“I’m Buford Chandler.”
Both Fiske and Baxter turned. Chandler was black, in his early fifties, with curly white hair, a matching mustache and a tall, thickened frame that managed to retain a certain athleticism from his youth. He wore an empty shoulder holster, a smudge of pistol oil on his shirt where the grip had lain against it. He looked Fiske up and down from behind a pair of trifocals.
“I’m John Fiske.”
“I heard. In fact I’ve been standing over here listening to the whole thing.”
“Then you know what he said to me, Detective Chandler?” Baxter said.
“Every word.”
“And don’t you have something to say?”
“Yes, I do.”
Baxter looked over at Fiske with a look of satisfaction on her face. “Well?”
“I think this young man gave you some pretty good advice.” Chandler hooked a finger at Fiske. “Let’s talk.”
Chandler and Fiske made their way through busy hallways to a small, cluttered office. “Have a seat.” Chandler pointed to the only chair in the room other than the one behind his desk. There were files stacked on the chair. “Just put those on the floor.” Chandler held up a warning finger. “Be careful you don’t taint any evidence. These days if I belch while I’m looking at tissue samples, all I’m going to hear is, ‘Inadmissible! Free my mass-murdering sonofabitch of a client.’ ”
Fiske very carefully moved the files while Chandler settled behind his desk.
“Now, I don’t want you feeling sorry for what you said to Judy Baxter.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Chandler suppressed a smile. “Okay, first things first. I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Thank you,” Fiske said in a subdued manner.
“Probably the first time you heard that since arriving up here, isn’t it?”
“Actually, it is.”
“So you were in law enforcement?” Chandler casually remarked, then smiled at Fiske’s surprise. “The average citizen doesn’t usually know about Y incisions and intermastoid cuts. With the way you got in Ms. Baxter’s face, the manner in which you carry yourself, and your build, I’d say you were a patrolman.”
“Past tense?”
“If you were still on the force the folks in Richmond would’ve told me when we contacted them. And besides, I know very few police officers who wear suits off duty.”
“Right on all counts. I’m glad you were assigned to this case, Detective Chandler.”
“You and forty-two other active cases.” Fiske shook his head, and Chandler continued: “Budgetary cuts and all. I don’t even have a partner anymore.”
“So in other words, don’t expect any miracles?”
“I will do my best to catch whoever killed your brother. But I can give no guarantees.”
“Then how about a little unofficial help?”
“How do you mean?”
“I worked a lot of homicides with the detectives down in Richmond. Learned a lot, remember a lot. Maybe I can be your new partner.”
“Officially, that’s absolutely impossible.”
“Officially, I absolutely understand.”
“What do you do now?”
“I’m a criminal defense attorney,” said Fiske. Chandler rolled his eyes. “And I take pride in my work too, Detective Chandler.”
Chandler nodded over Fiske’s shoulder toward the door. “Shut that, will you?” He remained silent until Fiske did so and returned to his seat.
“Now, despite my better judgment, I will take your offer of assistance under advisement.”
Fiske shook his head. “I’m here now. Considering that after forty-eight hours the success rate on homicides heads to China, that’s not going to cut it.” Fiske thought this might set the man off, but Chandler remained calm.
“You got a business card where you can be reached?” Chandler asked.
Fiske passed across his card after writing his home number on the back.
In return, Chandler handed him a card with a series of phone numbers on it. “Office, home, beeper, fax, cell phone — when I remember to carry it, which I never do.”
Chandler opened a file on his desk and studied it. Reading upside down, Fiske saw his brother’s name on the label. “I was told he was killed during a robbery.”
“That’s what the prelim indicated anyway.”
Fiske caught the odd tone in Chandler’s voice. “And has that opinion changed?”
“It was only a prelim to begin with.” He closed the file and looked at Fiske. “The facts of this case, at least what we know so far, are pretty simple. Your brother was found in the front seat of his car in an alleyway near the Anacostia River with a gunshot contact wound to the right side of his head and an exit wound on the left. Looked to be fairly heavy caliber. We have not found the slug, but that search continues. The killer could have found it and taken it with him so that we couldn’t do a ballistics test, if we ever get a gun to do a match.”