Capitol Murder (19 page)

Ben rose, clutching his aching stomach. “Nice work with the chair, Marshall. You really know
how to make that thing move.”

He smiled a little. “It’s my legs that are shot, not my arms. Who is this creep, anyway?”

Ben took a long look. “Darrin Cooper. We met at a restaurant a few nights ago.”

“Is he . . . ?”

“Yeah. Veronica Cooper’s father.”

“Oh.” Much of the anger drained from Bressler’s face. “Well, that’s different.”

“Yeah.”

One of the security guards addressed Ben. “We’ll take him to our holding cell, sir. But we’ll
need you to come in and sign a complaint.”

Ben waved his hand in the air. “I don’t want to press charges.”

The guard stiffened. “Sir, this is a federal courthouse. We take any threat to security very
seriously. We can’t allow—”

“I’m not pressing charges,” Ben said firmly. “Just don’t let the man in again, okay?”

The guard frowned, obviously not happy. “As you wish, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“This isn’t over, Kincaid,” Cooper snarled, glaring with his weird walleyed expression. “You
can’t go on working for the devil forever. There will be a reckoning!”

“With all due respect,” Ben replied, “I think you need some grief counseling. In the worst
possible way. I hope you’ll take this chance I’ve given you to get some.”

“Don’t pretend kindness to me. You’re doing Satan’s work. Helping the man who butchered my
little girl!”

Eventually the guards hauled Cooper out of earshot.

“Is that smart?” Bressler asked. “Not preferring charges? He doesn’t have to get into the
courtroom to get to you. How long till he shows up again to deliver another fist-o-gram?”

“The man lost his daughter,” Ben said simply.

“The man barely knew his daughter,” Christina interjected.

Ben nodded. “And that probably makes it worse.”

Although there were several people in the private apartment, none of them looked up when
Lucille entered, Loving and Daily close behind. In fact, no one even seemed to notice. They were
in worlds of their own.

Loving heard a stream of air escape from Daily’s lips. “Amber,” he whispered.

There was a long sofa in the center of the room, parallel to a glass-topped coffee table
littered with spoons and bongs and all kinds of drug paraphernalia. Various overstuffed chairs
seemed randomly scattered throughout the room, most of them bearing men or mostly naked
women—correction: girls—sprawled across them, all of the girls bearing heavy-lidded expressions,
focused intently on some far-off place. One of them was bent forward over the back of a chair;
the man standing behind had her hair in his fist and was pounding her with a steady, nauseating
rhythm.

On the sofa, a thin, ashen-complexioned man sat with his legs crossed, a relaxed smile on his
face, staring at nothing. Lying beside him, with her head buried in his lap, was a young woman
wearing a man’s shirt, naked from the waist down. Loving recognized her from the pictures he’d
seen. It was Amber.

“My God,” Daily whispered. He seemed unable to move, barely able to speak.

“It’s like goddamn
Reefer Madness
,” Lucille said under her breath.

Loving peered across the room, sickened, stunned, wondering what to do first, or next, or at
all. The guards posted on the inside of the room were ignoring them, just as they no doubt had
been trained to ignore everything that went on in here. But he didn’t kid himself that he could
get Amber out. He’d never make it to the stairs.

And the other problem was that Amber so clearly did not want out.

“Goddammit!” shouted the man behind the chair. Apparently he’d finished. “God, Vicky, that’s
good. You want some of this, Randy?”

The man on the sofa did not alter his placid expression. “Been there, done that.”

“How ’bout yours? She ready to go again?”

“What do you think, my darling?” He put his finger under Amber’s chin and turned her head to
face him. “Ready for some sloppy seconds?”

Loving held Daily back with the flat of his hand.

She squirmed and stretched like a kitten, her eyes barely open. “Don’t . . . know . . .”

“Daddy’ll give you a little something more. Just to help you along.”

“Yeah?” She slid off the sofa, curled up at his feet, and began to lick his hand. “Love
Daddy.” Chest extended, she shoved her tongue into his mouth. The kiss, if you could call it
that, lasted for an eternity. Loving restrained Daily for the duration.

With a twitchy abruptness that made Loving’s heart jump, the man on the sofa adjusted his
gaze, apparently noticing the newcomers for the first time. He scanned Lucille, top to bottom,
then smiled. “Want some X?” he slurred.

Lucille got her game together quick. She moved forward with an unsubtle body language that
made it clear she had come to join the party. “You talkin’ Ecstasy?”

He shook his head. “That’s for the losers out there. We got the real X. The good stuff.
Oxy.”

OxyContin, Loving thought silently. A prescription pain reliever, basically morphine. And
creeps like this one often mixed it with Spanish fly or other date rape drugs to make sure their
prey got high and happy and submissive.

The man on the sofa rolled his hazy eyes. “So you want some or what?”

“I guess I could take a hit,” Lucille answered.

“Hey!” Amber said. She sat upright, exposing herself. “I thought it wasss for me!” Apparently
she was so far gone she didn’t even recognize Lucille.

“There’s plenty for everyone,” the man on the sofa assured her.

“Cool,” Lucille said. “Hit me.”

“All you got to do is join the party. Come sit in my lap, beautiful.”

Lucille did as she was told. Loving cringed, but he tried to comfort himself with the thought
that she was used to doing disgusting things she didn’t much like. The man on the sofa poured a
white powder out of a vial into a spoon, then held the flame of a lighter beneath the spoon. As
he stared at the flame, his pupils dilated. “Doin’ a little cookin’, bitchcakes. Gonna let you
lick the spoon.”

“You sshould let me go firsst!” Amber said, sounding like a petulant drunk.

The man set down the spoon for a moment and brought the flame next to her face. She
screamed.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said flatly. “Just keep your ass on the floor and lick my
hand.”

Again, Loving kept Daily in check. The man on the sofa returned to his chemistry.

“What’s with your friends?” the man asked Lucille, glancing toward Loving and Daily.

She tried to smile. “They’re just looking for a good time.”

“Are they cops?” He turned slightly toward Loving. “Are you cops?”

Loving took the succinct route. “No.”

“You have to tell me if you are. Otherwise I can get you for entrapment.”

Loving remained stone-faced. Bless television for the stupid ideas it put into the heads of
slugs like him.

The man turned his bleary gaze back to Lucille. “Little old for you, aren’t they?”

“I . . . think they like younger action,” she replied.

He grinned. “Then they’ve come to the right place.” He looked up, his eyes barely focused. “I
can give you some X, for yourself or whoever, but it’ll cost you. I don’t get this stuff for
free, you know.”

“How do you get it?” Lucille asked. “You got a doctor?”

“Sweetheart—I am a doctor. I can get all I want.” He handed Lucille the spoon.

Amber was too stoned to be smart. “I sssaid, I want to go first!” She reached for the spoon,
but the man grabbed her arm, then slapped her across the face, so hard she fell on top of the
coffee table. The glass cracked.

Loving wasn’t fast enough this time. Daily tore across the room. “You son of a bitch. I’m
taking my daughter out of here, and if you try to stop me I’ll tear you apart!”

The two bodyguards were on him in a heartbeat. Damn! Loving swore silently. This is wrong, all
wrong. But he had no choice. He rushed forward just in time to trip one of the guards before he
got to Daily. While he was down, Loving stomped on the nerve center of the back of his neck. One
down. The other one, unfortunately landed a roundhouse punch to the back of Daily’s head.

All hell broke loose. The orgy was over; everyone moved at once. Even though most of them were
dulled by drugs, they could turn into feral beasts with astonishing rapidity. Daily moved toward
Amber, but the remaining guard blocked his way. Lucille tried to help him, but one of the other
men swatted her with the flat of his hand. She tumbled to the floor. Then the two bodyguards from
outside the door came racing inside.

Loving knew he had to hurry. He jumped over the coffee table and, before the guard pummeling
Daily could react, thrust a fist square onto his nose. Blood spurted everywhere. The guard
dropped to the floor like an anvil.

The man on the sofa wrapped his arm around Amber’s neck. Loving gave him a chop just below the
ribs; as soon as he loosened his grip Loving grabbed Amber by the arm and pulled her up to her
shaky feet.

“Run,” he said. “Understand me? Get out of here. Fast!”

He wanted to say more, but was interrupted by a chair busted across his back. Loving fell
across the table and onto the sofa, knocking drug paraphernalia everywhere.

His back ached as if it were broken. He could see that Daily had clocked the creep who was
doing Vicky, but two of the bodyguards were converging on him, one on each side of the
overstuffed chair. Loving forced himself up, his back screaming in pain. He stumbled across the
room, grabbed one of the men by the arm, and gave him a quick jab to the solar plexus. While he
was doubled over, Loving kneed him in the chin. He went tumbling backward and smashed into the
wall.

One left. Loving was in such pain it hurt to move, but he knew Daily wouldn’t be able to take
the man out himself. While Daily kept him occupied, mostly by acting as a punching bag, Loving
raced behind him. Not very sporting, hitting a man from behind, but at the moment Loving didn’t
care. There was no telling how long it would be before one of the goons on the floor got up or
more arrived. Loving swiveled his foot around and knocked the man’s knees out from under him.
Another blow to the front of the knees and he was down, howling in agony.

Loving leaned against the big overstuffed chair, heaving, gasping for air. He hadn’t fought
like that in ages, and for a reason. He didn’t like to fight, didn’t like to put himself into
situations where it was necessary. A smart man always has an alternative, that’s what Ben said.
But when you’re traveling with an idiot who’s worried about his daughter, all bets are off.

Amber cowered beside the sofa. “Get your daughter,” Loving huffed. “Get her out of here before
it’s too late.”

But Daily didn’t move. What the hell—? Loving pushed himself up, his back complaining
bitterly.

Daily was pointing behind him.

He’d forgotten about the stonehead jerkoff on the sofa, dammit. He seemed so drugged and
weak—

But even drugged and weak can be dangerous when it’s holding a gun.

“Put that away,” Loving bellowed. “You’ll miss, and after you do I’ll rip your throat
out.”

The man’s hyperdilated eyes didn’t blink. “Die,” he said simply.

“Randy, no!” Amber threw herself across the sofa and grabbed the gun.
“No!”

When the gun fired, her scream was like an ice pick piercing Loving’s brain.

With about half an hour to go before the trial resumed, Ben motioned Christina into an empty
jury room. She wasn’t surprised. Even though they had been over everything a thousand times, she
knew his personal insecurity levels were riding so high that he had an intense need to run
through it again—not so much for her benefit as for his own peace of mind. As if there were such
a thing as peace of mind when a trial was in progress, much less one of this magnitude.

“We couldn’t just whisper in the hallway?” Christina asked. She had gone the extra mile this
morning, perfecting her makeup, her hair, selecting her clothes. The cerulean blue of her jacket
matched her vivid eyes and contrasted perfectly with her radiant red hair. No doubt about
it—thanks to time, observation, and the Yoda-like influence of Ben’s mother, she had learned how
to dress herself up. When she wanted to.

“Did you see how many reporters are in the corridor? Those high-powered microphones can pick
up anything. And Marshall told me that Amanda was on the warpath. Apparently she disagrees with
our decision not to cross yesterday’s witness.”

“How can we conduct a defense when we have a spin doctor analyzing every decision based upon
how it will play on the evening news?”

“By avoiding her as much as possible. I’ve asked the appeals expert Glancy hired to babysit
her. It’s not like he has anything else to do.” Ben placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. “So,
you understand what you need to do next?”

“Perfectly. Are you ready to cross the distinguished senator for the opposition?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. There’s not that much I can accomplish.”

“You can prevent it from becoming any more lurid than necessary. This case has already had
enough luridage. The courtroom should be declared a lurid-free zone.”

“We’re down on lurid.”

“Very.” She paused. “I mean, in the courtroom. In real life, between consenting adults, that’s
a different matter.”

She leaned a little closer. Just before her lips reached his, Ben raised his hand. “Christina,
we have to stay focused.”

“I am focused,” she said, her lips still hovering a breath away from his. “Oh—you mean on the
trial.”

“Yes, I mean on the trial. We have to be at peak efficiency, free of distractions. A
well-oiled litigating machine.”

“Right.” She sighed, then drew away. “That’s always been my dream.”

“You know the plan. Let’s get out there and make it happen.”

She nodded, gathering her briefcase and following him out of the jury room. It was just dandy,
she thought, that he’d mapped out this wonderful master plan for the case. But what was his plan
for her?