Capitol Murder (4 page)

“Mr. Kincaid? I’m Tiffany Dell. I’m a Senate page.”

Ben shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Senator Glancy asked me to show you to his office when you arrived.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can find it. You—”

“Don’t count on it, sir.” She laughed, almost a giggle. “This place is a maze to the
uninitiated. Took me a week to get the lay of the land.”

“Still, you must have more important things—”

“Sir, running errands for senators is what pages do. It’s, like, our job description.”

“Very well,” Christina said. “Lead on. By the way, love that suit.”

“Thanks, but I didn’t pick it out. It’s the standard page uniform. You can’t change it. We’re
not even allowed to wear jewelry. I try to do the best I can with it.”

“You succeed. Helps that you’re in great shape.”

“I should be. On average, pages walk seven miles a day.”

“Wow. You must be all muscle tone. Ben, I’m dumping you to become a Senate page.”

Tiffany laughed. “I think you’re over the age limit, nothing personal. And even though it’s
good exercise—it’s exhausting. Back and forth between the houses, all day long. The underground
tram barely helps. Though I’d rather be out and about than stuck in that tiny former cloakroom we
call our headquarters.” She led them around a corner and down a long marble hallway. “Do you have
time for a quick tour? We don’t have to stay in this building. Wanna see the Senate chamber? The
antique desks? The photo op platform where Vice President Cheney gave Patrick Leahy the f-word?
Or the West Front—that’s where presidents are sworn into office. Statuary Hall? The Rotunda? Or
the catafalque beneath—that’s where they originally planned to bury George Washington, and where
Lincoln and Kennedy and Reagan lay in state before burial. Did you know that the first Supreme
Court chamber was in this building, before they got their own place across the street?”

“I did,” Ben said, “and I’d love to see all that, but I think your boss is anxious to talk to
us.”

“All right. If your schedule lightens up, just ask someone to call for Tiffany.” She turned
toward a long narrow stairway and led the way.

Senator Glancy’s office on the second floor of the Russell Building, Room S-212-D, was a study
in chaos theory. Ben stood at the threshold and watched as more than a dozen staffers scurried
back and forth, ants in an anthill, each with their appointed tasks, each on a path that
intersected those of numerous others without quite colliding. Perhaps this was not the chaos that
it appeared after all, Ben mused. Perhaps, as Mrs. Austin, his fourth-grade social studies
teacher taught, this was Our Government in Action.

The office consisted of a large lobby with many chairs and a sofa, but only one desk. There
were four doors to smaller inner offices, all of them open. Three were occupied; one, the
largest, was empty. Ben assumed that was Senator Glancy’s office and wondered where he was.
Despite the embarrassing security kerfuffle, they had arrived almost exactly at the appointed
time.

The fiftyish woman behind the desk was juggling two phones at once while simultaneously
writing something on a yellow legal pad. Almost everyone in the room had a cell phone pressed to
their ear or, worse, one of those near-invisible headsets that allowed them to walk and talk on
the phone, but made it look as if they were muttering to themselves. Like the receptionist, they
were all multitasking. Apparently their jobs required them to do three things at once, perhaps
more. Ben wondered if the place was always like this, or only the day after a graphic, grotesque
sex video featuring the boss hit the airwaves.

Not everyone currently in the office worked there. Ben spotted what appeared to be at least
two civilians, one of them a father with three children clustered around his feet. “When am I
going to get those tickets to the White House?” he kept saying, to anyone who passed near him. No
one answered. Ben sympathized with the man, but he expected that visitor tours were not high on
anyone’s agenda today. Another woman was short, obese, and with such an evident mad-on that Ben
was surprised the security guards let her through the door. She stood in the middle of the lobby
and shouted, “When is my boy going to get his furlough? His dad’s sick. I need him!”

The ants scurried past her. If they noticed, they gave no sign. A young woman with
platinum-blond hair crossed right past Ben and stopped at the receptionist’s desk. Despite her
worried expression, she had an attractive face, with a slight overbite that made her appearance
all the more endearing. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. “I’m sorry to keep pestering
you, Hazel. But I’m still having trouble with the Blue Beetle. I don’t know if it’s broken or if
I just don’t know how to work it.”

“Probably a combination of both,” the woman replied, holding her hand over the voice end of
one of the phones. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”

“The senator said he wanted these memos out immediately.”

The receptionist gave her a long look. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”

While the young woman was momentarily still, Ben seized the opportunity. “Excuse me, can you
help me?”

“No,” the woman said, frowning. “I can’t help anyone. This is my first day here and I’m
proving myself totally useless.”

“Your first day? Good grief, what a time to start work.”

“Yeah. I’m filling in for you-know-who, since she didn’t turn up for work today. Not that
anyone was surprised.”

Ben was able to put the pieces together. By yesterday afternoon, the press had revealed that
the young woman in the video with Senator Glancy was none other than one of his office interns, a
relatively new hire named Veronica Cooper. She was probably deep in hiding, dodging reporters.
This young lady was taking her place.

“Tough situation to be plunged into,” Ben said, hoping that if she warmed up to him a bit he
might actually persuade her to take him to the senator. “You have my sympathies.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I wanted this job. I wanted it three months ago when it first
became available, but Veronica beat me out. Career-wise, this is a great opportunity.
Sanity-wise, it’s a disaster. The phones have been ringing nonstop. Just getting past the press
corps stalking the office was a challenge.”

“We had to meet that challenge ourselves,” Ben explained. “By the way, I’m Ben Kincaid. I’m an
attorney.”

“Shandy Craig,” she replied, shaking his hand. “I’m a baby intern.”

“Shandy,” Christina repeated. “I like that. Is it Scottish?”

“Oh, it isn’t my real name. But that’s what everyone calls me. Since I was a kid.”

“I’m supposed to have a meeting now with the senator,” Ben explained.

“Good luck. Everyone from the minority leader on down has been trying to talk to him today,
and no one has managed to do it. I think he’s lying low until he figures out how best to deal
with this mess.”

“Yes, that’s what he told me he planned. In part, that’s why I’m here.”

“You’ll need to talk to Amanda Burton. She’s the senator’s PR director. She keeps his
calendar. Makes sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. She’ll be able to tell you where he is. If
you can get her attention.”

Christina stepped forward. “Mind if I ask a question?”

Shandy held up her hands. “All I was supposed to do was run the automatic-pen signing machine.
I don’t know anything more about that video than you do.”

“No, not about that. I was just wondering—what’s the Blue Beetle?”

“I believe he was a comic book hero in the forties . . . ,” Ben said quietly.

They both stared at him for a moment, then Shandy laughed. “Is that where it comes from? I
didn’t know. The Blue Beetle is what they call the senator’s obsolete copying machine. He insists
on having all his memos printed in blue ink—and this is a senator who still hasn’t figured out
how to use e-mail, so we’re talking about a lot of blue ink.”

“Why blue?”

“He says it’s a friendly color. A larger percentage of the American population says blue is
their favorite color than any other. Personally, I don’t care what color ink he uses. I just want
to make copies. I’ve got a prepared statement I’m supposed to distribute to about a billion news
agencies, and I can’t get it photocopied.”

“Loving?”

The burly man stepped forward.

“Would you mind helping this first-day intern see if she can get her copier working?”

“’Course not. Let’s go, Shandy.”

The young woman hesitated. “Is he some sort of . . . repairman?”

“Well,” Christina answered, “actually, he’s a private investigator. But he’s been fixing Ben’s
copier for years. Yours should be a piece of cake.”

“I don’t know. This machine is pretty old. The senator is renowned for his thriftiness.”

“I bet it isn’t as old as Ben’s,” Christina replied. “Ben is renowned for his
impoverishedness.”

Loving strolled off with the attractive young intern—not appearing at all displeased with the
goodwill assignment, Ben noted. He and Christina crossed the anthill toward the office with the
nameplate reading AMANDA BURTON. Unfortunately, just as Ben was about to step in, she came
charging out, almost toppling him in the process.

“Hazel? Where the hell is that speech?”

The receptionist immediately put both lines on hold. “I’m doing the best I can. The phones
have been ringing constantly and—”

Burton placed her hands akimbo. She was thin—too thin, as far as Ben was concerned—and her
obviously tailored suit accented her nearly nonexistent waist. She wore fashionable thin black
rectangular glasses and kept her raven-black hair pinned to the back of her head. Not exactly
Ben’s type, but she was undeniably eye-catching. “Eighty-six the phone calls. Didn’t I tell you
to make this your number one priority?”

“Yes, but when I’m getting calls from the top brass—”

“I can solve that problem.” Burton reached down and yanked the cord out the back of Hazel’s
phone console. “In this office, Hazel, I’m the top brass. You will not replace that cord without
my permission. You will not get my permission until you have finished that speech.”

“But—we’re expecting a call from the president.”

“I don’t care if we’re expecting a call from God.” She leaned in close. “Like it or not,
Senator Glancy is going to have to make a public address today. And I think he just might like to
read what he’s going to say before he says it. So get to work.
Capice
?”

Hazel lowered her chin. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ben and Christina observed the entire scene. “So,” Christina said, “you want to approach her,
or shall I?”

Ben hesitated. “You know . . . she does seem to be more your type . . .”

“Somehow I had a hunch you’d say that.” Christina marched up to the woman, and Burton did a
sidestep to maneuver around her. Christina grabbed her arm tightly and held her in place.

“Excuse me? Your hand is on my arm.”

“Yes. Lovely jacket, by the way.” She tilted her head backward. “This is Ben Kincaid, and I’m
his partner, Christina McCall. We have an appointment with the senator.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I can assure you that—”

“I can assure
you
,” Amanda said, glowering, “Ms. Whoever the Hell You Are, that if
the senator had an appointment with you, I’d know about it.” She shrugged off Christina’s hand.
“I keep the man’s calendar. He doesn’t go anywhere unless I tell him to.”

Ah, Ben thought, the power behind the throne. Or at the very least, the ego behind the
throne.

Christina was trying to be patient, but Ben could tell it was a strain for her. “We set up
this appointment with the senator himself just—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Burton said, holding the flat of her hand between them. “Today all our
appointments have been canceled. As you’ve no doubt heard, we have important issues to deal
with.”

“But that’s why we’re here. We—”

Burton’s cell phone chirped. She flipped it open and checked the caller ID.

“It’s very important that we—”

“Talk to the hand, lady.” She turned her attention to the phone. “I know you have, Maury. I
know I owe you one. But this isn’t the one. I can’t say anything until . . .” She closed her
office door behind her.

Christina stared at the closed door, fuming. “If I killed her,” she said, “do you think you
could get me off on justifiable homicide?”

“Probably,” Ben said. “But let’s not go there.”

“Are you Kincaid?”

They both turned and saw a small wizened man in a wheelchair. His hair was gray and not ample.
Even through his trousers, his legs appeared atrophied, and he wore extremely thick glasses. Ben
guessed he was around sixty, but given the obviously poor state of his health, it was difficult
to know for certain.

“I’m Ben Kincaid, and this is my partner, Christina McCall. You are . . .”

“Marshall Bressler, at your service. I’m Todd’s AA.” He noted their blank faces. “That’s short
for administrative assistant. It’s like being chief of staff. I’m the top dog. After the senator
himself, of course.”

Ben frowned. “I was under the impression that Ms. Burton—”

“No, she just thinks she’s the top dog.” He grinned a little, and Ben couldn’t help grinning
back. “Amanda came on during the senator’s last reelection campaign. The idea was that we needed
to reach out to a younger, female constituency, so I hired her to show this old geezer how to do
it. After the campaign, we kept her on staff. Mostly she’s in charge of media relations.”

“She’s a spin doctor,” Christina said.

“Yup. Which explains why she’s so frazzled. If ever Todd needed a good spin, this is the day.
But she still reports to me, and the only person I report to is Todd.”

“He must have a lot of faith in you.”

Bressler shrugged in a self-effacing way. “I’ve been with him since the get-go. Managed his
first campaign for Oklahoma County DA, and every campaign since. Even after a traffic accident
seven years ago did this to me.” He gestured toward his useless legs.