“If the coast is clear, we’ll do it.”
“Have you found the letter Harms got from the Army?”
“Not yet — ” He broke off as Tremaine burst into his office, waving a piece of paper. “Hold on.”
Tremaine slid the paper in front of Rayfield, who went pale as he read it. He looked up at a grim Tremaine.
“Where’d you find it?”
“That SOB hollowed out one of the bed supports. Pretty slick,” Tremaine grudgingly conceded.
Rayfield spoke into the receiver. In terse sentences he conveyed the contents of the letter.
“Was this your doing, Frank?”
“Look, if the guy had died in the stockade the way we planned, they would’ve done an autopsy, right? Well, this was the only way to cover that hole. We all agreed.”
“But, Christ, Harms didn’t die. Why didn’t you have it expunged from the system later?”
“I did! Don’t you think if I hadn’t, it would’ve come out during the investigation? Rider wasn’t stupid, he would’ve pounced on that as a defense.”
“So if you took it out of the record back then, why did the Army send him that letter all these years later?”
“Who knows? Some dipshit clerk could have come across a piece of paper and put it back in, or these days entered it into a database. Once in the Army’s official record, you never know if something’s going to resurface, no matter how hard you tried to bury it. It’s the biggest damn bureaucracy in the world. You can’t account for everything.”
“But it was your job to stay on top of it.”
“Don’t tell me what my job is. I tried to stay on top of it, but it’s not like I could check on it every stinking day for the last quarter century.”
The voice sighed. “So now we know what triggered Harms’s memory.”
“Any strategy comes with risks.”
“Well, maybe Rider had a copy of this letter.”
“I don’t see how Rufus Harms could’ve had access to a copier, and the letter wasn’t part of what he filed with the Court, we know that for a fact.”
“But we can’t be sure that he didn’t. That’s all the more reason for you to go over Rider’s office tonight.”
Rayfield looked up at Tremaine and then said into the phone, “All right, we’ll hit it tonight. Fast and hard.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
* * *
Senator Knight warmly greeted Fiske and Sara as they entered the foyer. Behind him, they could see the place was filled with the business and political elite of the nation’s capital.
“Glad you could come, John,” Jordan Knight said, shaking his hand. “Sara, you look radiant as always.” He gave her a hug and they exchanged pecks on the cheek.
Fiske looked over at Sara. She had changed out of her business attire and into a light summer dress of soft pastel colors that accented nicely her suntanned skin. The bun was gone and her hair swept appealingly around her face.
She caught Fiske staring at her and he quickly looked away, embarrassed, before accepting a drink from one of the waiters. Sara and Jordan Knight did the same.
Jordan looked around, seemingly a little embarrassed himself. “I know the timing on this damn thing is atrocious.” He eyed Sara closely when he said this. “I know Beth feels the same way, although she won’t admit it.”
Sure she does, thought Fiske.
Jordan pointed his drink toward an elderly man in a wheelchair and spoke softly. “Kenneth Wilkinson unfortunately isn’t long for this world. He’s a scrapper, though, and he might fool us all. But he’s lived a long, inspiring life. My mentor and my friend. I’m a better man for having known him.”
“Didn’t he introduce you and your wife?” Sara asked.
“That’s another reason I owe him so much.”
Fiske watched Elizabeth Knight methodically work the room, as polished and poised as any experienced politico. Fiske scanned the room again but didn’t see any sign of Ramsey or Murphy. He wondered if they had boycotted the event. He did note several of the other justices looking nervous and uncomfortable. The fear that a madman wanted to mount your head in his trophy case could do that to you.