Текст книги "The Simple Truth"
Автор книги: David Baldacci
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
Thats right. Fiske leaned forward. Between you, me and God.
Leon laughed. God? Shit, thats a good one. He hunched forward and spoke in a low voice. Got me a couple of friends. They gonna pay a little visit to these witnesses. Make sure they forget their way to the courthouse. Its all set up.
Fiske slumped back. Aw hell, now youve done it.
Done what?
Told me the one damn thing I have to go to the judge with.
What the hell you talking about?
Legally, and ethically, I cant divulge any information given to me by a client.
So, whats the problem? Im your client and I just gave you the damn information.
Right, but you see, theres an important exception to that rule. You just told me about a crime youve planned for the future. Thats the one thing I have to tell the court. I cant let you commit the crime. I have to advise you not to do it. Consider yourself so advised. If youd already done it, wed be okay. What the hell were you thinking about, telling me that? Fiske looked disgusted.
I didnt know that was the law. Shit, I aint no damn lawyer.
Come on, Leon, you know the law better than most lawyers. Now youve gone and screwed up your own case. Now we have to plead.
What the hell do you mean?
If we go to trial and the witnesses dont show, I have to tell the court what you told me. If the witnesses show, your ass is cooked.
Well, then dont you go telling nobody nothing.
Thats not an option, Leon. If I dont and it comes out somehow, I lose my license to practice. And while I like you a lot, no client is worth that. Without my license I dont eat. And you screwed up, man, not me.
I dont believe this shit. I thought you could tell your damn attorney anything.
Ill see what I can do on the plea. Youre going to spend some time in jail, Leon, no way around that. Fiske stood and patted the prisoner on the back. Dont worry, Ill cut you the best deal I can.
As Fiske walked out of the visitors room he smiled for the first time all day. ["C13"]CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Michael Fiske looked up ahead nervously as he drove. His wipers struggled to maintain visibility in the face of the pouring rain. Headed west, he had passed places with names like Pulaski, Bland and even something called Hungry Mothers State Park, which had conjured up in his mind a discomforting vision of huddled masses of women and children begging for food along the parks trails. For a while winds swirling off nearby Big A Mountain buffeted the car. Even though he had been born and raised in Virginia, Fiske had never been west of Roanoke, and he had only ventured there to take the bar exam. Up to this point he had made good time, because the trip had been all highway. Once he had exited Interstate 81 and headed in a northwesterly direction, that had abruptly changed. Now the terrain was rugged and unforgiving, the roads narrow and serpentine. He glanced over at the briefcase next to him on the front seat, drawing a long breath as he did so. He had learned a lot since reading Rufus Harmss plea for help. Harms had murdered a young girl, who was visiting the military base where Harms had been stationed at the end of the Vietnam War. He had been in the stockade at the time but had somehow broken out. There was no motive; it just seemed a random act of violence by a madman. Those facts were uncontroverted. As a Supreme Court clerk, Michael had many information resources to turn to, and he had used all of them in compiling the background facts. However, the military wouldnt acknowledge that such a program as described in Harmss petition even existed. Michael slapped the steering wheel. If only Harms or his attorney had included the letter from the Army in his filing. Michael had finally decided that he needed to hear the account from its source: Rufus Harms. He had tried to do it through channels other than direct confrontation. He had tracked down Samuel Rider through the postal trail, but had received no reply to his calls. Was he the author of the typewritten paper? Michael believed it was a strong possibility. He had called the prison to try to talk with Harms on the phone, but his request had been denied. That had only increased his suspicions. If an innocent man was in prison, it was Michaels job hisduty, he corrected himself to see that that man became free. And there was a final reason for this trip. Some of the names listed in the petition, the people allegedly involved in the little girls death, were names well known to Michael. If it turned out Rufus Harms was telling the truth . . . he shuddered as one nightmarish scenario after another rolled through his thoughts. On the seat next to him was a road atlas and a sheet of written directions he had made up for himself showing precisely the way to the prison. Over the next hour or so, he traveled through miles of back roads and over corroded wooden bridges, blackened by weather and car exhaust, through towns that werent big enough to justify the title, and past battered house trailers tucked into narrow crevices of rock along the foothills of the Appalachians. He was passed by muddy pickup trucks with miniature Confederate flags flapping from radio antennae, and shotguns and deer rifles slung across racks in the rear window. As he drew closer to the prison, the tight, weathered faces of the few people he saw grew more and more taciturn, their eyes filled with a constant, irreversible suspicion. As Michael rounded a curve, the prison facility loomed before him. The stone walls were thick, towering and vast, like a medieval castle transported to this miserably poor stretch of rocky soil. He wondered for a moment if the stone had been quarried by the prisoners into the assemblage of their own tombs. He received his visitors card, passed through the main gate and was then directed to the prisons visitorsparking. He explained his purpose to the guard at the entrance.
Youre not on the visitors list, the young guard said. He eyed Michaels dark blue suit and intelligent features with contempt.A rich, smartass, pretty boy from the city,Michael could read in the mans eyes.
I called several times, but I never got through to anyone who could tell me the procedure for being put on the list.
Up to the prisoner. Generally speaking, if he wants you to visit, you do. If he dont, you dont. Only control these boys got. The guard cracked a grin.
If you tell him that an attorney is here to see him, Im sure hell put me on his visitors list.
Youre his lawyer?
Im involved with an appeal of his right now, Michael said evasively. The guard looked down at his ledger. Rufus Harms, he said, evidently confused. Hes been here since before I was even born. Exactly what sort of appeal could somebody like him have going after all this time?
Im not at liberty to discuss that, Michael said. My work is covered by attorney-client privilege and is absolutely confidential.
I know that. What, you think Im stupid?
Not at all.
If I let you in and it turns out I wasnt supposed to, then my keesters in a lot of trouble.
Well, I was just thinking that you might want to check with your superior. That way, its not your call and you cant get in trouble.
The guard picked up his phone. I was already going to do that, he said in a very unfriendly tone. He spoke into the phone for a couple minutes and then hung up.
Somebodys coming on down. Michael nodded. Where you from? the guard asked.
Washington, D.C.
How much does somebody like you get paid? It was clear that whatever sum Michael stated would be too much. He took a deep breath as he observed the approach of the uniformed officer. Actually, not nearly enough.
The young guard quickly stood and saluted his superior officer. The officer turned to Michael. Please come with me, Mr. Fiske. The man was in his fifties, with the lean build, calm but serious manner and closely cut gray hair that helped mark him as career military. Michael followed the mans precise strides down the hallway to a small office. For five minutes Michael patiently explained what he was doing there without really revealing any information of substance. He could do the lawyer-speak with the best of them.
If you tell Mr. Harms that Im here, hell see me.
The man twirled a pen between his fingers, his eyes dead center on the young lawyer. This is rather puzzling. Rufus Harms just received a visit from his lawyer not too long ago. And that person wasnt you.
Is that right? Was his name Samuel Rider? The man didnt answer, but the momentary surprise on his features made Michael inwardly smile. His hunch had proven correct. Harmss former military counsel had enclosed the typewritten sheet of paper. A person can have more than one lawyer, sir.
Not someone like Rufus Harms. He hasnt had anyone for the last twenty-five years. Oh, his brother visits pretty regularly, but all this interest in the man has us puzzled. Im sure you can appreciate that.
Michael smiled pleasantly, but his next words were spoken in a firm manner. I hope you can appreciate the fact that a prisoner is entitled to speak with an attorney.
The officer stared at him for a few moments and then picked up the phone and spoke into it. He hung up and looked back at Michael without speaking. Five minutes passed before the phone rang again. When the man put it back down, he nodded at Michael and said curtly, Hell see you.
["C14"]CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Rufus Harms appeared in the doorway of the visitors room, he looked confused as his gaze settled on the young man. He shuffled forward. Michael rose to greet him and was met with a bark by the guard behind Rufus.
Sit down.
Michael did so immediately. The guard watched closely until Rufus took a seat across from Michael, and turned to the lawyer. You were previously instructed as to the rules of conduct during visitation. In case you forgot any of them, theyre posted clearly right over there. He pointed to a large sign on the wall. No physical contact is permitted at any time. And you are to remain seated at all times. Do you understand?
Yes. Do you have to stay in the room? There is such a thing as attorney-client confidentiality. Also, does he have to be chained like that? Michael asked.
You wouldnt ask that if youd seen what he did to a bunch of guys inside this place. Even all chained up he could snap your skinny little neck in half in two seconds. The guard moved closer to Michael. Maybe at other prisons you get some more privacy, but this isnt like other prisons. We only got the biggest and the baddest here, and we have our own set of rules to operate by. This is an unscheduled visit, so you got twenty minutes before the big bad wolf here has to go to work cleaning toilets. And we got some real messy ones today.
Then Id appreciate your letting us get started, said Michael. The guard said nothing else and moved over to his post against the door. When Michael looked at Rufus he found the big mans gaze squarely on him. Good afternoon, Mr. Harms. My name is Michael Fiske.
That name dont mean nothing to me.
I know, but Im here to ask you some questions.
They said you were my lawyer. Youre not my lawyer.
I didnt say I was. They just assumed that. Im not associated with Mr. Rider.
Rufuss eyes narrowed. How do you know about Samuel?
Thats really not relevant. Im here to ask you questions, because I received your writ for certiorari.
You did what?
Your appeal. Michael lowered his voice. I work at the United States Supreme Court.
Rufuss mouth fell open. Then what the hell are you doing here?
Michael nervously cleared his throat. I know this isnt actually orthodox. But I read your appeal, and I wanted to ask you some questions about it. It makes a number of very damaging allegations against some very prominent people. As he looked into Rufuss astonished eyes, Michael suddenly regretted ever coming here. I looked into the background of your case and some things dont make sense to me. I wanted to ask you some questions and then, if things check out, we can get your appeal going.
Why isnt it going already? It got to the damned Court, didnt it?
Yes, but it also had a number of technical deficiencies that would have caused it to be denied processing. I can try to help you with those. But what I want to avoid is a scandal. You have to understand, Mr. Harms, that the Court receives bags of appeals from prisoners every year that have no merit.
Rufuss eyes narrowed. Are you saying Im lying? Is that what youre saying? Why dont you spend twenty-five years in this place for something that wasnt your fault and then come here and tell me that?
Im not saying youre lying. I actually think theres something to all of this or, believe me, I wouldnt have come here. He looked around the grim room. He had never been near a place like this, sitting across from a man like Rufus. He suddenly felt like a first-grader getting off the bus and realizing he was somehow in high school. Believe me, he said again. I just need to talk to you.
You got some ID shows you are who you say you are? I aint been in a real trusting mood for the last thirty years.
Supreme Court clerks were not issued ID badges. The security personnel at the Court were required to learn to recognize them by sight. However, the Court did publish an official directory with the clerks names and photos. That was one way to help the guards get to know their faces. Michael pulled this from his pocket and showed it to Rufus. Rufus studied it intently, looked over at the guard, then turned back to Michael. You got a radio in your briefcase?
A radio? Michael shook his head. Rufus lowered his voice even more. Then start humming.
What? Michael said, bewildered. I cant really . . . I mean, Im not really musical.
Rufus shook his head impatiently. Then you got a pen?
Michael nodded dumbly.
Then pull it out and start tapping on the table. Theyve probably heard all they need to hear by now anyway, but well leave em a few surprises.
When Michael started to say something, Rufus interrupted. No words, just tap. And listen.
Michael began to tap the table with his pen. The guard glanced over but said nothing. Rufus spoke so softly that Michael had to strain to hear him. You shouldnt have come here at all. You dont know the chance I took to get that piece of paper out of this place. If you read it, you know why. Killing some old black con who strangled a little white girl, people wouldnt give a damn. Dont think they would.
Michael stopped tapping. That was all a long time ago. Things have changed.
Rufus let out a grunt. Is that right? Why dont you go knock on Medgar Everss or Martin Luther Kings coffin and tell em that? Things have changed, yes sir, everything be all right now. Praise the Lord.
Thats not what I meant.
If the people I talked about in that letter were black, and I was white and I didnt call this place home would you be here right now checking up on my story?
Michael looked down. When he looked back up, his expression was pained. Maybe not.
Sure as hell not! Start tapping, and dont stop.
Michael did so. Believe it or not, I want to help you. If the things you described in your letter did happen, then I want to see justice served.
Why the hell you care about somebody like me?
Because I care about the truth, Michael said simply. If youre telling the truth, then I will do everything in my power to get you out of this place.
Thats sure easy enough to say, aint it?
Mr. Harms, I like to use my brains, my skills, to help people less fortunate than I am. I feel its my duty.
Well, thats real nice of you, son, but dont go patting me on the head. I might bite your hand off.
Michael blinked in confusion, and then it registered. Im sorry, I didnt mean to be condescending. Look, if youve been wrongly imprisoned, then I want to help you get your freedom. Thats all.
Rufus didnt say anything for a minute, as though attempting to gauge the sincerity of the young mans words. When he finally leaned forward again, his features were softer, but his manner remained guarded.
It aint safe to talk about this stuff here.
Where else can we talk?
No place that I know of. They dont let people like me out for vacation. But everything I said is true.
You made reference to a let
Shut up! Rufus said. He looked around again, his eyes locking for a moment on the large mirror. Wasnt it with what was filed?
No.
All right, you know my attorney. You said his name before.
Michael nodded. Samuel Rider. I tried to call him, but he didnt call me back.
Tap louder. Michael picked up the beat. Rufus glanced around and then began speaking. Ill tell him to talk to you. Whatever you need to know, hell tell you.
Mr. Harms, why did you file your appeal with the Supreme Court?
Aint no higher one, is there?
No.
Didnt think so. We get newspapers in here. Some TV, radio. Ive been watching them people over the years. In here you think a lot about courts and such. Faces change, but them judges can do anything. Anything they want to. I seen it. Whole countrys seen it.
But from a purely legal technical point of view there are other avenues you really have to pursue in the lower courts before your appeal can be heard there. You dont even have a lower court ruling from which youre appealing, for instance. In sum, your appeal has numerous flaws.
Rufus shook his head wearily. I been in this place half my life. I aint got all that much time left. I aint never been married, I aint never gonna have no kids. The last thing Im gonna do is spend years messing around with lawyers and courts and such. I want out of here, and I want out of here just as fast as I can. I want to be free. Them big judges, they can get me outta here, if they believe in doing the right thing. Thats the right thing, you go back and tell em that. They call em justices, well, thats justice.
Michael looked at him curiously. Are you sure theres not another reason you filed it with the Supreme Court?
Rufus looked blankly at him. Like what?
Michael let out a breath he hadnt realized he was holding. It was certainly possible that Rufus wouldnt know the positions now held by some of the men named in his appeal. Never mind.
Rufus sat back and stared at Michael. So what do them judges think about all this? They sent you down here, didnt they?
Michael stopped tapping and said nervously, Actually, they dont know Im here.
What?
I havent actually shown anyone your appeal, Mr. Harms. I . . . I wanted to be sure, you know, that it was all aboveboard.
Youre the only one thats seen it?
For now, but like I said
Rufus looked at Michaels briefcase. You didnt bring my letter with you, did you?
Michael followed his gaze to the briefcase. Well, I wanted to ask you some questions about it. You see
Lord help us, Rufus said so violently that the guard braced himself to pounce.
Did they take your briefcase when you come in? Because two of the men I wrote about are at this prison. One of them is in charge of the whole damn place.
Theyre here? Michael went pale. He had confirmed that the men named in the appeal were in the Army back in the seventies. He knew the current whereabouts of two of them, but he hadnt bothered to locate the others. He froze, suddenly realizing that he had just made a potentially fatal mistake.
Did they take your damn briefcase?
Michael stammered, Just just for a couple of minutes. But I put the documents in a sealed envelope, and its still sealed.
You done killed us both, Rufus screamed. Like a hot geyser, he exploded upward, flipping the heavy table over as though it were made of balsa wood. Michael leaped out of the way and slid across the floor. The guard blew his whistle and grabbed Rufus from behind in a choke hold. Michael watched as the giant prisoner, shackled as he was, flipped the two-hundred-pound guard off like a bothersome gnat. A half dozen other guards poured into the room and went at the man, swinging their batons. Rufus kept tossing them off like a moose against a pack of wolves, for a good five minutes, until he finally went down. They dragged him from the room, first screaming and then gagging as a baton was wedged against his throat. Right before Rufus disappeared, he stared at Michael, horror and betrayal in his eyes. *����*����* After an exhausting struggle that had continued all the way down the hallway, the guards managed to strap Rufus to a gurney.
Get him to the infirmary, somebody screamed. I think hes going into convulsions.
Even with the shackles and thick leather restraints on, Rufus wildly gyrated, the gurney rocking back and forth. He kept screaming until someone stuffed a cloth into his mouth.
Hurry up, dammit, the same man said. The group burst through the double doors and into the infirmary.
Good God! The physician on duty pointed to a clear space. Over here, men.
They swung the gurney around and slid it into the empty spot. As the doctor approached, one of Rufuss thrashing feet almost clipped him in the gut.
Take that out of his mouth, the doctor said, pointing at the handkerchief balled up in Rufuss mouth. The prisoners face was turning a deep purple. One of the guards looked at him warily. You better take care, Doc, hes gone nuts. If he can reach you, hell hurt you. He already took out three of my men. Crazy SOB. The guard looked menacingly at Rufus. As soon as the cloth was pulled from his mouth, Rufuss screams filled the room.
Get a monitor on him, the doctor said to one of the attending nurses. Seconds after they managed to attach the sensors to Rufus, the doctor was closely watching the erratic rise and fall of Rufuss blood pressure and pulse. He looked at one of the nurses. Get an IV over here. To another nurse he said, An amp of lidocaine, stat, before he goes into cardiac arrest or has a stroke.
Both guards and medical personnel crowded around the gurney.
Cant your men get out of here? the doctor yelled into the ear of one of the guards. The man shook his head. Hes strong enough to maybe break those restraints, and if he does and were not here, then he could kill everybody in this room within a minute. Believe me, he could.
The doctor eyed the portable IV stand as it was placed next to the gurney. The other nurse raced up with the amp of lidocaine. The doctor nodded at the guards. Were going to need your help to hold him down. We need a good vein to get the IV started, and from the looks of things were only going to get one shot at it.
The men gathered around Rufus, holding him down. Even with their combined weight, it was barely enough. Rufus looked back at them, so enraged, so terrified, he could barely keep his senses. Just like the night when Ruth Ann Mosley had perished. They ripped his shirtsleeve up, exposing his sinewy forearm, the veins strong and pronounced. He shut his eyes and then opened them again as he saw the shiny needle coming his way. He shut his eyes one more time. When he opened them he was no longer in the infirmary at Fort Jackson. He was in the stockade in South Carolina a quarter of a century ago. The door burst open and a group of men walked in like they owned the place, like they owned him. There was only one he didnt know by sight. He had expected to see the batons come out, to feel the sharp thrusts into his ribs, against his buttocks and forearms. It had become a morning and evening ritual. As he absorbed the blows in silence, his mind would recite a Bible prayer, his spiritual side carrying him past the physical torture. Instead, a gun was placed against his head. He was told to kneel down on the floor and to close his eyes. Thats when it happened. He remembered the surprise, the shock he had felt as he stared up at the grinning, triumphant group. The smiles vanished when, a few minutes later, Harms rose, threw off the men as though they were weightless, burst through his cell door, bowled over the guard on duty and was out of the stockade, running wild. Rufus blinked again and he was back in the infirmary, looking at the faces, the bodies bearing down on him. He saw the needle coming closer to his forearm. He was looking up, the only person doing that. Thats when he saw the second needle puncture the IV bag, the fluid from the hypodermic flowing into the lidocaine solution. Vic Tremaine had carried out his task calmly and efficiently, as though he were watering flowers instead of committing murder. He didnt even look at his victim. Rufus jerked his head back around and eyed the IV needle held by the doctor. It was just about to puncture his skin, discharging into his body whatever poison Tremaine had chosen to kill him with. They had taken half his life already. He was not about to let them take the rest, not yet. Rufus timed it as best as he could.
Shit! the doctor yelled, as Rufus ripped free from the restraint, grabbed his hand and whipped it across his body. The IV stand came tumbling down; the IV bag hit the floor and burst. A furious Tremaine took the opportunity to quickly leave the infirmary. Rufuss chest suddenly tightened, and his breathing became constricted. When the doctor managed to stagger up, he looked at Rufus. So still was the prisoner that the doctor had to check the monitor to make sure he was still alive. As he stared at vital signs that had dropped to dangerously low levels, he said, Nobody can take this many extremes. He could be going into shock. He turned to a nurse. Get a medevac helicopter up here. He looked at the head guard. Were not equipped to handle this kind of situation. Well stabilize him and then fly him to the hospital in Roanoke. But we need to move fast. I assume youre sending a guard with him.
The guard rubbed his bruised jaw and looked at the docile Rufus. Id send a whole platoon if they could fit in the damn chopper.
["C15"]CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Escorted by an armed guard, Michael Fiske walked unsteadily down the hallway. Waiting at the end of the corridor was the uniformed officer who had questioned him earlier. Michael could see that he was holding two pieces of paper.
Mr. Fiske, I didnt identify myself when we first met. My name is Colonel Frank Rayfield. Im the commanding officer here.
Michael licked his lips. Frank Rayfield was one of the men Rufus had named in his appeal. The name had meant nothing to Michael at the time. Inside this prison, it meant that he was going to die. Who could have imagined that two of the men Rufus had accused of, essentially, murder in his appeal would be here of all places? But now that he thought about it, this would be a perfect place for them to keep close watch on Rufus Harms. Focusing on Rayfield once more, Michael wondered where they would dump his body. As he had done as a child, he suddenly found himself wishing that his big brother would appear to help him. He looked on dully as Rayfield handed him the papers and motioned the guard to leave. As Michael clutched the papers, Rayfield looked apologetic.
Im afraid my men were a little overzealous, said Ray-field. We dont usually photocopy documents in a sealed envelope. Actually, Rayfield had opened the envelope and photocopied its contents himself. None of his men had seen the documents. Michael looked down at the papers. I dont understand. The envelope was still sealed.
The envelope is a very common one. They just put it back in a new one and sealed it.
Michael inwardly cursed himself for missing something that obvious. Rayfield broke into a chuckle.
Whats so funny? Michael demanded.
This is the fifth time Rufus Harms has named me in some cockamamie lawsuit, Mr. Fiske. What else am I supposed to do but laugh?
Excuse me?
Hes never gone as high as the United States Supreme Court before thats who youre with, isnt it?
I dont have to answer that.
Okay. But if you are, then your presence here is a little unusual.
Thats my business.
And my business is running this prison in a precise, military way, Rayfield snapped back. But then his voice softened. I dont blame you, though. Harms is slick. Looks like he conned his old military lawyer to help him this time, and Sam Rider should know better.
Youre saying Rufus Harms makes a practice of filing frivolous lawsuits?
You think thats unusual for prisoners? Too much time on their hands. Anyway, last year he accused the president of the United States, the Secretary of Defense and yours truly of conspiring to frame him for a murder he committed, and which was witnessed by at least a half dozen people.
Really? Michael looked skeptical.
Yes, really. It was finally dismissed, but it cost a few thousand bucks in government attorney time to get it done. I know the courts are open to everybody, Mr. Fiske. But a nuisance suit is a nuisance suit and, quite frankly, Im getting tired of them.
But he said in his petition
Right, I read it. Two years ago, he claimed it was Agent Orange suffered in combat that caused him to do it. And you know what? Rufus Harms was never exposed to Agent Orange, because he was never in combat. He spent most of his two-year Army career in the stockade for insubordination, among other things. Its no secret look it up yourself if you want. That is, if you havent already done so. He gazed at Michael, who was looking down. Now take your little papers, go back to Washington and let it work its way through the system. Itll get dismissed like all the others. Some innocent people are going to get embarrassed as hell, but thats the American way. I guess its why I fought for this country: to sustain all those freedoms. Even when theyre abused.
Youre just going to let me go?
Youre not a prisoner here. Ive got a lot of real inmates to worry about, including one that just beat the crap out of three of my guards. Youre going to have to answer some questions that one of my men will be here shortly to ask you. It will relate to what happened in the visitors room. We need it for our incident report.
But that means it will go into the official record. My being here, everything.
Thats right, it will. It was your choice to come here, not mine. You have to live with the consequences.
I know. But I wasnt counting on any of this.
Well, life is full of little surprises.
Look, do you really have to file anything?
