Capitol Murder (6 page)

“You’re not planning to run, are you?”

“My prospects don’t look quite as good as they once did, huh? But that won’t stop them from
slinging charges of ‘typical Democratic immorality’ at whoever does run, and using me as Exhibit
A.” He inhaled deeply. “So, can I assume you’ve both seen the video?”

Ben nodded. “Any idea where it came from? Or who leaked it to the press?”

“None. Looks like a setup to me. Someone wants to bring me down. Like Watergate, or Monica
Lewinsky. Start with a molehill, then try to make a mountain out of it. Send in your lackeys to
bloviate.”

Ben’s face reddened. “To . . . um . . . um . . .”

“Relax, Ben, it’s nothing dirty. It’s a word President Harding used. Means ‘to speak verbosely
or windily.’”

“Oh . . . right. Why didn’t I know that?”

“Because you’ve spent the last decade in the courtroom, not the Senate.”

Christina cut in. “Sir,” she said slowly, carefully measuring her tone. “I . . . don’t think
what I saw in that video can be characterized as a molehill.”

Glancy shrugged. “It was sex between two consenting adults.”

“Was it? What happened . . . toward the end. Didn’t look to me as if she wanted that at
all.”

“Did you see what she was wearing? How she looked at me? Did you hear what she said? She was
hot and heavy and raring to go.”

“But—”

“She wanted sex,” Glancy continued. “She consented to sex. And the fact that it may not have
been the precise sex act she anticipated does not turn it into a rape case. Consent is
consent.”

Christina fell silent.

“Marshall has already spoken to the DA. They have no intention of pressing any criminal
charges.”

Ben jumped in. “So you’re only worried about civil actions.”

“And the political ramifications, yes.”

“Do you think it’s likely that this . . . Ms. Cooper would bring a charge of sexual harassment
against you?”

“She disappeared from the office as soon as the story broke and didn’t show up for work today.
We haven’t been able to contact her. Who knows what anyone will do if you wave enough money in
their face? Remember Paula Jones? She waited years before she brought her case against Clinton.
Why sue all of a sudden? Because a Clinton-hating right-wing organization adventitiously provided
funds to cover her legal expenses, that’s why. And the Republicans then used that little
indiscretion to try to bring down the president. They appointed an obviously biased ‘independent
prosecutor’ who blew over fifty million in taxpayer dollars prying into Clinton’s sex life, and
Clinton ended up getting impeached over it. They’ll try the same thing with me—try to turn me
into the scandal du jour. Some of the more vulpine members of the current administration are
already calling for me to resign, but that isn’t going to happen. I worked too damn hard to get
where I am. I’m not going to give it up over this pip-squeak.”

“There’s nothing I can do to prevent someone from filing a suit,” Ben said.

“Yes, but if she does, you can crush it dead before it gets out of hand. I’ve followed your
career, Ben. You’re smart, you’re hardworking, and you’ve got credibility. People believe you.
That work you did up in Chicago on the Tony Barovick case—absolutely brilliant. And very well
covered by the media. You came out smelling like a rose, even though you had a supremely
unsympathetic client. How many defense attorneys could’ve pulled that off? I think that case made
you the best-known attorney from the state of Oklahoma.”

“And, ironically,” Christina interjected, “the poorest.”

“Anyway, that’s why I want you working for me. If you can defend a violent gay-basher and come
out looking good, my case should be a cinch.”

“You can’t be sure of that, Todd. I’m new to this town. I’m not even licensed to practice
here.”

“Big deal. We’ll line up some token local counsel and get you admitted
pro hac vice
.
The bottom line is this: if you tell the judges this case is frivolous, they’ll listen, and we
can get rid of it before the right-wing nudniks turn it into a political football.”

“The plaintiffs will try to make you out as some sort of sexual predator. The Senate lothario.
Anything to back that up?”

“Like what?”

“Prior incidents. In the office or elsewhere.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Todd,” Ben said slowly, “you’re a lawyer. You know how important it is to tell your counselor
everything. The good and the bad.”

“Ben, there’s nothing. So what do you think? Will you go to bat for me?”

“I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Sure you can. You can guarantee you’ll do your damnedest. That’s all I can ask of anyone.”
His eyes shifted slightly. “And I want you working right beside him, Ms. McCall.”

Christina shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Senator . . . I’m not sure I should be working on
this case. I—”

He held up his hands. “I know. You think I’m a scum bucket. You think I forced that intern to
perform a vile sex act against her will. Veronica wasn’t like that. I’d been with her before—she
was a poster girl for saying ‘no’ when she meant ‘please God yes.’ But you don’t have to believe
me. In fact, I don’t want you to believe me. I think it’ll be good to have a skeptic working with
Ben, someone to play devil’s advocate. That could be very valuable when we’re planning our
strategy.”

Christina’s head tilted slowly to one side. “If you say so.”

“I know so. I also know that—”

He was interrupted by a burly man, sandy-haired, with a bright tie and a pin-striped suit that
was way too flashy for Ben’s taste. He seated himself in the fourth chair at their table without
asking. “How’s it hanging, Todd?”

Glancy did not appear particularly pleased or amused to see his visitor. “Oh, fine. Just a day
like any other,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

“Todd, we’ve got to talk about the Alaska bill.”

Glancy brought Ben and Christina into the picture. “This is Steve Melanfield of Kodiak Oil.
He’s a lobbyist.” He frowned at his new guest. “I didn’t think they allowed lobbyists in
here.”

Melanfield grinned. “Just a matter of greasing the right palms.”

Glancy turned back to Ben. “You have to understand that in DC, there’s a certain hierarchy.
The president is at the top, of course. Then the Senate majority leader, the Speaker of the
House, et cetera, et cetera. And lobbyists fit in . . . well, somewhere beneath the carnival
geeks. You know, the guys who bite the heads off live chickens. There’s no one lower. Except the
NRA lobbyists.”

Melanfield was unfazed. “Come on, Todd, let’s be friends. I’d think you could use a pal right
now. Especially one who could put a lot of loot into your campaign coffers.” He paused. “Or your
defense fund.”

“And you’re willing to give that to me?”

“Damn straight.”

“And all you ask in return?”

“Is that you reconsider your position on the Alaska wilderness bill. It’s your opposition
that’s keeping the bill from getting out of committee.”

“You know what that bill would do.”

“Yeah, I do. It would allow us to stop being dependent on foreign oil. Which would allow the
U.S. to stop meddling in the Middle East in a never-ending series of conflicts that only increase
anti-American sentiment and kill thousands of U.S. troops.”

“By turning what is quite literally the last untouched wilderness preserve in the fifty states
into a noisome oil refinery.”

“We’ve spent billions in the Middle East—”

“Inveighing against foreign policy I don’t support won’t persuade me to change my vote, Steve.
I won’t do it. Not for your money or anyone else’s.”

“You know it’s going to happen, Todd. Eventually. Just a matter of time. When the people want
oil bad enough, they’ll demand that their politicians find it, quick. And that’ll mean bye-bye,
Alaskan preserve.”

Glancy sighed. “The sad thing is, you’re probably right. But it’s not going to happen on my
watch. Now push off, will you?”

Melanfield rose to his feet, no longer smiling. “You’re making a big mistake, Todd. Mark my
words—you’ll regret this.” He left the room.

“I think you just made an enemy,” Ben said.

“You can’t be a senator without making enemies. But a man has to draw the line somewhere, even
in this day and age, when politics are dominated by big money. Can you imagine—letting the last
untouched American wilderness be destroyed by oil companies? This is the country that invented
conservation, the whole idea of preserving land from development. We had the first national park
system in the world. And slowly but surely we’ve let that American ideal be eroded. Logging in
the national forests. Commercial sponsors in the national parks. And now this. Well, I’m drawing
a line in the sand. Whatever it costs me.”

“At least he’s a lobbyist, not a senator.”

“Right. Which means he has a lot more clout.”

“What?”

“Sorry to disillusion you, Ben, but lobbyists run this town. There are more than fifteen
thousand of them running around any given time of the year. And they have enormous
influence.”

“Because of their campaign contributions?”

“Money is good, no doubt about it. But what these guys really have that makes them
indispensable is information. They can determine whether a senator comes off as an out-of-touch
dodo or a sapient policy analyst.”

“But your staff—”

“Is overworked and underpaid. You have any idea how many thousand of bills we have to consider
every year? No one could possibly be knowledgeable about all of them. But if the media catch you
with your pants down, even once, they’ll crucify you. So we call on lobbyists to give us the
quick and accurate info we need to seem informed. That’s the true source of their power. Pissing
one off, any of them, can have serious repercussions.”

“Nonetheless,” Ben noted, “you just did it.”

He looked out the corner of his eye and smiled. “Like the distinguished representative from
Arkansas said. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

Shandy hadn’t intended to invade anyone’s privacy. She just needed a few moments to herself.
Sure, she wanted this job—had fought for it, in fact. Had done everything imaginable to get it.
But what a day to start work! There had been almost no orientation, not even instructions on how
to work the coffee machine. The moment she returned from the senator’s committee meeting and the
keenly disturbing aftermath, that rhymes-with-witch Amanda (Shandy didn’t like to use sexist
terms, even to herself) had shoved a pile of phone messages into her hand and told her to return
the calls—without telling anyone anything. Good luck with that.

“But what position is the senator going to take?” “Will he consider resignation?” “What’s the
reaction from his wife?” All Shandy could do was repeat over and over again, “I’m sorry, but we
have no comment on that at this time.” A machine could have performed the job. And a machine
wouldn’t have minded the hostility she met in almost every instance.

After that, Amanda had her reviewing and revising the press releases she’d drafted, a
pointless exercise since Amanda was obviously the type of person who couldn’t take criticism from
anyone. Then she had to make copies on that pathetic copying machine. Then she had to conference
with a delegation from each party. Ironically, Senator Glancy’s party turned out to be far more
hostile. She could tell the Republicans were enjoying this, savoring the opportunity to bring
down someone who had been mentioned as a possible national ticket player. The Democrats, on the
other hand, felt disgusted and betrayed. Why would Amanda send her on these no-win missions? Two
explanations leapt to mind. First: she figured Shandy couldn’t tell them anything because she
didn’t know anything, and second: Amanda didn’t want to face them herself. If Amanda had any hint
of what Shandy had seen after the committee meeting, she’d have kept her under lock and key, but
Shandy didn’t know what to think about all that yet, so she kept her mouth shut.

Shandy knew that as soon as Amanda spotted her again she would give her another unpleasant
assignment—something as bad as or worse than what she’d been doing all morning—so she told Hazel
she was stepping out to get some fresh air, just so she could have a minute or two to collect her
thoughts and slow the onset of insanity. She didn’t think anyone (other than Amanda, if she found
out) would mind. After all, they had told her where the senator’s hideaway was during the
interview, and she had been there before. She knew it was quite nice—it had a sofa with a foldout
bed, a television, a fridge stocked with soft drinks, even a faux fireplace. So she quietly wound
her way down the stairs and into the basement, through the circuitous maze of passageways that
led to the private hideaway.

Unlike the wide-open passages aboveground, down below the corridors were narrow and
claustrophobic, made all the worse by the discarded furniture and equipment that lined the way,
some of it junk so old she didn’t even know what it was originally designed to do. Stacks of
yellowed paper, dented file cabinets, exposed wiring and rusted pipes: this was The Land That
Time Forgot. She winced at the incessant clatter made by the electrical units, plumbing, and
bizarre ancient subterranean air-conditioning tunnels. Finally she arrived at the hideaway,
desperate to rest her feet, close her eyes, and just relax for one precious moment. She opened
the door and stepped inside.

Her scream was so loud it could be heard all the way down the winding corridors and even
upstairs, despite the rattling of the pipes, the humming of the exposed electrical wiring, and
the sucking of the ancient air-conditioning tunnels. She screamed and screamed and when she
finally stopped, it was not because she was no longer terrified, but because she was
unconscious.

The first time Ben and Christina visited Senator Glancy’s office, the scene had been chaotic.
When they returned after lunch, it was empty. They were baffled—until the police officer posted
inside escorted them downstairs.