The Simple Truth

And that confession has holes.

They always do. But the fact is your guy is a career crim. And Ill get a jury wholl put him away for a long time.

So why waste the taxpayersmoney, then?

Whats your deal?

Plead to the burglary, possession of stolen property. Drop the nasty little firearm count. We end up with five years with credit for time served.

Janet started walking. See you in court.

Okay, okay, eight, but I need to talk with my guy.

She turned around and ticked off the points on her fingers. He pleads to all of it, including the nasty little firearm count, he gets ten years, forget the time served, and he punches the whole ticket. Probation for another five after that. If he pees fu

Damn, Janet, wheres the compassion?

Saving it for somebody who deserves it. As you can probably guess, my list is very short. Besides, its a sweetheart deal. Yes or no?

Fiske tapped his fingers against his briefcase.

Going once, going twice, Ryan said.

Okay, okay, deal.

Good doing business with you, John. By the way, why dont you call me sometime. You know, off hours?

Dont you think there might be a conflict lurking there somewhere?

Not at all. Im always hardest on my friends.

She walked off humming while Fiske leaned up against the wall and shook his head. An hour later, he returned to his office and tossed down his briefcase. He picked up the phone and checked his messages at home, listening to the recorded voices at the same time he wrote down notes for an upcoming hearing. When he heard his brothers voice, he didnt even stop writing. One finger flicked out and erased the message. It was rare but not unheard-of for Mike to call. Fiske had never called him back. Now he thought his brother was doing it just to antagonize him. As soon as he completed this thought, he knew it was not true. He rose and went over to a bookcase jammed with trial notebooks and legal tomes. He slid out the framed photograph. It was an old picture. He was in his policemans uniform, Mike stood next to him. Proud little brother just entering manhood and stern-faced big brother, who had already seen a lot of evil in life and expected to see a lot more before he was done. In reality he had experienced firsthand the ugly side of humanity, and was still, but now he did so without the uniform. Just a briefcase, a cheap suit and a fast mouth. Bullets exchanged for words. Till the end of his days. He put the photo back and sat down. However, he looked over at the photo, suddenly unable to concentrate. *����*����* A few days later, Sara Evans knocked and then opened the door to Michael Fiskes office. It was empty. Michael had borrowed a book and she needed it back. She looked around the room but didnt see it lying anywhere. Then she spotted his briefcase underneath the kneehole of his desk. She picked it up. From the weight, she knew there was something inside. The briefcase was locked, but she knew the combination from having borrowed his briefcase a couple of times before. She opened it and immediately saw two books and the papers inside. Neither book was the one she was looking for though. She was going to close it back up but then stopped. She pulled the papers out and then looked at the envelope they had come in. Addressed to the clerks office. She had just glanced at the handwritten page and then the typewritten letter when she heard footsteps. She put the papers back, closed the briefcase and slid it back under the desk. A moment later Michael walked in.

Sara, what are you doing here?

Sara did her best to look normal. I just came looking for that book I had lent you last week.

Ive got it at home.

Well, maybe I can come over for di

Im kind of busy.

Were all busy, Michael. But youve really been keeping to yourself lately. Are you sure youre okay? Not cracking under the strain? She smiled to show she was kidding. But Michael did look like he was cracking.

Im fine, really. Ill bring the book tomorrow.

Its not that big a deal.

Ill bring it tomorrow, he said a little angrily, his face flushing, but he calmed down quickly. Ive really got a lot of work to do. He looked at the door. Sara went over and put her hand on the knob, then looked back. Michael, if you need to talk about anything, Im here for you.

Yeah, okay, thanks. He ushered her out and closed and locked the door. He went over to his desk and pulled out the briefcase. He looked at the contents and then over at the door. *����*����* Later that night, Sara pulled her car down the gravel drive and stopped in front of the small cottage located off the George Washington Parkway, a truly beautiful stretch of road. The cottage was the first thing she had ever owned and she had put a lot of work into fixing up the place. A stairway led down to the Potomac, where her small sailboat was docked. She and Michael had spent their rare free time sailing across the river to the Maryland side and then north under Memorial Bridge and then on to Georgetown. It was a haven of calm for them both, surrounded as they were by a sea of crisis at work. Michael had turned down her last offer to go sailing. In fact, he had turned down all of her get-together ideas the past week. At first she thought it was due to her rejecting his marriage offer, but after the encounter at his office, she knew that was not it. She struggled to remember precisely what she had seen in the briefcase. It was a filing, she was sure of that. And she had seen a name on the typewritten letter. It was Harms. She hadnt remembered the first name. From the little she had been able to read before Michael walked in, apparently Harms was filing some sort of appeal with the Court. She didnt know what about. There had been no signature at the bottom of the typewritten letter. She had gone directly to the clerks office to see if any case with the name Harms had been logged in. It hadnt. She couldnt believe she was thinking this, but had Michael taken an appeal before it had been processed and put into the system? If he had, that was a very serious crime. He could be fired from the Court sent to jail, even. She went inside, changed into jeans and a T-shirt and walked back outside. It was already dark. Supreme Court clerks rarely made it home while it was still light, unless it was daybreak and they were coming home to shower and change clothes before going back to work. She walked down the stairs to the dock and sat on her boat. If only Michael would confide in her, she could help. Despite his words to the contrary, Michael had pulled back from her. He had not taken rejection well. Who would? she told herself. She abruptly jumped up and raced to the house, picked up the phone and started to dial his number, but then stopped. Michael Fiske was a stubborn man. If she confronted him on what she had seen, that could very well make matters worse. She put the phone back down. She would have to let him come to her. She went back outside and looked at the water. A jet flew by and she automatically waved to it, a ritual of hers. Indeed, the planes were so low at this point that, had it been light, a passenger on the plane could have seen her waving. When her hand dropped back down, she felt more depressed than she had since her father had passed away, leaving her all alone. After that loss, she had started life anew. Gone to the West Coast for law school, where she had excelled, clerked at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals and then taken a job with the Supreme Court. Thats when she had sold the farm in North Carolina and bought this place. She wasnt ru