“But you believe them to be connected?” Ramsey said.
“I really don’t have a belief on that one way or the other.”
“What do you recommend that we do?”
“That you go about your business as usual. If this is the work of some nut out to disrupt the Court, then you’d be playing into his hands by canceling your docket.”
“Or we could risk infuriating whoever’s doing this, with the result that he will strike again,” Knight said.
“That’s always a possibility, Justice Knight,” Chandler conceded. “But I’m not convinced that what the Court does or doesn’t do will have any effect on that. If the cases are connected.” He looked at Ramsey. “I do think it’s worth going over the cases both clerks were involved in, just to cover that base. I know it’s a long shot, but I could end up kicking myself later on if I don’t address it now.”
“I understand.”
Chandler turned to Justice Murphy. “Will you and your other clerks still be available today to go over cases Michael Fiske was handling?”
“Yes,” Murphy replied quickly.
“And I would appreciate if all of you would confer with the other justices and try to determine if any one case you’ve heard over the last few years may have prompted some action like this,” said Chandler.
Knight looked at him and shook her head. “Detective Chandler, many of the cases we deal with stir incredible emotions in people. It would be impossible to know where to start.”
“I see your point. I guess you’ve all been lucky that no one’s tried to do something like this before.”
“Well, if you want us to go about our normal routines, then I suppose that the dinner honoring Judge Wilkinson will go forward tonight,” Knight said.
Murphy sat straight up in protest. “Beth, if nothing else, I think the murders of two Court personnel would dictate that the dinner be put off.”
“That’s easy enough to say, Tommy, but you didn’t happen to plan the event. I did. Kenneth Wilkinson is eighty-five years old and he has pancreatic cancer. I won’t risk putting it off, unfortunate as the timing may be. This is very important to him.”
“And to you as well, correct, Beth?” Ramsey said. “And your husband?”
“That’s right. Are we going to have another debate on legal ethics, Harold? In front of all these people?”
“No,” he said. “You know my feelings on the subject.”
“Yes, I do, and the dinner will proceed.”
Fiske was fascinated by the exchange. He thought he saw a hint of a smile pass across Ramsey’s face as the man said, “All right, Beth. Far be it from me to attempt to change your mind on any matter of importance, much less those bordering on the trivial.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
* * *
Tremaine set the Army helicopter down in the grassy field. As the circling of the copter blades slowed, he and Rayfield looked over at the sedan parked near the edge of the tree line. They lifted off their seat harnesses, climbed out and, torsos bent forward as they passed beneath the blades, headed toward the car. When they reached it, Rayfield sat in the front seat while Tremaine slipped into the back.
“Glad you could make it,” said the man in the driver’s seat, turning to face Rayfield.
The colonel’s jaw fell. “What happened to you?”
The bruises were purplish in the center, leaching out to yellow around the edges. One clung to the side of his right eye, the two others spread out from his collar.
“Fiske,” he answered.
“Fiske? He’s dead.”
“His brother, John,” the man said impatiently. “He caught me at his brother’s apartment.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“I was wearing a mask.”
“What was he doing at his brother’s apartment?”
“Same thing I was, looking for anything that the cops could use to find out the truth.”
“Did he find anything?”
“Nothing to find. We’d already gotten Fiske’s laptop.” He looked at Tremaine. “And you got his briefcase from his car before you killed him, right?” Tremaine nodded. “Where is it?” the man asked.
“A pile of ash.”
“Good.”
“Is this brother a problem?” Rayfield wanted to know.