Capitol Murder

by William Bernhardt

  “He is a stud,” Christina said quietly, from her vantage point, “but he doesn’t have any.”

  Loving gave her a look but made no comment.

  “What about any, um, any…” He cleared his throat. “Any implants?”

  “What, like have I had my breasts augmented?”

  “No, sir. I was talking about, um, you know, your… penile implants.”

  Christina covered her face with her hand.

  “They have been known to set off the detectors on occasion,” the officer continued. “Some are made of nitinol reinforced with a copper alloy, so when the machines are on their most sensitive settings, as they are today-”

  “No,” Ben said, with a sort of low growl, “I do not have-nor do I need-any… what you said.”

  The Capitol police officer nodded, his face a phlegmatic mask. He could’ve been a Vulcan, except that Ben couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling that the man was laughing at him behind his eyes. “Then, sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remove your trousers.”

  “Remove my-are you kidding me?”

  “No, sir. Regrettably, it is a necessary security precaution. We have a side room here you can use. We’ll have to call for witnesses and a video crew.”

  “What!”

  “Just to document that the proper procedures were followed. Can’t be too careful, you know. Frivolous lawsuits costs the taxpayers billions of dollars each year.”

  “And how long will this take?”

  “Oh… probably no more than half an hour. An hour at most.”

  “I have an appointment with Senator Glancy. I’m expected.”

  “Can’t be helped. Security first, that’s our motto. Now if you’ll just step inside this room, there are some forms-”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” With one angry flick of his wrist, Ben unfastened the button on his pleated slacks and released the zipper. The slacks fell in a bunch to the floor. Revealing the tail of his pressed white shirt. And a darling pair of boxer shorts, baby blue, with little red hearts all over them.

  The officer’s stony façade began to crack.

  Christina grinned from ear to ear. “Now that’s adorable. Did your mommy buy those for you, too, Ben?”

  “Be. Quiet,” he replied, through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know why he’s being defensive. Do you, Loving?”

  The investigator managed to keep a straight face. “No idea.”

  “You work with someone for years, you think you know them, and then one day you realize they’re wearing cutie-pie boxers with little red hearts all over them. Isn’t that remarkable?”

  “What I think is remarkable,” Loving said, “is that this is the first time you’ve seen his cutie-pie boxers with little red hearts all over them.”

  Christina’s smile diminished considerably.

  “Here’s the problem, sir,” the officer explained. “Got a button stapled to the inside of the tail of your shirt. Metal button. Probably came from the store that way, and you never took it off.”

  “Does-that-mean-I-can-put-my-pants-back-on-now?” Ben answered without moving his lips.

  “Of course, sir. Appreciate your cooperation.” He laid down the wand and folded his arms. “And if I may say so, sir, I think those boxers really work for you. Bring out the blue in your eyes.”

  “Thanks so much,” Ben said icily. He pulled up his trousers and grabbed his briefcase, then rejoined his companions. “Don’t say it,” he warned them. “Don’t say a word.”

  “Of course not,” Christina agreed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pause. “But man-what a pair of thighs.” She whistled.

  “Christina-!”

  “You’re a regular Casanova, what with the sexy hearts and all. Wouldn’t you say he was a regular Casanova, Loving?”

  Loving nodded curtly. “Chick magnet. Big-time.”

  “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves,” Ben said, as they reached the central lobby. “Because when we get back to the office-you’re both fired.”

  The generally jocund mood continued, much to Ben’s chagrin, until they were greeted by an attractive blond teenager wearing a blue suit with a name tag.

  “Mr. Kincaid? I’m Tiffany Dell. I’m a Senate page.”

  Ben shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Senator Glancy asked me to show you to his office when you arrived.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we can find it. You-”

  “Don’t count on it, sir.” She laughed, almost a giggle. “This place is a maze to the uninitiated. Took me a week to get the lay of the land.”

  “Still, you must have more important things-”

  “Sir, running errands for senators is what pages do. It’s, like, our job description.”

  “Very well,” Christina said. “Lead on. By the way, love that suit.”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t pick it out. It’s the standard page uniform. You can’t change it. We’re not even allowed to wear jewelry. I try to do the best I can with it.”

  “You succeed. Helps that you’re in great shape.”

  “I should be. On average, pages walk seven miles a day.”

  “Wow. You must be all muscle tone. Ben, I’m dumping you to become a Senate page.”

  Tiffany laughed. “I think you’re over the age limit, nothing personal. And even though it’s good exercise-it’s exhausting. Back and forth between the houses, all day long. The underground tram barely helps. Though I’d rather be out and about than stuck in that tiny former cloakroom we call our headquarters.” She led them around a corner and down a long marble hallway. “Do you have time for a quick tour? We don’t have to stay in this building. Wanna see the Senate chamber? The antique desks? The photo op platform where Vice President Cheney gave Patrick Leahy the f-word? Or the West Front-that’s where presidents are sworn into office. Statuary Hall? The Rotunda? Or the catafalque beneath-that’s where they originally planned to bury George Washington, and where Lincoln and Kennedy and Reagan lay in state before burial. Did you know that the first Supreme Court chamber was in this building, before they got their own place across the street?”

  “I did,” Ben said, “and I’d love to see all that, but I think your boss is anxious to talk to us.”

  “All right. If your schedule lightens up, just ask someone to call for Tiffany.” She turned toward a long narrow stairway and led the way.

  Senator Glancy’s office on the second floor of the Russell Building, Room S-212-D, was a study in chaos theory. Ben stood at the threshold and watched as more than a dozen staffers scurried back and forth, ants in an anthill, each with their appointed tasks, each on a path that intersected those of numerous others without quite colliding. Perhaps this was not the chaos that it appeared after all, Ben mused. Perhaps, as Mrs. Austin, his fourth-grade social studies teacher taught, this was Our Government in Action.

  The office consisted of a large lobby with many chairs and a sofa, but only one desk. There were four doors to smaller inner offices, all of them open. Three were occupied; one, the largest, was empty. Ben assumed that was Senator Glancy’s office and wondered where he was. Despite the embarrassing security kerfuffle, they had arrived almost exactly at the appointed time.

  The fiftyish woman behind the desk was juggling two phones at once while simultaneously writing something on a yellow legal pad. Almost everyone in the room had a cell phone pressed to their ear or, worse, one of those near-invisible headsets that allowed them to walk and talk on the phone, but made it look as if they were muttering to themselves. Like the receptionist, they were all multitasking. Apparently their jobs required them to do three things at once, perhaps more. Ben wondered if the place was always like this, or only the day after a graphic, grotesque sex video featuring the boss hit the airwaves.

  Not everyone currently in the office worked there. Ben spotted what appeared to be at least two civilians, one of them a father with three children clustered around his feet. “When am I going to get those tickets to th
e White House?” he kept saying, to anyone who passed near him. No one answered. Ben sympathized with the man, but he expected that visitor tours were not high on anyone’s agenda today. Another woman was short, obese, and with such an evident mad-on that Ben was surprised the security guards let her through the door. She stood in the middle of the lobby and shouted, “When is my boy going to get his furlough? His dad’s sick. I need him!”

  The ants scurried past her. If they noticed, they gave no sign. A young woman with platinum-blond hair crossed right past Ben and stopped at the receptionist’s desk. Despite her worried expression, she had an attractive face, with a slight overbite that made her appearance all the more endearing. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. “I’m sorry to keep pestering you, Hazel. But I’m still having trouble with the Blue Beetle. I don’t know if it’s broken or if I just don’t know how to work it.”

  “Probably a combination of both,” the woman replied, holding her hand over the voice end of one of the phones. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”

  “The senator said he wanted these memos out immediately.”

  The receptionist gave her a long look. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”

  While the young woman was momentarily still, Ben seized the opportunity. “Excuse me, can you help me?”

  “No,” the woman said, frowning. “I can’t help anyone. This is my first day here and I’m proving myself totally useless.”

  “Your first day? Good grief, what a time to start work.”

  “Yeah. I’m filling in for you-know-who, since she didn’t turn up for work today. Not that anyone was surprised.”

  Ben was able to put the pieces together. By yesterday afternoon, the press had revealed that the young woman in the video with Senator Glancy was none other than one of his office interns, a relatively new hire named Veronica Cooper. She was probably deep in hiding, dodging reporters. This young lady was taking her place.

  “Tough situation to be plunged into,” Ben said, hoping that if she warmed up to him a bit he might actually persuade her to take him to the senator. “You have my sympathies.”

  “Hey, I’m not complaining. I wanted this job. I wanted it three months ago when it first became available, but Veronica beat me out. Career-wise, this is a great opportunity. Sanity-wise, it’s a disaster. The phones have been ringing nonstop. Just getting past the press corps stalking the office was a challenge.”

  “We had to meet that challenge ourselves,” Ben explained. “By the way, I’m Ben Kincaid. I’m an attorney.”

  “Shandy Craig,” she replied, shaking his hand. “I’m a baby intern.”

  “Shandy,” Christina repeated. “I like that. Is it Scottish?”

  “Oh, it isn’t my real name. But that’s what everyone calls me. Since I was a kid.”

  “I’m supposed to have a meeting now with the senator,” Ben explained.

  “Good luck. Everyone from the minority leader on down has been trying to talk to him today, and no one has managed to do it. I think he’s lying low until he figures out how best to deal with this mess.”

  “Yes, that’s what he told me he planned. In part, that’s why I’m here.”

  “You’ll need to talk to Amanda Burton. She’s the senator’s PR director. She keeps his calendar. Makes sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. She’ll be able to tell you where he is. If you can get her attention.”

  Christina stepped forward. “Mind if I ask a question?”

  Shandy held up her hands. “All I was supposed to do was run the automatic-pen signing machine. I don’t know anything more about that video than you do.”

  “No, not about that. I was just wondering-what’s the Blue Beetle?”

  “I believe he was a comic book hero in the forties…,” Ben said quietly.

  They both stared at him for a moment, then Shandy laughed. “Is that where it comes from? I didn’t know. The Blue Beetle is what they call the senator’s obsolete copying machine. He insists on having all his memos printed in blue ink-and this is a senator who still hasn’t figured out how to use e-mail, so we’re talking about a lot of blue ink.”

  “Why blue?”

  “He says it’s a friendly color. A larger percentage of the American population says blue is their favorite color than any other. Personally, I don’t care what color ink he uses. I just want to make copies. I’ve got a prepared statement I’m supposed to distribute to about a billion news agencies, and I can’t get it photocopied.”

  “Loving?”

  The burly man stepped forward.

  “Would you mind helping this first-day intern see if she can get her copier working?”

  “’Course not. Let’s go, Shandy.”

  The young woman hesitated. “Is he some sort of… repairman?”

  “Well,” Christina answered, “actually, he’s a private investigator. But he’s been fixing Ben’s copier for years. Yours should be a piece of cake.”

  “I don’t know. This machine is pretty old. The senator is renowned for his thriftiness.”

  “I bet it isn’t as old as Ben’s,” Christina replied. “Ben is renowned for his impoverishedness.”

  Loving strolled off with the attractive young intern-not appearing at all displeased with the goodwill assignment, Ben noted. He and Christina crossed the anthill toward the office with the nameplate reading AMANDA BURTON. Unfortunately, just as Ben was about to step in, she came charging out, almost toppling him in the process.

  “Hazel? Where the hell is that speech?”

  The receptionist immediately put both lines on hold. “I’m doing the best I can. The phones have been ringing constantly and-”

  Burton placed her hands akimbo. She was thin-too thin, as far as Ben was concerned-and her obviously tailored suit accented her nearly nonexistent waist. She wore fashionable thin black rectangular glasses and kept her raven-black hair pinned to the back of her head. Not exactly Ben’s type, but she was undeniably eye-catching. “Eighty-six the phone calls. Didn’t I tell you to make this your number one priority?”

  “Yes, but when I’m getting calls from the top brass-”

  “I can solve that problem.” Burton reached down and yanked the cord out the back of Hazel’s phone console. “In this office, Hazel, I’m the top brass. You will not replace that cord without my permission. You will not get my permission until you have finished that speech.”

  “But-we’re expecting a call from the president.”

  “I don’t care if we’re expecting a call from God.” She leaned in close. “Like it or not, Senator Glancy is going to have to make a public address today. And I think he just might like to read what he’s going to say before he says it. So get to work. Capice?”

  Hazel lowered her chin. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ben and Christina observed the entire scene. “So,” Christina said, “you want to approach her, or shall I?”

  Ben hesitated. “You know… she does seem to be more your type…”

  “Somehow I had a hunch you’d say that.” Christina marched up to the woman, and Burton did a sidestep to maneuver around her. Christina grabbed her arm tightly and held her in place.

  “Excuse me? Your hand is on my arm.”

  “Yes. Lovely jacket, by the way.” She tilted her head backward. “This is Ben Kincaid, and I’m his partner, Christina McCall. We have an appointment with the senator.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I can assure you that-”

  “I can assure you,” Amanda said, glowering, “Ms. Whoever the Hell You Are, that if the senator had an appointment with you, I’d know about it.” She shrugged off Christina’s hand. “I keep the man’s calendar. He doesn’t go anywhere unless I tell him to.”

  Ah, Ben thought, the power behind the throne. Or at the very least, the ego behind the throne.

  Christina was trying to be patient, but Ben could tell it was a strain for her. “We set up this appointment with the senator himself just-”

  “
Doesn’t matter,” Burton said, holding the flat of her hand between them. “Today all our appointments have been canceled. As you’ve no doubt heard, we have important issues to deal with.”

  “But that’s why we’re here. We-”

  Burton ’s cell phone chirped. She flipped it open and checked the caller ID.

  “It’s very important that we-”

  “Talk to the hand, lady.” She turned her attention to the phone. “I know you have, Maury. I know I owe you one. But this isn’t the one. I can’t say anything until…” She closed her office door behind her.

  Christina stared at the closed door, fuming. “If I killed her,” she said, “do you think you could get me off on justifiable homicide?”

  “Probably,” Ben said. “But let’s not go there.”

  “Are you Kincaid?”

  They both turned and saw a small wizened man in a wheelchair. His hair was gray and not ample. Even through his trousers, his legs appeared atrophied, and he wore extremely thick glasses. Ben guessed he was around sixty, but given the obviously poor state of his health, it was difficult to know for certain.

  “I’m Ben Kincaid, and this is my partner, Christina McCall. You are…”

  “Marshall Bressler, at your service. I’m Todd’s AA.” He noted their blank faces. “That’s short for administrative assistant. It’s like being chief of staff. I’m the top dog. After the senator himself, of course.”

  Ben frowned. “I was under the impression that Ms. Burton-”

  “No, she just thinks she’s the top dog.” He grinned a little, and Ben couldn’t help grinning back. “Amanda came on during the senator’s last reelection campaign. The idea was that we needed to reach out to a younger, female constituency, so I hired her to show this old geezer how to do it. After the campaign, we kept her on staff. Mostly she’s in charge of media relations.”

  “She’s a spin doctor,” Christina said.

  “Yup. Which explains why she’s so frazzled. If ever Todd needed a good spin, this is the day. But she still reports to me, and the only person I report to is Todd.”