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.