The Simple Truth

by David Baldacci

  couldn’t fix him on the inside, what the hell did it matter what he looked like on the outside?”

  Sara’s face took on a stricken look. “What do you mean? He fully recovered, didn’t he?”

  Ed shook his head sadly. “Those bullets ripped him bad, bounced around inside him like a damn pinball. They patched him up, but just about every one of his organs was damaged for good. Maybe they could make it all right if Johnny wanted to spend a bunch of years in the hospital, have transplants and stuff like that. But that ain’t my son. Docs say eventually things inside him are just going to stop working. They said it was like diabetes — you know, how a person’s organs get worn out and all?” Sara nodded as her own stomach started to churn. “Well, the docs said those two bullets will eventually cost Johnny about twenty years of his life, maybe more. And there wasn’t really nothing they could do about it. Back then we didn’t care. Hell, he was alive, that was enough. But I know he thinks about it. He pumped iron, ran like a damn demon, got himself in good shape, at least on the outside. Quit the police force. Wouldn’t even take damn disability, although he was sure as hell entitled. Became a lawyer, works like a dog for what amounts to chickenshit, and gives me and his momma most of it. I got no pension and Gladys’s medical bills added up to more than I made in my whole life. Hell, we had to mortgage this place again after spending thirty years paying it off. But you do what you got to do.”

  As Ed paused, Sara glanced over at the table where John Fiske’s medal for valor sat. A little piece of metal for all that pain.

  “I tell you all this so you’ll see Johnny doesn’t really have the same goals as you and me might. Never got married, never talks about having no kids of his own. Everything is sped up for him. He figures if he makes it to fifty, he’s the luckiest man on earth. He told me that himself.” Ed Fiske looked down, his voice catching. “Never figured I’d outlive Mike. I hope to God I don’t outlive my other boy.”

  Sara finally found her voice. “I appreciate your telling me this. I realize it was hard for you. You don’t really know me.”

  “Depending on the situation, sometimes you can know a person better in ten minutes than someone you’ve crossed paths with all your life.”

  Sara rose to leave. “Thank you for your time. And John really needs to hear from you.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I’ll do that.”

  As her hand touched the doorknob, Ed spoke one last time. “You still love my son?”

  Sara walked out without answering.

  * * *

  At the small café down from his office building, Fiske bought his coffee and sat down at an outside table. McKenna did the same. At first Fiske chose to completely ignore the hovering FBI agent and idly watched the passersby while he drank his coffee. He slipped on his sunglasses as the sun cleared the top of the building across the street and drew both men’s shadows across the bricks. McKenna silently munched on some crackers he had bought and fingered his Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “How’s the gut? Sorry I had to punch you like that.”

  “The only thing you’re sorry about is that you didn’t hit me harder.”

  “No, really. I saw the shotgun and got concerned.”

  Fiske looked up at him. “I guess you thought I might be able to somehow open the car door, pull the shotgun out, swing it around and get off a shot before you could blow me away from a distance of, what, six inches?”

  McKenna shrugged. “FYI, I read up on your police record. You were a good cop. Right up until the end, anyway.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  McKenna sat down at the table. “Nothing, other than there being some questions about that last event in your record. Care to fill me in on it?”

  Fiske took off his glasses and stared at the man. “Why don’t you put a bullet in my head instead? I think that would be more fun for me.”

  McKenna leaned his chair back against the side of the building and lit up a cigarette. “You know, if you’re so anxious to prove your innocence, then you might want to start being a little more cooperative.”

  “McKenna, you’re convinced I killed my brother, so why should I bother?”

  “I’ve worked a lot of cases over the years. Half the time my original theory didn’t turn out to be right. My philosophy is: Never say never.”

  “Boy, you really sound sincere.”

  McKenna assumed a friendlier tone. “Look, John, I’ve been doing this stuff a long time, okay? Nice, neat little cases aren’t the norm. There are twists on this one and I’m not ignoring them.” He stopped and then added as casually as he could, “So why was your brother interested in Rufus Harms, and what exactly was in the appeal?”

  Fiske put his sunglasses back on. “That doesn’t fit into your theory of me killing my brother.”

  “That’s only one of my theories. I’m down here following that up by looking for your suddenly vanished nine-millimeter. While I’m waiting on that, I’m looking at it from another angle: Rufus Harms. Your brother took the appeal, it looks like he visited the prison.”

  “Chandler told you that?”

  “I have a lot of information sources. You and Evans have both been snooping around into Harms’s background. He escaped from a prison in southwest Virginia. And you two took a chartered plane to that area last night. Why don’t you tell me about that? Where’d you go and why?”

  Fiske sat back, stunned. McKenna had put them under surveillance. That wasn’t unusual, yet somehow Fiske hadn’t even thought about the possibility. “You seem to know so much — why ask me?”

  “You might have some information I could use to solve this case.”

  “Ahead of Chandler?”

  “When people are getting killed, what does it matter who stops it first?”

  That statement made a lot of sense, Fiske knew. On the surface, at least. But of course it mattered a great deal who stopped it. People in law enforcement kept score, just like people in other lines of work. Fiske stood up. “Let’s check in with Billy. By now he’s probably found those two bodies I stuffed in my file cabinet last week.”

  Hawkins was just finishing up when they returned.

  “Nothing,” he said in response to McKenna’s look. “You can search it yourself if you want,” he added defiantly.

  “That’s okay, I trust you,” McKenna said amicably.

  Fiske was staring at Hawkins. “What’s that, Billy?” Fiske pointed at his neck and collar.

  “What’s what?”

  Fiske touched Hawkins’s collar with his finger and then held it up for the man to see.

  Hawkins blushed a little. “Oh. Damn, that was Bonnie’s idea to cover the bruises. That’s why my face doesn’t look so beat up. I’ve never been hit that hard in my life. I mean, the guy was big, but so am I.”

  McKenna said, “I would’ve emptied my clip in the bastard.”

  Fiske stared openmouthed at McKenna as he said this.

  Hawkins nodded. “I was tempted. But anyway, the guys would give me hell if they knew, but it’s so hot outside and you start sweating, and the stuff just comes off on your clothes. I don’t know how women do it.”

  “Then you’re saying it’s — ”

  “Yeah, it’s makeup,” he said sheepishly.

  Despite the revelation that had just occurred to him, Fiske tried his best to appear calm. He unconsciously rubbed his still-tender shoulder.

  McKenna was staring at him.

  Just then the phone rang. Fiske picked it up. It was the nursing home where his mother lived.

  “I read about Michael in the paper. I’m so sorry, John.” The woman had worked at the home for years and Fiske knew her very well.

  “Thanks, Anne. Look, right now is a real bad time — ”

  “I mean, Michael was just here and now he’s gone. I can’t believe it.”

  Fiske tensed. “‘Here,’as in at the nursing home?”

  “Yes. Just last week. Thursday — no, Friday.”

&n
bsp; The day he disappeared.

  “I remember because he usually comes on Saturday.”

  Fiske shook his head clear. “What are you talking about? Mike didn’t visit Mom.”

  “Sure he did. I mean, not nearly as often as you did.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “Didn’t I? Well, I guess if you have to know, Michael didn’t want you to know.”

  “Why in the hell didn’t he want me to know? I’m sick and tired of people not telling me things about my brother.”

  “I’m sorry, John,” the woman said, “but he asked me not to say anything and I honored his request. That’s all. But now that he’s gone, I … I didn’t think it would hurt for you to know.”

  “He saw Mom on Friday? Did he talk to you?”

  “No, not really. He seemed a little nervous, actually. I mean, sort of anxious. He came really early and only stayed about a half hour.”

  “So they talked?”

  “They met. I don’t know how much they actually talked. Gladys can be difficult sometimes. When do you think you might stop by to see her? I mean, she couldn’t possibly know about Michael, but still she seems very depressed for some reason.”

  It was clear to Fiske that the woman believed a mother’s link to her children could trump even the grip of Alzheimer’s. “I’m really busy right — ” Fiske broke off what he was saying. It would be a miracle if his mother could remember anything of any conversation she might have had with Mike that could possibly help them. But if she did?

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Fiske hung up the phone, picked up his briefcase and stuffed the stack of mail in there.

  “Your brother visited your mom on the day he disappeared?” McKenna asked. Fiske nodded. “Then she might be able to tell us something.”

  “McKenna, my mom has Alzheimer’s. She thinks John Kennedy is still president.”

  “Okay, what about somebody who works there?”

  Fiske wrote down an address and phone number on the back of one of his cards. “But leave my mom out of it.”

  “You’re going to see her, aren’t you? How come?”

  “She’s my mother.” Fiske disappeared out the door.

  Hawkins looked over at McKenna. “You ready to leave? Because I want to lock up. Don’t want anybody else coming in here and stealing any more stuff.”

  The way Hawkins said it made McKenna blink. The guy couldn’t know that he had taken the gun, could he? Still, he felt guilty about it. But he had bigger things to feel guilty about. Far bigger.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Sara was stopped at a red light on her way to Fiske’s office when she saw him drive through the intersection heading west. She didn’t have time even to blow her horn. She thought about flagging him down, but a glimpse of his tense face stopped her. She turned right and followed him.

  Thirty minutes later she slowed as Fiske’s car turned into the parking lot of a long-term care facility located in the West End of Richmond. Sara had been here once before, with Michael, to visit his mother. She kept her car hidden behind a broad-leaved evergreen next to the entrance and watched as Fiske stepped out of his car and hurried inside.

  Fiske met up with Anne, the woman who had just called him, who apologized again and led him to the visitors’ lounge, where Gladys sat docilely in her pajamas and slippers. When Fiske appeared, she looked up and silently clapped her hands together.

  Fiske sat down across from her, and Gladys put out her hands and tenderly touched his face. Her smile broadened, her eyes wide and catching absolutely nothing of reality.

  “How’s my Mike? How’s Momma’s baby?”

  He gently touched her hands. “I’m fine. Doing good. Pop’s good too,” he lied. “We had a nice visit the other day, didn’t we?”

  “Visits are so nice.” She looked behind him and smiled. She often did that. It was hard keeping her attention. She was an infant now, the cycle complete.

  She touched his cheek again. “Your daddy was here.”

  “When was that?”

  She shook her head, “Last year sometime. He got leave. His ship went down. Japs done it.”

  “Really? He’s okay, isn’t he?”

  She laughed long and loud. “Oh yes, that man is A-okay.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Mike, honey, can you keep a secret?”

  “Sure, Mom,” Fiske said hesitantly.

  She looked around, blushing. “I’m pregnant again.”

  Fiske took a deep breath. This was a new one. “Really? When did you find out?”

  “Now, don’t you worry, sweetie, Momma’s got enough love to go around for all of you.” She pinched his cheek and kissed his forehead.

  He squeezed her hand and managed a smile. “We had a good talk the other day, didn’t we?” She nodded absently. This was crazy, he thought, but he was here and he might as well try. “I had a good trip. You remember where I went?”

  “You went to school, Mike, just like every day. Your daddy took you on his ship.” She frowned. “You be careful out there. Lot of fighting going on. Your daddy’s out fighting right now.” She punched a fist in the air. “Get ’em, Eddie.”

  Fiske sat back and stared at her. “I’ll be careful.” Looking at her was like watching a portrait that was fading daily under unforgiving sunlight. Eventually, he would come to visit and all the paint would be gone, the only image left would come from his memory. And so life goes. “I have to get going. I’m, uh, I’m late for school.”

  “So pretty.” She looked past him and waved. “Hello, there.” Fiske turned around and froze as he saw Sara standing there.

  “I’m pregnant, honey,” Gladys told her.

  “Congratulations,” was all Sara could think to say.

  * * *

  Fiske stormed down the hallway to the exit, Sara trailing him. He threw open the door so hard it smacked against the wall.

  “John, will you stop and talk to me?” she pleaded.

  He whirled around. “How dare you come and spy on me.”

  “I wasn’t spying.”

  “It’s none of your damn business.” He pulled out his keys and got into his car. She jumped in.

  “Get the hell out of my car.”

  “I’m not budging until we talk about this.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “If you want me out, throw me out.”

  “Damn you!” Fiske shouted, before climbing out of the car.

  Sara followed him. “Damn you, John Fiske. Will you please stop running away and talk to me?”

  “We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

  “We have everything to talk about.”

  He pointed an unsteady finger at her. “Why the hell are you doing this to me, Sara?”

  “Because I care about you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “I think you do. I know you do.”

  They stood there staring at each other.

  “Can’t we go somewhere and talk about this? Please.” She slowly walked around the car and stood next to him. Touching his arm, she said, “If last night meant half as much to you as it did to me, we should at least be able to talk.” She stood there, convinced that his response would be to climb in his car and drive out of her life.

  Fiske looked at her for a moment, dropped his head and wearily leaned against his car. Sara’s hand slipped down to his and