THE SIMPLE TRUTH by DAVID BALDACCI

“You remember that young man I was telling you about? John Fiske? His brother was a clerk at the Supreme Court?”

“I remember. And now another clerk dead too.”

“Right. Well, I was over at his brother’s apartment tonight, going through it for evidence collection. McKenna, that agent from the FBI, showed up.”

“The one you said was wound up like a grenade ready to blow? Couldn’t figure him out?”

“He’s the one.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Well, we found a life insurance policy that pays John Fiske half a million dollars upon his brother’s death.”

“So, they were family, weren’t they? You have life insurance, don’t you? I get rich if you die, right?” She lightly smacked the top of his head. “You better have, anyway. Promising me all this nice stuff my whole life and never delivering. I better be rich when your sorry butt kicks off.”

They both laughed and exchanged lingering hugs.

“Fiske never told me about the insurance policy. I mean, come on, that’s a classic motive for murder.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t know about the policy.”

“Maybe,” Chandler conceded. “Anyway, McKenna laid out this whole theory that has Fiske killing his brother for the money, getting another clerk at the Court to help him because she’s got a thing for him and then throwing all this misdirection at us, offering to help with the investigation and whatnot. Even lying about an intruder at his brother’s apartment. I have to admit, he put together a pretty convincing argument, at least on the surface.”

“So John Fiske was at his brother’s apartment?”

“Yep. Claims some guy hit him there and took off. Maybe stole some stuff from the apartment, something that tied in to the murder.”

“Well, if John Fiske was at his brother’s apartment and made up the story about this intruder person, and he knew about the life insurance policy, why didn’t he search his brother’s apartment for the policy? Why leave it for you to find and get suspicious?”

Chandler stared at her, wide-eyed.

“Buford, are you okay?”

“Damn, sweetie, I thought I was the detective in the family. Now, how the hell did I miss that one?”

“Because you’re overworked and underappreciated, that’s why.” She got up and extended her hand to his. “But if you come upstairs right now, I will show you some extra-special appreciation. Leave your sensitive side down here, though, baby, and just bring your other parts upstairs.” She looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes that he knew did not indicate sleepiness.

Chandler quickly rose, took her hand and together they walked up the stairs.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

* * *

As the Jeep raced down the road, Tremaine scrutinized the passengers of each car they passed.

“The damn luck,” Rayfield moaned. “We couldn’t have missed them by more than a few minutes.”

Tremaine ignored him, focusing instead on the car in front of them. The dome light of the car came on as they passed, revealing the driver and passenger. The passenger was unfolding a map.

As Tremaine stared at the car’s interior he hit the brakes, ripped the Jeep to the left and went across the median. The vehicle bumped and jostled in the grassy ditch before the tires found asphalt again and they were heading back toward Rider’s office.

Rayfield grabbed Tremaine’s shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”

“They suckered us. The guy and the gal. Their story was bullshit.”

“How do you know that?”

“The light in the bathroom.”

“The light? What about it?”

“It wasn’t on. The bitch was in there in the dark. It hit me when I saw the dome light go on in the car back there. There was no light coming from under the bathroom door when she was in there. When she opened the door she didn’t hit the light switch because the bathroom was already dark. She wasn’t using the can. She was standing in the bathroom in the pitch-dark. And guess why?”

Rayfield’s face went pale. “Because Harms and his brother were in there too.” While he looked at the road ahead he had another thought. “The guy said his name was John Michaels. Could it have been John Fiske?”

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