Capitol Murder (7 page)

“Where is this they’re taking us?” Ben asked.

“My hideaway,” Glancy explained, his lips pursed. “In the basement. The best of all possible
Senate perks—and one of our most closely guarded secrets. A private haven far from the madding
crowd, but close enough to the action that you can still make it upstairs in time for a roll call
vote. Just a little place you can use to avoid lobbyists or tourists or anyone else. No one is
supposed to know about them—they don’t show up on the maps. Not even the Senate floor plan. But
all the top senators have one. Dianne Feinstein used hers as a temporary office during the
anthrax scare of ’01 and the ricin scare of ’04. Hell, in his prime, Tom Daschle had six of
them.”

When they finally arrived, the narrow hallway was congested by so many people it was difficult
to pass through. The door to the hideaway had already been restricted with yellow crime scene
tape. Hazel was there but not much help; her hands covered her face, which was streaked with
tears. Most of the other staffers were equally distraught. Only Amanda appeared to have kept her
head. She was facing down a mildly overweight man in a tan suit and white shirt, arguing with him
about some topic they couldn’t discern.

“What the hell happened?” Glancy muttered, soaking it all in. “Did the White House send cops
out to look for a semen-stained dress?”

“There must be more to it than that,” Ben said quietly. “A lot more.”

“Why?”

“That man Amanda is talking to? He’s a police detective.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I’ve spent a lot of time around detectives—and they didn’t put this crime scene tape
up for decoration. Something happened, and judging by the flurry of coveralled crime tech
personnel in there, it happened in your hideaway.”

“How could anything happen here? I’ve been in the cafeteria for hours.”

“I don’t know. Let’s see if we can find out. Christina, try to get to one of the uniforms.
I’ll work on the detective.”

They split up. Ben moved beside Amanda and the detective and waited for a pause in the
conversation, which given the speed at which Amanda bellowed, was a fairly long wait.

“Who else had access to this location?” the detective asked.

“Only members of the staff. No one else would even know it existed.”

“And I’ve met all the staffers here. Is there another office?”

“We have a secondary office a few blocks from here. At the Democratic headquarters.”

“Why so far away?”

“They’re full-time fund-raisers. They make cold calls, stay in touch with major donors, that
sort of thing.”

“You keep a separate office just for that?”

“No choice. Federal law prohibits fund-raising calls from a government office or on a
government phone. Just ask Al Gore.”

“Excuse me,” Ben said, cutting in. “May I ask what happened here?”

The man looked at Amanda, not at Ben. “Who the hell is he? Is he on my list?”

“He’s . . .” She waved her hand in the air. “Actually, I don’t remember his name. He’s the
senator’s lawyer.”

“My name is Ben Kincaid. Why are the police here? What’s happened?”

The detective scowled. “Like Glancy doesn’t already know?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Then what a coincidence that he just happens to show up with a lawyer in tow.” He
snorted.

Ben did his best to control his temper. “Would someone please tell me what happened?”

The man reached past his bulging belly into his jacket and removed a black wallet, then
flashed his badge. “I’m Lieutenant Albertson, DCPD. Homicide.”

Ben felt his pulse quicken.

“We found the senator’s missing girlfriend doing a headstand in the senator’s hideaway. On the
sofa, with her face wedged between the cushions. And her legs sprawled backward over the edge.
And a nine-inch gash in her neck. Huge blood loss. Does that answer your question?”

“Is she dead?”

“You betcha. That’s why we call it a homicide.”

“May I see the crime scene?”

“No.”

“May I speak to whoever found the body?”

“No.”

“I’d like to receive copies of all your preliminary reports.”

“Hell, no.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I?”

Ben knew he was staring at a brick wall, and nothing less than a cannonball was going to get
him through it. He realized how spoiled he had been, working in Tulsa, where his best friend and
former brother-in-law was a homicide detective. Mike usually kept him involved and shared
pertinent information, even when it infuriated the prosecutors. Obviously he was not going to get
the same courtesy from this detective.

He retreated to the doorway, where he found Glancy with Christina. “They found a corpse.”

“We know,” Christina said. No surprise there. Christina was infinitely better at working
people than he was. “I got the skivvy from the hunk posted outside the door. It’s Veronica
Cooper. The young woman in the video.” Both Ben and Christina slowly turned toward Glancy.

“What are you looking at me for? I didn’t have anything to do with it! I’ve been in the
cafeteria with you, remember?”

“And before that?”

“I’ve been in and out of my office. At a committee meeting. In case you didn’t notice, we’ve
had a fairly busy morning. I haven’t had time to come down here. But anyone could’ve gotten
in.”

“Anyone could have, maybe, but why would they?” Ben surveyed the scene. The videographers were
making their visual records, the hair and fiber teams were crawling on their hands and knees
searching for trace evidence, and a chemical ID team was coating the floor with luminol. “I don’t
know how to tell you this, Todd, but that serious problem you had? It just got a hell of a lot
worse.”

The police officers wouldn’t cooperate with Ben at all, but they couldn’t evict him, at least
not beyond the perimeter of the crime scene tape. Ben suspected they really didn’t want to; they
knew that if he left, Glancy would go with him, and they wanted the senator on tap. So far there
had been no questioning. Albertson was probably waiting until he knew as much as possible before
he started interrogating their most likely suspect.

Christina continued to schmooze the officer at the gate and anyone else whose ear she could
bend. She was amazing. Never once did she do anything that could be called flirting, but at the
same time she had an instinctive knack for making people like her, for figuring out the best way
to loosen someone’s tongue. At the end of the day, she would have more insight on the situation
than Ben could get in a week.

Ben was still standing outside the door when the coroner’s team took the body out of the
office. They seemed nervous, and Ben could understand why; it was a fair bet they’d never been
asked to haul a corpse out of the U.S. Senate before. At one point an assistant stumbled and the
top sheet slipped. Glancy averted his eyes. Ben didn’t.

Her face was ashen and gray, but there was no doubt that it was the woman in the video. She
was wearing more clothing now, but not that much more. Her white blouse was open three buttons
down, exposing her neck and a significant amount of cleavage. She was wearing a short but
professional-looking skirt, red and blue plaid, and red pumps.

Once the sheet was replaced and the corpse removed, Glancy turned back around. “My God,” he
whispered. “Who would’ve done this to her?”

Ben had no answer for him. But he suspected that every law enforcement officer in the room
did, and that it was an answer Glancy was not going to like.

Christina pulled a chair beside Hazel, the receptionist, and tried to comfort her. She was
still sobbing, blowing her nose, wailing about “that sweet girl who never wanted to hurt anyone,”
a dolorous expression engraved on her face.

It was really no business of hers, but Christina noticed that no one else in the office was
paying Hazel any attention. Certainly not Amanda, who still bore a stony expression and
periodically thrust herself into the police officers’ paths for no apparent purpose other than
being an irritant. She overheard a conversation between Lieutenant Albertson and his sergeant in
the corridor. They didn’t know she was with Ben; neither even looked her way as they talked.

“What do you make of it?” the sergeant asked in hushed tones.

“Got no idea,” Albertson answered. “It’s too crazy. But the evidence all points in one
direction.”

“Think he did her in there?”

“The CSIs haven’t found blood anywhere else.”

“I guess you noticed she wasn’t wearing panties.”

“Be hard to miss.”

“Think Glancy decided to go back for seconds? Maybe she didn’t like it, and—pow.”

Albertson grunted. “Hard to know. A man who would do what he did in that video is capable of
anything, far as I’m concerned. Think we’ve got enough?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Me, too. Let’s do it.”

Christina raised her arms, not dramatically, just enough to get Ben’s attention. While he was
watching, she locked her fingers around each wrist, pantomiming handcuffs. Which probably
wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. But they’d been working together for a long time. He’d get
the message.

“Senator Glancy,” Lieutenant Albertson said, as he strolled casually toward the senator and
Ben, a friendly expression on his face. “I think I’m ready to ask you those questions now.
Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Of course,” Glancy said. “Anything I can do to help.” He glanced at the still-blood-soaked
sofa, his eyes filled with regret. “I tried to warn that girl.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“Warn her?” Albertson asked. “About what?”

“Don’t answer,” Ben interjected.

The lieutenant and Glancy both stared at him. “Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Don’t answer.”

“Well, then let me ask this,” the lieutenant said. “How long have you been in this building
today?”

“Don’t answer,” Ben insisted. “I’m cutting this off now. No more questions.”

Glancy protested. “But, Ben—”

“You heard me. Don’t say a word.”

Albertson frowned. “May I ask on what authority you’re impeding this investigation?”

“I’m Senator Glancy’s attorney. And he has the right to remain silent, as you very well know,
even though you seem to have forgotten to read him his Miranda rights.”

“It was my understanding you were representing the senator with regard to a civil matter, not
a criminal one. As for the Miranda rights, this is not a custodial interrogation. We just want to
ask the senator a few questions.”

“What do you take me for?” Ben shot back. “I’m his attorney in all regards until you hear
otherwise. He’s not talking and that’s—”

“Excuse me, may I be of service?” It was Marshall Bressler, suddenly wheeling up beside
them.

“Where did you come from?” Ben asked.

Bressler smiled. “The entire building is wheelchair-accessible, Ben. Including the basement.
Federal law.” He looked up at the police lieutenant. “I’m the senator’s top aide. His
administrative assistant.”

“All we want is to ask the senator a few questions.”

Ben jumped in. “And I absolutely forbid it.”

Bressler gave Ben a stern look. “Failure to cooperate with a criminal investigation is a
serious matter. We could get all kinds of bad press.”

“I agree,” Glancy said. “I don’t see any reason not to assist the police, Ben. If I can help
them find the man that did this—”

“Don’t kid yourself, Todd. They think they already have.”

“What? Are you suggesting—”

“No, but they will.”

Lieutenant Albertson tried again. “It would be very helpful if we could just get clarification
on a few points about the senator’s whereabouts and—”

“He’s not talking.”

“Is that right?” Albertson said, exasperated, addressing the senator.

“You heard what I said,” Ben said forcefully.

“You’re just a counselor, Mr. Kincaid. An adviser. He can take your advice—or not. It’s his
call.” He paused. “You know, my uniforms tell me there are about, oh, two billion reporters
outside waiting to see what happens next.”

“What is that supposed to be?” Ben bellowed. “A threat? Blackmail? Any attempt to deny my
client his Fifth Amendment rights is impermissible under
Miranda v. Arizona
and
sanctionable by—”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.” The lieutenant ignored him. “So what’s it going to be, Senator? Do you
come clean, or do we go outside and inform the world that you’re not talking?”

Glancy paused, pursed his lips, exhaled heavily. It was obviously a difficult decision for
him. “It goes against my every instinct not to cooperate with a legal inquiry.” He sighed. “But I
suppose I have to respect my attorney’s experience in these matters and do as he says.”

“Have it your way.” He waved to his sergeant. “Senator Glancy, you are now under arrest on a
charge of murder in the first degree. Sergeant Reasor, handcuff the man.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Glancy said.

“I’m afraid I insist.”

“Why?” Ben said. “Just to humiliate him on the six o’clock news?”

“Standard operating procedure.” He leaned into Ben’s face. “I gave you a chance to save face,
wiseass. Now your man pays the price.”

“You’d already decided to arrest him. You were just trying to get a few pre-Miranda freebies
and we both know it.”

The sergeant handcuffed Glancy, then pushed him toward the door and down the corridor.

“I can run interference for you,” Ben said, as they approached the swarm of reporters waiting
at the top of the stairs. “Hold up a newspaper. Keep them from getting TV footage.”

“Please don’t,” Glancy said, and a moment later he had his television face on while a hundred
bright lights shone down on him and a thousand questions were shouted at once. “This is all a
terrible mistake,” Glancy said. “I intend to cooperate with the investigation fully, so we can
find out who really committed this atrocity. And then I’ll be back to work, serving the best
interests of my constituents, in no time at all.”