He put the pistol down and cast his thoughts forward now. His snitch in the clerks’ office had paid off. Tomorrow, both Fiske and Evans would face some tough questioning. He would get hold of Chandler first thing, lay the facts before him, and let the pugnacious homicide detective do his duty. McKenna got up and walked around the room. On the walls were framed photos of him with a number of important people. Carefully arranged on a side table were the numerous awards and commendations Warren McKenna had earned with his wits and his courage as an FBI agent. He had led a long, productive career on the side of law enforcement, but that had not made up for one event that had caused him great shame ever since. It had happened so many years ago, and yet was still one of the clearest memories he possessed. What he had done back then was, today, compelling him to frame John Fiske for a crime.
He put out the cigarette and moved silently through the house. His wife had long since gone to bed. His two children were grown and on their own. He had done all right financially, although FBI agents never earned the big dollars, unless they gave up the badge. But his wife, a partner in a major D.C. law firm, had. Thus, the house was large, expensively furnished, and basically empty. He looked back in the direction of the den. His distinguished career, neatly tallied on that table, lastingly captured in those photos. He took a long breath as the darkness clung to him. Penance was a lifelong responsibility.
* * *
The plane touched down and taxied to a stop. Commercial jets and some private planes could not land at National after ten o’clock at night because of noise-level restrictions, but the small aircraft Fiske and Sara were flying in could take off and land pretty much wherever it wanted. A few minutes later Fiske and Sara were headed toward the parking garage at National Airport.
“We flew all the way out there, nearly got slaughtered and we came back empty-handed,” Sara muttered. “Brilliant idea on my part.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Fiske said.
They reached the car and climbed in. “So what exactly did we learn?” she asked.
“Quite a few things. One, we saw Rufus Harms face-to-face. I think he’s telling the truth, whatever the truth happens to be.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“He came to Rider’s office, Sara, when he should be doing his best to get out of the country. He came to get the appeal he had written. Why would he do that unless he believed it to be true?”
“I don’t know,” Sara admitted. “If it was his appeal, why not just write it again?”
“Rider had filed his own document with it. You saw that in my brother’s briefcase. Now that Rider’s dead, that was something Harms couldn’t duplicate. He also mentioned something he got from the Army. A letter. Maybe he thought that would help, so he came to get both.”
“That makes more sense.”
“The Army guys were on a blood hunt. They didn’t come there to look for Rufus Harms. They came there to search Rider’s office.”
“How do you know that?”
“They didn’t even ask us if we’d seen anyone suspicious, anyone who looked like Rufus. I had to volunteer the information. And they weren’t doing it in their official capacity. The middle of the night, machine guns. They weren’t MPs or anything. They were of fairly high rank, judging from their age and attitude. Barging into civilian offices with machine guns at midnight, that’s not how the Army does things.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“So I’m thinking whatever was in that appeal had something to do with those guys personally.”
“But we don’t even know who they are.”
“Yes, we do. Rufus said their names at Rider’s office. Tremaine, Vic Tremaine — and the other guy’s name is Rayfield. They’re in the Army, which means they must be connected with Fort Jackson somehow. Rufus said they did something to him. I’m sure he meant back in the stockade.”
“John, even if they somehow encouraged him to kill that little girl, or even ordered him to do it for some hellish reason, the most they’d get pinned on is some sort of accessory. And after all these years? If that’s all Harms has, he has nothing, you damn well know that.”