The Simple Truth

Tremaine and Rayfield jerked around and stared at him. What two black guys? they said in unison. Fiske stopped what he was doing and looked at them. We were coming in the building and they ran by us, almost knocked Susan down.

Whatd they look like? Rayfield asked, his voice strained as he edged closer to Fiske. Tremaine quickly moved away from the bathroom door.

Well, they were black, like I said. Now, one of them looked like he was ex-NFL or something. You remember how big he was, Susan? She nodded and then started breathing again. I mean, he was huge. And the guy with him was pretty big too, six-two, six-three at least, but a lot leaner. They were ru

Did you see which way they went? Tremaine asked.

They jumped in some old car and took off on the main road heading north. Im not good with cars, I dont know the make or anything, but it was an old model. Green, I think. He suddenly looked frightened. You dont think it was the escaped prisoner, do you?

Tremaine and Rayfield didnt answer because they were rushing out the door. As soon as they heard the outer door open and the boots ru

Glad I didnt have to shoot you. You think fast on your feet.

They looked up at the gri

Well, nobodys perfect, Josh said. Rufus appeared behind his brother. Thanks, he said quietly.

I hope you believe us now, Fiske said.

Yeah, but I aint go

Rufus

Everybodys tried to help me up till now, theyre dead. Except Josh, and we all almost bought it tonight. I aint having that on my conscience. You two get back on that plane of yours and stay the hell out of this.

I cant do that. He was my brother.

Suit yourself, but youre go

As the two men started to turn away, Fiske reached in his pocket and took out something, which he held out to Rufus. This is my business card. Its got my office and home numbers on it. Rufus, think about what youre doing. By yourself, youre not going to get anywhere. When you finally realize that, call me.

Fiske looked surprised as Sara lifted the card from him and wrote something on the back. She held it out to Rufus. Thats my home and car phone numbers on the back. Call either one of us, day or night.

Slowly, the huge hand reached out, took the card. Rufus slipped it in his shirt pocket. In another minute Sara and Fiske were all alone. They again stared at each other, completely drained. A full minute passed before Fiske broke the silence.

Well, I have to admit, that was pretty close.

John, I never, ever want to do that again. Sara walked unsteadily to the bathroom.

Where are you going?

She didnt bother to look back at him. To the bathroom. Unless you want me to throw up out here.

["C46"]CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

An hour after his conversation with Warren McKe

Hello? He listened for a couple of minutes, gave a series of instructions and hung up. A slug had been found in the alleyway where Michael Fiskes body had been discovered. It apparently had ricocheted off one wall and gotten wedged in some trash that had fallen behind a Dumpster. From what Chandler had been told, the slug was in very good shape with little projectile deformity. The lab would have to confirm that it was actually the bullet that had killed the young clerk. That would be fairly easy to determine for a sickening reason: The slug would have blood, bone and brain tissue residue on it that could be linked pretty much conclusively to the head of Michael Fiske. With the bullet in hand, they could now search hard for the murder weapon. Ballistics could match the slug to the gun that had fired it with the reliability of matching fingerprints to a human hand. Chandler rose and went into the living room, purposely leaving his own gun behind. He sat down in a recliner that matched his bulky proportions. The room was dark and he did not move to turn on a light. He had too many lights around him at work. Lights in his office beating down on him every day. Harsher lights in the autopsy room, that made every piece of flesh enormous, ominously raw, memorable to the point of Chandlers excusing himself every once in a great while to go to the mens room, where his stomach showed its appreciation for the polished skill of official dismemberment. The popping lights of the photographers at a crime scene or a courthouse. Too many damn lights. Darkness was quiet, darkness was soothing. Darkness was how he wanted his retirement to be. Cool and dark. Like his fountain in the backyard. Warren McKe