“We don’t know that it is a burglary.”
“We don’t know that it isn’t 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 don’t 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 you’re right.”
“Lady is for sure right. Too bad you didn’t listen.”
Fiske and Sara whirled around.
Josh Harms stood there, his pistol aimed at them.
“Wall’s 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. Can’t 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 Josh’s 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 Harms’s eyes. But that could always change. Mouth, do your magic, he told himself.
“Hello, Josh, my name’s John Fiske. This is Sara Evans with the United States Supreme Court. Where’s your brother?”
Behind him, from the open doorway leading into Rider’s office, appeared a man of such huge proportions that both Sara and Fiske knew he could only be Rufus Harms. He had obviously heard Fiske’s words.
“How you know all that?” Rufus said while his brother kept his pistol tightly on the pair.
“I’d be glad to tell you. But why don’t 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 Rider’s office. Tremaine was driving; Rayfield sat beside him. The two-seater Jeep was Tremaine’s 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 Rider’s office, they had settled upon a cover story: Sam Rider, Rufus Harms’s 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.
“Something wrong?” Tremaine asked.
Rayfield stared straight ahead. “This is a big mistake. We’re taking all the risks here.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“If we get the letter that Harms filed, along with Rider’s letter, maybe we can forget about Harms.”
Tremaine looked sharply over at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Harms wrote that letter because he wanted out of prison. He killed the little girl, but he really didn’t murder her, right? Well, he’s out of prison. He and his brother are probably in Mexico right now waiting on a plane to South America. That’s exactly what I’d be doing.”
Tremaine shook his head. “We can’t be sure of that.”
“What else is he going to do, Vic? Write another letter to the Court and say, what? ‘Your Honor, I wrote you before with this crazy story I can’t prove, but something happened to my appeal, and my lawyer and the clerk who got it are now dead. So I escaped from prison, I’m on the run and I want my day in court.’ That’s bullshit, Vic. He’s not going to do that. He’s going to run like hell. He is running like hell.”