Capitol Murder

by William Bernhardt

  Glancy made a tsking sound. “Don’t you realize you’ve been appearing on television constantly?”

  “Yup. But I still only have three suits. And one of them was stained-”

  Glancy held up his hands. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll talk to Shandy. She’s a wonderful girl, very devoted to me. She’s been organizing my wardrobe. And you and I are about the same size.”

  “Thanks, but I’m perfectly happy with the clothes I’ve got.”

  “I’m not.”

  They passed through the massive front doors and headed toward the staircase. Elevators were too slow, too crowded, and too difficult for the marshals stalking them to control.

  “I thought yesterday went rather well,” Glancy said. Once again, Ben was amazed by his serenity, his apparent absence of fear or concern. It was as if they were discussing the progress of the World Series, not his trial on capital murder charges. “Didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Christina was magnificent. But of course, the prosecution is just getting started. Once they finish with the technical and forensic witnesses, they’ll bring on the fact witnesses. That’s when we have to be wary of surprises.”

  “Well,” Glancy said, smiling, “I have a few surprises of my own.”

  “Could you please describe the condition of the body when you first saw it?”

  Dr. Emil Bukowsky was the senior coroner for the District of Columbia. Ben gathered that due to his senior status, it was usually one of his assistants, not he himself, who handled courtroom appearances. This time, however, the prosecutor was accepting no substitutes.

  “I found the body just as Lieutenant Albertson described-her head between the sofa cushions and the rest of her body bent behind her. No one to my knowledge had touched her or in any way altered the crime scene. And I arrived barely an hour after the police did. I would’ve been there sooner, but I was carrying a kit filled with metallic instruments, many of them sharp, so I encountered the same problems with the Senate security officers that the detectives had.”

  Padolino nodded. “Could you tell how long she had been dead?”

  “I never attempt to make any precise estimates until the corpse is back in my laboratory and we’ve run a full battery of tests. There were, however, indications that she had not been dead for more than a few hours.”

  “And what were these indications?”

  Bukowsky turned slightly to face the jury. He was one of the better medical examiners Ben had encountered-in the courtroom, anyway. He could talk to the jury without making it obvious he was doing so, could explain his findings without reliance on jargon or sounding as if he was talking down to them. “The absence of a strong odor, for one thing. Lividity, for another. That’s the purplish skin mottling that occurs after death, when the cessation of heart functioning and gravity cause the blood to settle to the lower parts of a body. Unfortunately, in this case, I found that to be somewhat deceptive, given the position of the body and the fact that so much of the blood, most in fact, had escaped from the body.”

  “Were you able to make any findings regarding lividity?”

  “Yes. With the corpse in question, there was very little. It was only slightly present in her elbows, on the backs of her legs and around her shoulders-she was upside down, remember. So the time of death was no later than ten thirty that morning. Probably closer to ten.”

  “Were you able to make any preliminary observations regarding the cause of death?”

  “The blood loss immediately suggested exsanguination. It was only after further examination that I was able to confirm that she had bled to death. We did find unusually constricted vasoconstrictors in the GI tract and the kidneys. Her surface vessels had shut down-that’s caused by the absence of blood volume. She had a greatly heightened level of epinephrine and norepinephrine in the tissue samples we took, which also indicates a sharply reduced blood volume.”

  “Was there anything unusual about the blood loss that you observed?”

  “Yes. I noticed that much of the blood appeared to have dried from evaporation, rather than clotting.”

  “And what did that tell you?”

  “It told me that, despite the size of the gash in her neck, she bled slowly. Almost completely, but slowly.”

  Ben could see the pained winces in the jury box. He didn’t blame them. Everyone wanted to believe that she had died quickly. It would suggest that she hadn’t suffered much.

  “Could you please describe this large neck wound to the jury?”

  “It was about six inches long-virtually the length of her right shoulder. And very deep. I even found markings on her clavicle-her collarbone. Marrow had actually seeped from the bone. Granted, her medical records showed the woman had some degree of osteoporosis-rare in someone that young, but not unheard of. Even then-to leave marks on the bone indicates a deep and severe injury.”

  “Would you please tell the jury what you did next?”

  “After the scene had been thoroughly photographed and searched, I instructed three of my assistants to place the corpse in a body bag for removal.”

  “Were there any difficulties?”

  “A few. Some of the blood had pooled under her buttocks, causing the body to stick to the wall when we tried to remove her. We had to be careful not to create any new injuries. But we managed it. And once we did, moving her was easy. I doubt if she weighed one hundred and ten pounds when she was alive. After all that blood and other fluid loss, she weighed considerably less.”

  Again Ben saw the jury avert their eyes, as if somehow not looking at the coroner would alter what had happened.

  “Once I had Ms. Cooper’s remains in my laboratory, I began a full battery of tests. Under magnification, I carefully examined each fragment of tissue from the wound, as well as the wound itself.”

  “Could you determine what caused the injury?”

  “Yes. I found that the edges of the neck wound were consistent with the use of a wide, sharp-edged instrument. A knife, most likely. Possibly a chopping knife.”

  A knife? Ben pondered, not for the first time. How could anyone get a knife into the U.S. Senate?

  “Did you discover anything else of note during the course of your examination?”

  “I found evidence of recent sexual activity. Unfortunately, we were not able to recover any sperm or other fluids to perform a DNA analysis.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. When I took blood samples, I discovered that the woman had been given a significant dose of warfarin.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A chemical anticoagulant. It prevents blood clotting.”

  “Is this something found naturally in the human body?”

  “No. Not even in hemophiliacs. It had to be administered, and it explains a great deal. It significantly increased the likelihood that, absent medical intervention, she would bleed to death-especially given the size of the wound.”

  “And-” Padolino actually stuttered as he asked the question. “-would Ms. Cooper have been conscious during this… slow death?”

  He nodded sadly. “Almost to the end. Helpless, probably. But conscious.”

  “And would she have experienced… great pain during this time?”

  “Objection,” Ben said, grateful for a chance to interrupt the flow. “Lack of relevance.”

  Judge Herndon nodded. “Sustained.” Whether she felt pain did not in any way relate to the question of who killed her or how or why, but Ben knew this was a Pyrrhic victory at best. Everyone already knew the answer to the question.

  “We’ve been here for hours,” Daily said. “Feel at home yet?”

  “Feel like I’ve stumbled into Cloud-Cuckoo-Land,” Loving grunted, recalling the book he’d been forced to read in his tenth and final year of schooling.

  “Entrance is still guarded,” Daily noted, as he stared up at the two human Dobermans posted at the top of the stairway. “Same as last night.”

  “Two on the outside of the door,” Lovi
ng observed. “At least two others on the inside.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can tell.”

  Daily’s lips tightened. “Hell of a lot of protection just to keep the rabble out of your private suite.”

  “I figure there’s somethin’ goin’ on up there other than dancin’.”

  “You think-you think they’ve got Amber up there? You think they’ve got my little girl mixed up in some-some goddamn orgy?”

  Loving gripped him tightly by the shoulders. “We don’t know. Let’s not let our imaginations go nuts here.”

  “Can you get us in?”

  “I can try.”

  Loving felt eyeballs bearing down on him as soon as he took his first step upward, Daily just a few steps behind him. As soon as he reached the top, the two bulked-up bodyguards converged, blocking his access to the closed door.

  “We’d like to go inside,” Loving announced. “Got a message for the boss.”

  The two neckless brutes before him shook their heads in unison, left-right, left-right, like choreographed backup singers. “Gotta have an invitation,” the man on the left barked.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” Loving started for the door.

  They cut him off-forcibly. The sandy-haired hulk on the right put his hand on Loving’s broad chest and pushed him back, none too gently. “Gotta have an invitation.”

  While they were talking, a young woman sashayed up the stairs and slid between them. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, if that. Dressed in the requisite black, her top was a sheer webbing, more transparent than panty hose, and her skirt was so short Loving could spot her thong without even trying.

  “Do we know you?” the left guard asked her.

  “He’s expecting me.”

  They gave her a quick once-over and let her pass, then re-formed the blockade before Loving could take advantage of the opening.

  “You got a party goin’ down in there?” Loving asked. “That’s cool. But I’m not plannin’ to party. I just-” He considered a moment. “I’m here to see Lilith.”

  The flicker of recognition on both sets of eyes was unmistakable. They knew her.

  “So she’s here?”

  The bodyguard didn’t answer. “You still gotta have an invitation, pal.”

  “That chick you just let in didn’t have an invitation.”

  “Man, she was wearing her invitation. She’s one of the Chosen, or will be. You’re not. So run along before we have to-”

  “Amber!” Daily shot forward, doing an end run around the thug on the left, then lunging for the door. But the guard was too quick for him. He blocked the entrance, catching Daily’s head like a softball and shoving it to the ground. Daily fell, hard.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Loving growled. “All he wants-”

  He was cut off by a sudden cry from the guard. Daily had sunk his teeth into the man’s ankle. As he bent to swat his attacker away, Daily grabbed the guard’s leg and pushed him backward. The other guard turned toward him, fists clenched. This was foolish and futile and Loving knew it, but he couldn’t just stand there and let them kill his companion. He intercepted a kick aimed toward Daily’s head, then caught the guard’s fist in midair, squeezing it tightly until the guard backed down. Unfortunately, there was still the other guy, who wrapped his excessively muscled arm around Loving’s throat. Just as Loving was considering how to deal with that, the door opened, and two more bodyguards rushed out.

  Just as he had predicted. They were so hosed.

  “Whass goin’ down?” one of the new men asked.

  “Nothin’ we can’t handle,” the guard with the lock around Loving said. As if to prove his point, he reared back one booted foot and rammed it into Daily’s face. His head whipped around so fast Loving was afraid he’d hear Daily’s neck crack. Blood spilled from his lips.

  “Take them out the back way,” one of the new men grunted. He was taller than the others, and Loving got the impression he was in charge. At least of the goon squad. “Hurt ’em a little.”

  “With pleasure,” said the sandy-haired one. His arm still wrapped around Loving’s throat, he pivoted Loving around and walked him to a ramp in the rear, forcing him down to the back of the dance floor. The other man grabbed Daily by the hair, lifted him to his feet, punched him again in the kidneys, then followed his cohort downstairs. They wormed their way behind the dance floor to an emergency exit that opened onto a back alleyway. Loving felt a stunning blow to his ribs, and then he was tumbling face-first into the slime and grime of the slick concrete pavement. Daily fell just behind him.

  “And don’t come back,” one of them growled. The two guards wiped their hands, then began to laugh, loudly and heartily, as they let the door slam behind them.

  “You okay?” Loving grunted, as soon as they were gone. He was checking his teeth. He thought they’d loosened a molar.

  “I’ll live,” Daily answered, several beats later, wiping blood from his face.

  “Why the hell did you do that? Do you like having your butt handed to you?”

  “I need to see my daughter,” Daily said, through clenched teeth.

  Loving sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

  “We should call the police.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? The police could get past those jerkoffs.”

  “But we’ve got no proof that any crime has been committed-”

  “The drugs!”

  “-and let’s face it, if the cops start roundin’ up drug users on the premises, they’re gonna get Amber, too. Dependin’ on how deep she’s into this, she might go away for a long time.”

  Daily fell silent.

  “Even if I rounded up an army of my own, by the time we got in, Amber would be gone. We need to enter without endin’ the party.”

  “But how?”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Loving pushed himself to his feet, his back complaining all the way. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a local number he’d had the foresight to memorize. “We’re not done here.”

  During the break, Shandy Craig pumped Ben for information. Amanda Burton was present also, but after their contretemps of the day before, she’d been keeping her distance, which was okay by Ben.

  “Do you think the coroner’s testimony hurt us?”

  Ben shrugged. “He said nothing I didn’t expect. And I found some of what he didn’t say quite interesting.”

  Shandy knotted her fingers together. “I don’t know how you can stand this. I’m so tense I can hardly bear it. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “You get used to it.” Which was a total lie. He hadn’t slept much the night before, either.

  “I’ve been getting offers,” Shandy confided. “Other senators. Don’t stay on a sinking ship, they say. But-I don’t know-it just doesn’t feel right. Todd needs me.”

  Todd, Ben noticed. Not Senator Glancy. Todd.

  “By the way,” she added, “I brought you some suits.”

  “I told Todd-”

  “Oh, it’s no sweat. He has more suits than I have shoes. And some of the older ones he can’t wear anymore, anyway.” She lowered her voice a notch. “He’s put on a few pounds lately, as you’ve probably noticed.” Ben hadn’t. “Jail food, you know. Anyway, I think these will fit you just fine.”

  “Listen, I neither need nor want-”

  “He’ll be delighted to borrow them,” Christina said, appearing out of nowhere. “Such a generous offer. Ben has been needing some sartorial guidance.”

  “That’s pretty rich, coming from you,” Ben said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Shandy asked. “I think Christina is a very stylish dresser.”

  Ben smiled. “You haven’t known her as long as I have.”

  Ben rarely crossed hard on the medical witnesses. In his experience, they were usually careful in their testimony, not prone to exaggeration, and frankly too damn smart to mess around with. Dr. Bukowsky was no exception, but Ben
had pored over the coroner’s various reports and records and he thought there was just a chance he might be able to do some good for his client. At any rate, in a case this desperate, he had to take every chance he had. It would either be a stunning triumph-or an abject failure.

  “If I understand correctly, Doctor, you’ve placed the time of death after the start of Senator Glancy’s committee meeting that day.”

  “Objection,” Padolino said. “This witness has no knowledge regarding any committee meetings.” The objection was sustained, as Ben knew it would be. Didn’t matter. He’d given the jury Senator Glancy’s alibi. They would remember it.

  Technically, having established the alibi, he could sit down-what did it matter how death occurred, so long as they proved Glancy couldn’t have done it? But Ben knew better than to pass up an opportunity to poke holes in the prosecution’s case.

  “You mentioned the large wound on the victim’s right shoulder, Doctor. Why didn’t you tell the jury about the other injury?”

  The coroner blinked, leaned forward, as did several of the jurors. Very good. Ben was happiest when he knew people were paying attention.

  “The other injury? I don’t recall…”

  Ben raised a thick stapled document. “This is your final autopsy report, isn’t it?”

  Bukowsky frowned. “Appears to be.”

  Ben flipped through the pages. “Here it is. On page twenty-two. ‘Evidence of a small puncture wound barely a millimeter in width on the right jugular vein.’” He looked up. “That is what you wrote, isn’t it?”

  “It was a tiny anomaly.”

  “Meaning it was something you couldn’t explain.”

  “I assume the vein was nicked by the knife-”

  “Whoa, now. Let’s rein in the horses. Didn’t you tell the jury the murderer used a great big knife?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “How on earth could someone make such a small puncture wound with a thick chopping knife?”

  “The woman bled to death. I can’t see that this could possibly have any importance-”

  “You mean you don’t want it to have any importance, right? Because you can’t explain it.”