Capitol Murder (17 page)

“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,” Loving 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.”

“Objection!” Padolino shouted.

Judge Herndon looked down sternly from the bench. “Mr. Kincaid, you will govern your conduct
in accordance with the rules of decorum promulgated by this court. That kind of behavior might be
acceptable in—” It was impossible to miss the note of derision in his voice. “—Oooo-kla-homa, but
I will not tolerate it in my courtroom. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir. My apologies.” Jerk. He turned back to the witness. “The fact remains. You can’t
explain the puncture mark.”

“As I said, the knife might’ve nicked the vein—”

“Come on, Doctor. Isn’t it far more likely that the vein was penetrated by something smaller
than a great big chopping knife?”

“There’s no evidence that another weapon was used on the woman.”

“Sure, not now. Not after she’s been ripped to shreds. But isn’t it possible that there was
evidence of another weapon before? Evidence that was obliterated by the slashing of her
neck?”

“Your honor,” Padolino said, “I must protest. This is idle speculation.”

“An expert witness is allowed to offer an opinion, based upon his expertise,” Herndon
answered. Ben was glad to see the judge wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge. “I’ll allow it.”

“All you have,” Bukowsky insisted, “is a tiny, easily dismissed puncture wound—”

“Is that all I have?” Ben flipped through a few more pages in the report. “I read on page
twenty-six that there was a cut on her trachea.”

“Now, that could easily have been made by the knife.”

“Yes, it could have. But my medical experts tell me that if her trachea had been cut with a
knife while she was still alive, she would’ve aspirated blood.” Now it was Ben’s turn to lean
forward. “Isn’t that correct, Doctor?”

The doctor fell silent.

“I didn’t quite get your response, Dr. Bukowsky. If her trachea had been cut while she was
still alive, wouldn’t she have aspirated blood?”

“It’s . . . possible.”

“Possible? It’s a medical certainty! But she didn’t aspirate blood, did she? Were there any
traces of blood in her lungs?”

“No,” the doctor said succinctly.

“And that means—” Ben paused, making sure everyone was with him. “At the time this woman was
slashed on the throat, she was already dead or dying.”

Bukowsky clearly was not prepared for this line of reasoning. “But—why would anyone cut her if
she was already dead or dying?”

“To disguise the real manner in which she was killed, of course. Whatever it was that caused
that puncture. The murderer obliterated the killing wound.”

“I can’t agree with that conclusion.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Your honor,” Padolino began.

Ben continued unabated. “Whether you agree or not, Doctor—you can’t rule the possibility out,
can you? It is an explanation consistent with the medical evidence. Right?”

His lips pursed. His tongue slowed. “I suppose it is . . . possible. But—”

“That’s all I wanted to hear. Thank you for your candor, Doctor. No more questions.”

After several failed attempts, Loving finally managed to get her on the phone.

“Lucille?”

“Well, hello there, sugah. Didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon. But I can’t say that
I mind. You wanna come—”

“It’s about Amber.”

Her voice took on an instantly sober tone. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I can’t get to her.”

Lucille didn’t hesitate. “What do you need me to do?”

Loving gave her the address. “We’ll meet you out front. And Lucille?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t dress like you normally would. You gotta wear black—like the stuff Amber liked the last
few times you saw her. And it needs to be kinda . . . trashy.”

“Trashy poor, or trashy I-want-you-inside-my-pants-right-now?”