Текст книги "The Simple Truth"

Автор книги: David Baldacci

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Your presence here is a matter of official record anyway, Mr. Fiske, regardless of what happened in that visitors room. You are in the visitation book with an assigned badge number.

I guess I hadnt thought that all the way through.

I guess not. I take it youre not really experienced in military matters? While Michael stood there looking miserable, Rayfield thought for a moment. Look, we need to fill out the report, but other things being equal, I may not officially file it. Maybe your presence here at the prison gets expunged too.

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. Could you do that?

Maybe. Youre a lawyer. What about aquid pro quo?

What do you mean?

I throw away the report and you throw away that appeal. He paused as he stared at the young man. It would save the government another lawyer bill. I mean, God bless anybodys rights to seek their day in court, but this is getting a little old.

Michael looked away. Ill have to think about that. It has some technical deficiencies anyway. Maybe youre right.

I am right. Im not looking to mess up your career. Well just forget this ever happened. And hopefully I wont be reading about this case in the papers. If I do, then maybe your being down here has to come out too. Now, if youll excuse me. Rayfield turned on his heel and walked off, leaving behind a visibly distressed Michael Fiske. *����*����* Rayfield went directly to his office. Rufuss suspicions had been well founded; a listening device designed to blend in with the wood grain had been planted on the underside of the table in the visitorsroom. Rayfield listened once more to the conversation between Michael and Rufus. Some of it had been disrupted by Michael tapping his pen. The radio had obliterated all of Rufuss earlier conversation with Rider. Rufus was no idiot. But Rayfield had heard and read enough to know that potentially they had a big problem. And his conversation with Michael had not solved the dilemma, at least not permanently. He picked up the phone and placed a call. In concise sentences Rayfield recounted the events to the party at the other end.

Holy shit, I cant believe this.

I know.

All of this happened today?

Well, I told you about Rider coming in earlier, but yes, all of these events happened just now.

Why the hell did you let him in to see Harms?

If I didnt, dont you think he wouldve gotten more suspicious? After reading what Harms had written in his damn letter to the Court, what choice did I have?

You should have taken care of the sonofabitch before this. Youve had twenty-five years to do it, Frank.

That was the plan twenty-five years ago, to kill him, Rayfield fired back. And look what happened. Tremaine and I have spent half our lives watching over his ass.

You two arent exactly doing it for free. Whats your little nest egg up to so far? A million? Retirements going to be awfully nice. But it wont be, for any of us, if this gets out.

Its not like I havent tried to kill the guy. Hell, Tremaine tried to do him today in the infirmary, but damn, its like the guys got a sixth sense. Rufus Harms is as mean as a snake when his backs against the wall. The guards will only go so far and weve got people looking over our shoulder, surprise inspections, the damn ACLU. The bastard just wont die. Why dont you come down here and try?

All right, all right, theres no use us arguing about it. Youre sure we were all named in the letter? How is that possible? He didnt even know who I was.

Rayfield didnt hesitate. The person he was speaking with hadnotbeen named in Rufuss letter, but Rayfield wasnt going to tell him that. Everybody was on the hook for this one. How should I know? Hes had twenty-five years to think about it.

So how did he get the letter out?

That blows my mind. The guard saw the damn thing. It was his last will and testament, that was it.

But he got it out somehow.

Sam Rider is involved. Thats for sure. He brought a radio with him and the noise messed up the bug we installed, so I couldnt hear what they said to each other. That shouldve told me something was up.

I never trusted that guy. Except for Riders insanity BS, Harms wouldve been dead a long time ago, courtesy of the Army.

The second letter we found in Fiskes briefcase had been done on a typewriter. There were no initials at the bottom, you know, like when its typed by a personal secretary, so Rider probably did it himself. They were both original documents, by the way.

Dammit, why now? After all this time?

Harms received a letter from the Army. He referenced it in the paper he filed. Maybe that jogged his memory. I can tell you that up to now he either didnt remember what happened, or hes been keeping it inside for the last twenty-five years.

Why would he do that? And why in the hell would the Army be sending him anything after all this time?

I dont know, Rayfield said nervously. He actually did know. The reason had been referenced in Rufuss court petition. But Rayfield was going to keep that card hidden for now.

And of course you dont have this mysterious letter from the Army, do you?

No. I mean, not yet.

It must be in his cell, although I cant imagine how it slipped through. The voice was again accusatory.

Sometimes I think the guys a magician, said Rayfield.

Has he had any other visitors?

Just his brother, Josh Harms. He comes about once a month.

And what about Rufus?

Looks like hes just about bought it. Stroke or heart attack. Even if he makes it, he probably wont be the same.

Where is he?

En route to the hospital in Roanoke.

Why the hell did you let him out?

The doc ordered it. He has an obligation to save the mans life, prisoner or not. If I overruled him, dont you think it would raise suspicion?

Well, keep on top of it, and pray his heart blows up. And if it doesnt, make it.

Come on, whod believe him?

You might be surprised. This Michael Fiske? Hes the only other one who knows, besides Rider?

Thats right. At least I think so. He came here to check out Harmss story. Didnt tell anybody at least thats what he told Harms. We caught a big break there, Rayfield said. I gave him the song and dance about Harms being a chronic jailhouse lawyer. I think he bought it. We got leverage because he could get in big trouble for being here. I dont think hes going to let the appeal go through.

The voice on the other end went up a few decibels. Are you nuts? Fiske isnt going to have a choice in the matter.

Hes a Supreme Court clerk, for chrissakes. I heard him tell Harms.

I know that. I damn well know that. But let me tell you exactly what youre going to do. Youre going to take care of Fiske and Rider. And youre going to do it pronto.

Rayfield paled. You want me to kill a Supreme Court clerk and a local lawyer? Come on, they dont have any proof of this. They cant hurt us.

You dont know that. You dont know what was in the letter from the Army. You dont know what new information Fiske or Rider might have found out in the interim. And Riders been practicing law for thirty years. He wouldnt have filed something he thought was frivolous, not with the damn Supreme Court. And maybe youre not aware of this, but Supreme Court clerks arent exactly dummies. Fiske didnt drive all the way down there because he thought Harms was a lunatic. From what you told me, the contents of the letters were very specific on what happened in that stockade.

They were, Rayfield conceded.

So there you are. But thats not the biggest hole in all this. Remember, Harmsisnta jailhouse lawyer. Hes never filed anything else in court. If Fiske checks out your claim, hell find out you lied. And when Fiske does that and I have to believe he will then everything blows up.

Its not like I had a lot of time to think up a plan, Rayfield said hotly.

Im not saying otherwise. But by lying to him, you just made him a big liability. And we have yet another problem.

Whats that?

Everything Harms said in his appeal happens to be true. Did you forget that? The truth is funny. You start looking here and there and all of a sudden the wall of lies starts to topple over. Guess where its going to land? Do you really want to take that chance? Because when that wall comes down, the only place youre going to be retiring to is Fort Jackson. And this time on the other side of the prison cell door. That sound good to you, Frank?

Rayfield took a weary breath and checked his watch.

Shit, Id take Nam over this any day.

I guess we all got a little too comfortable. Well, its time to earn your money, Frank. You and Tremaine just get it done. And while youre taking care of business, remember this: We all either survive this together, or we all go down together. *����*����* Thirty minutes later, after his debriefing by Rayfields assistant, Michael left the prison building and walked in the light rain to his car. What a sucker hed been. He felt like tearing up the appeal papers, but he wouldnt. Maybe hed put them back into the process. Still, he felt sorry for Rufus Harms. All those years in prison had taken their toll. As Michael pulled out of the parking lot, he had no way of knowing that most of his radiator fluid had been collected in a bucket and poured into the nearby woods. Five minutes later he looked on in dismay as the steam poured out from the hood of his car. He got out, gingerly raised the hood and then jumped back as a cloud of steam momentarily engulfed him. Swearing angrily, he looked around: not a car or human in sight. He thought for a moment. He could walk back to the prison, use the phone and call a towing service. As if on cue, the rain picked up in intensity. As he looked up ahead of him, his spirits brightened. A van was approaching from the direction of the prison. He waved his arms to flag it down. As he did so he looked back at the car, steam still pouring out. Funny he had just had it serviced in preparation for the trip. As he looked back at the van, his heart started to beat rapidly. He looked around, and then turned and sprinted away from the van. It sped up and quickly overtook him, blocking his way. He was about to race into the woods when the window came down and a gun was pointed at him.

Get in, Victor Tremaine ordered. ["C16"]CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was Saturday afternoon when Sara Evans drove to Michaels apartment and looked at the cars parked on the street. His Honda wasnt there. He had called in sick on Friday, something she had never known him to do before. She had called his apartment, but he hadnt answered the phone. She parked, went in the building and knocked on his door. There was no answer. She didnt have a key. She went around to the rear of the building and climbed up the fire escape. She looked in the window of his small kitchen. Nothing. She tried the door, but it was locked. She drove back to the Court, her worries increased tenfold. Michael was not sick, she knew that. All this had something to do with the papers she had seen in his briefcase, she was sure of it. She silently prayed that he was not in over his head. That he was safe, and would be back to work on Monday. She went back to work for the rest of the day and then had a late dinner with some of the other clerks at a restaurant near Union Station. They all wanted to talk shop, except for Sara. Usually a devoted fan of this ritual, she simply could not get into the conversations. At one point she wanted to run screaming from the room, sick of the endless strategizing, predictions, case selections, the subtlest nuances analyzed to death; mushroom clouds from mere mushrooms. Later that night she lingered on the rear deck of her home. Then she made up her mind and took her boat out for a late-night sail on the river. She counted the stars, made funny pictures from them in her mind. She thought of Michaels offer of marriage and the reasons she had refused it. Her colleagues would be amazed that she had. It would be a brilliant match, they would say. They would have a wonderful, dynamic life together, with the almost absolute certainty that their children would be highly intelligent, ambitious and athletically gifted. Sara herself had been a scholarship lacrosse player in college, although Michael was the better athlete of the two. She wondered whom he would ultimately marry. Or if he even would. Her rejection might cause him to remain a bachelor the rest of his life. As she sailed along, she had to smile. She was giving herself far too much credit. In a years time, Michael would be off doing something incredibly fantastic. She would be lucky if he even remembered who she was five years from now. As she docked her boat and wrapped the sails, she stopped for a moment to catch one last breeze off the water before she headed back to the house. Barely a twenty-minute non-rush-hour trip due north would deliver her to the most powerful city on earth, to her place with the most awe-inspiring legal minds of her time. And yet all she really wanted to do right now was snuggle under her blanket with the lights off and pretend she never had to go back there. Reasonably ambitious all her life, she suddenly had no drive to accomplish anything else of note in her professional life. It was like she had used up all her energy in getting to this point. Marriage and being a mom? Was that what she wanted? She had no siblings and had been pretty spoiled growing up. She wasnt used to being around kids all that much, but something pulled at her in this direction. Something very strong. But even so, she wasnt sure. And shouldnt she be by now? As she went inside, undressed and climbed into bed, she realized that having a family required one thing to start: finding someone to love. She had just turned down one opportunity to do so with a truly exceptional man. Would another chance come along? Did she want a man in her life right now? Still, sometimes one shot was all you got. One shot. That was her last thought before falling asleep. ["C17"]CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was Monday and John Fiske sat at his desk, digesting yet another arrest report on one of his clients. By now he was extremely adept at this process. He was only halfway through the report and he could already tell the sort of deal the guy could expect to get. Well, it was nice being good at something. The knock on his office door startled him. His right hand slid open the top drawer of his desk. Inside was a 9mm, a leftover from his cop days. His clientele were not the most trustworthy. So while he would represent them zealously, he was not naive enough to turn his back on them either. Some of his clients had shown up at his door drugged or drunk, with a grudge against him for some perceived wrong. Thus, his spirits were lifted considerably by the feel of hard steel against his palm.

Come on in, doors unlocked.

The uniformed police officer who stepped through the doorway brought a smile to Fiskes lips, and he closed his desk drawer. Hey, Billy, how you doing?

Ive been better, John, Officer Billy Hawkins said. As Hawkins came forward and sat down, Fiske saw the multicolored bruises on his friends face. What the hell happened to you?

Hawkins touched one of the bruises. Guy went nuts at a bar the other night, popped me a couple of good ones. He added quickly, Thats not why Im here, John.

Fiske knew Hawkins to be a good-natured sort who didnt let the constant pressures of his job overwhelm him. He was always as reliable and serious about his job as he was casual and friendly off duty. Hawkins glanced nervously at Fiske.

Its not anything with Bonnie or the kids, is it? Fiske asked.

Its not aboutmyfamily, John.

Is that right? As he looked into Hawkinss troubled eyes, Fiskes gut clenched.

Damn, John, you know how much we hated going around to the next of kin, and we didnt even know them.

Fiske slowly stood up, his mouth instantly dry. Next of kin? Oh my God, not my mom? My dad?

No, John, its not them.

Just tell me what the hell you need to tell me, Billy.

Hawkins licked his lips and then started speaking quickly. We got a call from the police up in D.C.

Fiske looked confused for an instant. D.C.? As soon as he said it, his body froze. Mike?

Hawkins nodded.

Was it a car accident?

No accident. Hawkins paused for a moment and cleared his throat. It was a homicide, John. Looks like a robbery gone bad. They found his car in an alley. Bad part of town, I understand.

Fiske let this horrific news sink in for a long minute. As a cop and now a lawyer, he had seen the results of many murders on other people, other families. This was new territory. You havent told my dad, have you? he said quietly. Hawkins shook his head. Figured youd want to do that. And what with your momma the way she is.

Ill take care of it, Fiske said. His thoughts were interrupted by Hawkinss next words.

The detective in charge has requested an ID from next of kin, John.

As a police officer, how many times had Fiske told a grieving parent that same thing?

Ill go on up.

Im so sorry, John.

I know, Billy, I know.

After Hawkins had left, Fiske walked over to the photo of him and his brother and picked it up. His hands were shaking. It was not possible, what Hawkins had just told him. He had survived two gunshot wounds and spent nearly a month in the hospital, his mother and his little brother next to him for much of that time. If John Fiske could survive that, if he could be alive right now, how could his brother be dead? He put the photo back down. He tried to move to get his coat, but his legs were frozen. He just stood there. ["C18"]CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Rufus Harms slowly opened his eyes. The room was dim, shadowy. However, he was accustomed to seeing without benefit of light, becoming, over the years, an expert of sorts. The years in prison had also boosted the acuity of his hearing such that he could almost hear someone thinking. You did both a lot in prison: listening and thinking. He shifted slowly on his hospital bed. His arms and legs were still in restraints. He knew there was a guard right outside the door to his room. Rufus had seen him several times now, as people had come and gone from his room. The guard was not a cop; he was in fatigues, and he was armed. Regular Army or maybe reserves, Harms couldnt be sure. He took a shallow breath. Over the course of the last two days, Harms had listened to the doctors checking him. He had not suffered a heart attack, although apparently he had come close. He couldnt remember what the doctors had called it, but his heartbeat had been irregular enough for him to stay in intensive care awhile. He thought back to his last hour at Fort Jackson. He wondered if Michael Fiske had even made it out of the prison before they killed him. Ironically, Rufuss near heart attack had saved his life. At least he was out of Fort Jackson. For now. But when his condition improved, they would send him back. And then he would die. Unless they killed him in here first. He had scrutinized each of the doctors and nurses attending him. Anyone administering drugs to him was given special attention. He was confident that, if he thought himself in danger, he could rip the sides of the hospital bed off. For now, all he could do was get his strength back, wait, watch, and hope. If he could not gain his freedom through the court system, then he would obtain it another way. He was not going back to Fort Jackson. Not while he was still breathing. For the next two hours he watched people come and go. Every time the door to his room opened, he would look at the guard outside. A young kid, looking very self-important in his uniform and wearing his gun. Two guards had flown with him on the helicopter, but neither was the one posted outside now. Perhaps they were doing a rotation. When the door opened, the guard would nod and smile at the person entering or leaving, especially if the person happened to be young and female. When the guard had occasionally looked into the room, Rufus had seen two emotions in his eyes: hatred and fear. That was good. That meant he had a chance. Both could lead to the one thing Rufus desperately needed the guard to commit: a mistake. Leaving a single guard, they must think him pretty well incapacitated, Rufus figured; only he wasnt. The monitors with their numbers and jumpy lines meant nothing to him. They were metal-cased buzzards waiting for him to fade before moving in. But he could feel his strength returning; that was something tangible. He curled and uncurled his hands in anticipation of being able eventually to fully move his arms. Two hours later he heard the door swing inward, and then the light came on. The nurse carried a metal clipboard and smiled at him as she checked his monitor. She was in her mid-forties, he guessed. Pretty, with a full figure. Looking at her wide hips, he figured she had been through several childbirths.

Youre doing better today, she said when she noticed him watching her.

Im sorry to hear that.

She stared at him openmouthed. You better believe a lot of people in this place would love to have that kind of prognosis.

Where exactly am I?

Roanoke, Virginia.

Never been to Roanoke.

Its a pretty town.

Not as pretty as you, said Rufus with an embarrassed smile, the words having slipped through his lips. He had not been this close to a woman in almost three decades. The last woman he had ever seen in person was his mother, weeping at his side as they carried him off to serve his life sentence. She had died within the week. Something exploded in her brain, his brother had told him. But he knew his mother had died from a broken heart. His nose wrinkled up as the scent touched it. It seemed out of place in a hospital. At first, Harms did not realize that he was simply smelling the nurses scent, a mixture of slight perfume, moisturizing lotion and woman. Damn. What else had he forgotten about living a real life? A tear started to tremble at the corner of his right eye as he thought this. She looked down at him, her eyebrows raised, a hand on one hip. They told me to be careful around you.

He looked at her. Id never hurt you, maam. His tone was solemn, sincere. She saw the tear barely clinging to his eye. She didnt really know what to say next.

Cant you put on that chart that Im dying or something?

Are you crazy? I cant do that. Dont you want to get better?

Soon as I do, I go right back to Fort Jackson.

Not a nice place, I take it.

I been in the same cell there for over twenty years. Kind of nice seeing something else for a change. Not much to do there except count your heartbeats and stare at the concrete.

She looked surprised. Twenty years? How old are you?

Rufus thought for a moment. I dont know exactly, to tell you the truth. Not over fifty.

Come on, you dont know how old you are? He eyed her steadily. The only cons who keep a calendar are the ones getting out someday. Im serving a life sentence, maam. Aint never getting out. Whats it matter how old I am? He said this so matter-of-factly that the nurse felt her cheeks flush.

Oh. Her voice quavered. I guess I see your point.

He shifted his body slightly. The shackles pinged against the metal sides of the bed. She drew back.

Can you call somebody for me, maam?

Who? Your wife?

I dont got no wife. My brother. He dont know where I am. Wanted to let him know.

I think I have to check with the guard first.

Rufus looked past her. That little boy out there? Whats he got to do with my brother? He dont look like he can go pee-pee by hisself.

She laughed. Well, they sent him to guard big old you, now, didnt they?

My brothers name is Joshua. Joshua Harms. He goes by Josh. I can tell you his phone number if you got yourself a pencil. Just call him and tell him where I am. Gets kind of lonely in here. He dont live all that far away. Who knows, he might come on over and see me.

It does get lonely here, she said a little wistfully. She looked down at him, at his tall, strong body, all covered with tubes and patches. And the shackles they held her attention. Rufus noted her staring. Chains on a man usually had that effect on people, he had found.

Whatd you do anyway? To be in prison for.

Whats your name?

Why?

Just like to know. My names Rufus. Rufus Harms.

I knew that. Its on your chart.

Well, I aint got no chart to look up your name.

She hesitated for a moment, looked around at the door and then back at him. My names Cassandra, she said.

Real pretty name. His eyes passed over her figure. It fits you.

Thank you. So youre not going to tell me what you did?

Why you want to know?

Just curious.

I killed somebody. A long time ago.

Whyd you do it? Were they trying to hurt you?

Didnt do nothing to me.

So whyd you do it?

Didnt know what I was doing. Was out of my mind.

Is that right? She drew back a little farther as he said this. Isnt that what they all say?

Just happens to be the truth with me. You gonna call my brother?

I dont know. Maybe.

Tell you what, Ill give you the number. If you dont, you dont. If you do, then I thank you very much.

She looked at him curiously. You dont act like a murderer.

You ought to be careful about that. Its the sweet-talking ones end up hurting you. I seen enough of that kind.

So I shouldnt trust you, then?

His eyes seized on hers. You got to make up your own mind on that.

She considered this for a moment. So whats your brothers number?

She took down the telephone number, slipped it in her pocket and turned to leave.

Hey, Ms. Cassandra? She turned back around. Youre right. I aint no killer. You come back and talk to me some more . . . if you want to, that is. He managed a weak smile and rattled the shackles. I aint going nowhere.

She eyed him from across the room and he thought he saw a smile flicker across her mouth. Then she turned and went out the door. Rufus craned his neck to see if she spoke to the guard, but she walked right past him. Rufus lay back and stared at the ceiling. He inhaled deeply, letting the remnants of her scent soak into him. A few moments later a smile spread across his face. As did, finally, the tears. ["C19"]CHAPTER NINETEEN

It was an unusual gathering of all of the clerks and the justices. Marshal of the Court Richard Perkins and Supreme Court Police Chief Leo Dellasandro were there too, looking stonily around the table in the large room. Elizabeth Knights eyes were moist and she dabbed continually at them with a handkerchief. As Sara Evans looked at the grim-faced justices, her eyes stopped on Thomas Murphy. Murphy was short and flabby, with white hair and tufted eyebrows. His face held cheekbones the shape of almonds. He still favored three-piece suits and wore large, showy cuff links. His dress, however, did not attract Saras attention; rather it was his expression of complete mourning. She quickly finished checking the occupants of the room: Michael Fiske was not there. She felt the blood rush to her head. When Harold Ramsey rose from the head of the table, his deep voice was oddly subdued; she could not really hear him that well, but she knew exactly what he was saying, as though reading his lips.

This is terrible, terrible news. In fact, I cant remember anything like it. Ramsey surveyed the room, his hands making fists in his anxiety, his tall frame shaking. He took a heavy breath. Michael Fiske is dead. The justices obviously already knew. All the clerks, however, collectively missed a breath. Ramsey started to say something else but then stopped. He motioned to Leo Dellasandro, who nodded and stepped forward while the chief justice collapsed into his chair. Dellasandro was about five-ten, face wide, with flat cheeks and a pug nose, and a layer of fat over a muscular physique. He had an olive complexion, with wiry black and gray hair. Arising from his pores was the smell of cigar. He wore his uniform with a proud air, his thick fingers tucked inside the gun belt. The other man in uniform standing immediately behind him was Ron Klaus, his second-in-command. Klaus was trim and professional in appearance, the darting activity of his blue eyes suggesting a nimble mind. He and Dellasandro were the watchdogs of this place. They seemed to move about in tandem. Most people who worked at the Court could not think of one man without the other.

The details are sketchy right now, but apparently Michael was the victim of a robbery. He was found in his car in an alley in Southeast near the Anacostia River. His family has been notified, and one of them is coming up to officially identify the body. However, theres no question that its Michael. He looked down for a moment. When they learned he was employed here, the police brought over a photograph.

One nervous-looking clerk raised his hand. Are they sure it was a robbery? It didnt have to do with his working here?

Sara looked over at him angrily. Not the question you really wanted to hear five seconds after learning someone you worked with, cared about, was dead. But then she supposed violent death did that to people: made them instinctively fear for their own lives. Dellasandro put up his big calming hands. We have heard nothing that would make us believe that his death had anything whatsoever to do with the Court. However, out of an abundance of caution, we are increasing security around here, and should anyone notice anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, please contact either myself or Mr. Klaus. Well make available to you any future details about this situation at the appropriate time. He looked over at Ramsey, who had his head bowed in his hands and was making no move to get up. Dellasandro stood there awkwardly until Elizabeth Knight rose.

I know this has been a terrible shock to all of us. Michael was one of the most popular people ever to work here. His loss touches us all, especially those who had become close to him. She paused and looked at Sara for a moment. If any of you wishes to talk about anything, please feel free to do so with your justice. Or you can stop by and see me. Im not sure how we can continue to function, but the work of the Court must go on, despite this horrible, horrible . . . Knight stopped again and gripped the table to stop herself from collapsing to the floor. Dellasandro quickly took her arm, but she motioned him away. Knight rallied herself enough to call an end to the meeting and the room quickly cleared. Except for Sara Evans. She sat there, numb, staring at the spot where Knight had stood. The tears freely streamed down her face. Michael was dead. He had taken an appeal, acted very strangely for over a week, and now he was dead. Murdered. A robbery, they said. She didnt believe the answer was that simple. But right now it didnt matter. All that mattered was she had lost someone very close to her. Someone who, under different circumstances perhaps, she might have gladly spent her life with. She put her head down on the table as the sobs burst from her. From the doorway, Elizabeth Knight watched her. ["C20"]CHAPTER TWENTY