Capitol Murder (5 page)

“I’m sorry,” Ben said quietly.

“Don’t be, son. Hasn’t slowed me down a bit. I still work as hard for Todd as I ever did—maybe
more. I think it would be fair to say he has a lot of faith in me. And I have a lot of faith in
him.” He pursed his thin lips. “Which makes these recent developments all the more
distressing.”

“Senator Glancy called me yesterday,” Ben said. “He’s concerned about a possible legal action.
Maybe a sexual harassment suit, since Ms. Cooper did work under him.”

“There’s also a possibility of censure from the floor of the Senate. Even possible expulsion.
He’s going to need some astute legal advice.” Bressler rolled in even closer. “Can I be honest
with you?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t want him to call you in. You or your partner.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing personal, son. But this is serious business. He needs the best there is, not some
chum from law school. But then I started doing a little research on you. Even read one of your
books last night. You’ve done pretty well for yourself.”

Ben felt his face burning. He was never good at accepting compliments and always changed the
subject as quickly as possible. “Well, thanks, but if you want to hire other counsel—”

“Let me finish, son. What Todd told me was that he thought it was important that we hire an
Oklahoman—not some fancy-pants DC or New York City lawyer—and that he thought you had one of the
best, if not
the
best, reputations of any lawyer in the state.”

Christina’s eyes brightened.

“And I’m not just talking about your win–loss record, although that’s pretty damn impressive.
I’m talking about your personal reputation. I talked to folks, and what I got over and over was
that Ben Kincaid was a man with integrity. A man who wouldn’t lie to or mislead the court, not
even to defend a client. The world’s most square-shooting geek. A veritable saint.”

Ben shuffled his feet. “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”

“I hope not, son. Because a saint is exactly what we need right now. The news media is going
to forget all the good Todd has done for the poor, the homeless, battered women, since he came to
Washington. They’re going to try to make him out like he’s a devil. And who better to convince
them that he’s not—than a saint?”

Ben tugged at his collar. All this beatific talk was making him uncomfortable. He just tried
to do his job as well as he could. He was no saint. Heck, once, when he was ten, he stole a comic
book from Crest Groceries.

“So,” Christina interjected, “can we see the senator?”

“Of course. You folk need to have a good chin-wag about how he can best defend himself. He’s
waiting for you now in one of the Senate cafeterias.”

“Really?” Ben arched an eyebrow. “That must be . . .”

“Awkward? Not for Todd. Ballsiest man who ever lived. I think he wanted to do it as a test.
See who would sit with him, talk to him. And see who was distancing themselves, shunning him,
acting as if he’s already been expunged. A senator needs to know who his friends are. Especially
in times of crisis.” He pivoted his chair toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you the way.”

“Oh—let me.” Ben raced around behind the wheelchair to help—but found there were no handles.
“Aren’t there usually . . .”

“Not on my chair, son.”

“I’m surprised they make them—”

“They don’t. This one was custom-built for me. The senator’s wife, Marie, had it designed and
paid for it herself. Birthday present, not six months after my accident. Special executive
edition. See? A sliding tray I can fold across to use as a desk. A compartment under the armrest
for holding documents and files.”

Ben pointed to a recess at the end of the right arm. “Even a cup holder.”

Bressler shook his head. “Cell phone charger.”

“Okay, now I’m impressed. But still—no handles?”

“I don’t need anyone to push me. I push myself.”

“I didn’t mean any offense. Usually—”

“I know, son. But I’ve taken care of myself all my life. Not going to stop now just because of
this little accident. Now let’s get to that cafeteria. I think I can smell the bean soup from
here.”

He wasn’t hiding, not at all. Ben had to give him credit for that. To the contrary, Senator
Glancy was sitting alone at a table square in the center of the main Senate Dining Room, a linen
napkin in his lap, slowly sipping a drink. It would be virtually impossible for anyone to pass
through the room without seeing him, and, as Ben watched, several men he recognized as fellow
senators did come by and pause briefly to smile, say a few words of encouragement, slap Glancy on
the back. But none of the women, Ben noticed. None of the women in the room came within three
tables of him.

“Let me introduce you,” Bressler said, as he wheeled his way through the maze of tables to the
senator. “Todd,” he announced, “your legal eagles have arrived.”

Glancy immediately sprang to his feet, his hand outstretched. “Ben! Great to see you again.
How long has it been?”

“Well . . . a long time.”

“Too damn long. Particularly given all the good work you’ve been doing.” He shifted his gaze.
“You must be Christina McCall.”

She nodded and took his hand, wincing slightly at the grip. “Good to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine. Ben told me he was bringing his partner. He didn’t tell me she was
a beauty.”

Christina’s lips parted, but she remained silent, nonplussed.

“I hope you don’t mind me being blunt. I know we’re supposed to keep our mouths shut about
such things these days. Don’t want to be accused of being sexist. Or worse, get slapped with a
sexual harassment lawsuit. Which is why I’ve asked you to come here.” He glanced down at his
administrative assistant. “Marsh, will you join us for lunch?”

“Are you kidding? With all the pandemonium upstairs? I’ll grab a Snickers bar on my way back
to the office.” He swiveled his wheelchair around and headed out.

“Great guy,” Glancy said, as soon as Bressler was out of earshot.

“Certainly seems like an asset,” Ben commented.

“You don’t know the half of it. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him. Brilliant
strategist. Like one of those chess players who can anticipate what’s going to happen six moves
ahead. And so loyal. He’s always stuck by me—even after his accident. His legs are
paralyzed.”

“Permanently?”

“I’m afraid so. He tried physical therapy—I went to the sessions with him myself. Didn’t take.
He’ll never walk again. And yet, he’s never let it get to him. Never complained, never indulged
in self-pity. He works out regularly—he’s very fit from the waist up. You might wonder why he
bothers. Well, I’ll tell you why—because this is a man determined to take care of himself. The
epitome of self-reliance. Never married, never even dated, as far as I know. And given his
current physical condition, probably never will. But he’s still the most productive person I’ve
ever met.”

“What a profile in courage,” Christina said. “No wonder you’ve kept him all these years.”

“I’d do anything for the man. Anything at all. But enough about Marsh. How the hell are you,
Ben?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Your mom still in that huge mansion in Nichols Hills?”

“Oh yeah. She’ll never move.”

“My folks are the same way. Jesus—how long has it been—ten, twelve years?”

“Something like that. Since law school.”

“Right. How come we didn’t hang out together more?”

Ben shrugged uncomfortably. “Oh . . . I suppose we just traveled in different circles.”

“Yeah, like you were in the ‘make-good-grades’ circle and I was in the
‘party-down-pretty-mama’ circle.”

“Well, I don’t know . . .”

“You were on law review, weren’t you? And you won the big Moot Court competition?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“You did all that while I was schmoozing profs and local politicians. My dad wanted me to take
over his oil empire, of course, and I did for a while. But I always had my sights on the
political arena.” He snapped his fingers. “Didn’t we intern at the DA’s office at the same time?
You worked with Jack Bullock.”

“Yes. But I . . . left early.”

“Right, I remember. Your father passed on. That must’ve been tough.”

Glancy obviously didn’t know or didn’t remember the half of what had really happened, and that
was fine with Ben. “It was. But I moved on. And you launched that crusade to stiffen the
sentences for domestic abuse. Launched your political career while you were still an intern. Not
even out of law school.”

“I was very fortunate. Everything just fell into place. I’ve been lucky—I know that. Until
now, anyway.”

The assistant restaurant manager appeared with a pen and order pad. “Three for lunch,
Senator?”

“Exactly, Jonathan. What delectable viands have you got for us?”

“It’s Hawaii Day, sir.”

Glancy turned to Ben and explained. “Here in the Senate Dining Room, the menu is based on the
food of a chosen state. Different state each day. They rotate through all fifty of them, then
start over again. Equal time for every senator.” He turned back toward the manager. “Good God, I
hope this doesn’t mean we have to eat poi.”

The manager smiled slightly. “No, sir. I would recommend the grilled mahimahi, mango and
coconut on the side.”

“Sounds good. Ben?”

“I’m . . . not much of a fish eater. And coconut makes me break out in hives.”

“Sounds like you should have the bean soup.”

“I’ve heard the Senate is famous for it. Must be quite good.”

Glancy and the manager exchanged a look. “Not really. And there are potentially embarrassing
aftereffects, if you plan to be around people later in the day. But it’s like jumping out of an
airplane. Once you’ve done it, you can spend the rest of your life telling people you’ve done it.
Christina?”

“I’m not afraid of fish. Mahimahi for me.”

“Done,” the manager said, making sparse notes on his pad. “I’ll have that out right away.”

“Thank you, Jonathan.” Glancy smiled as he departed. “Wonderful man. Keenly mediocre dining
room, but great service. Did you see what a straight face he kept? As if he hadn’t seen the
video. But we know better, don’t we? And that’s what we need to talk about. Ben—”

Glancy was interrupted by another man whom Ben recognized. A congressman from Arkansas, he
thought.

“Hanging in there, buddy?”

Glancy turned, beamed, and put out his hand. He had the gift, Ben thought. When he was talking
to you, his attention was entirely focused on you, as if nothing else in the world existed. “Best
I can. What are you doing on this side of the dome, Shawn?” That was the name, Ben recalled.
Shawn MacReady, R-AR.

“Just schmoozing. Given any more thought to what we talked about day before yesterday?”

“Believe it or not, Shawn, I’ve had a few other things on my mind.”

“I can imagine. Anything I can do for you?”

Glancy chuckled. “Yeah. Vote no.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that. Remember the wisdom of the ancients:
Illegitimis non
carborundum
.”

“Sorry, Shawn. My Latin is a little rusty. Any chance of a translation?”

MacReady smiled. “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

“That must be gratifying,” Ben remarked, after MacReady departed. “When people stand by you.
Even after . . . something like this.”

“That perfidious cockalorum?” Glancy snorted. “Don’t be fooled. Politicians can be civil
without actually being friendly. He’s just consolidating support for his latest Arkansas
boondoggle. He’s got no business being here in the first place—he’s a congressman, not a senator.
But he thinks because he heads the Appropriations Committee, that puts him on par with us.” He
smiled at Christina. “Don’t mean to sound snobby. But it’s kind of like a legal assistant who
acts like a lawyer.”

“Heaven forbid,” Christina deadpanned.

“Why is leading the Appropriations Committee such a big deal?” Ben asked.

“Because they decide what gets paid for and what doesn’t. We can pass a bill and the president
can sign it, but unless the appropriators earmark money for it, it isn’t going to happen. So
MacReady gets to play Big Man on Campus, for a little while, anyway, and we’re all forced to
engage in a gigantic horse trading session, endless pieces of pork in exchange for the munificent
gift of funding our own legislation.”

“It’s a miracle you can pass anything.”

“Truth is, most of our legislation passes by huge majorities. Small wonder, given how long and
hard the process is just to get a bill on the floor.”

“Mind if I ask a question? Why isn’t
he
sitting with you?” Ben tilted his head toward
a tall young man, early thirties, with close-cropped brown hair and a blue suit, sitting alone in
the corner. “I would think the junior senator from Oklahoma would’ve been the first to offer a
few consoling words.”

“Brad Tidwell?” Glancy shrugged. “He’s a Republican. He’s waiting for instructions from his
masters. He won’t speak to me until he has permission. He won’t do anything inimical to his own
career agenda.”

“Must make it hard to work together.”

“We don’t. Never have. He’s arrogant, contumacious, and jingoistic—exactly what we don’t need
in these troubled times. And a major-league whiner. Says he can’t get any good assignments
because I’m in the way. Wants to be the senior senator so bad he can taste it. The man is
worthless, and I don’t say that just because he’s in the opposing party. He’s set some kind of
Senate record for fatuous remarks designed to please special interests. I don’t think he can
remember what his personal beliefs were, if he ever had any.”

After the food was served, the three of them finally got down to business. “My chief concern,”
Glancy explained, “is that the Republicans will use this as a tool to engineer a putsch.”

“Excuse me?”

“A coup d’état. To put me out of office, maybe even influence the upcoming presidential
election.”