, it was the same old shit. I saw it all the time. I’d become immune to it, or at least I thought I had.”
He licked his dry lips.
“I didn’t think I had any compassion left. But after Darnell, I got some back.”
He flashed a troubled smile.
“I call it my steel-jacketed epiphany. Two slugs in my body, a kid dying in front of me, wanting me to finish him off. It’s hard to imagine one event having enough force to make you question everything you’ve ever believed. But it happened to me that night.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Now I think of the whole future of the world solely in the context of Darnell Jackson. He’s my version of nuclear holocaust, only it won’t be over in a few seconds.”
He looked at her.
“That’s the terror that drives me.”

“I think you really do care. You do a lot of good.”

Fiske shook his head, his eyes glimmering.
“I’m not some rich, brilliant white attorney running around nobly saving the little Enis’s of the world. And it took a lost kid blowing up my insides with a cannon to make me even give a damn. How many people do you think really care?”

“You can’t be that cynical, can you?”

Fiske stared at her a moment before answering.
“Actually, I’m the most hopeful cynic you’ll ever meet.”

You did the right thing, Beth. As much as it hurts. I still can’t believe it about Sara, though.” Jordan Knight shook his head. They were in the back seat of his government limousine, which was threading its way through bumper-to-bumper traffic toward their Watergate apartment.
“Maybe she just cracked. The pressures are enormous.”

“I know,”
Elizabeth Knight said quietly.

“It all seems so bizarre. A clerk steals an appeal. Sara knows about it but keeps quiet. The clerk is then murdered. Then the clerk’s brother comes under suspicion. John Fiske just doesn’t strike me as the murderous type.”

“He doesn’t strike me that way either.”
Her discussion with John Fiske had only deepened her fears.

Jordan Knight patted his wife’s hand.
“I’ve checked on Chandler and McKenna. Both are rock-solid. McKenna has an excellent reputation at the Bureau. If anybody can solve this thing, I think those two can.”

“I find Warren McKenna rude and obnoxious.”

“Well, in his line of work I suppose he sometimes has to be,”
he pointed out.

“That’s not all. There’s just something about him. He’s so intense, but he almost seems to be”
— she paused, searching for the right word —
“playacting.”

“In the middle of a murder investigation?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s just how I feel.”

The senator shrugged and stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“I’ve always said a woman’s intuition is worth more than a man’s best judgment. I guess in this town we’re all on a stage. Sometimes one does grow tired of it.”

She eyed him closely.
“The New Mexico ranch beckons?”

“I’ve got a dozen years on you, Beth. Every day becomes a little more precious.”

“It’s not like we’re not together.”

“Time together in D.C. is not really the same. We’re both so busy here.”

“My appointment to the Court is a lifetime one, Jordan.”

“I just don’t want you to have any regrets. And I’m trying my best not to have any.”

They both fell silent and looked out the window as the car traveled along Virginia Avenue.

“I heard you and Ramsey went at it tooth and claw today. Do you think you have a chance?”

“Jordan, you know I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about these things.”

Jordan reddened.
“That’s one thing I hate about this town, and our jobs. Government should not interfere in the covenant of marriage.”

“Funny talk, coming from a politician.”

Jordan laughed deeply.
“Well, as a politician, I have to get up on the damn soapbox every now and then, don’t I?”
He stopped and took her hand.
“I appreciate your going forward with the dinner for Kenneth. You took some heat for it, I know.”

Elizabeth shrugged.
“Harold takes any opportunity, no matter how trivial, to tweak me, Jordan. I’ve built up a very strong resistance.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek, while he lovingly stroked her hair.

“We really have prevailed, despite all the odds, haven’t we? We have a nice life, don’t we?”

“We have a wonderful life, Jordan.”
She kissed him again and he put a protective arm around her.

“I say tonight we cancel all of our appointments and just stay home. Have some dinner, watch a movie. And talk. We don’t get to do that much anymore.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be good company.”

Jordan squeezed her tightly.
“You’re always good company, Beth. Always.”

When the Knights arrived at their apartment, Mary, their housekeeper, handed a phone message to Elizabeth. A curious expression crossed her face as she looked at the name on the paper.

Jordan appeared in the hallway rubbing his hands together. He looked at Mary.
“I hope you have something nice planned for dinner.”

“Your favorite. Beef tenderloin.”

Jordan smiled.
“I think we’re going to have a late dinner. Tonight the missus and I are going to relax completely. No interruptions.”
He looked at his wife.
“Anything wrong?”
He noted the paper in her hand.

“No. Court business. It never ends.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,”
he said dryly.
“Well, I’m for a hot shower.”
He went down the hallway.
“You’re welcome to join me,”
he called over his shoulder.

Mary went off to the kitchen, a smile on her lips at the senator’s remark.

Elizabeth took the opportunity to slip into the study and dialed the number on the message.

“I’m returning your call,”
she said into the phone.

“We need to talk, Justice Knight. How’s right now?”

“What is this about?”

“What I’m about to tell you will come as quite a shock. Are you prepared for that?”

For some reason, Elizabeth Knight sensed that the man was enjoying this.
“I really don’t have time for the cloak-and-dagger rhetoric that obviously amuses you.”

“Well, I’m going to give you a crash course in it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just listen.”

And she did. Twenty minutes later she threw the phone down, raced out of the room and almost knocked down Mary, who was coming down the hallway. Elizabeth raced into the powder room, where she splashed water on her face. She gripped the edges of the sink, composed herself, opened the door and moved slowly down the hallway.

She could still hear Jordan in the shower. She looked at her watch. She went out into the lobby and down the elevator to the reception area of the building and waited over by the main entrance. Time seemed to pass slowly. Actually only ten minutes had gone by since her phone call. Finally, a man she didn’t recognize, but who clearly knew her by sight, appeared and handed her something. She looked down at it. When she looked back up, he had already disappeared. She put what he had given her into her pocket and hurried back up to her apartment.

“Where’s Jordan?”
she asked Mary.

“I believe he’s in the bedroom getting dressed. Are you all right, Ms. Knight?”

“Yes, I … my stomach was just a little upset, but I’m fine now. I decided to stretch my legs and do some window shopping downstairs, get some fresh air. Would you mix up some cocktails and put them out on the terrace?”

“It’s starting to rain.”

“But the awning’s up. And I feel very claustrophobic all of a sudden. I need the air. It’s been so hot and humid lately, and the rain has made things so cool. So very cool,”
she said wistfully.
“Make Jordan’s favorite, will you?”

“Beefeater Martini with a twist, yes, ma’am.”

“And the dinner, Mary … please make sure it’s absolutely wonderful. Just perfect.”

“I will, ma’am.”
Mary headed to the bar with a puzzled look on her face.

Elizabeth Knight squeezed her hands together to fight the waves of panic. She just had to stop thinking about it. If she was going to make it through this, she had to merely act, not think. Please, God, help me, she prayed.

Fiske stared moodily out the car window at the dark clouds. He and Sara were halfway to Washington, and neither one had said much on the drive up.

Sara turned on the wipers as the rain started to fall. She looked over at him and frowned.
“John, we’ve got a lot of information to work with. We might want to use the next hour making some sense of it all.”

Fiske glanced at her.
“I guess you’re right. Do you have pen and paper anywhere?”

“Don’t you have that in your briefcase?”

He undid his seat belt, pulled his briefcase from the back seat and popped it open. He pushed through the stack of mail until his hands closed around a bulky package.
“Christ, that was fast.”

“What?”

“I think this is Harms’s service record.”
Fiske tore it open and started reading. Ten minutes later, he looked at her.
“It’s in two different parts. His service record, portions of the record of court-martial, and the personnel list from Fort Plessy during the time Harms was stationed there.”
Fiske pulled out a section marked MEDICAL RECORDS. He studied the pages and then stopped.
“Would you like to guess why Rufus Harms was so insubordinate, wouldn’t take orders, was always in trouble?”

“He was dyslexic,”
Sara answered promptly.

“How the hell did you know that?”

“A couple of things. Even the little I saw of it, the handwriting and spelling on the appeal was so bad. That’s a sign of dyslexia, although it’s not conclusive. But when I talked to George Barker, remember he told me that story about Rufus fixing his printing press?”
Fiske nodded.
“Well, he recalled Rufus saying that he didn’t want to look at the manual for the printing press, that the words would just mess him up. I went to school with a girl who had dyslexia. She once told me more or less the same thing. It’s like you can’t communicate with the world. Although, from our encounter last night, it looks like Rufus has conquered his disability.”
“If he can survive in prison all those years with people trying to kill him, he can do anything he sets his mind to.”
Fiske looked back at the records.
“Looks like he was diagnosed with it after the murder. Probably during the court-martial proceedings. Maybe Rider discovered it. Preparing a defense requires some client cooperation.”