“The details are sketchy right now, but apparently Michael was the victim of a robbery. He was found in his car in an alley in Southeast near the Anacostia River. His family has been notified, and one of them is coming up to officially identify the body. However, there’s no question that it’s Michael.” He looked down for a moment.“When they learned he was employed here, the police brought over a photograph.”
One nervous-looking clerk raised his hand. “Are they sure it was a robbery? It didn’t have to do with his working here?”
Sara looked over at him angrily. Not the question you really wanted to hear five seconds after learning someone you worked with, cared about, was dead. But then she supposed violent death did that to people: made them instinctively fear for their own lives.
Dellasandro put up his big calming hands. “We have heard nothing that would make us believe that his death had anything whatsoever to do with the Court. However, out of an abundance of caution, we are increasing security around here, and should anyone notice anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, please contact either myself or Mr. Klaus. We’ll make available to you any future details about this situation at the appropriate time.” He looked over at Ramsey, who had his head bowed in his hands and was making no move to get up. Dellasandro stood there awkwardly until Elizabeth Knight rose.
“I know this has been a terrible shock to all of us. Michael was one of the most popular people ever to work here. His loss touches us all, especially those who had become close to him.” She paused and looked at Sara for a moment. “If any of you wishes to talk about anything, please feel free to do so with your justice. Or you can stop by and see me. I’m not sure how we can continue to function, but the work of the Court must go on, despite this horrible, horrible . . .” Knight stopped again and gripped the table to stop herself from collapsing to the floor. Dellasandro quickly took her arm, but she motioned him away.
Knight rallied herself enough to call an end to the meeting and the room quickly cleared. Except for Sara Evans. She sat there, numb, staring at the spot where Knight had stood. The tears freely streamed down her face. Michael was dead. He had taken an appeal, acted very strangely for over a week, and now he was dead. Murdered. A robbery, they said. She didn’t believe the answer was that simple. But right now it didn’t matter. All that mattered was she had lost someone very close to her. Someone who, under different circumstances perhaps, she might have gladly spent her life with. She put her head down on the table as the sobs burst from her.
From the doorway, Elizabeth Knight watched her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
A little over three hours after Billy Hawkins had announced his brother’s death, John Fiske was walking through the hallways of the D.C. morgue, a white-coated intake specialist leading the way. Fiske had had to show identification and prove to the man that he was really Michael Fiske’s brother. He had been prepared for that and had brought pictures of the two together. He had tried to reach his father before leaving town, but there had been no answer. Fiske had driven by the house, but no one had been home. He left a note for his dad, including no details. He had to be sure it was his brother, and the only way to be certain was where he was headed.
Fiske was surprised when they entered an office, and even more puzzled when the morgue attendant pulled a Polaroid from a file and held it out to him.
“I’m not identifying a photo. I want to see the body.”
“That’s not the procedure we have here, sir. We’re in the process of installing a video system so that IDs can be made via remote television, but it’s not functional yet. Until then, it’s done with a Polaroid.”
“Not this time.”
The man tapped the photo against his palm as though trying to arouse Fiske’s curiosity in it. “Most people would much prefer to do it with a photograph. This is very unusual.”