When introductions had been made, Ramsey turned to Chandler. “It seems to me that the better way of approaching the problem is to sit down with Justice Murphy and his clerks and take an oral inventory of the cases on which Michael was engaged. Understand that I’m trying to balance your right to investigate this crime with the Court’s responsibility to keep confidential its opinions, until such time as they become publicly known.”
“Okay.” And I don’t want anyone trying to pin any leak on me, Chandler thought to himself.
Ramsey continued. “I see no reason why you can’t examine Michael’s personal effects, if he kept any here. I only ask that any documents pertaining to the Court’s work be set aside until you have had your discussion with Justice Murphy. Then, should there appear to be a connection between a case Michael was working on and his death, arrangements can be made for you to investigate any link thoroughly.”
“All right, Mr. Chief Justice,” Chandler said. “I’ve actually already spoken briefly with Justice Murphy.”
McKenna quickly agreed with this approach.
Ramsey turned to Perkins. “Richard, please advise Justice Murphy and his clerks that Detective Chandler will want to meet with them as soon as possible. I’m assuming tomorrow after oral argument would do?”
“That’ll be fine,” Chandler replied.
“I’ll also make available the Court’s legal counsel to assist you in coordinating matters and addressing any concerns of confidentiality that may arise. Sara, you’ll be available tomorrow, won’t you? You were close with Michael.”
Fiske eyed her. How close? he wondered.
Ramsey once again extended his hand to Fiske. “I would also appreciate being advised of funeral arrangements.”
Ramsey then turned to Perkins. “Richard, after you speak with Justice Murphy, please come to my office.” The meaning in his tone was clear.
After Ramsey and Perkins had left, Chandler watched as McKenna looked into Michael Fiske’s office again. “Chief Dellasandro,” Chandler said, “to be as least disruptive as possible, I’ll bring a team in tomorrow to search the office, so we only have to do it once.”
“We appreciate that,” Dellasandro replied.
“However, I want this door locked until I come back,” Chandler continued. “Nobody goes in, and that means you, or Mr. Perkins, or” — he looked pointedly at Agent McKenna — “anybody else.”
McKenna glared at Chandler as Dellasandro nodded his agreement.
Fiske looked around and caught Wright staring at Chandler. Wright abruptly closed his office door, and Fiske heard the lock turn. Smart man, he thought.
As Fiske and Chandler were leaving the building, a voice made them stop.
“Do you mind if I see you out?” Sara said.
“Okay with me,” Chandler said. “John?”
Fiske shrugged noncommittally.
Chandler smiled as they walked along. “Why do I have the feeling we were just in the presence of the Almighty?”
Sara smiled. “The chief has that effect on people.”
“So you clerk for Justice Knight?” Fiske asked.
“Going on my second year.”
As they rounded a corner, they almost collided with Elizabeth and Jordan Knight.
“Oh, Justice Knight, we were just talking about you,” Sara said. She made introductions all around.
“Senator,” Chandler said, “we appreciate what you’re doing for the District. Without the special funding you just pushed through for the police department, I’d be conducting homicide investigations via bicycle.”
“We’ve got a lot more to do, as you know. The problems were built up over a long time, and they’re going to take just as long to correct,” Knight said in a political stumping tone. He looked at Fiske and his voice softened. “I am sorry about your brother, John. I didn’t personally know him. I don’t make it up to the Court much. If I have lunch with my wife too often the media thinks I’m trying to influence her decision making. I guess they forget we share the same house and bed. But please accept my heartfelt condolences to you and your family.”
Fiske thanked him and then added, “For what it’s worth, I voted for you.”
“Every vote counts.” He looked over at his wife and smiled warmly. “Just like it does up here, right, Mrs. Justice? How did Brennan put it? You need five votes to do anything? God, if I only had five votes to worry about I’d be thirty pounds lighter and my hair would still be black.”