Capitol Murder (12 page)

“What happened tonight? Why did you decide . . . not to work?”

“Oh. It’s nothing that big. Par for the course, really. Tonight’s a big Georgetown party
night.”

“Meaning . . . ?”

“You know. Frats. Alumni. Lots of politicos. Come down here for a big whoop-de-do.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Usually it’s okay. And profitable. Lotta the time guys’ll pay for the whole night then fall
asleep. They’ll be so drunk or drugged they won’t be able to . . . you know. Get what they came
for. Which is always a pleasant development.”

“I see why you insist on being paid up front.”

“Yeah. But tonight I got some jerk who’d been freebasing. Cocaine. Usually the boss lady spots
the druggies and won’t let them through the door. But in all the turmoil and excitement, this guy
slipped through the cracks. Started running around the room, screaming that the devil was out to
get him. He was gonna die and go to hell. Started breaking things. Hitting me. Nothing serious,
but it shook me up pretty bad. Security boys got him out before he did any major damage, but
still—”

“Musta scared the bejezus outta you.”

“Well, enough to call it a night.” She smiled. “How come I never get guys like you?”

Loving felt his face turning bright red. “I’m not really a party kinda guy.”

“You’ve got a nice wife at home, don’t you?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Someone let you go? Big mistake.”

“That was how I saw it, but I guess she disagreed.”

Lucille laughed. She brought a finger to the side of Loving’s face, then slowly traced a line
down his neck. “You know, if you really don’t have a girl back home . . .”

“Yeah?”

She shrugged, creating a cascading ripple beneath her bathrobe that Loving had a hard time
looking away from. “Well, I may not be as young as Amber.” She leaned closer to him. “But I’m way
more experienced. And you seem like the kind of man who appreciates . . . experience.”

Loving stiffened. “Oh, well, I—couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t?”

“I mean—not that I couldn’t. I could. You’re darn right I could. If I wanted to.”

She appeared crestfallen. “You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t mean that. I’m just sayin’—” He paused, his head turning to one side. “What am I
sayin’, anyway?”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she said, slowly pulling Loving toward her.

“Of that I have no doubt. But my boss wouldn’t approve.”

“Is that your final answer?”

Loving tumbled onto the bed beside her. “Hell, no. Just makin’ a statement for the
record.”

She smiled. “I’m glad. After all, you did pay for the whole hour.” She loosened the
terry-cloth tie and let her bathrobe fall. “And I would hate to see all that time go to
waste.”

The waiter brought Ben a replacement chair, and he had almost managed to sit in it when he
heard a familiar voice. “My, but they’ll let anyone in here, won’t they?”

Ben sprang to his feet. It was Marie Glancy. The senator’s wife.

“Are you referring to the guy they just hauled out of here, or me?”

She laughed, a little. Ben was glad to see it. He’d been talking and working with her on a
regular basis these past five months, but this was the first time he recalled seeing her laugh,
or even smile. “The former, I assure you.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” Ben said. “Would you like to join us?”

“Thanks, but I know you two have work to do. And I’m here with friends. They’re trying to be
supportive. As if there was really anything they could do.”

“I appreciate you being in the courtroom today. As I told you, it’s very important that you be
present, sitting in the gallery right behind your husband anytime the jury is around.”

“On the theory that, if I’ve forgiven him, then they should, too?”

Ben craned his neck awkwardly. This was not an easy subject to discuss, especially with the
betrayed wife. “More along the lines of, what he did was a private matter, to be dealt with by
family. Not by the press. Not by the public.”

“Ah. The Hillary defense.”

“Well . . .”

“Don’t worry, Ben. I understand. Totally. I won’t do anything to jeopardize Todd’s political
ambitions.”

Or yours? Ben had heard whispers at the Senate that Marie—a Georgetown political science grad,
top of her class—had aspirations that went beyond being a senator’s wife. Or even a first lady.
She was not a naturally attractive woman, but she did the most she could with what she had, and
Ben wondered if the ultimate result wasn’t the best, politically speaking. She seemed sturdy and
competent, not flighty or self-obsessed. She was from a good, well-to-do, old-money, blueblood
East Coast family, the sort of whom Ben’s mother would approve. Reportedly her family’s fortune,
combined with the considerable riches of Todd’s own parents, gave Todd the stake he needed to
build his career. Her reserved, cool demeanor was also a useful contrast to Todd’s more earthy
Oklahoma personality. What was it Christina had said? Partners complete each other.

“How do you think he’s holding up?” Christina asked.

“I think he’s doing admirably, all things considered,” Marie replied. “I saw him before I came
here, back in the slammer. I think he has been surprised by the harshness of the personal attacks
on his character. He knows this is going to be a blow to his future plans. But he’s dealing.”

Ben nodded politely, but inside he was reeling. Since he’d come to DC, these people had never
ceased to amaze him. The man was on trial for capital murder! But they rarely talked about the
crime, much less the possible penalty. All they talked about were the political ramifications, as
if this was just another scandal—the sort of thing every politician had to deal with at one time
or another. Most of Ben’s clients were terrified about the potential effect of the trial on their
personal freedom. The Glancys seemed principally concerned with the effect of the trial on their
approval ratings.

“And how about you?” Ben rejoined. “How are you doing?”

“I’m dealing, too. This isn’t the first difficulty we’ve had. Probably won’t be the last. You
learn to roll with the punches. And come up slugging.”

“I suppose you have to.”

“That’s exactly right. So why complain about it?”

“Still, I know these past few months have been . . . taxing. I’ve often thought criminal
trials are harder on the accused’s families than on the accused.” Just as he had for the previous
five months, Ben tried to warm up to the woman, but he found himself unequal to the task. Some
things just couldn’t be forced, he supposed. He should admire her resolve, her resilience, her
legerity and wit. Many a time he had wished the spouses of his clients had more of those
qualities. But he never sensed that Marie was masterfully containing the emotions seething inside
her. More like she was . . . strategizing.

“You’re doing a fine job taking care of Todd,” she continued, gracefully filling the gap when
no one else had spoken. “He really admires you, you know.”

Ben did a double take. “Todd admires me?”

“Oh my, yes. Even before you came to represent him. He’d read about your cases or see you on
television and he was so jealous. He’s often said he’d be happier if he’d remained at the DA’s
office and stayed out of politics.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, frankly, so do I.” She winked. “Todd’s a political animal. Even if he doesn’t want to
admit it. But you’re not, Ben. Anyone can see that at a glance. I think that’s what he admires
most about you. I think that’s why he insisted that you be lead trial counsel. I’m sure you
realize some of his advisers wanted him to go with high-dollar locals. ‘Money talks,’ that’s the
shibboleth this town lives by. Everyone wanted him to hire better-known DC big-firm big
shots.”

“I gathered as much.”

“But he didn’t. He has faith in you. As do I.” The food arrived. She shook Ben’s hand again,
nodded at Christina, then left the room.

“Mind if I ask what you think of her?” Ben asked. Maybe Christina could assuage the uneasy
feelings he had by offering a second opinion.

“I think she’s biding her time,” Christina said succinctly.

“Until this trial is over?”

“Until her husband’s political career is over. So she can begin hers.”

“So you believe the rumors.”

“It’s more than rumors, Ben. My sources tell me she’s already bought her comfortable but
affordable town house in New York. She’s standing by her man now, because it’s the savvy thing to
do. But as soon as he’s done playing politics, she’ll start.”

“Well, I suppose it’s none of our business. I should focus on the task at hand.”

“The opening statement dilemma?”

“Yes. I think I’ve figured out a solution to the problem.”

“Which is?”

“You do it.”

“Ben!”

“Don’t fret, Chris. You’ll be great.”

“Ben, you can’t just—”

“You’ll be great. I know you will. And that will give me more time to review the witness
outlines. Let’s finish up here and get back to the hotel so you can start thinking it out. Though
God knows, for what that hotel charges, they should write it for you.”

“You know, Ben,” Christina said, twirling a bite of salmon on her fork, “it is expensive,
keeping two rooms at the Watergate. If you wanted, we could—”

“Move to that Motel 6 across the street? Maybe this weekend. We have too much to do
tonight.”

“Ri-i-ight.”

Christina seemed faintly annoyed. Maybe he shouldn’t have dropped the opening on her at the
last minute? Well, he couldn’t waste time worrying about it now. He’d been doing his best not to
turn into a Valium case, but the immensity of this trial was overwhelming, and as always his
insecurities were running high. Had he bitten off more than he could chew? He’d been flattered
when Todd asked him to take the lead, but maybe it would’ve been better if he’d declined.

Ben had to put all that out of his mind. His client wasn’t the U.S. government; it was Todd
Glancy. And despite everything he had learned these past months, he did not believe Todd was
guilty of the crime. He was convinced of that.

Now all he had to do was convince twelve other people.

Loving stepped into the alleyway, hitching and adjusting his pants, a euphoric expression on
his face. Well now, he thought, that was a surprising turn of events. Might’ve been the most
pleasant surprise in the history of his employment with Kincaid & McCall. Who said a private
investigator didn’t get any perks?

Should he go back through Martin’s Tavern, or try to find a street outlet? He had a hunch this
alley eventually emptied onto Wisconsin and might well put him closer to his rental car. From
there, he could make a few phone calls, then start looking for this Stigmata joint.

He wasn’t sure how much he’d accomplished, but at least he had some fresh information about
Amber and one possible lead. He thought he was finally on the right track. And he’d made a new
friend. It was always good to have friends.

Loving stopped. Had he heard something in the alley behind him? He turned and carefully
scrutinized the darkness. It was hard to say with certainty, as pitch-black as it was here, but
he didn’t see anything. Probably his imagination. No one could possibly know where he was—no one
but his mysterious informant, Deep Throat. Could they?

He resumed walking. The sounds of traffic whizzed by at lightning speed. Given what Lucille
had told him, they were probably on their way to some party. Freebasing cocaine. Jeez, the stupid
things people did to themselves. He would never understand that. Or, for that matter, why a sweet
girl with a home and a mother and a perfectly good name—

He froze in place. Okay, that time he definitely heard something.

“Who’s back there?” Loving barked. “You need somethin’?”

No answer.

Loving considered himself a solid sort, not easily given to flights of fancy. But this whole
situation was starting to get under his skin.

He doubled his pace, just to be on the safe side. He could see the street now, and from there
he’d find his car, then get his cell phone, and he’d check in with Jones and maybe even see if
that club was open and—

The fist came out of nowhere, taking him by surprise. He had no time to duck, no chance to do
anything to lessen the blow. Was it coming from ahead or behind? He wasn’t sure, even as the fist
drove into the left side of his skull.

Though groggy, he tried to focus. “What . . . is it? Wha—”

He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the lid of a garbage can rushing toward his face,
battering him on the forehead. The back of his head slammed against the brick wall. He fell to
his knees.

“What’s—goin’—?” he mumbled, but it was no use. Consciousness was fading fast. He felt a hand
grip the hair on the top of his head and knock him back against the wall one last time. After
that, a deep black sleep shrouded his consciousness like fingers snuffing out the flame of a
candle.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury: when all is said and done, this is a case about violation,
in all its most repellent forms. Personal, sexual violations, yes. But even more so, violation of
the employer–employee relationship, violation of women’s rights. And perhaps most profoundly,
violation of the public trust. Because as the evidence will show, the crime committed by the
defendant, Todd K. Glancy, a United States senator, in the complex that is the seat, the very
heart of our government, not only violated the poor young woman he abused and then murdered.
Ultimately, Todd Glancy violated us all.”

Ben was so close to being on his feet he could feel his toes twitch. This was supposed to be
the opening statement in a murder trial, not a long-winded exegesis of women’s rights in the
workplace. Padolino was right on the line, almost but not quite verging from a permissible
melodramatic summary of the crime to an impermissible extrapolation of the crime to unrelated
issues—a plea to find the defendant guilty not based upon the evidence but to “send a message.”
No doubt he had rewritten and rehearsed this opening endlessly, going just as far as he thought
he could without being shut down.