Capitol Murder (38 page)

“Is it time for closing arguments?” Ben said, rising to his feet. “’Cause I had some more
witnesses I wanted to call first.”

Judge Herndon suppressed a smile. “Mr. Padolino, you’re up here to ask questions, not to make
speeches.”

“My apologies, your honor. I just don’t want to see the jury misled by all this nonsensical—”
The judge gave him a sharp look. “Right, right. Questions.” He returned his attention to the
witness. “Sir, you’ve talked a great deal about Ms. Cooper’s other alleged sexual partners. But
you’ve said next to nothing about the one we’re all certain of, whom we saw in living color. Did
you ever observe Ms. Cooper with the defendant?”

“Yes,” he said succinctly.

“How often?”

“About once a week. Occasionally twice.”

“Really. You’ve described Ms. Cooper as having such tremendous sexual appetites. I’m surprised
it wasn’t more often.”

“Well, the senator is a busy man. Interns have more time on their hands.”

“Marie Glancy told us you witnessed Ms. Cooper setting up the camera to make the videotape. So
you must know for a fact that sexual relations did in fact occur.”

He blew out his cheeks. “Right.”

“And how exactly was it you saw her set up the camera?”

Capshaw tugged at his tie. “Her apartment was on the ground floor. There was a bedroom window.
She pulled the shades, but they were made of that thin, gauzy stuff and . . . well, if you get
close enough to it, you can see through it pretty good.”

“So you invaded her privacy?”

“That’s more or less my job description, sir.”

“And you trespassed. Do you know I could have your license yanked for that?”

“I believe you’ve already tried, right?” Capshaw gave the prosecutor a sharp look. “But I’m
sure that attempt to discredit me and destroy my livelihood had nothing to do with wanting to
squelch my testimony in this case. You were just doing your duty as a public servant.”

Ben and Christina exchanged a probing look. Ben hadn’t known about this. He was beginning to
understand why Capshaw was being such a strong witness for them—and was doing his best not to
give Padolino an inch.

“So you had a close-up view of our senator in action, so to speak. Could you tell us a little
something about his sexual preferences?”

“I don’t see that there’s any cause for that.”

“Oh come on now, sir. The defendant’s wife talked about it.” And opened the door to this tacky
field of inquiry, Ben thought. “Why should you have any reluctance?”

“Mrs. Glancy told it pretty much the way it was,” Capshaw said, frowning. “He likes to be in
control. He likes to dominate.”

“So describe some of his favored positions.”

Capshaw looked up at the judge, but saw no relief from that quarter. “It was mostly
playacting. More often than not, he’d try to subdue her. Put her in a position of powerlessness.
He had one deal where he’d bend her over a desk or table, facedown, then stretch out her arms and
tie them in place with ropes or socks or whatever was available. And then . . . you know. Take
her from behind. Call her dirty names. Insult her. Sometimes he’d handcuff her to the bed. Slap
her around a bit, make her scream till he got aroused. Stuff like that.”

“Such a wide variety of experiences you seem to have observed. Tell us, Mr. Capshaw. Did
Senator Glancy to your knowledge have affairs with any women other than Ms. Cooper?”

“Objection,” Ben said quickly. “Relevance.”

“Overruled. The witness will answer.”

“But this can’t possibly relate to the relationship between the defendant and—”

“I’ve overruled you,” Judge Herndon said harshly. “The witness will answer the question.”

Capshaw’s eyes lowered. “Yes. He did.”

A heavy silence blanketed the courtroom.

“How many others?”

“I’m aware of three.”

Next to Ben, Glancy’s chin fell. Behind him, Marie Glancy tried to make herself invisible.

“Three? Well, I suppose you were only on the case for six months, and you spent most of that
time tailing Ms. Cooper.” Capshaw gave him a cold look. “How often did he see these three other
women?”

“One of them only once. The other two, about once a week. They met at hotels, mostly.”

“Once a week. Just like Ms. Cooper. My goodness, when you add all these women up, you wonder
how the man had time to attend any committee meetings at all.” No one laughed, but Ben would’ve
rather they had. At least it would’ve broken the pallor cast by this ugly tidbit of information.
“And were these other women young?”

“Yeah. All of them. Young, thin, pretty. Blond. He really liked the blondes.”

“So I gather.” Padolino drew himself up and faced the jury. “So we’re not just talking about a
philandering husband. We’re talking about a sex addict!”

Ben jumped to his feet, but the judge was already pounding his gavel, trying to quiet the
crowd. “Mr. Padolino, you have been warned!”

Padolino didn’t stop. “And we’re supposed to believe that this sex addict was going to pay one
of his many lovers a quarter of a million dollars? When it would be so much easier just to kill
her and stuff her in his hideaway?”

“Mr. Padolino!” Judge Herndon shouted, even louder than Ben objected, but it didn’t matter.
The courtroom was out of control. Reporters were racing out the doors, hoping to be the first to
file the story. Calls would be made, trying to track down the other lovers and book them on the
earliest possible nighttime talk show.
The National Enquirer
would make them all
millionaires.

But at the moment, Ben’s main concern was the broken man sitting beside him. “All right then,”
Glancy whispered, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears. “So maybe I’m not going to be on
the national ticket.” He clutched at Ben’s arm. “Just don’t let them kill me, Ben. I did not kill
that woman—Miss Cooper. And I don’t want to die for a crime I didn’t commit.”

Ben squeezed his hand and tried to sound reassuring. But as he looked around the courtroom, at
the frenzy in the gallery, the anger behind the bench, and worst of all, the faces of the jurors,
he knew that every one of them would probably not object if a posse rode into the courtroom and
hung Glancy from the nearest tree.

Their only possible course of action now was to put Glancy on the stand, to let him tell his
story for himself. But given what had been done to his reputation in the courtroom this day, Ben
doubted very seriously that it would be enough.

Loving had experienced a lot of pain in his life, but never anything like this. Every inch of
his wet flesh was on fire. Deep Throat had not only jabbed him with the knife, he’d turned the
blade, twisting it back and forth, cutting Loving inside and out. He was not content merely to
cause injury. He wanted to create pain. And he was doing a very good job.

“Ready to talk yet?”

Loving tried to respond, but the agony was too intense. He had to hold it together, had to
keep going until he had a chance to escape. But how could he possibly escape when he was strung
up like a slab of meat in the back room of a vampire church?

“I want to know everything you’ve told the police. Or your Mr. Kincaid.” The Sire pushed
himself into Loving’s face. “Answer me!”

Loving glared at him. “I would say ‘Go to hell,’ except you might consider that home sweet
home.”

The Sire snarled. “Hurt him again.”

Deep Throat jabbed Loving again with the knife, reentering the same wound. Loving tried to
keep silent, but it was impossible. It was too excruciating. He let out a ferocious scream.

“Don’t taunt him,” Deep Throat whispered into Loving’s ear. “You have no idea how dangerous he
is. How crazy. There’s nothing he won’t do.”

Loving was breathing heavily. Lightbulbs were flashing before his eyes. His heart was thumping
out of control. This must be what it was like to be crucified, he thought. Having your body torn,
stretched, until your heart gave out or you finally died of suffocation. Strong as he was, he
knew he couldn’t take this much longer. Already he was fading . . .

“Oh no, my investigating friend, we can’t have you dozing off. We need something to stimulate
you. Here—I think you’ll get a charge out of this.”

All at once, Loving’s entire body felt as if it had been ignited. He cried out, bellowing
nonstop, writhing this way and that.

The Sire had a two-pronged electric cattle prod pressed up against him, right on the knife
wound. Worse, Loving was still wet from the hose and he wasn’t grounded, so the electrical shock
waves radiated all over him, crashing down his spine, sending his brain into sensory
overload.

“Still not feeling talkative? Let’s try it again.”

He jabbed Loving again, this time actually pressing the prod inside the knife wound. Loving
felt as if he were being rent apart, torn from the inside out. There was no way he could endure
this pain—no one could. His heart, already racing, accelerated even more. He began breathing in
short quick gasps, never getting enough.

“Please stop.” Loving could barely see him—tears and pain were blurring his vision—but he
recognized the voice of Deep Throat talking to his master. “He can’t take much more of this,”
Usher said.

“He knows how to make it stop.”

“I’m telling you—if you keep this up, he’ll die!”

“Then let him die!” the Sire screamed. “I’m ready for my midnight snack!” He thrust the prod
forward again and held it, letting the electricity ripple across Loving’s body, over and over
again. Loving tried to hold it together, tried to stay awake, because he very much feared that if
he passed out he’d never wake. But it was impossible. The pain ate at him, his heart, every nerve
ending in his body. The room seemed to swirl. He felt dizzy, then nauseous, until at last the
deep swell of a black tidal wave overwhelmed him and he felt nothing at all.

“What happened?” the Sire bellowed, staring at the inanimate limp body dangling from the
ceiling. “What’s going on?”

“I told you to stop!” Usher shoved him aside and pressed his ear to the man’s chest.
“Damn.”

“What is it? What are you saying?”

“Listen for yourself.” He pushed the Sire’s head to the man’s chest. “Hear anything? No. Want
to guess why?”

“I—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you can cut Loving loose now.” He threw his scalpel down in disgust. “He had a
cardiac seizure. He’s dead.”

Ben had almost stepped into the elevator before he noticed the other occupant. Judge Herndon,
wearing an overcoat instead of the usual black robe, smiled and said, “Going my way?” in an
eerily reminiscent voice. Perhaps he was a
Twilight Zone
buff, too.

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to do anything, you know, improper.”

The corners of Herndon’s lips turned upward. “I suspect we can ride to the top floor without
invoking Mr. Padolino’s ire. Even if these are the slowest elevators in all humanity.”

Ben stepped inside.

“Turning out to be an entertaining little case, isn’t it?”

Ben’s lips parted wordlessly. Was the judge actually wanting to chitchat about the trial?

“I mean, I knew it was going to be sensational. But I haven’t had many that have been as
lively. So many twists and turns. Got to hand it to you, Mr. Kincaid. After twenty-two years on
the bench, you’ve made it fun to be a judge again.”

Ben watched as the elevator doors slowly closed.

“Did have one concern, though.”

“Look, if it’s about the vampire thing—”

Herndon made a noise that sounded like
pshaw
. Ben had seen that in books, but he
wasn’t sure he’d ever actually heard anyone say it before. “I’ve lived in this town since the day
I was born. I’ve seen a lot weirder shit than that.”

Ben’s eyes ballooned.

“No, I was thinking more about your whole approach to the case. The jury. I know I made some
remarks at the outset of the case that might conceivably be construed as disparaging to you and
the land you hail from, and I apologize for that. Like to spin the new kids around a little. But
you’ve proven you can handle yourself in the courtroom. One of the best I’ve seen, to tell the
truth. I mean, I’ve had any number of fancy orators—which you’re not, by the way. But when you
speak, people get the feeling you really believe what you’re saying. I can’t tell you how rare
that is. Can’t be taught—you’ve either got it or you don’t. I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to
have a successful law practice and still hang on to that.”

A look at our accounting books might answer that question for you, Ben thought.

“Here’s the thing, though,” the judge continued. “When you’re doing your cross, when you talk
to the jury, you’re pretty matter-of-fact. No high drama, no flamboyance. You’re just organized
and prepared and make a lot of sense. You don’t appeal to people’s emotions; you appeal to their
intelligence.”

Ben watched as the floor buttons lit, one after the other. This really was the slowest
elevator in all creation. “Is that bad?”

Herndon shrugged. “I’ve been out to your part of the world a time or two. Just visiting. Liked
what I saw. No matter what the scientists say, people are different, and people in different
places learn to behave differently, and I like the folks down your way. They’re friendlier. They
say hello to people they pass on the street. Cashiers say ‘have a nice day’ like they really mean
it. They remember what courtesy is. And people haven’t gotten so wound up with all the newfangled
flaky ideas floating around that they’ve forgotten what common sense is.”

“I sense a
but
coming.”

He chuckled. “But remember, Toto—you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“Oklahoma.”

“Close enough. My point is, a DC jury is a very different animal. You’re in Homicide Heaven
now. This is the land of people wiring themselves with walkies-talkies and pretending they’re
going to blow up the Washington Monument.”