They strolled along the dark street as McKenna began talking. I found out that Fiske doesnt have an alibi for the probable time his brother was murdered.

Might be something in his favor. If he killed his brother, he wouldve worked hard to establish one.

I disagree for a couple of reasons. First, he probably never thought he would become a suspect.

With a half-million-dollar life insurance policy?

He might have thought we wouldnt find out. We go down a different trail and thats it. He waits awhile and then collects his money.

I dont know about that. Whats your second point?

If he had some perfect alibi which there is no such thing if youre guilty then a hole would come up in it somewhere, sometime, somehow. So why bother? He was a cop and now a lawyer. He knows all about alibis. He says he doesnt have one and then he doesnt have to worry about it blowing up in his face. And then he counts on everybody reaching the conclusion you just did, namely, that if hes guilty he wouldve concocted a good one.

McKenna took a long drag on his cigarette and looked up at the few stars visible in the sky. So hes got motive and, by his own admission, opportunity. I checked him out. Hes got a dip-shit law practice in Richmond, defending the scum of the earth. Guy never even went to law school. Hes third-rate at best. Unmarried, no kids, lives in a shithole. A real loner. Oh, and he left the Richmond police force under a somewhat dark cloud.

How do you mean? Chandler asked sharply.

Lets just say that there was a shooting incident that was never fully explained other than the fact a civilian and another police officer were dead as a result.

Chandler looked shaken, but recovered. So why does he come up and offer his assistance in the investigation?

Again, a cover. Fiskes position would be, How could I have pulled the trigger? Im up here working my butt off to find the person who murdered my brother.�

How does that explain Wrights death?

Who says it has to? Like you said, the two murders could be unrelated. If they are, then if I were Fiske Id jump on it and argue that they are connected. See, hes got an alibi for Wrights murder.

Evans again, Chandler thought. McKenna continued, So if we believe theyre connected, hes home free.

And Sara Evans? Remember? She said she saw the guy running out of Michael Fiskes apartment building. You say shes lying too? McKenna stopped walking and so did Chandler. McKenna took a last puff of his cigarette and then crushed it out on the sidewalk with several twists of his foot. Sara Evans too, McKenna repeated Chandlers words, eyeing the detective closely. Chandler shook his head. Come on, McKenna.

Im not saying shes in on the whole thing. Im saying maybe she has a thing for Fiske and shes doing what he tells her to.

They just met.

Is that right? You know that for sure?

Actually, no.

Okay, he convinces her hes done nothing wrong, but some people might try to frame him.

Why do you have such a thing against Fiske?

Now McKenna erupted. Hes got a smart mouth. He comes off as holier than thou, the defender of his brothers memory, only they seemed to have no contact recently. He and Evans spent the night at her house doing who knows what the day after his brothers body is found. Hes got a shotgun for some reason. Hes nosed his way into the investigation, which means he knows just about everything we do. Hes got no alibi for the night of the murder and five minutes ago we found out hes a half million bucks richer because his brother is dead. What the hell am I supposed to think? Are you saying your cop radars not even tingling over this?

Okay, youve made your point. Maybe I have been too lax with him. Rule number one: Dont trust anybody.

Good rule to live by. McKenna paused and then added, Or die by. He walked off leaving a very shaken Chandler staring after him. ["C45"]CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Fiske knocked on Riders office door. He squinted through the glass. Dark inside.

Hes probably at home. We need to find out where that is.

Well, the guy also might be eating dinner out, or out of town on business. He might even be on vacation. Or

Or something could have happened to him, Sara said.

Dont get overly dramatic. Fiske clasped the doorknob and it turned easily. He and Sara exchanged a significant glance. Fiske looked up and down the hallway. Thats when he saw the cleaning cart and relaxed slightly. Cleaning crew?

And theyre cleaning in the pitch-dark because . . .? Sara responded.

Thats just what I was thinking. He pulled Sara away from the door and over to the cart. He rummaged around, before pulling out a pair of Vise-Grips from a toolbox. Whispering, he said, Go down near the exit stairs. If you hear anything, run to the car and call the cops.

She grabbed his arm and whispered back, I have a much better idea. Lets go call the police together right now and report a burglary.

We dont know that it is a burglary.

We dont know that it isnt either.

If we leave, they could get away.

And if you go in there and get killed, what exactly is that going to accomplish? You dont even have a gun you have that thing, whatever the hell that is.

Vise-Grips.

Great, they could have guns and you have a tool.

Maybe youre right.

Lady is for sure right. Too bad you didnt listen.

Fiske and Sara whirled around. Josh Harms stood there, his pistol aimed at them.

Walls mighty thin. Figured when we heard the door start to open, and then all that whispering, you two were going to go for the cops. Cant let you do that.

Fiske studied him. He was big but not bulky. Unless they had run into a routine burglary, this man had to be Josh Harms. He eyed the gun and then scrutinized Joshs features, trying to size up quickly whether he had it in him to pull the trigger. He had killed in Vietnam; Fiske knew that from reading the news reports. But killing them would have to be in cold blood, and Fiske just did not see that in Josh Harmss eyes. But that could always change. Mouth, do your magic, he told himself.

Hello, Josh, my names John Fiske. This is Sara Evans with the United States Supreme Court. Wheres your brother?

Behind him, from the open doorway leading into Riders office, appeared a man of such huge proportions that both Sara and Fiske knew he could only be Rufus Harms. He had obviously heard Fiskes words.

How you know all that? Rufus said while his brother kept his pistol tightly on the pair.

Id be glad to tell you. But why dont we talk inside the office? You have that APB out on you and everything.

He motioned to Sara. After you, Sara. Out of the Harms brothers line of sight, he gave her a reassuring wink. He only wished he could feel as confident on the inside. They were confronted with a convicted murderer who had been in a hellhole for twenty-five years, which had probably not made him any nicer, and a wily Vietnam vet whose trigger finger was looking itchier with every passing second. Sara walked into the office, with Fiske behind her. Josh and Rufus eyed each other quizzically. Then they followed the pair inside and shut the door behind them. *����*����* The Jeep sailed through the back roads on the way to Samuel Riders office. Tremaine was driving; Rayfield sat beside him. The two-seater Jeep was Tremaines private vehicle. They were both off duty now and had decided against checking out a military vehicle from the motor pool. In case anyone came upon them while they were searching Riders office, they had settled upon a cover story: Sam Rider, Rufus Harmss old military attorney, practiced in the area and had recently visited Harms in prison for an unknown reason. Rider and his wife had been killed. Harms and his brother could have committed the murders; perhaps Rider had mentioned to Harms that he kept cash or other valuables at his home or office. Tremaine glanced over at Rayfield.