Capitol Murder

by William Bernhardt

  He grimaced. “Count on Hillary to express something real in a way that makes it sound like a paranoid fantasy. I’m not talking about some secret society. I’m talking about rich Republicans, period. Even though there are more registered Democrats in this country than Republicans, the Republicans typically fund-raise more than three times as much money for national elections-and produce twice as many attack ads.”

  “What about the Delia Collins incident?” Christina asked. “The one Representative MacReady told the jury about?”

  “Never happened. I remember that woman-I met with her on several occasions. But I did not have sex with her. Not under anyone’s definition of the word.”

  Christina stared at him, trying not to appear dubious. “You’re sure about that.”

  He stared right back at her. “Believe me, Ms. McCall-if that woman had given me head on the floor of my office, I’d remember.”

  “But you didn’t vote for the bill she wanted passed.”

  “There never was any vote. I killed it in committee. Didn’t want to. I hate it when insurance companies play games to avoid giving treatment to people who need it. I would’ve loved to have helped that woman. But I have too many insurance companies making large contributions to my campaign coffers. There aren’t that many big businesses in my district, and most of them predictably support the Republicans. I can’t afford to alienate the insurance money. Sorry to be blunt about it, but that’s just the way it was.”

  “And Delia Collins couldn’t change your mind?”

  Glancy looked across the room at his administrative assistant, who was still whipping people into line over his cell phone. “Marshall Bressler couldn’t change my mind, and I’d do almost anything on earth for that man. He lobbied hard to get me to change my position. When he went through his auto accident, his insurance company didn’t pony up for half of the therapy he received, which they deemed either ‘optional’ or ‘nonmedical.’ If I hadn’t bankrolled his recovery, he might not have made it. So he was naturally sympathetic to this insurance reform bill. He’d mapped out an entire campaign detailing how we’d drum up enough popular support to replace the insurance money. ‘Let Delia Live’ was going to be the operation slogan. But it was just too risky. I couldn’t do it.” His head lowered, and when his voice returned, several moments later, it was considerably quieter than before. “I was greatly saddened a few months later to read that Delia Collins had died.”

  “Well,” Ben said, trying to be consoling, “to be fair, most experimental or untested therapies don’t turn out to be worth much. Desperate people turn to desperate remedies.”

  “I know. But still.”

  Amanda Burton slammed down her phone. “Look, Kincaid, I’ve been trying to go easy on you, now that I know how sensitive you are and how easily intimidated you are by any woman with balls, but you’ve got to give me something.”

  Ben blinked several times. “Could you… be more specific?”

  “I need something to tell the press. They keep asking me for our take on the Shifty Shandy testimony. Who are we calling to launch our defense? What’s our story? They want to know. And I can’t give them satisfactory answers, because I don’t have any! I can’t tell them our story when I have no idea what it is!” She hunched across the table, poised on her fingertips, her blouse gaping. “I’m good, Todd. You know I am. But I can’t spin air!”

  Ben tried to remain calm. “Tell them we have no comment at this time.”

  “We might as well confess! The East Coast evening news cycle will start in twenty minutes. I can guarantee they’ll have more coverage of the Gospel According to Shandy. We need something to counter that.”

  “As soon as we’ve made up our minds-”

  “It will be too late!” She glared at her boss. “I’m not kidding here. If this goes unrefuted in the press, your career is over. I don’t care if you’re totally exonerated. I don’t care if the Pope himself declares you his next saint. Your career in politics will be extinguished.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” Glancy said calmly. “I’m not sure, but I think everyone at the table understands your position.”

  She turned toward Ben. “We’ve been paying that investigator of yours a fortune. What has he got for us?”

  Ben coughed into his hand. “Well, none of this is verified as yet, but he believes that Veronica Cooper may have been involved with… um… how to say it? Involved with some occult figures.”

  “Occult figures?” She was practically screaming. “What, like Casper the Friendly Ghost?”

  Ben carefully scrutinized the grain of the tabletop. “No. More like… vampires.”

  Amanda pressed the heel of her hand against the bridge of her nose. “You’re telling me Veronica Cooper was a vampire?”

  “Of course we don’t mean to say that she really was a vampire,” Ben quickly added, hoping this sounded better to her than it did to him. “Just that she thought she was a vampire. Or… wanted to be a vampire. Or… something like that.”

  “Loving is still working on it,” Christina added. “But one of Veronica’s friends-whom we believe was also involved in this group-has turned up dead. Strangled in her hospital bed.”

  Amanda swore. “Fat lot of help she’s going to be.”

  “The point is,” Ben said emphatically, “if someone felt the need to kill her, Loving must be onto something.”

  “Yeah, he’s onto a bunch of crackpots. How do we know it has anything to do with this case? Listen to me, Kincaid-if you go into the courtroom with this vampire crap, they’ll laugh you all the way back to Oklahoma.”

  “You’re out of line, Amanda,” Christina interjected. “Whether you appreciate it or not, Ben is handling this defense very well. Brilliantly, I’d say.”

  “Look, Goldilocks, you may think your partner walks on water, but he’ll never be able to sell this vampire crock to a DC jury.”

  “We weren’t planning to lead with the vampire crock. I mean-”

  “What else have you got?”

  “Well, numerous compurgators…”

  “Character witnesses? You can’t lead with toady testimony!”

  “We weren’t planning to lead with toad-I mean-”

  “Then what were you planning to lead with?”

  Christina cleared her throat. “Well, to tell you the truth, we haven’t decided.”

  “What?” She clenched her fists again. “Todd, I begged you to hire DC counsel. I begged you.”

  “Even if you had, they’d be telling you the same thing, if they had any sense.” Christina’s cheeks were flushing. “You should just tell the press ‘no comment,’ whether they like it or not. And let us get on with our work.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, sweet cheeks,” Amanda said, drawing up to her full and considerable height. “I know what you’re all thinking. Amanda’s just a PR flak. A petty annoyance. Nothing to do with this case. But let me tell you something. I’ve got my finger on the pulse of the people. People just like the sixteen sequestered souls on your jury. If you don’t start listening to me-and if you don’t come up with something better than anything I’ve heard in here today-Senator Todd Glancy of Oklahoma is going to be convicted of murder in the first degree. That’s not a prediction. It’s a guarantee.”

  “What the hell did you think you were doing!”

  Lieutenant Albertson threw himself down into his desk chair. His office was not large, and with both Dr. Aljuwani and Loving’s considerable bulk in there, they were pressed close enough together to feel each other’s breath.

  “He told me he was the girl’s father,” Dr. Aljuwani explained.

  “Told me the same thing,” Loving said. “Even showed me his ID.”

  Albertson tossed his hands up in the air. “Well let me give you a news flash. Three days ago, a DC traffic cop found a ’97 Jaguar coupe registered to Robert Daily on the side of I-349. It appeared to have been abandoned. Upon inspection, he found Robert Daily stuffed in the trunk. He’d
been shot three times in the heart.”

  “Jeez Louise.” Loving ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s how the creep got Daily’s wallet.”

  “It gets worse. He appears to have been tortured-extensively-before he was killed.”

  “The killer must’ve been trying to get information about Amber’s whereabouts,” Loving reasoned. “When he couldn’t get what he wanted from Daily, he killed him, stole his wallet, and masqueraded as his victim.”

  “Given what forensics is telling me, he must’ve run into you only an hour or so after he finished killing Daily.”

  Loving pounded his forehead. “I saw blood on his shirt. But he told me he’d scraped himself when he clocked me in the alley.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I had no reason not to!” Loving rose out of his chair, frustrated by his own stupidity. “He was totally convincing. His eyes teared up every time he talked about Amber.” He paused, lowering himself back into his seat. “And I led him straight to her. Even left him alone with the poor girl.” Loving pounded his fist into his hand. “Damn! What an idiot I’ve been.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  “He could not have known,” Dr. Aljuwani said. “I, too, was convinced that this man was a despondent, loving father.”

  “That doesn’t cut it with me,” Albertson shot back. “You’re an experienced private investigator, Loving. You should know better. Give me one reason I shouldn’t yank your license or charge you with aiding and abetting a homicide.”

  Loving’s broad, square jaw was firmly set. “Because I’m going to find that man for you.”

  “How are you going to do that? You know where he is?”

  “No. But I know what he wants.” Loving’s focus seemed to turn inward, his forehead creased by determination. “Now that Amber is gone, there’s only one thing he could want. The same thing I want. The last surviving member of the Goth Girls Party of Four. Beatrice.” He paused. “If he doesn’t have her already.”

  A few minutes later, the temperature in the conference room had fallen, because most of the players had left. Only Ben and Glancy remained, not counting the federal marshals outside.

  Ben checked his watch. “You’re sure Marie understands I meant tonight?”

  Glancy appeared calm and worry-free. “If Marie says she’ll be here, she’ll be here. She’s very dependable.” He smiled a little. “But she’s not opposed to making people wait a little. Just to remind them how much they need her. Women.” He shook his head. “Speaking of which.”

  Ben looked up from the directed verdict motion he was revising. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you stick up for Christina?”

  Ben’s head tilted an inch to the side. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just now. When Amanda lit into her.”

  Ben waved a hand in the air. “Christina can take care of herself.”

  “I’m sure she can. But she shouldn’t have to.”

  “I… don’t get you.”

  “You’re the senior partner in the firm, right? You should protect your associates.”

  “From our clients?”

  “Amanda is not your client, and the fact that she works for me hasn’t once stopped you from telling her where she can get off.”

  “I’m not the smothering kind of boss. I’m not even really the boss.”

  “But there’s more to it than that, Ben. Everyone here knows that you and Christina are involved.”

  “You do?”

  “We do. And moreover, I have to tell you there’s a general feeling that… well, that you’re not doing right by her.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Glancy kicked his legs up on the table. “Well, as I understand it, Ben, Christina has faithfully put up with your other girlfriends, each of them chosen with immense stupidity, a former fiancée who put you off romance for something like a decade, as well as a host of other neuroses and commitment issues.”

  Ben raised his hands. “Where are you getting all this?”

  “I’m a senator, Ben. I have sources. And I’m telling you, just because we’re old friends, that it’s time you took the next step. Have you asked her to move in with you?”

  Ben fidgeted with his legal pad. “Are you crazy? Do you know how small my place is?”

  “Not as small as Christina’s, I’ll wager.”

  “My mother would never approve.”

  “When did you ever do anything your mother wanted? Besides, Christina told me she gets on with your mom very well. Better than you do, actually.”

  “Plus I’m a lousy conversationalist, a poor cook, I work all the time, I’m messy, and… and… my cats would be insanely jealous.”

  “Uh-huh.” He gave Ben a long look. “You’re afraid she might say no, aren’t you?”

  Ben fell quiet for a moment. “Not really. Actually, she’s suggested it several times. I mean, not in so many words, but-”

  “Then for God’s sake, man, what are you waiting for?”

  Ben fell silent.

  “Are you afraid it might damage your working relationship?”

  “There’s nothing I could do that’s worse than the stuff she’s already put up with.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Ben didn’t answer him. He couldn’t. He didn’t have an answer to give. “There’s no rush.”

  “You don’t know that. Hell, look at me. One day I’m being touted as a potential presidential candidate, the next I’m practically on death row. None of us knows what the future holds, or how much future we’ll have. But I know this-you and Christina are a good match. And you’re both well into your thirties. She’s been very patient with you, Ben. But if you mess around much longer, you could lose her.”

  Ben’s shoulders sagged. “I couldn’t work if Christina left. I couldn’t function without her.”

  “Have you told her that?”

  “Told her what?”

  “What you just said. Your somewhat neurotic way of admitting that you love her.”

  “Have I-?” He stared at Glancy, wide-eyed. “Of course not. That would be… that would be…”

  “Honest?”

  Ben wrung his hands. “No. It would be… it’s just too… I don’t know. I’m not ready.”

  Glancy looked at Ben for a long time, then sighed. “Well, I hope you get over that, Ben. I truly do. And soon. Because Christina is a wonderful woman, and very devoted to you. But she’s ready to move forward. And if you’re not-” He shook his head sadly. “She’s going to move on without you.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Ben said as he pulled out a chair at the conference table for Marie Glancy. “I know how stressful this trial has been for you.”

  “Do you? I wonder if that’s possible.” Ben thought he detected a grain of sadness in her eyes, but as always she was perfectly coiffed and attired, her makeup unsmudged. “But I’m ready to do whatever you ask. Where is Todd, anyway?”

  “I asked him to step out. I wanted to talk to you alone.”

  “Why?” Her brow furrowed. “What could you possibly want to say to me that Todd can’t hear?”

  “I’m not saying he can’t hear it. He’ll learn soon enough. But it doesn’t have to be now.”

  Ben saw her back stiffen, observed the hard lines creasing her face. “Marie, I know your husband has been unfaithful to you.”

  Her chin lowered. “Am I supposed to act shocked? I knew about the Cooper affair long before that video broke.”

  “But then why, in the courtroom-”

  “Did I put on the big teary-eyed dog-and-pony show? Because that’s what people expect, Ben. They want to be entertained. They want drama.”

  “But racing out of the courtroom-”

  “Do you think I overdid it?”

  “I didn’t think you were ‘doing it’ at all. Christina told me how she had to fight to get you back into the courtroom. Why would you want-”

  “My people d
id extensive polling on the subject and everyone concurred that this was the best way to go.”

  “So it was all an act? A performance?”

  “Ben, my husband may be the senator, but I’m not exactly a silent partner. I visit the Russell Senate Building every day, even when Todd isn’t there. I know what’s going on. People talk to me. I have access. I knew about the hideaway, the underground tunnel system. I’ve got keys to every room in the building. I’m there so often the security guards sometimes don’t even bother to pat me down. Probably afraid I’ll slap them with some sort of harassment suit.” She paused. “What I’m trying to say is, my husband couldn’t have an affair without my knowing. My husband couldn’t pluck a nose hair without my knowing. So this great revelation was not exactly news to me.”

  “What might be news,” Ben said quietly, “is that I know you’ve hired a private detective to follow your husband around. That you were having Todd tailed for something like six months before the murder.”

  Marie settled back into her seat, her hands folded. “I had my reasons.”

  “Planning a divorce?”

  She removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Ben had noticed that she never wore the specs in court or at social functions, but always wore them at press conferences, interviews, or anywhere else she wanted to appear smart. A prop? he wondered. Or a distancing mechanism? “I have no intention of divorcing Todd.”

  “Forgive and forget?”

  Her lips thinned. “Divorce is not an option. It would destroy both-” She checked herself. “It wouldn’t be prudent.”

  “Then why the detective?”

  She peered at Ben with an expression he thought she must’ve practiced on Meet the Press. “I would think that was perfectly obvious. I don’t like surprises.”

  “You must’ve suspected something was going on or you wouldn’t have hired the man in the first place.”

  “Suspecting is one thing. Knowing is quite another. Having details is useful. Having photographs is even better.”

  “But why go to the trouble of gathering information if you don’t intend to use it?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She snapped the glasses back on with the heel of her hand. “I didn’t want to be perceived as some pathetic Hillary Clinton clone. ‘I was misinformed.’ Give me a break. If my husband decides to adopt a new cuddle-bunny, I want to know everything about it. I want to be ready when the news breaks. I want to be positioned.”