He approached the inner office door. “Chief Dellasandro, it’s John Fiske. I was wondering if we could talk.” Still no answer. Fiske decided to leave the man a note. But he didn’t want to leave it at the secretary’s desk.
He slipped into Dellasandro’s office and over to his desk. He picked up a piece of paper and, using a pen from the holder on the desk, scrawled out a brief note. As he finished and positioned the note prominently on the desk, he looked around the office for a moment. There were many ceremonial tokens on shelves and walls, attesting to a distinguished career. On one wall was a photo of a much younger Dellasandro in his uniform.
Fiske turned to leave. Hanging on the back of the door was a jacket. It had to belong to Dellasandro, obviously part of his Court uniform. As Fiske passed by it, he noticed several smudges on the collar. He rubbed it with his finger and examined the residue: makeup. He went out into the anteroom and looked at the photos on the desk there. He had seen Dellasandro’s secretary once before. A young, tall brunette with quite memorable features. On her desk, there was a photo of her and Chief Dellasandro. His arm was around her shoulder; they were both smiling into the camera. Probably many secretaries had a photograph with their bosses. There was something in the eyes, how close they were standing together, however, that might suggest something more than a platonic working relationship. He wondered if the Court had specific rules on fraternization. And there was another reason why Dellasandro would be well advised to keep his pants on and his hands off his secretary: Fiske glanced back into Dellasandro’s office at the photo on his credenza — of his wife and kids. A very happy-looking family. Only on the surface, obviously. As he left the office, he concluded that it pretty much summed up how this place and the world in general operated: Surface appearances could be very deceiving; one had to dig deeper to get to the real truth.
* * *
Rufus stopped the Jeep. “I’m going to flag down the first cop I see. Get you some help,” Rufus said.
With an effort, Josh sat up. “The hell you are. Cops get hold of you, they find Tremaine and Rayfield, they’ll bury you.”
“You need a doctor, Josh.”
“I don’t need shit.” With a lunge, he gripped his pistol. “We started this, we gonna finish it.” He wedged the barrel of the pistol against his gut. “You stop for anybody, I’m gonna put a hole right here.”
“You’re crazy. What the hell you want me to do?”
Josh coughed up blood. “You find Fiske and that girl. I can’t help you no more, maybe they can.” Rufus looked at the gun. “Don’t go thinking it — bullet’s pretty damn fast.”
Rufus put the Jeep in gear and pulled back on the road. Josh watched him, his eyes coming in and out of focus. “Stop that shit.”
“What?”
“I see you doing that mumbling shit. Don’t be praying for me.”
“Ain’t nobody telling me when I can talk to the Lord.”
“Just keep me out of it.”
“I’m praying for Him to watch over you. Keep you alive.”
“Does it look like it’s troubling me any? You just wasting your breath.”
“God gave me the strength to lift this Jeep.”
“You lifted this damn hunk of metal. Ain’t no angels come down from no heaven and help you do shit.”
“Josh — ”
“Just drive.” The intensity of his pain forced Josh to suddenly hunch forward. “I’m tired of talking.”
* * *
While she was in her office, Sara received an urgent summons from Elizabeth Knight. She was surprised by this, because on Wednesday afternoons the justices were usually in conference, going over the cases heard on Monday. Each justice had two secretaries and a personal assistant. As she entered Knight’s chambers, Sara greeted Knight’s longtime secretary, Harriet, who had been with the justice through several careers. Normally cheerful and friendly, Harriet spoke in a cold tone. “Go right in, Ms. Evans.”
Sara passed by Harriet’s desk and paused at the door to Knight’s office. She turned around and caught Harriet staring at her. Harriet quickly turned back to her work. Sara took a deep breath and opened the door.