Текст книги "The Simple Truth"
Автор книги: David Baldacci
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
Fiske thanked him and then added, For what its 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 Id be thirty pounds lighter and my hair would still be black.
Elizabeth Knight didnt smile. Her eyes were as red as Saras, her skin paler than usual. Sara, she said, Id like to meet with you after the afternoon session tomorrow. She cleared her throat. And Id like you to speak with Steven about the bench memo onChance.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. Ill tell him right away, Justice Knight.
Knight gripped one of Saras hands. Thank you. She swallowed with difficulty. Please also remember that the dinner for Judge Wilkinson is tomorrow night at seven oclock at my home.
Its 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, Im very sorry. She checked her watch. Jordan, youre going to be late for your meeting on the Hill. And I have some work to finish. She looked at Fiske. If youll 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. Im sure she didnt 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 dont ever forget that sort of experience.
Thats a very liberated mind-set, Sara said.
If you knew my wife, youd 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 doesnt like confrontation with women. Hes from a different generation.
I dont think gender has anything to do with it, Fiske remarked bluntly.
Shes 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. Im 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 wouldnt approve. Ive never seen anyone so dedicated, so hardworking. She looked at Fiske keenly, as though giving added strength to her words.
Grab some dinner or something, Chandler suggested. You two might find a lot to talk about.
Fiske glanced around, clearly uncomfortable with this suggestion, but he finally nodded. You ready?
Give me a minute. She shook her head wearily. I have to tell Steven he has to work all night, she said, and headed off. Chandler said, John, find out what you can. She was close to your brother. He added, Unlike you.
Im not real good at spying, Fiske said, feeling guilty about plotting like this behind Saras back. He had to catch himself, though; he didnt even know the woman. As if he were privy to Fiskes thoughts, Chandler said, John, I know shes smart and pretty, and she worked with your brother and shes shook up about his death. But remember one thing.
Whats that?
Those arenotreasons to trust her. With that parting comment, Chandler walked off. ["C26"]CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jordan Knight stood in the doorway of his wifes office and watched her. Elizabeth Knights head was bowed as she sat at her desk. Several books were open in front of her, but she was obviously not reading any of them.
Why dont you call it a day, honey?
She looked up, startled. Jordan, I thought you had left for your meeting.
He came over and stood next to her, massaging the back of her neck with one hand. I canceled it. And now its time to go home.
But I have some more work to go. Were all behind. Its so hard
He put a hand under her arm and helped her up. Beth, no matter how important it is, its not that important. Lets go home, he said firmly. A few minutes later they were being driven in a government car to their apartment. After a relaxing shower, something to eat and a glass of wine, Elizabeth Knight finally started to feel halfway normal again as she lay on her bed. Her husband came in and sat down next to her, putting her feet on his lap and rubbing them.
Sometimes I think were too hard on our clerks. Work them too hard. Expect too much from them, she said after a while.
Is that right? Jordan Knight cupped her chin in one hand. What, are you somehow trying to blame yourself for Michael Fiskes death? He wasnt working late the night he was probably killed. You told me he called in sick. His being in an alleyway in a bad part of town has nothing to do with you or the Court. Somebody, some piece of street trash, killed him. Maybe it was a robbery, or maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but you had nothing to do with it.
The police think it was a robbery.
Im sure its early on in the investigation, but itll be given the highest priority.
One of the clerks today asked if Michaels death might be connected to the Court somehow.
Jordan Knight considered this for a moment. Look, I suppose its possible, but I cant see how. He suddenly looked worried. If it is, though, Im going to make sure you have added protection. Ill make a call tomorrow and youll have your own Secret Service or FBI agent, round the clock.
Jordan, you dont have to do that.
What, make sure that some nut doesnt take you away from me? I think about that a lot, Beth. Some of the Courts decisions are very unpopular. You all get death threats from time to time. You cant ignore that.
I dont. I just try not to think about it.
Fine, but dont get upset if I do.
She smiled, touched his face. You take much too good care of me, you know.
He smiled. When you have something precious, thats the only way to go.
They tenderly kissed and then Jordan pulled the covers up over her, turned out the light and left to finish up some work in his study. Elizabeth Knight didnt go to sleep right away. She stared into the darkness, a series of emotions hitting her. Right when they all threatened to overwhelm her, she thankfully drifted off. *����*����* I cant imagine what youre going through, John. I know how badly Im feeling, and Id only known Michael for a relatively short time.
They were in Saras car and had just crossed over the Potomac River and into Virginia. Fiske wondered if she was trying to impress upon him that she had little information to provide.
So how long did you two work together?
A year. Michael talked me into coming back for a second year.
Ramsey said you and Michael were close. How close?
She looked sharply at him. What are you implying?
I just want to gather facts about my brother. I want to know who his friends were. If he was seeing anyone. He glanced over at her to gauge her reaction. If she had one, she wasnt showing it.
You only lived two hours away and you know nothing about his life?
Is that your opinion or someone elses?
I can actually make observations all by myself.
Well, thats a two-way street.
The observations, or the two-hour drive?
Both.
They pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant in northern Virginia. They went inside, got a table and ordered their drinks and food. A minute later, Fiske took a swallow of his Corona; Sara sipped on a margarita. Fiske wiped his mouth. So, do you come from a family of lawyers? We tend to run in packs.
She smiled and shook her head. Im from a farm in North Carolina. Single-stoplight town. But my father had a connection to law.
Fiske looked mildly interested. What was that?
He was the justice of the peace for the area. Officially, his courtroom was a little space in the back of the jail. More often hed hear cases while sitting on his John Deere tractor in the middle of the field.
Is that what got you interested in law?
She nodded. My dad looked more like a judge sitting on dusty farm equipment than some others Ive seen in the fanciest courts.
Including the one youre in now?
Sara blinked and suddenly looked away. Fiske felt guilty for having made the comment. I bet your dad was a good JP. Common sense, fair in his decisions. Man of the soil.
She glanced at him to see if he was being sarcastic, but Fiskes look was genuine. Thats exactly what he was. He mostly dealt with poachers and traffic tickets, but I dont think anyone walked away feeling they had been treated unfairly.
You see him often?
He died six years ago.
Im sorry. Is your mom still around?
She died before Dad. Rural life can be rough.
Sisters or brothers?
She shook her head and seemed relieved to see their food arrive.
It just occurred to me that I havent eaten today, Fiske said as he took a large bite of his tortilla.
I do that a lot. I think I had an apple this morning.
Not good. His gaze swept over her. You dont have a lot of excess on you.
She looked him over. Despite his broad shoulders and full cheeks, he almost looked gaunt, his shirt collar loose against his neck, his waist a little too small for his size. Neither do you.
Twenty minutes later Fiske pushed away his empty plate and sat back. I know youre busy, so I wont waste your time. My brother and I didnt see a lot of each other. Theres an information void I need to fill if Im going to find out who did this.
I thought that was Detective Chandlers job.
Unofficially, its mine.
Your cop background? Sara asked. Fiske arched his eyebrows. Michael told me a lot about you.
Is that right?
Yes, thats right. He was very proud of you. From cop to criminal defense attorney. Michael and I had some interesting discussions about that.
Look, it bothers me that someone I dont know has been having discussions about my life.
Theres no reason to get upset. We just thought it was an interesting career change.
Fiske shrugged. When I was a cop I spent all my time getting criminals off the streets. Now I make my living defending them. To tell you the truth, I was starting to feel sorry for them.
I dont think Ive ever heard a cop admit that.
Really? How many cops have you dealt with?
I have a heavy foot. I get lots of traffic tickets. She smiled teasingly. Seriously, why did you make the switch?
He absently played with his knife for a moment. I busted a guy who was carrying a brick of coke. He was a mule for some drug runners, a real minor role; just transport the stuff from point A to point B. I had other probable cause to do a stop and search. I turn up the brick and then the guy, with the vocabulary of a first-grader, tells me he thought it was a hunk of cheese. Fiske looked directly as her. Can you believe that? He wouldve been better off claiming he didnt know how it got in there. Then his attorney couldve at least had a shot at raising reasonable doubt on the possession charge. Trying to sell a jury on the fact that somebody who looks, acts and talks like a slimeball really thought ten thousand bucks worth of misery for their kids was a chuck of Swiss, well, you got problems. He shook his head. You put ten of these guys in jail, theres a hundred more just waiting to take their place. Theyve got nowhere else to go. If they had, they would. The thing is, you dont give people hope, they dont care what they do to themselves or each other.
Sara smiled. Whats so funny? he asked.
You sound a lot like your brother.
Fiske paused and rubbed his hand across a water ring on the table. You spent a lot of time with Mike?
Yes, quite a lot.
Socially too?
We had drinks, dinner, outings. She took a sip of her drink and smiled. Ive never been deposed before.
Depositions can actually be quite painful.
Really?
Yes, like this for instance: Something tells me Mikes death didnt seem to surprise you all that much. Is that true?
Sara instantly dropped her casual manner. No. I was horrified.
Horrified, yes. But surprised?
The waitress stopped by and asked if they would like some dessert or coffee. Fiske asked for the bill. Then they were back in the car and heading toward the District. A light rain had begun to fall. October was a quirky month, weatherwise, for the area. It could be hot, cold or mild during any given stretch. Right now it was very hot and humid outside, and Sara had the AC on high. Fiske looked at her expectantly. She caught his gaze, took a troubled breath and started speaking slowly.
Recently, Michael did seem nervous, distracted.
Was that unusual?
For the last six weeks weve been cranking out bench memos. Everybodys short-fused, but Michael thrived under those conditions.
You think it was related to something at the Court?
Michael didnt have much of a life outside the Court.
Other than you?
She glanced at him sharply but said nothing.
Any big controversial cases pending? he asked.
Every case is big and controversial.
But he never mentioned specifics to you?
Sara stared ahead but again chose not to answer.
Whatever you can tell me will help, Sara.
She slowed the car slightly. Your brother was funny. Do you know that he would go down to the clerks mail room at the crack of dawn to get an early jump on any interesting cases?
Im not surprised. He never did things halfway. How are the appeals normally processed?
The clerks mail room is where the filings are opened and processed. Each filing goes to a case analyst to make sure that it complies with the requirements of the rules of the Court, and so forth. If its handwritten, like a lot of thein forma pauperisappeals are, they even make sure the handwriting is legible. Then the information goes into a database under the last name of the party filing the appeal. Lastly, the filing is copied and sent to all the justices chambers.
Mike once told me how many appeals the Court gets. The justices cant possibly read all of them.
They dont. The petitions are divided up among the justices chambers, and the clerks are assigned to do certorari pool memos on them. For example, we might get in a hundred or so appeals in a weeks time. There are nine justices, so each chamber gets roughly a dozen appeals. Of the dozen appeals sent to Justice Knights chambers, I might write a memo on three. That memo is circulated to all the chambers. Then the other justices clerks look over my memo and make a recommendation to their justice on whether the Court should grant cert or not.
You clerks have a lot of power.
In some areas, but not really with the opinions. A clerks draft of an opinion is mostly a recap of the facts of the case and then stringing together cites. The justices just use the clerks to get the grunt work done, the paper pulp. We have the greatest impact in the screening of the appeals.
Fiske looked thoughtful. So a justice may not even see the actual documents filed with the Court before deciding whether to hear the case or not? Hed just read the pool memo and the clerks recommendation.
Maybe not even the memo, perhaps just the clerks recommendation. The justices hold discussion conferences usually twice a week. Thats when all the petitions screened by the clerks are discussed and voted upon to see if there are at least four votes, the minimum you need, to hear the case.
So the first person to actually see an appeal filed with the Court would be someone in the clerks mail room?
Thats normally the case.
What do you mean, normally?
I mean theres no guarantee that things will always be done by the rules.
Fiske thought about this for a moment. Are you suggesting that my brother might have taken an appeal before the clerks mail room could process it?
Sara let out a muffled groan but quickly composed herself. I can only tell you this in confidence, John.
He shook his head. Im not going to promise you something I cant deliver.
Sara sighed and in concise sentences told Fiske about finding the papers in his brothers briefcase. I didnt really mean to snoop. But he had been acting strangely, and I was worried about him. I ran into him one morning coming from the clerks mail room. He looked really distraught. I think he had just taken the appeal I found in his briefcase.
The filing you saw, was it the original or a copy?
Original. One of the pages was handwritten, the other typewritten.
Are originals normally circulated?
No. Only copies. And the copied files certainly dont have the original envelope the filing came in.
I remember Mike telling me that clerks sometimes take home files, even originals sometimes.
Thats true.
So maybe that was the case here.
She shook her head. It wasnt set up like a normal case file. There was no return address on the envelope, and the typewritten page had no signature at the bottom. The handwritten page made me think it was anin forma pauperispetition, but there was no motion or affidavit of indigency that I could see.
Did you see any name on the papers, anything that could identify who was involved?
I did. Thats why I knew Michael had taken a filing.
How?
I managed to glance at the first sentence of the typewritten page. The person identified as the party filing the appeal was named there. As soon as I left Michaels office I checked the Courts filing database. There was no one by that name listed.
What was the name?
The last name was Harms.
First name?
I didnt see it.
Do you remember anything else?
No.
Fiske eased back in his seat. The thing is, if Mike took the appeal, he had to be sure that no one would call up about the disappearance of the file. Like the attorney who filed it, if an attorney did.
Well, the envelope had a return receipt requested label. The sending party wouldve gotten notice that it was delivered to the Court.
Okay. And why one handwritten page and one typewritten page?
Two different people. Maybe the person didnt want to be recognized, but still wanted to help Harms.
From all the appeals the Court gets, Mike takes this one. Why?
She glanced at him nervously. Oh God, if it turns out that this had anything to do with Michaels death. I never thought . . . She suddenly looked as though she would burst into tears.
Im not going to tell anyone about this. For now. You took a risk for Mike. I appreciate that. There was a lengthy silence until Fiske said, Its getting late.
As they drove along, Fiske finally said, Weve been able to ascertain that Mike put eight hundred or so miles on his car in the last couple of days. Any idea where he might have gone?
No. I dont think he liked driving. He rode his bike to work.
How was he perceived by the other clerks?
Highly respected. He was incredibly motivated. I guess all Supreme Court clerks are, but Michael seemed incapable of turning it off. I consider myself a hard worker too, but I think a balance in life is good.
Mike was always that way, Fiske said a little wearily. He started at perfection and moved up from there.
Must run in the family. Michael told me that, growing up, you worked two and three jobs almost all the time.
I like to have spending money.
The money had not remained long in Fiskes pocket. It had gone to his father, who had never earned more than fifteen lousy grand a year in over forty years of working his ass off. Now it went to his mother and her massive health bills.
You also went to college while working as a cop.
Fiske impatiently tapped his fingers against the car window. Good old Virginia Commonwealth University, the Stanford of the next century.
And you read for the law. Fiske looked at her angrily. Please dont get upset, John. Im just curious.
Fiske sighed. I apprenticed to a Richmond criminal defense attorney. Learned a lot. Got my certificate and passed the bar. He added dryly, Its the only way to become a lawyer if youre too dumb to score high enough on the LSATs.
Youre not dumb.
Thanks, but how would you know?
We watched you do a trial.
He turned to look at her. Excuse me?
Over the summer, Michael and I came down to Richmond and watched you do a trial in circuit court. She was not going to mention her second trip to watch him in court. Why didnt you let me know you were there?
Sara shrugged. Michael thought youd be upset.
Why would I be upset at seeing my brother?
Why are you asking me? He was your brother. When Fiske said nothing, Sara continued, I was really impressed. I think you might have motivated me to become a criminal defense lawyer someday. At least for a while, try it out, see what its really like.
Oh, you think youd like to do that?
Why not? The law can still be a noble calling. Defending the rights of others. The poor. Id love to hear about some of your cases.
Would you really?
Absolutely, she said enthusiastically. He settled down, pretended to think hard. Lets see, there was Ronald James. That was his real name, but he preferred to be called Backdoor Daddy. That referred to his sexual position of choice with the six women he brutally raped. I plea-bargained that one, even though all six women identified him from a police lineup. I had some leverage, though. Four of the women couldnt face Backdoor in court. Thats what terror will do for you. Ortoyou. The fifth victim had a few nasties in her past that maybe we couldve used to attack her credibility. The last woman wanted nothing less than to crucify him. But one good witness isnt the same as a half dozen. Bottom line: The prosecutor got cold feet and Backdoor got twenty years with a shot at parole.
Then there was Jenny, a nice kid who put a cleaver into her grandmothers skull because, as she tearfully explained to me, the old, dumb bitch wouldnt let her go to the mall with her friends. Jennys mother, the daughter of the woman little Jenny butchered, is paying my legal bill in installments of two bucks a month.
I think I get the point, Sara said tersely.
Now, I dont want to disillusion you. The guy I just got off for burglary paid my bill in full, probably with the cash he got from fencing the property he stole. Ive learned not to ask. So my rents paid for the month, and I havent had to pull a gun on one of my clients in a long time. And tomorrows always a new day. Fiske leaned back. Go get em, Ms. Evans.
You really enjoy shocking people, dont you?
You asked.
So why the hell do you do it, then?
Someone has to.
That wasnt exactly the answer I was expecting, but lets just drop it, she said harshly. Thanks for bursting my balloon, though, I really appreciate it.
If I burst your little balloon, you should thank me, he said angrily. Then he added more calmly, Look, Sara, Im no white knight. Most of my clients are guilty. I know that, they know that, everybody knows that. Ninety percent of my cases are plea-bargained for that very reason. If somebody actually came to me proclaiming their innocence, Id probably die of a heart attack. Im not a defender of anybody, Im a negotiator of sentencing. My job is to make sure that the prison time is fair relative to what everybody else gets. On the rare occasion I do go to trial, the trick there is to blow enough smoke around that a jury just loses the energy to figure it all out and gives up. Like they really want to sit around debating the fate of somebody they dont even know, and could give a shit about.
Gee, whatever happened to the truth?
Sometimes the truth is a lawyers biggest enemy. You cant spin it. Nine times out of ten, with the truth I lose. Now, Im not paid to lose, but I try to be fair. So we all do our little shuffle during the day, the tuna nets go out at night and catch a batch of fresh meat, and we all come back and do the dance again. And on and on it goes.
Your version of real life? she asked.
Dont worry, youre never going to see it. Youll be teaching at Harvard, or working at some gold-plated New York law firm. If Im ever up there, Ill be sure to wave to you from the Dumpster.
Can you please stop? Sara exclaimed. They drove on in silence until something occurred to Fiske.
If you had already seen me at the trial, why did you make a show of not knowing who I was back at the Court when Perkins introduced us?
Sara took a short breath. I dont know. I guess because in front of Perkins, I couldnt think of a clever way to tell you how I had already seen you.
Why did it have to be clever?
You know what they say about first impressions. She shook her head at the thought now.Christ! As Fiske watched her, the last of his hostility faded. Dont let my cynical ass dampen your enthusiasm, Sara. He added quietly, Nobody has that right. Im sorry.
Sara looked over at him. I think you care more than you let on. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to tell him or not. You know a little boy named Enis, dont you? Fiske stared over at her. I saw you talking to him.
It finally hit Fiske. The bar. I knew I had seen you before. What were you doing, following me?
Yes.
Her frankness caught Fiske off guard. Why? he asked quietly. She spoke slowly. Thats a little difficult to explain. I dont think Im up to it right now. I wasnt spying on you. I could see how difficult it was for you, talking to Enis and his family.
Best thing that ever happened to them. Next time the old man might have killed them.
Still, to lose your father like that . . .
He wasnt Eniss father.
Im sorry, I thought he was.
Oh, Enis is his son. But that doesnt make somebody your father. Fathers dont do what that guy did to his family.
Whatll happen to them?
Fiske shrugged. I give Lucas two more years before they find him in some alley with a dozen holes in him. The really sad thing is, he knows it too.
Maybe hell surprise you.
Yeah. Maybe.
And Enis?
I dont know about Enis. And I dont want to talk about it anymore.
They remained silent until they pulled up in front of the Homicide building.
Im parked right in front.
Sara looked at him in surprise. Pretty lucky. In the two years Ive lived in this city, I dont think Ive ever found an empty parking space on the street.
Fiske stared at one spot. I couldve sworn I parked right here.
Sara looked out the window. You mean right next to that tow-away zone sign?
Fiske jumped out of the car just as the rain picked up, and looked at the sign and then at the space where his car used to be. He climbed back in her car, leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Water droplets clung to his face and hair. I really cant believe this day.
They have a number you can call to get your car back. Sara picked up the cell phone and punched in the numbers as she read them off the street sign. The phone rang ten times, but no one answered. She hung up. It doesnt look like youre going to get your car back tonight.
I cant go to sleep until my dad knows.
Oh. She thought for a moment. Well, Ill drive you.
Fiske looked outside at the pouring rain. You sure?
She put the car in gear. Lets go find your dad.
Can we make one stop first?
Sure, just tell me where.
My brothers apartment.
John, Im not sure thats a good idea.
I think its a great idea.
We cant get in.
Ive got a key, said Fiske. She looked puzzled. I helped move him in when he started working at the Court.
Wont the police have it taped off or anything?
Chandler said he was going to go over it tomorrow. He looked at her. Dont worry, youre staying in the car. If anything happens, just take off.
And if maybe the person who killed Michael is there?
You got a tire iron in the trunk?
Yes.
Then its my lucky day.
Sara took a shallow breath. I hope you know what youre doing.
Me too, Fiske thought. ["C27"]CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
When they reached Michael Fiskes apartment, Sara pulled into a parking space around the corner. Pop the trunk, Fiske said, before getting out. She could hear him rummaging through the compartment for a moment. She was startled for an instant when he appeared at her window. She quickly rolled it down.
Keep the car doors locked, the engine running and your eyes open, okay? he said. She nodded, noting the tire iron in one hand and a flashlight in his other.
If you get nervous or anything, just leave. Im a big boy. Ill get to Richmond okay.
She shook her head stubbornly. Ill be right here.
As she watched him head around the corner, a thought occurred to her. She waited a minute or so to allow him time to get into the building, then she pulled around the corner, back onto Michaels street and parked across from the row house. She picked up her cell phone and held it ready. If she spotted anything remotely suspicious, she was going to call the apartment and warn Fiske. A good emergency plan, but one she hoped she wouldnt have to use. *����*����* Fiske closed the door behind him, clicked on the flashlight and looked around. He saw no obvious signs that anyone had searched the place. He entered the small kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a waist-high bar. He looked for and found a couple of plastic baggies in one of the kitchen drawers and covered his hands with them, so as not to leave any prints. There was a small door leading to the pantry, but Fiske didnt bother with it. His brother wasnt the type to have neatly arranged rows of canned corn and peas. It was no doubt empty. He went through the living room, checked the small coat closet, but there was nothing in any of the coat pockets. Next he headed to the single bedroom at the rear of the apartment. The floors were worn tongue-in-groove and the creaks followed him with each step. He pushed open the door and looked in. Bed was unmade, clothes here and there. He checked the pockets nothing. There was a small desk in the corner. He searched it carefully but came up empty. Hidden behind the desk he saw a power cord plugged into the wall and frowned as he held up the other end. He looked next to the desk but didnt see what he had expected to see there: the laptop computer the cord should have been attached to. And his brothers briefcase; Fiske had actually bought it for Mike upon his graduation from law school. He made a mental note to ask Sara about both the briefcase and the laptop. Finished with the bedroom, he moved back down the hallway and toward the kitchen. He stopped for a moment, listening intently. As he did so, he tightly gripped the tire iron. With a sudden lunge he jerked open the pantry door, the tire iron raised, the light shining directly into the small space. The man burst out and hit Fiske right in the stomach with his shoulder. Fiske grunted, the flashlight flew away, but he held his ground and managed to clip the man across the neck with the tire iron. He heard a pained cry; but the man recovered more quickly than Fiske had anticipated, lifted him off the floor and threw him over the bar. Fiske landed hard and felt his shoulder go numb. Even so, he managed to twist sideways and kick the legs out from under the guy as he hurtled past, going for the door. He swung with the tire iron again, but in the darkness missed and it hit the floor instead. A fist connected with his jaw. Fiske swung out and hit solid flesh as well. The guy was on his feet and through the door in a few seconds. Fiske finally lurched up and raced to the door, holding his shoulder. He heard feet clattering down the steps. He hustled after the man and heard the front door to the building crash open. Ten seconds later Fiske was out on the street. He looked right and left. A horn blew. Sara rolled down her window and pointed to the right. Fiske sprinted hard through the rain in that direction and turned the corner. Sara put the car in gear, but had to wait for two cars to pass, and then she spun rubber after him. She turned the corner, raced down the next block but didnt see anyone. She backed the car up and turned down another side street, and then another, growing more and more frantic. She let out a shriek of relief when she saw Fiske in the middle of the street, sucking in air. She jumped out of the car and ran over to him.
