Capitol Murder

by William Bernhardt

  “But what she said-it was just gibberish.”

  Loving shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then what did it mean?”

  “Well… I dunno. But if every answer was easy, the world wouldn’t need private investigators.”

  “You’ve got nothing to go on! Two words.”

  “I’ve had less. Come on. Let’s go see a friend of mine. If anyone can tell us what your daughter meant, he’s the one.”

  “Congressman, have you ever thought about running for president?”

  MacReady’s head rose. Finally Ben had managed to ask a question he hadn’t anticipated. “I’m happy where I am. But thanks for the recommendation, son.”

  “Come now. I’ve heard your name floated as a possible presidential candidate, and I don’t even read the morning papers. There aren’t many Republican senators with more experience or qualifications than you.”

  MacReady chuckled. “If we picked our presidents based upon experience and qualifications, the world would be a very different place.”

  “I’ve also heard Senator Glancy mentioned as a possible presidential candidate. Or perhaps a vice presidential running mate. Have you?”

  “Objection,” Padolino said wearily. “What possible relevance can this have to the case?”

  “Goes to bias,” Ben said, explaining what both of them already knew.

  The judge nodded. “The witness will answer the question.”

  “I believe I have heard my colleague Senator Glancy’s name bandied about,” MacReady replied. “At least before this unpleasantness occurred.”

  “And what do you think about the possibility of your colleague Senator Glancy on a presidential ticket?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Well, I prefer my presidents a little more to the right, if you know what I mean.”

  “So you wouldn’t want to see the senator on a presidential ticket. And a pretty good way to prevent that would be to present false testimony that gets him convicted of murder, wouldn’t it?”

  MacReady’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’m a liar, son? ’Cause I don’t take too kindly to that.”

  Ben ignored him. This was his time to ask the questions. “Tell me, sir-after you witnessed this alleged incident in Senator Glancy’s office, did you tell anyone?”

  “Tell anyone what?”

  “What you had seen. Glancy and Delia Collins… together.”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Well, for starters, it might’ve helped eliminate Senator Glancy’s opposition to your bill.”

  MacReady appeared indignant. “I don’t do business that way.”

  “Did you file a complaint with the Senate Ethics Committee?”

  “I saw no cause for that.”

  “No cause? You all but said that you thought Senator Glancy had extracted sex under the promise of changing his vote. If that’s not an ethics violation, what is?”

  MacReady shrugged uncomfortably. “I had no proof. I was just…”

  “Talking through your hat?”

  “Suspicious. That’s all. Suspicious.”

  “So even though you suspected a clear-cut ethics violation, and even though it would’ve been to your political advantage to reveal your suspicions, you kept quiet about this incriminating incident for seven years. Let me tell you, Congressman-that’s what I find suspicious.”

  “Objection!” Padolino bellowed.

  “Sustained.” Herndon gave Ben a harsh look. “Watch yourself, counsel.”

  Ben plowed ahead. “Sir, where was the desk in Senator Glancy’s office?”

  “Same place it is today. In the rear center of the room, opposite the door, maybe ten feet back.”

  “And did you stay in the doorway or did you step inside?”

  “Well, I obviously didn’t step inside. You know what they say. Three’s a crowd.”

  “And the couple you observed were behind the desk.”

  “Yes. But I could see her clearly enough. Just off to the side and above the desk.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But since you said the other person involved was lying down on the floor and she was facing him-his head would’ve been behind the desk. How on earth could you see him?”

  For the first time, MacReady hesitated momentarily before answering, which Ben took as a personal triumph. “Well, his feet and hands were sticking out the side.”

  “Could you see his face?”

  “There was no doubt about who-”

  “Please answer my question. Could you see his face?”

  He sighed. “No, not as such. But it stands to reason-”

  “That there was another person there. But you can’t say for sure who it was.”

  MacReady rolled his eyes. “You’re right. I suppose it could’ve been anyone in Senator Glancy’s office, behind Senator Glancy’s desk, having sex with a woman who wanted Senator Glancy’s vote.”

  “Move to strike,” Ben said, lips pursed.

  “That will be sustained,” Judge Herndon said, giving MacReady the evil eye. “Are you done with this witness, Counsel?”

  “Very done, your honor.” Oh so done. If he could’ve pulled MacReady off the stage with a hook, he’d have done it.

  “Do you have any idea how busy I am?” Jones said, waving his arms in the air. “Any idea at all?”

  “What’s his damage?” Daily whispered into Loving’s ear.

  “Shh,” Loving muttered back. Loving and Daily had come to Ben’s borrowed office space near the courthouse. “I can handle it.” He laid his hand on Jones’s shoulder. “Jones, buddy, I know you’re buried in paperwork. I know you’ve been fieldin’ three times the usual motion practice. Just yesterday I heard Ben sayin’ how invaluable you were. How he’d be nothin’ without you.”

  “He did?”

  Loving smiled, hoping Ben hadn’t mentioned that Loving hadn’t been in the office for days. “He did. Problem is-I feel the same way. I could spend days stompin’ around the streets trying to track down this lead. Or you could probably figure it out in an hour. So you see why I came to you. I mean, I’m beggin’ you, Jonesey. I’m on bended knee here.”

  “Oh, all right already,” Jones said, his face wrinkling. “What’s the sitch?”

  Loving told him.

  “Circle Thirteen? What the heck does that mean?”

  “That’s what we were hopin’ you could tell us.”

  “And that’s all you’ve got? Two words? Two very common words?” Jones turned to face the computer. “Jeez-this could take forever.”

  “I know,” Loving said. “But even if it takes days, I’d appreciate it if you could-”

  “Got it,” Jones announced.

  “Huh? What?”

  “I Googled it. Broadband is a wonderful thing. Amazing the stuff you can come up with…”

  “Just like that?”

  Jones smiled, obviously feeling very superior. “I have tried to show you how to use the computer.”

  “I don’t like the computer.”

  “Which is why I solved the mystery, and you didn’t.” Jones quickly scrolled down a webpage, scanning the text as he went. “Seems to be some sort of private club.”

  “I checked the phone book. There was nothing.”

  “I guess it’s a very private club. Besides-Circle Thirteen isn’t the name of the place. It’s the name of a group that meets there.” He continued scrolling. “Spooky-looking place. Spooky-looking people. Lots of black.”

  “What a surprise,” Loving said dryly.

  “They’re trying to keep strangers from getting past the home page. This site isn’t intended to be public-just a way for members to post messages privately, without leaving traces on someone else’s server. You need a password to gain entry.”

  “Can you guess it?”

  “I’ll do an end run.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Means I’m going to sneak past their firewall and bust inside. I’ve got a little algorit
hm that might do the trick.”

  Loving looked at Daily. “Do you understand what he’s talkin’ about? Because I don’t.”

  Daily looked back at him sadly. “Amber is the computer whiz in the family. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just a big paperweight.”

  “I’m in,” Jones crowed.

  “Already?” Loving marveled. Jones was fast. Maybe he should consider not making fun of him at every opportunity. On second thought, naah.

  “Oh my God,” Jones whispered, his jaw dropping. “Oh my God.”

  “What?” Loving said, hovering behind him. “What’s Circle Thirteen?”

  Jones took a deep breath. “Well, it isn’t a sewing circle. It’s more like… a coven.”

  “A coven!” Daily stared at him in disbelief. “What are you saying? That they’re witches?”

  “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.” Jones swiveled around and offered Daily his seat in front of the monitor. “They’re vampires.”

  13

  A t first, there were no inhabitants in the small dark ceremonial chamber. It seemed like a chapel, despite being entirely devoid of Christian iconography. There was a stained-glass window just above and beyond the altar, but no light came through it, and the images, to the extent they could be discerned, were dark and grisly: portraits of bloodletting, blood sharing, and unholy acts of violence to women and children. The only cross, just behind the altar, was turned upside down, so that it pointed toward the earth rather than the sky.

  Slowly, thirteen figures entered the room, single file. They were each wearing black hooded robes that covered them almost completely. Only the slightest traces of facial features were visible. They arranged themselves in the center of the room, lining the perimeter of a circle with a five-pointed star in the center.

  A few moments later, another figure entered the room. The contrast was dramatic. This figure was smaller than the previous four, female, and moved haltingly, as if unsure what to do or where to go. Her robe was white. Tendrils of blond hair slipped from the front of the hood.

  “Take your place in the pentagram,” one of the hooded men said. His voice was deep and commanding, and the female obeyed without hesitation. She moved to the center of the circle and was surrounded by the hooded figures.

  “Are you ready for the ritual to begin?”

  Her hood trembled up and down, nodding.

  “Speak!”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

  The man who had spoken, the tallest of them, stepped forward. He stood before her, gazing downward. He placed his hand upon her cheek, then slowly pushed the hood away, releasing an ample bounty of long golden hair and a face so young she could barely have been out of her teens. She stared, wide-eyed, as if she were powerless to look away from his piercing eyes. His thin blood-red lips turned upward, revealing a brief flash of incandescent white teeth. The other men began to chant in a low monotone, incanting some strange, numinous ritual in a language other than English.

  “Kneel before me, woman.”

  She obeyed, lowering herself to the floor.

  “Do you worship me with all your heart and soul and mind?”

  “I do, my master.” She leaned forward, abasing herself before the man in the black robe.

  “Are you prepared to take your place in our brotherhood? To become one with the Inner Circle?” His booming voice reverberated through the tiny chapel.

  “I am.”

  “Is it your devout desire to become one with the Sire? To enter into Holy Communion with him?”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, yes.”

  “Very well, Beatrice. You may now disrobe.”

  Without apparent thought or reservation, she shook the robe off her shoulders. She was wearing nothing beneath. The folds of the robe gathered around her knees, leaving her entirely naked and exposed.

  With such speed that it took everyone in the room by surprise, the man raised his hand and struck her face with the back of his fist. She tumbled sideways, halting her fall with an outstretched arm. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her upright, then hit her again, even harder than before. A trickle of blood spilled from her mouth. A blue-black bruise began to swell. And then he hit her again.

  “You are not ready,” the man intoned, still clutching her hair. He hit her again, and her eyes fluttered closed. He threw her backward and she fell in a heap on the tile floor, her legs askew, her bloody face turned to one side.

  “Leave her,” the man said bitterly. “When she wakes, I will talk with her further. She can still be of service to us.”

  He left the room, and a moment later the others followed, leaving behind the young woman, her beautiful blond hair now sullied by the caked and sticky blood streaming from her broken nose.

  “Bit rough on her, weren’t you?” He removed his robe and carefully placed it on a coat hanger.

  “For a reason,” the man with the piercing eyes replied.

  “But we need her to talk.”

  “Yes. But we also need to know that what she tells us is true.”

  “Naturally. But-”

  “Complete subjugation of the will requires time. We must strip away her attachments to her former existence. Her world must become me. Her purpose for living must be to serve me, and me alone.”

  “How can you know she’ll-”

  “I know.” The man had exchanged his dark hooded robe for a jet-black cloak. In the low lighting, he was almost invisible.

  “That sounds good, in theory. But this is getting out of control. If she got away and talked to-”

  “She will not. Never fear, my friend. Everything is completely in control.”

  “You’re sure about that.”

  “I am.” He turned, easing out of his chair as if his body had no solidity at all, as if it were pure liquid. “The sanctity of the Inner Circle will be preserved.”

  “You can’t know that. What if she refuses to talk?”

  He stepped closer to his companion, near enough that the much shorter man imagined he could feel heat emanating from those relentless black eyes. “I am the Sire, my friend. No one refuses to talk to me. No one refuses me anything.”

  14

  B en ducked into a side room, hoping to escape the throng of reporters in the corridor begging for a quote, wanting to know if the testimony of the distinguished congressman from Arkansas was “the final nail in Glancy’s coffin.” Ben didn’t like to talk to the press before or during a trial, and he knew he couldn’t come up with any answer that could give the situation a positive “spin.”

  He closed the door behind him, dropped into the nearest chair, took a deep breath-and realized he was not alone.

  “Like vultures, aren’t they?”

  Ben was startled to see his opponent, Paul Padolino, sitting on the other side of the conference table, leaning back in one chair, his feet propped up on another.

  “They are when you’re a defense attorney. What are you doing in here?”

  “Same as you. Hiding.”

  “Don’t you have an office in this building?”

  “Yes. Alas, the minions of the Franken-fifth estate know where it is. And by the way, the press doesn’t just hassle defense attorneys. We get our fair share of grief on the prosecution side, too.”

  “It isn’t the same. Defense lawyers are treated like pariahs. People assume anyone accused of a crime is guilty-especially if they’re prominent. Which makes us the slime trying to get the guilty people off.”

  “Defensive, much?” Padolino asked, smiling slightly.

  “Yes. And if you knew how many times I’ve seen the district attorney get it wrong, or take the easy way out, you would be, too.”

  Padolino shrugged. “Perhaps. But of course, you come from Oklahoma, where district attorneys hold press conferences to brag about how many people they’ve put on death row and forensic scientists falsify evidence to help them do it.”

  Ben cringed and quickly changed the subject
. “I’ve noticed that you aren’t going for the press conference routine much. Even though God has given you an incredibly high-profile case and public sympathy-and my informants tell me you have political aspirations.”

  Padolino smiled. “Whether I do or I don’t, I believe criminal cases should be tried in the courtroom, not on the evening news. Besides, I could never compete with your boy’s PR machine. Best to just stay out of its way.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels. “Care for a smoke?”

  Ben blinked. “I thought all federal courthouses prohibited-”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

  “No thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  “A little snort, then?” From the other side of his coat, Padolino produced a silver flask.

  “Uh, no. I don’t really drink much, either. Certainly not when-”

  Padolino tossed his head toward the kitchenette in the corner. “Cup of jamoke?”

  “Ohhh…”

  “You’re telling me you don’t even drink coffee?”

  “Well, the rumor is, it isn’t actually good for you.”

  “Hell, Bressler was right. You are a saint.” His smile made it come off funny, not mean-spirited. “But I don’t think you’re nearly as naïve or as gormless as you seem sometimes.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben insisted, then added, “but just for the record, I don’t think you’re the politically ambitious anything-for-a-conviction prosecutor you sometimes seem, either.”

  “Hey, have I treated you badly?”

  Ben shrugged. In truth, he had not. He’d produced everything as required, at least so far as Ben knew, and had done so in a timely fashion. He’d given Ben access to all his witnesses. He hadn’t engaged in ad hominem character attacks-well, not on Ben’s character, anyway. Despite being given a case with numerous exploitable possibilities and public opinion vastly in his favor, Padolino had played it pretty straight. “No. You’ve been a model prosecutor, far as I’m concerned.”

  “I’ve had no reason not to be. Don’t misunderstand-I’m not saying I don’t want to nail your client. But I haven’t got any grudge against you, so there haven’t been any sneaky courtroom tricks, leaks to the press, any of that rot. And I plan to keep it that way.” He pointed a finger. “I do intend to win this case. But I’m going to do it the right way.”