We got to move fast. Somebody might show up, Josh said. Tucked inside his belt was his pistol, fully loaded, a round chambered.

Ill look here and you go into Samuels office and start looking around.

Rufus was already going through a file cabinet using the flashlight he had brought with him from the truck. Josh went into Riders office. The first thing he did, after checking the street for activity, was close the drapes. He pulled out a flashlight of his own and started searching. He came to the locked desk drawer and jimmied it. He gave a low whistle as his hand closed around the packet that had been taped to the underside of the desk drawer. He went to the doorway. Rufus, I got it.

His brother rushed in and took the papers. He scanned them under the flashlights arc.

You still aint told me how having these pieces of paper is gonna help your butt any which way.

I aint thought that all the way through, but Id rather have them than not have them.

Well, lets get out of here before somebody hasus.

They had barely made it to the receptionist area when they both heard the footsteps, two sets of them. They glanced quickly at each other. Josh pulled the pistol and punched off the safety. Cops. They know were here.

Rufus looked at him and shook his head. It aint the cops. And it aint the Army. Buildings deserted. If it was them theyd come in here sirens going and the next sound wed be hearing is glass breaking when the tear gas canisters come through the damn window. Come on. Rufus led the way back into Riders interior office and softly closed the door. All they could do now was wait. ["C44"]CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Chandler walked around Michael Fiskes apartment. He knelt down and examined the gouge mark in the floor caused by John Fiskes swing with a tire iron. If the blow had found its mark, this mystery might have been solved. Chandler rose and shook his head. It was never that easy. His men were putting the finishing touches on the apartment. Black carbon dusting powder lay everywhere in piles like magic sprinkles, which in a way they were. They had taken Michael Fiskes prints for purposes of elimination. They would have to get his brothers as well. Since John Fiske was a lawyer licensed in Virginia, his fingerprints would be on file with the Virginia State Police. He should get Sara Evanss prints as well, he figured. She had undoubtedly been here too. He looked down the hallway. In the bedroom, perhaps? However, his inquiries had revealed only that the two had been good friends. He had met with Murphy and his clerks. They had gone over all the cases Michael had been working on. Nothing really stuck out. That line of investigation would simply take too long. And people were dying. John Fiskes unwillingness to confide in Chandler had cost him. As Fiske had earlier deduced, Chandler had cut off the flow of information to him. Chandler had played fair with the Feds, though, and passed along what he had to McKenna, including his newfound information on Rufus Harmss escape from prison and Michael Fiskes earlier calls to the prison. He had also informed McKenna of the missing appeal Fiske had told him about. McKenna had thanked him but had been unable to add any new information of his own. As if on cue, he heard a sound at the front door and the FBI agent walked into the room after showing his ID card to the uniform outside and being added to the crime scene list, Chandler assumed. Crime scene. Well, it was one of sorts, Chandler said to himself.

Youre working late tonight, Agent McKenna.

So are you. The FBI agents gaze swept the area, starting at the center and marching outward grid by grid. So, is the director of the FBI just a little bit on your butt, or a lot, to get this thing solved?

Same as your boss. In the Bureau you get double kudos if you solve the crime in time for the evening news. McKenna flashed a rare smile, although it was as though his mouth didnt know quite how to manage it, because the effect came off as lopsided. Chandler wondered if the man did it on purpose to throw people off. Because hed had a weird feeling about the guy, Chandler had discreetly checked out Warren McKenna. His career at the Bureau was first-rate in all respects. He had been assigned to the Washington Metropolitan Field Office at Buzzard Point for eight years after transferring from the Richmond Field Office. Before his career at the FBI, he had done a brief stint in the military, then completed college. Since that time McKenna had done nothing except make positive impressions on his superiors. One curious thing Chandler had found out: McKenna had refused several promotions that would have taken him out of the field.

Youre lucky John Fiske hasnt slapped you with a lawsuit yet. He still might.

Maybe he should, was McKennas surprising reply. I probably would if I were him.

Ill be sure and tell him that, Chandler said slowly. McKennas gaze darted all over the place for a couple of minutes, seemingly absorbing every detail like a sheet of Polaroid, before he glanced back at Chandler. What are you, anyway, his mentor?

Didnt know the man until a couple days ago.

You make friends a lot faster than I do, then. McKenna inclined his head at Chandler. Mind if I look around?

Go ahead. Try not to touch anything that doesnt look like its got a pound of print dust on it.

McKenna nodded and stepped carefully around the living room. He noted the mark on the floor.

Fiske going after his purported attacker?

Thats right. Only I didnt know he was purported.

He is until we have a corroborating account. At least thats how I work.

Chandler unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it in his mouth, slowly chewing over both the agents words and the gum.

Sara Evans reported to me that she also saw a man flee from the building and that Fiske was chasing him. Is that good enough for you?

Thats convenient corroboration. Fiske is one lucky guy. He should run out right now and play the lottery while hes so hot.

I wouldnt call losing your brother being lucky.

McKenna stopped walking and looked at the pantry door, which was ajar and covered with print dust. I guess it depends on how you look at it, doesnt it?

What the hell do you have against him? You dont even know the guy.

McKennas eyes flashed at him. Thats right, Detective Chandler, and you know what? Neither do you.

Chandler wanted to say something back but couldnt think of anything. In a way the man was right. This thought was interrupted by one of his men.

Detective Chandler, we found something I think you might want to see.

Chandler took the sheaf of papers from the tech and looked down at it. McKenna joined him.

Looks like an insurance policy, McKenna said.

We found it on one of the shelves in the pantry. No food in there. Guy used it for storage. Tax returns, bills and stuff like that are in there too.

Half a million bucks worth of life insurance, Chandler muttered. He flipped rapidly through the pages, passing by the legalese until he got to the end, where more specific information was set forth.

Michael Fiske was the insured.

McKennas finger suddenly stabbed at the bottom of the page. Chandler paled a little as he read the line the man had so energetically indicated. And John is the primary beneficiary.

The two men looked at each other. Would you like to take a walk and hear a theory of mine? McKenna asked. Chandler wasnt sure exactly what to do.

It wont take long, McKenna added. In fact, some of it youre probably thinking right now, I would imagine.

Chandler finally shrugged. You got five minutes.

The two men walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the row house. McKenna took a moment to light up a cigarette and then offered one to Chandler. The detective held out his pack of gum. I can be overweight or I can smoke. I like to eat, so there we are.