The Simple Truth

In the pantry. I didnt hear him on my first pass through, but I heard the floor squeak on my way back out. He rubbed his shoulder. And now comes the hard part. He picked up her cell phone and pulled a business card from his wallet. Telling Chandler what just happened.

Fiske paged Chandler and the detective called back a few minutes later. When Fiske told him what he had done, he had to hold the phone away from his ear.

Slightly upset? Sara asked.

Yeah, like Mount Saint Helensslightlyerupted. Fiske brought the receiver back to his ear. Look, Buford

What the hell were you thinking, doing something that stupid? yelled Chandler. You were a cop.

Thats how I was thinking. Like I was still a cop.

Well, youre not a damn cop anymore.

Do you want the description of the guy or not?

Im not finished with you yet.

I know, but theres plenty of me to go around.

Give me the damn description, Chandler said. After Fiske finished, Chandler said, Ill get a squad car over there right now to secure it, and Ill request a tech team ASAP to go over the place.

My brothers briefcase wasnt at his apartment. Was it in his car?

No, I told you we found no personal items.

Fiske looked at Sara. Is the briefcase in his office? I dont remember seeing it. Or his laptop computer.

She shook her head. I dont remember seeing the briefcase. And he usually didnt bring his laptop to work, since we all have desktops.

Fiske spoke back into the phone. Looks like his briefcase is missing. And so is his computer; I found the power cord to it.

Did the guy maybe have either of the items on him?

He was empty-handed. I know. He clocked me good with one of those empty hands.

Okay, so we got a missing briefcase, missing laptop and a dumb-as-shit ex-police officer who Ive got half a mind to arrest right this instant.

Come on, you guys already towed my car.

Put Ms. Evans on the line.

Why?

Just do it.

Fiske handed the phone over to a perplexed Sara.

Yes, Detective Chandler? she said, nervously twirling a strand of her hair.

Ms. Evans, he began politely, I thought you were simply going to drive Mr. Fiske to his car and maybe get a little di

But you see, his car was towed and

Chandlers tone quickly changed. I dont appreciate you two making my job even more difficult. Where are you?

About a mile from Michaels apartment.

And where are you headed?

To Richmond. To tell Johns father about Michael.

Okay, then you drive him to Richmond, Ms. Evans. Dont let him out of your sight. If he wants to play Sherlock Holmes again, you call me, and I will come directly over and shoot him myself. Do I make myself clear?

Yes, Detective Chandler. Absolutely.

And I expect to see both of you back in D.C. tomorrow. Is that also understood?

Yes, well be back.

Good, Tonto, now put the Lone Ranger back on.

Fiske took back the phone. Look, I know it was stupid, but I was only trying to help.

Do me a favor, dont try to help anymore unless Im with you. Okay?

Okay.

John, any number of things couldve happened tonight, most of them bad. Not only to you, but to Ms. Evans.

Fiske rubbed his shoulder and glanced over at the woman. I know, he said quietly.

Give my condolences to your father.

Fiske put down the phone.

Can we go to Richmond now? Sara asked.

Yes, we can go to Richmond now.

["C28"]CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

In his friends pickup truck, Josh Harms drove along the deserted country road. The dense forest bracketing the narrow lanes gave him a certain comfort. Isolation, a buffer between himself and those who would hassle him, had been Joshs one constant goal in life. As a carpenter of considerable skill, he worked alone. When he was not working, he was either hunting or fishing, again alone. He did not desire the conversation of others, and he very rarely offered any of his own. All of that had changed now. The responsibility he had just acquired had not yet fully sunk in, but he knew it was considerable. And he also knew his decision had been the right one. The truck had a camper and his brother was back there supposedly resting, although Josh had doubts as to whether the man could really be sleeping. The back of the camper was also filled with a months worth of food and bottled water, two deer rifles and a semiautomatic pistol in addition to the one he had tucked in his belt. That arsenal was insignificant compared to what would soon be coming after them, but he had faced long odds before and survived. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke cleanly out the window. They were already two hundred miles from Roanoke and he was putting as much distance between it and them as he could. The escape would have been discovered by now, he knew. The roadblocks would be set up, but not out this far, he figured. They had gotten a head start, but that gap would quickly close. The boys in green had a big advantage in manpower and equipment. But Josh had fished and hunted around the area for the last twenty years. He knew all the abandoned cabins, all the hidden valleys, the smallest opening in otherwise solid forest. His survival skills had been honed as much from scraping for an existence in America as from dodging death halfway around the world in Vietnam. Even with his outright distrust of all authority, he didnt break the law lightly. He had never figured his little brother for some crazed killer. Rufus never should have joined the Army, wasnt cut out for it. Ironically, Josh had been the decorated war hero, and he had been drafted. His brother had volunteered and had spent his career in the stockade. Josh hadnt been too thrilled about taking up a rifle for a country that had largely failed him and anyone his color. But once in the service he had fought with great distinction. He had done it for himself and the men in his company, and for no other reason. He had no other motivation to fight and kill men with whom he had no personal quarrel. Josh slowed the truck and turned down a dirt road that led deeper into the woods. Rufus had filled him in on some of the details of what had happened twenty-five years ago, what those men had done to him. Josh felt his face grow hot as he now recalled an incident he had kept buried. It was principally what drove the anger, the hatred in him. What their little town in Alabama had done to the Harms family after the news of Rufuss crime. He had tried to protect his mother then, but had failed. Let me meet up with the men who did this to my brother.You hear that one, God? You listening? His plan was to hide out for a while and then hit the road again when the pressure died down. Maybe try to get to Mexico and disappear. Josh wasnt leaving all that much behind. A disintegrated family, a carpentry business that was always on the wrong side of profitability despite his skill. He guessed Rufus was all the family he had left. And he was certainly all Rufus ever would have. They had been cut off from each other for a quarter century. Now, in middle age, they had a chance to be closer than brothers normally were at this time in their lives. If Josh and Rufus could survive. He tossed out the cigarette and kept on driving. In the back of the camper, Rufus was, indeed, not asleep. He lay on his back, a black tarp partially over him Joshs doing, the tarp designed to blend in with the dark truck bed liner under him. Stacked around him were boxes of food, secured by bungie cords also Joshs doing, a wall to prevent anyone from seeing in. He tried to stretch out a little, relax. The motion of the truck was unsettling. He had not been in a civilian automobile since Richard Nixon had been president. Could that really be? How many presidents ago was that? The Army had always transported him between prisons via helicopters, apparently unwilling to let him get this close to the road, to freedom. When you escape from a chopper, there wasnt much place to go except down. Rufus tried to peek between cardboard, out at the passing night. Too dark now. Freedom. He often wondered what it would feel like. He still did not know. He was too scared. People, lots of them, looking for him. Wanting to kill him. And now his brother. His fingers gripped the unfamiliar texture of the hospital Bible. The one his mother had given him was back in the cell. He had kept it beside him all these years, turned again and again to the scriptures as sustenance against all that was his existence. He felt empty of brain and heart without it. Too late now. He felt his heart start to accelerate. He figured that was bad too much strain on it. From memory he recited comforting words from the Bibles bounty. How many nights had he mumbled the Proverbs, all thirty-one chapters, the one hundred and fifty Psalms, each one telling and forceful, each one with particular meaning, insight into elements of his existence. When he finished his readings, he half rose and slid open the window of the camper. From this angle he could see his brothers face in the reflection of the rearview mirror.