Capitol Murder Page 5

  “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.”

  4

  S handy 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 Republic
ans 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.

  5

  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.

  “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.