Текст книги "The Simple Truth"
Автор книги: David Baldacci
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
Driving down the George Washington Parkway south of Old Town Alexandria, Fiske glimpsed a bike rider as he flitted, phantomlike, among the line of trees that ran along the asphalt bike path paralleling the river. Fiske nudged Sara awake and she told him where to turn off the parkway. She glanced quickly at him. The encounter with his father had not been mentioned on the drive back. It was as though they had silently agreed not to discuss it. With Sara directing, Fiske pulled down another blacktop road, and then turned right onto a gravel lane that ran steeply down toward the water. He stopped the car in front of the small, wood-framed cottage, which stood there prim and dour among the untidy backdrop of tree, bramble and wild-flower, like the preachers wife at a church picnic turned rowdy. The clapboard was layered with fifty yearsworth of white paint; the structure also had black shutters, and a wide brick chimney the color of terra-cotta. Fiske watched as a squirrel sprinted across the phone line, leaped to the roof and corkscrewed up the chimney. Anchoring one corner of the property was a crape myrtle in full bloom, its bark the texture and color of deerskin. Wedged against the other side of the cottage was a twenty-foot holly, red berries peeping out, ornamentlike, from among the dark green leaves. In between was a hedge of burning bush, the ground underneath it sprinkled with cardinal-red leaves. Behind the house Fiske noted the stairway angling down to the water. From there he thought he saw the bob of a sail mast. From the back seat, he grabbed the clean clothes he had gotten from his apartment. They got out of the car.
Nice place, he commented. Sara stretched and yawned deeply. When I got the clerkship at the Court, I flew in to look at housing. I thought Id just rent at first, but found this place and fell in love with it. So I went down to North Carolina, sold the farm, and bought this.
Must have been hard selling the homestead.
Sara shook her head. The two reasons it was important to me were dead. All that was left was a bunch of dirt that I couldnt do anything with.
Still stretching, she headed to the house. Ill get the coffee going. She looked at her watch and moaned. Im going to be late for oral argument. I should call in, but Im afraid to.
Im sure theyll understand, given the circumstances.
Youd think so, wouldnt you, she said doubtfully. Fiske hesitated. Do you have a map around here?
What kind?
Eastern half of the United States.
She thought a moment. Check the glove compartment.
He did so and pulled out the map. As they went into the house she asked, What are you looking for?
Ive been thinking about the eight hundred miles that were on Mikes car.
You want to see whats eight hundred miles from here?
No, four hundred. Sara looked puzzled. Four hundred miles out, but he, or someone else, had to drive back to D.C.
Although it could be a number of smaller trips, a hundred miles here and there.
Fiske shook his head. Human remains inside a trunk on a hot day arent real pleasant to be around. Ive found a couple that way, he added grimly. While she fixed coffee in the kitchen, Fiske looked out the window that faced the river. From this vantage point he could now see the pressure-treated lumber dock and the sailboat tied up to it.
You get to sail much?
Black or cream?
Black.
She got out two cups. Not as much as I used to. Where I lived in North Carolina was pretty landlocked. Some fishing with my dad, swimming at a pond a few miles down the road. But out at Stanford, I really got into it. You never know how big something can be until you see the Pacific Ocean. It dwarfs everything else Ive ever experienced.
Never been there.
Let me know if you ever decide to. I could show you around. She wiped the hair out of her eyes, poured his coffee and handed him his cup.
Ill put that on my list, he said dryly.
Ive only got one bathroom, so well have to take turns showering.
You go first. I want to check out this map.
If Im not down in twenty minutes, pound on the door; Ill probably have fallen asleep in the shower.
Fiske was looking at the map, sipping his coffee, and didnt comment. Sara paused on the stairs.
John? He looked up. I hope you can forgive me for last night. She stopped, as though mulling over what she had just said. The problem is, I dont think I deserve to be forgiven.
Fiske put his cup down and stared at her. The sunlight poured through the window at a graceful angle, falling full upon her face, accentuating the sparkle of her eyes, the sensual margins of her lips. Her hair was limp from the river water, sweat and sleeping on it. The little makeup she wore had long since lost its life, staining her eyelids and cheeks, her entire body pushed to the point of exhaustion. This woman had been the source of a major, perhaps cataclysmic rift between him and his father, a man he worshiped. And yet Fiske had to fight the impulse to slip off her clothes and lie down next to her right there on the floor.
Everybody deserves to be forgiven, he finally said, and then looked back at the map. While Sara was showering, Fiske went into a room off the kitchen. She obviously used it as a home office of sorts, since it had a desk, computer, bookshelf full of law books and a printer. He spread the map out on the desk. He found the scale at the bottom, converting inches into miles, and rummaged around in the desk drawer until he found a ruler. Using Washington as the epicenter, he drew lines outward in north, west and southerly directions and then drew a line attaching the end points. He ignored the east, since four hundred miles out would put him well into the Atlantic. He made a list of the various states within this rough circumference, picked up the phone and called directory assistance. Within a minute he was on the phone with someone from the Federal Bureau of Prisons. He gave the name Harms to the person on the other end, along with the geographic radius he might be within. It had occurred to Fiske that his brother may have gone to visit Harms in prison. The call his brother had made to him seeking some advice would then make sense. John Fiske knew a lot more about prisons than his younger brother did. When the bureau representative came back on the line with the results, Fiskes face sagged. You sure theres no prisoner with that last name in any federal prison in the geographic area I gave you?
I even went out an extra couple hundred miles.
Well, how about state prisons, then?
I can give you the phone numbers for each state. Youll have to contact them separately. Do you know which ones are in that area?
Fiske looked at the map and rattled them off. There were over a dozen. Fiske wrote down the telephone numbers he was given and hung up. He thought for a moment and then decided to check messages at his home and office. One was from an insurance agent. Fiske returned the call to the agent, who was located in the D.C. metropolitan area.
I was very sorry to read about your brothers death, Mr. Fiske, the woman said.
I didnt know my brother had any life insurance.
Sometimes the beneficiaries arent aware. In fact, its not the insurance companys obligation to notify the beneficiaries even if were aware of the insureds death. Bluntly speaking, insurers dont go out of their way to pay out claims.
So why did you call me?
Because I was horrified by Michaels death.
When did he take the policy out?
About six months ago.
He had no wife or kids. Why did he need insurance?
Well, its why I called you. He said he wanted you to have the money in case anything happened to him.
Fiske felt a catch in his throat and he held the phone away for a moment. Our parents could use the money a lot more than me, he finally managed to say.
He told me youd probably give the money to them, but he wanted you to use some of it for yourself. And he thought youd know better than your parents how to deal with it.
I see. Well, how much money are we talking about?
A half million dollars. She read his address to him to confirm that it was still accurate. For what its worth, I write a lot of policies for people, for a lot of different reasons, not all of them good, but in case you didnt realize it, your brother loved you very much. I wished I was as close to my brother.
As Fiske hung up the phone, he realized that he was not on the verge of tears. He was on the verge of putting his fist through a wall. He got up, put the list in his pocket and went outside, down the stairway, past the vertical rise of cattail on one side, the sprawl of fern on the other, his feet taking him to the small dock. The sky was deep blue, with dabs of cloud, the breeze encouraging, the humidity vanished for now. He looked to the north, to the four-story reach of the million-dollar town houses on the outer ring of the Old Town Alexandria area, and then at the long, serpentine shape of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. Across the water he made out the Maryland shore, a tree-lined mirror image of the Virginia side. A jet powered by, its landing gear down as it headed into National Airport a few miles distant. The fuselage was so close to the earth that Fiske almost could have hit it with a rock. As the plane passed by and the silence returned, he stepped onto the bow of the sailboat. The craft gently swayed under him; the sunlight stroked his face. He sat down and put his head against the mast, sniffed the canvas of the unfurled sail and closed his eyes. He was so damn tired.
You look awfully comfortable.
Startled awake, Fiske looked around before turning and seeing Sara standing there. She wore a black two-piece business suit; a white silk blouse peeked out at the neckline. Her neck was encircled with a small strand of pearls, her hair tied in a simple bun, a touch of makeup and pale red lipstick tinting her face. She smiled. Im sorry I had to wake you. You were sleeping so peacefully.
Have you been watching me long? Fiske asked, and then wondered why he had.
Long enough. You can take your shower now.
He stood up and stepped back on the dock. Nice boat.
Im lucky, the riverbank drops off steeply here. I dont have to keep it at one of the marinas. Ill take you out if you want. We have time left before it has to be winterized.
Maybe.
He walked past her toward the cottage.
John? He turned back. She put one hand on the stair rail and looked over at her sailboat, as though hoping to carve a wedge of calm from its tranquil frame.
If its the last thing I ever do, I will make it right with your father, she said.
Its my problem. You dont have to do that.
Yes, John, I do, she said firmly. *����*����* Thirty minutes later, Fiske drove the car out onto the private road leading to the parkway. The two black sedans flashing in front of their car made Fiske slam on the brakes. Sara screamed. Fiske jumped out of the car. He stopped as soon as he saw the guns pointed at him.
Hands in the air, one of the men barked. Fiske immediately put his hands up. Sara climbed out of the car in time to see Perkins emerge from one vehicle and Agent McKenna from the other. Perkins spotted Sara. Holster your weapons, he said to the two men in suits. McKennas voice boomed out. Those men are under my command, not yours. They will holster their weapons upon my order only. McKenna stopped directly in front of Fiske.
Are you all right, Sara? Perkins asked.
Of course Im all right. What the hell is going on?
I left an urgent message with you.
I didnt check my messages. Whats wrong?
McKennas eye caught the shotgun lying in the back seat. Now he pulled his own weapon and pointed it directly at Fiske. He studied Fiskes injured face. Is this man holding you against your will? McKenna asked Sara.
Will you stop with the dramatic crap? said Fiske. He lowered his hands and caught a sucker punch in the gut from McKenna. Fiske dropped to his knees, gasping. Sara raced to him, helping him lean back against the car tire.
Keep your hands up until the lady answers the question. McKenna reached down and jerked Fiskes hands up in the air. Keep your damn hands up.
Sara screamed, No, for Gods sake, hes not holding me. Stop it. Leave him alone! She pushed McKennas hand away. Perkins stepped forward. Agent McKenna he began, but McKenna cut him off with a cold stare.
Hes got a shotgun in the car, McKenna said. You want to take a chance with your men, fine. I dont operate that way.
Another sedan pulled up and Chandler and two uniformed Virginia police officers climbed out, guns drawn.
Everybody freeze! Chandler boomed out. McKenna looked around. Tell your men to put away their weapons, Chandler. Ive got the situation under control.
Chandler walked right up to McKenna. Tell your men to holster their weapons right now, McKenna. Right now or Ill have these officers arrest you on the spot for assault and battery. McKenna didnt move. Chandler leaned directly in his face. Right now, Special Agent Warren McKenna, or youll be calling the Bureaus legal counsel from a Virginia lockup. You really want that in your record?
Finally, the man flinched. Holster your weapons, McKenna ordered his men.
Now move the hell away from him, Chandler ordered. McKenna very slowly edged away from the fallen Fiske, his eyes burning into Chandlers with every backward step. Chandler knelt down and gripped Fiskes shoulder. John, you okay?
Fiske nodded painfully, his eyes on McKenna.
Will someone please tell us what is going on? Sara cried out.
Steven Wright was found murdered, Chandler said. ["C35"]CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The shack rested in the center of a heavy forest in a remote part of southwestern Pennsylvania, where it notched into West Virginia. A muddy, tire-gouged strip of dirt was the only way in or out. Josh came in the front door, his 9mm poking out of his waistband, red clay and pine needles sticking to his boots. The truck was parked under a leafy shield of a soaring walnut tree, but Josh had taken the added precaution of covering the vehicle with camouflage netting. His biggest worry was being spotted from overhead. Luckily, the nights were still warm. He couldnt risk building a fire; you couldnt control where smoke went. Rufus sat on the floor, his broad back resting against the wall, his Bible in his lap. He was drinking a soda, the remains of his lunch beside him. He had changed into some clothes that his brother had brought him.
Everything okay?
Just us and the squirrels. How you feeling?
Happy as hell and scared as the devil. Rufus shook his head and smiled. Feels good to be free, sitting here drinking a Coke, not having to worry about somebody trying to get the jump on me every second of my life.
The guards or the other cons?
What do you think?
I think both. I was on the inside for a while too, you know. We could probably write us a book.
How long we gonna stay here?
A couple of days. Let things die down a little. Then well head on, make our way down to Mexico. Live good on a tenth of what it takes up here. Went a few times after the war. Got some old Army buddies who live there. Theyll help us get in and then set us up. Find us a boat, do some fishing, live on the beach. That sound good to you?
Living in the sewer would sound good to me. Rufus stood up. Got a question for you.
His brother leaned against the wall and started carving up an apple with his pocketknife. Im listening.
Your truck was full of groceries, two rifles and that pistol youre carrying. And the clothes Im wearing.
So?
So you just happen to be carrying all that stuff when you come visit me?
Josh swallowed a slice of apple. I got to eat. That means I got to go to the store, now, dont it?
Yeah, but you didnt buy nothing thatd go bad, no milk or eggs, stuff like that. All cans and boxes.
I ate out of a can in the Army. I guess I just fell in love with meals ready to eat.
And you always carry all them guns with you?
Maybe Im still screwed up from Nam, got some syndrome or other.
Rufus tugged at his shirt, which was the size of a blanket. My size dont exactly come off the rack. You came ready to bust me out, didnt you, Josh?
Josh finished working on his apple and then threw the core out the open window. He wiped the apple juice from his hands onto his jeans before facing his brother.
Look, Rufus, I never knew why you killed that little girl. But I knew you werent right in the head when you done it. When I got that letter from the Army it crossed my mind there was something there. Now, I didnt know it was some cover for what they done to you. But the fact is, nowadays, people go crazy and do bad shit, they stick em in the nut-house, and when theyre better, they just let em go. You been in prison for twenty-five years for something I know for a fact you didnt even mean to do. Lets just say I took it on myself to say that was long enough. You served your time, you know, paid your debt to society crap. It was time for you to get out, and I was gonna bring the key. If you hadnt wanted to come, I was going to make you change your way of thinking. Call me right or wrong, I dont give a damn. Its what I made up my mind to do.
The two brothers looked at each other for at least a minute without speaking.
You a good brother, Josh.
You damn right I am.
Rufus sat on the floor again and picked up the Bible, his hands gently turning the pages until he found the part he wanted. Josh eyed him.
You still reading that stuff after all this time?
Rufus looked up at him. Gonna read it all my life.
Josh snorted. You do what you want with your time, but wasting it aint such a good idea if you ask me.
Rufus eyed him stonily. The word of the Lord kept me alive all these years. That aint no waste of time.
Josh shook his head, looked out the window and then back at Rufus. He touched the grip of his pistol. This is God. Or a knife, or a stick of dynamite, or a dont-piss-on-me attitude. Not some holy book full of people killing each other, men taking other mens women, just about every sin you can think of
Sins of man, not God.
God aint the one busted you out. I did.
God sent you to me, Josh. His will is everywhere.
So youre saying God made me come get you?
Why did you come?
I told you. Get you out.
cause you love me?
Josh appeared a little startled. Yes, he said.
Thats the will of God, Josh. You love me, you help me. Thats Gods way of working.
Josh shook his head and looked away. Rufus went back to his reading. A squawking sound came from Joshs portable police scanner, which he had set on the floor along with his radio. Josh had managed to tune in a radio station from southwest Virginia for any local news on Rufuss escape.
Heard your name on the police band anymore? Josh asked. Rufus Harms had been mentioned in the news the day before. All the military authorities would say was that Harms was a convicted murderer who had a history of violence inside prison. He had escaped with the help of his brother, a dangerous man in his own right. The standard lingo was used, namely that both men were believed to be armed and dangerous. Translation: No one should be surprised or ask any questions when the authorities dragged their corpses in.
A little, Rufus replied. Theyre looking south, like you thought.
Just then the afternoon news came on the radio. The first two news stories meant nothing to either brother. The third news story was a late-breaking one and it made both brothers stare at the radio. Josh hustled over and turned up the sound. The story only lasted about a minute and when it was over Josh turned the radio off. Rider and his wife, he said.
Made it look like he killed her and then turned the gun on himself, Rufus added, his head shaking slowly in disbelief. Two men come to see me and now theyre both dead.
Josh stared over at his brother. He knew exactly what he was thinking. Rufus, you cant bring him back, you cant bring none of them back.
Its my fault theyre dead. For trying to help me. And Riders wife, she didnt know nothing about any of this.
You didnt ask that Fiske boy to come down to the prison.
But I asked Samuel. Hed be alive except for me.
He owed you, Rufus. Why you think he came on down in the first place? He felt guilty. He knew he didnt fight hard for you back then. He was trying to make up for that.
Hes still dead, aint he? Because of me.
Supposing thats true, you cant do nothing about it.
Rufus looked over at him. I can make sure they didnt die for nothing. Them folks took most of my life away. And now they took these other peoples lives. You say well be okay in Mexico, but they aint never gonna stop looking for us. Vic Tremaine is crazy as hell. Just have to look in the mans eyes to see that. Old Vic been trying to get me all these years. Probably think hes got his chance now. Fill us both up with lead.
The Army catches up with us before the police do, theyll damn sure keep firing till their mags are empty, Josh agreed. He pulled out his Pall Malls and lit up, blowing smoke across the room. Well, I can shoot straight too. Theyll know they been in a damn fight if they dont know nothing else.
Rufus shook his head stubbornly. Nobody should be able to get away with what they done.
Josh flicked cigarette ash to the floor and stared at him. Well, exactly what are you gonna do? March in to the police and say, Listen up, boys, I got some story to tell. Now yall come on help a brother put these big-important white folk away? Josh took the cigarette out of his mouth and spit on the dirt floor. Shit, Rufus.
I need to get me that letter from the Army.
Whered you leave it?
I hid it back in my cell.
Well, we aint going back to the prison. You try to do that, Ill shoot you myself.
I aint going back to Fort Jackson.
What, then?
Samuel was a lawyer. Lawyers make copies of things.
Josh arched his eyebrows. You wanta go to Riders office?
We got to, Josh.
Josh smoked his Pall Mall down to the filter before answering. Iaint got to do nothing, Rufus. The whole damn United States Army is out looking for your ass. And mine too. You cant exactly melt into the crowd. Hell, youd make George Foreman look like a damn sissy.
We still got to do it, Josh. Least I got to do it. If I can get that letter, then maybe I can get it to somebody who can help. Maybe write another letter to the Court.
Yeah, look at all the good it done you last time. Them big-ass judges just come running to help you, didnt they?
It dont matter if you dont want to come, Josh. But I got to do it.
What about Mexico? Damn, Rufus, you free. For now. We try poking around this thing, they gonna take you back to prison or most likely shoot you down first. We got to go while we got the chance, man.
I want to be free. But I cant leave it like this. I go to Mexico now and Ill die of guilt, if the Lord dont strike me down before then.
Guilt? You done twenty-five years for nothing. When you die you going to heaven and you gonna be sitting in Gods lap. You a lock for that.
No good, Josh. You aint changing my mind.
Josh spit again and looked out the dirty, cracked window. You sonofabitchin crazy. Prisons screwed you for good. Damn!
Maybe I am crazy.
Josh glared at him. Where the hell is Riders office?
About thirty minutes outside Blacksburg. Thats all I know. Shouldnt be hard to find out where it is exactly.
Probably crawling with cops.
Maybe not, if they think Samuel done it all.
Shit. Josh violently kicked the wall and then turned to his brother. Okay, well wait until nightfall and then head on out.
Thanks, Josh.
Dont thank me for helping us both get killed. That kind of thanks I surely dont want.
["C36"]CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The flag at the United States Supreme Court was flying at half-mast. Newspaper, TV and radio reports nationwide were filled with accounts of the two murdered clerks. The phones in the Courts Public Information Office refused to stop ringing. The adjoining press room was standing room only. Major TV and radio networks were broadcasting live from booths on the ground floor of the Court. Supreme Court police, reinforced by fifty D.C. police officers, National Guardsmen and FBI agents, ringed the Courts perimeter. The private hallways outside the justiceschambers were filled with clusters of people nervously talking. Most of the justices were secluded inside their chambers, having barely made it through the oral argument sessions, their minds far from the advocates and issues before them. The young faces of the law clerks too bore the terror inspired by the killings. The small first-floor room normally used for the justices conferences was filled. The walls were dark-paneled and lined with bookshelves containing the bound volumes of two hundred years of the Courts decisions. Another wall held a fireplace, unlit on this very warm day. A grand chandelier hung overhead. Ramsey sat at the head of the table. Justices Knight and Murphy sat in their regular chairs. While Knights gaze darted around the table, Murphy, fiddling with an old pocket watch strung on a chain across his puffy middle, kept his eyes downcast. Also present were Chandler, Fiske, Perkins, Ron Klaus, and McKenna. Fiske and McKenna occasionally made eye contact, but Fiske had kept his temper under control. Wright had been found in a park a half dozen blocks from his Capitol Hills apartment, with a single gunshot wound to the head. His wallet, like Michael Fiskes, was missing. Robbery was the superficial motive, although no one in the room believed the answer could be that simple. Preliminary indications were that Wright had been killed between midnight and two in the morning. On the ride over to the Court, Chandler had filled Fiske in on recent developments. He had had Michael Fiskes autopsy expedited, although he was still awaiting the official report and the exact time of death. The cause of Michael Fiskes death, however, had definitely been a single gunshot to the head. Chandler had tracked down the northern Virginia Wal-Mart where Fiske had had his car serviced, but no one there could give them any useful information. Fiske had had one thought that prompted him and Chandler to make a short detour on the way to the Court: They had returned to the car impoundment lot to have another look at Michaels Honda. Fiske had looked in the back pockets of the front seat.
He kept a map in here, always did. He had this weird fear of getting lost. Had to plot out his whole trip before he set foot on the road. Theres no map here, but there is this. He held up a couple of yellow Post-its that he had found wadded up at the bottom of the seat pocket. There was writing on them, names of interstates and roads directions, given the faded condition of the ink, from some trip taken long ago. Chandler looked at the pieces of yellow paper. So why take the map book?
He wouldve had the directions to wherever he was going in there.
So the miles had something to do with his death.
Fiske hesitated for a moment, debating whether to tell Chandler about the Harms filing. Revealing that information would open a can of worms that he didnt want to deal with right now. Maybe, he finally said. After that, he and Chandler had driven to the Court. Now they were all in the conference room staring at each other. Without disclosing how he had come by the information, Chandler had just reported that there had been an intruder at Michael Fiskes apartment the night before.
Were in your hands, Detective Chandler, Ramsey said. Although now I think it much more likely that we have some madman at work with a grudge against the Court, rather than it pertaining to some matter Michael was working on.
McKenna said, I want you to know that the Bureau has assigned a hundred agents to this matter. Weve also arranged around-the-clock protection for the justices.
What about the clerks? Fiske said. Theyre the ones getting killed.
Chandler stepped in. Ive compiled the home addresses of all the clerks. Ive beefed up patrols in those areas. Most of them live on Capitol Hill close to the Court. Weve offered to house any clerk who so chooses at a local hotel where full-time security is available. Ive also instructed one of our experts to talk to the clerks about ways to keep safe, be on the lookout for suspicious persons, avoid going out alone or at night, that sort of thing. He looked around for a moment. By the way, where is Dellasandro?
Hes trying to coordinate all the new security measures, Klaus reported. Ive never seen him this worried. I think hes taking it personally.
Ive been on the Court for almost thirty-three years, and I never thought I would ever see the likes of this, Justice Murphy said sadly.
None of us did, Tommy, Knight said forcefully. She looked pointedly at Chandler. You have no leads at all?
I wouldnt go that far. We have several things to go on. Im talking about Michael Fiskes death. With Wrights murder its still too early to say.
But you believe them to be connected? Ramsey said.
I really dont have a belief on that one way or the other.
What do you recommend that we do?
That you go about your business as usual. If this is the work of some nut out to disrupt the Court, then youd be playing into his hands by canceling your docket.
Or we could risk infuriating whoevers doing this, with the result that he will strike again, Knight said.
Thats always a possibility, Justice Knight, Chandler conceded. But Im not convinced that what the Court does or doesnt do will have any effect on that.Ifthe cases are connected. He looked at Ramsey. I do think its worth going over the cases both clerks were involved in, just to cover that base. I know its a long shot, but I could end up kicking myself later on if I dont address it now.
I understand.
Chandler turned to Justice Murphy. Will you and your other clerks still be available today to go over cases Michael Fiske was handling?
Yes, Murphy replied quickly.
And I would appreciate if all of you would confer with the other justices and try to determine if any one case youve heard over the last few years may have prompted some action like this, said Chandler. Knight looked at him and shook her head. Detective Chandler, many of the cases we deal with stir incredible emotions in people. It would be impossible to know where to start.
