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

Alittle over three hours after Billy Hawkins had announced his brothers death, John Fiske was walking through the hallways of theD.C.morgue, a white-coated intake specialist leading the way. Fiske had had to show identification and prove to the man that he was really Michael Fiskes brother. He had been prepared for that and had brought pictures of the two together. He had tried to reach his father before leaving town, but there had been no answer. Fiske had driven by the house, but no one had been home. He left a note for his dad, including no details. He had to be sure it was his brother, and the only way to be certain was where he was headed. Fiske was surprised when they entered an office, and even more puzzled when the morgue attendant pulled a Polaroid from a file and held it out to him.