It finally hit Fiske. The bar. I knew I had seen you before. What were you doing, following me?

Yes.

Her frankness caught Fiske off guard. Why? he asked quietly. She spoke slowly. Thats a little difficult to explain. I dont think Im up to it right now. I wasnt spying on you. I could see how difficult it was for you, talking to Enis and his family.

Best thing that ever happened to them. Next time the old man might have killed them.

Still, to lose your father like that . . .

He wasnt Eniss father.

Im sorry, I thought he was.

Oh, Enis is his son. But that doesnt make somebody your father. Fathers dont do what that guy did to his family.

Whatll happen to them?

Fiske shrugged. I give Lucas two more years before they find him in some alley with a dozen holes in him. The really sad thing is, he knows it too.

Maybe hell surprise you.

Yeah. Maybe.

And Enis?

I dont know about Enis. And I dont want to talk about it anymore.

They remained silent until they pulled up in front of the Homicide building.

Im parked right in front.

Sara looked at him in surprise. Pretty lucky. In the two years Ive lived in this city, I dont think Ive ever found an empty parking space on the street.

Fiske stared at one spot. I couldve sworn I parked right here.

Sara looked out the window. You mean right next to that tow-away zone sign?

Fiske jumped out of the car just as the rain picked up, and looked at the sign and then at the space where his car used to be. He climbed back in her car, leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Water droplets clung to his face and hair. I really cant believe this day.

They have a number you can call to get your car back. Sara picked up the cell phone and punched in the numbers as she read them off the street sign. The phone rang ten times, but no one answered. She hung up. It doesnt look like youre going to get your car back tonight.

I cant go to sleep until my dad knows.

Oh. She thought for a moment. Well, Ill drive you.

Fiske looked outside at the pouring rain. You sure?

She put the car in gear. Lets go find your dad.

Can we make one stop first?

Sure, just tell me where.

My brothers apartment.

John, Im not sure thats a good idea.

I think its a great idea.

We cant get in.

Ive got a key, said Fiske. She looked puzzled. I helped move him in when he started working at the Court.

Wont the police have it taped off or anything?

Chandler said he was going to go over it tomorrow. He looked at her. Dont worry, youre staying in the car. If anything happens, just take off.

And if maybe the person who killed Michael is there?

You got a tire iron in the trunk?

Yes.

Then its my lucky day.

Sara took a shallow breath. I hope you know what youre doing.

Me too, Fiske thought. ["C27"]CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

When they reached Michael Fiskes apartment, Sara pulled into a parking space around the corner. Pop the trunk, Fiske said, before getting out. She could hear him rummaging through the compartment for a moment. She was startled for an instant when he appeared at her window. She quickly rolled it down.

Keep the car doors locked, the engine running and your eyes open, okay? he said. She nodded, noting the tire iron in one hand and a flashlight in his other.

If you get nervous or anything, just leave. Im a big boy. Ill get to Richmond okay.

She shook her head stubbornly. Ill be right here.

As she watched him head around the corner, a thought occurred to her. She waited a minute or so to allow him time to get into the building, then she pulled around the corner, back onto Michaels street and parked across from the row house. She picked up her cell phone and held it ready. If she spotted anything remotely suspicious, she was going to call the apartment and warn Fiske. A good emergency plan, but one she hoped she wouldnt have to use. *����*����* Fiske closed the door behind him, clicked on the flashlight and looked around. He saw no obvious signs that anyone had searched the place. He entered the small kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a waist-high bar. He looked for and found a couple of plastic baggies in one of the kitchen drawers and covered his hands with them, so as not to leave any prints. There was a small door leading to the pantry, but Fiske didnt bother with it. His brother wasnt the type to have neatly arranged rows of canned corn and peas. It was no doubt empty. He went through the living room, checked the small coat closet, but there was nothing in any of the coat pockets. Next he headed to the single bedroom at the rear of the apartment. The floors were worn tongue-in-groove and the creaks followed him with each step. He pushed open the door and looked in. Bed was unmade, clothes here and there. He checked the pockets nothing. There was a small desk in the corner. He searched it carefully but came up empty. Hidden behind the desk he saw a power cord plugged into the wall and frowned as he held up the other end. He looked next to the desk but didnt see what he had expected to see there: the laptop computer the cord should have been attached to. And his brothers briefcase; Fiske had actually bought it for Mike upon his graduation from law school. He made a mental note to ask Sara about both the briefcase and the laptop. Finished with the bedroom, he moved back down the hallway and toward the kitchen. He stopped for a moment, listening intently. As he did so, he tightly gripped the tire iron. With a sudden lunge he jerked open the pantry door, the tire iron raised, the light shining directly into the small space. The man burst out and hit Fiske right in the stomach with his shoulder. Fiske grunted, the flashlight flew away, but he held his ground and managed to clip the man across the neck with the tire iron. He heard a pained cry; but the man recovered more quickly than Fiske had anticipated, lifted him off the floor and threw him over the bar. Fiske landed hard and felt his shoulder go numb. Even so, he managed to twist sideways and kick the legs out from under the guy as he hurtled past, going for the door. He swung with the tire iron again, but in the darkness missed and it hit the floor instead. A fist connected with his jaw. Fiske swung out and hit solid flesh as well. The guy was on his feet and through the door in a few seconds. Fiske finally lurched up and raced to the door, holding his shoulder. He heard feet clattering down the steps. He hustled after the man and heard the front door to the building crash open. Ten seconds later Fiske was out on the street. He looked right and left. A horn blew. Sara rolled down her window and pointed to the right. Fiske sprinted hard through the rain in that direction and turned the corner. Sara put the car in gear, but had to wait for two cars to pass, and then she spun rubber after him. She turned the corner, raced down the next block but didnt see anyone. She backed the car up and turned down another side street, and then another, growing more and more frantic. She let out a shriek of relief when she saw Fiske in the middle of the street, sucking in air. She jumped out of the car and ran over to him.

John, thank God youre okay.

Fiske was furious that the man had gotten away. He stomped around in tight circles. Dammit! Shit!

What the hell was that all about?

Fiske calmed down. Bad guys one, good guys zip.

Sara put an arm around his waist and walked him over to the car. She eased him into it. Then she climbed in the drivers side and they started off. You need to see a doctor.

No! Its just a stinger. Did you see the guy?

Sara shook her head. Not really. He came out so fast, I thought it was you.

My size? Distinguishing clothing? White, black?

Sara thought hard for a moment, trying to visualize what she had seen. I dont know about his age. He was close to your size. He had on dark clothing and a mask, I think. She sighed. It happened so fast. Where was he?