THE SIMPLE TRUTH

His eyes passed over Richard Perkins hovering in the background. There were armed guards everywhere and Fiske knew the hot topic of the evening was the two murdered clerks. Fiske’s eyes narrowed as he spied Warren McKenna knifing through the crowd like a shark looking for flesh to devour.

“You two make a great team,” Sara said.

Jordan Knight touched his glass to hers. “I think so too.”

“Your wife ever think about running for political office?” Fiske asked.

“John, she’s a Supreme Court justice. It’s a lifetime appointment,” Sara exclaimed.

Fiske kept his eyes on Jordan. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone left the Court in pursuit of another job, would it?”

Jordan looked at him keenly. “No, it wouldn’t, John. As a matter of fact, over the years Beth and I have talked about that. I’m not going to be in the Senate forever. I’ve got a seven-thousand-acre ranch out in New Mexico. I can easily see myself running that until the end of my days.”

“And maybe your wife becomes the Virginia senator in the household?”

“I never presume to know what Beth will do. It actually adds a level of excitement to our marriage that I think is incredibly healthy.” He smiled at his remark and Fiske felt himself smile in return.

Sara was raising her glass as a thought hit her. “Senator, can I use a phone?”

“Use the one in my study, Sara. It’s more private.”

She glanced at Fiske but said nothing. After she had gone, Jordan said, “She’s quite a young woman.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that,” Fiske said.

“Since she’s been clerking for Beth, I’ve come to know her quite well. I’ve been almost like a father figure, I guess you could say. She has a brilliant future ahead of her.”

“Well, she’s got a great role model in your wife.” Fiske almost choked on his drink as he said this.

“The absolute best. Beth does nothing halfway.”

Fiske thought about this remark for a moment. “I know your wife is a real go-getter, but she might want to cut back on her schedule until the case is solved. You don’t want to give some maniac a free shot.”

Jordan studied Fiske over the rim of his glass for a moment. “Do you really think the justices might be in danger?”

Fiske didn’t really think so, but he wasn’t about to say that to Jordan. If he and Sara were wrong in their conclusions, he didn’t want anyone letting down his guard.

“Let’s put it this way, Senator, if anything happens to your wife, no one will care what I think.”

Jordan’s face slowly went pale. “I see your point.”

Fiske noticed a line forming to talk to the man. “I won’t take up any more of your time. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, John, I intend to.”

Senator Knight started to receive the other guests. He needn’t have bothered to work the room, Fiske thought. His wife had probably already hit all the important players.

* * *

In Jordan Knight’s study, Sara dialed home for messages. She had forgotten to check earlier, and she was desperately hoping to hear back from George Barker, the newspaper editor from Rufus Harms’s hometown. Her hopes were rewarded when she heard the old man’s deep voice on her answering machine. He sounded a little contrite, she thought.

She snatched a piece of paper from the notebook on the desk and wrote the name down: Samuel Rider. George Barker had left only the man’s name; apparently, after twenty-five years, that was all the information his files had contained. She had to find out Rider’s office address and telephone number right away. As she looked up, she saw the way to do it. The bookshelves on the far wall of the study held a set of current Martindale-Hubbells, the official directory of the legal profession, which purported to have the name, office address and phone number of virtually every attorney licensed to practice in the United States. It was divided by states and territories, and she decided to opt for the local jurisdictions first. As she looked through the index for the commonwealth of Virginia, her search was rewarded as she spotted the name Samuel Rider. Flipping to the page indicated, she found a brief bio of Rider. He had been in the JAG in the early seventies. That had to be the man.

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