The Hundred and Third Psalm also held special appeal for Rufus, one line in particular. He mouthed it to himself: “He gives justice to all who are treated unfairly.”
* * *
“Recognize it?” Chandler asked as they approached the 1987 silver Honda sedan parked in the police lot.
Fiske nodded. “We got it for him when he graduated from college. We all chipped in, my parents and me.”
“I’ve got five brothers. They never did that for me.”
Chandler unlocked the driver’s-side door and stepped back for Fiske to look inside.
“Where did you find the car keys?”
“On the front seat.”
“Any other personal items?” Chandler shook his head. Fiske examined the front seat, dash, windshield and side windows, his puzzlement clear. “Has it been cleaned?”
“No. Just like we found it, except for the occupant.”
Fiske straightened back up and looked at the detective.
“If you put a heavy-caliber pistol flush against somebody’s temple and pull the trigger in a confined space like this you’ll have blood splatters on the seat, steering wheel, windshield. You’d also have bone and tissue throw-off. All I see are a few stains here and there, probably where his head was touching the seat.”
Chandler looked amused. “Is that right?”
Fiske clenched his jaw. “I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know. I take it this was another little test of yours?”
Chandler nodded slowly. “Could be. Could be another reason. Remember I said I had five brothers?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I started out with six. One of my brothers was murdered thirty-five years ago. Working at a gas station and some punk came in and popped him for the twelve bucks in the register. I was only sixteen at the time, but I remember every detail like it was maybe five minutes ago. Anyway, most families who come in to identify their loved ones don’t head over to my office and offer their services. They grieve and console each other, which is entirely proper. Oh, they rant and rave for a while about wanting to catch the SOB who did it, but they don’t really want to get involved in the process. I mean, who would? And they don’t usually have a law enforcement background. Add it all up, and I spotted you as somebody who might be able to really contribute. And you just proved it.
“I can understand the rage you must be feeling, John, whether you liked your brother or not. Somebody took something from you, something important — ripped it from you, in fact. It’s been thirty-five years and I still feel that rage.”
Fiske looked around at all the civilian cars in the police lot. He assumed each hunk of metal was waiting its turn to spill the secrets of another tragedy. He turned back to Chandler. “I guess rage will do.” He added quietly, looking down, “Until something else comes along.” His tone did not hold out much hope.
“Fair enough.” Chandler continued his analysis. “The absence of all the physical evidence you just mentioned does have me puzzled.”
“It doesn’t look like he was killed in the car.”
“That’s right. It looks like he was killed somewhere else and his body was then put in the front seat. Now, that single conclusion takes us into a whole new realm of possibilities.”
“Then we’re talking about something more deliberate than a random kidnapping and murder.”
“Possibly, although some punks could have kidnapped him, taken him out of the car to maybe hit an ATM. He refuses, they pop him. Get scared and then dump him back in his car.”
“Then there would have been some physical evidence at the ATM. Any sign of that?”
“No, but there are a lot of ATMs.”
“And a lot of people use them. If it’s been at least a day, you’d think someone would have noticed.”
“You’d think, but you can’t be sure. We’re trying to isolate your brother’s movements and whereabouts for the last forty-eight hours. He was last seen at his apartment on Thursday night. After that, nada.”
“If somebody carjacked him, what about prints? Most perps looking for ATM cards aren’t sophisticated enough to wear gloves.”
“We’re still processing that.”