Capitol Murder

by William Bernhardt

  Everyone laughed. Tears were in many eyes.

  “What about a press conference?” Amanda said. “I think we need a press conference.”

  “No,” Glancy said. “We’ve had a wonderful result, but that doesn’t change the fact that a tragedy occurred. We don’t want to appear to be taking political advantage of that poor girl’s death-or any of the other deaths.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Amanda scribbled a few notes onto her legal pad. “We’ll let a day pass, then put out a press release.”

  Glancy rolled his eyes. “And finally- Marshall?”

  His executive assistant wheeled to the forefront. “Yes, sir?”

  “Toss me your cell phone.”

  “Sorry, Boss-I misplaced my briefcase somewhere this morning and my phone was in it.”

  “Well, when you find it, call that damned overpriced appeals expert we bought-and tell him he’s fired. We don’t need him anymore!” Another round of cheers filled the courtroom. “All right, you clowns, get me back to the office. I want to see what a mess you’ve made of it in my absence. And I have a bottle of Dom Pérignon 1963 I’ve been saving for a special occasion. I don’t think they’re going to get any more special than this.”

  Part Five. The Genuine Article

  *

  26

  B en and Loving split off from the rest of the group. They had another stop they needed to make before they joined the party back at the senator’s office.

  Loving knelt beside the hospital bed in Room 342 at Bethesda. He wasn’t surprised to see that Shalimar was also there, watching over the patient. He placed his hand on the pale blonde’s forehead. “How ya feelin’, sweetheart?”

  Beatrice looked up at him, a faint smile on her pale, barely red lips. “Doing okay.”

  Loving jerked his thumb toward Ben. “Didn’t I tell you my man would take care of you in the courtroom?”

  “Did he ever. Have you heard what they’ve been saying about him on the radio?”

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “About me?”

  “Everyone’s falling over themselves praising Ben’s defense work. Even Glancy’s political enemies, people who still think he’s guilty, are complimenting him. Did you hear what the governor said?”

  Ben’s eyes widened. “The governor?”

  “Of Oklahoma, yeah. I don’t remember the exact words. But basically it was, It’s a shame our trusted senator brought us so much embarrassment-but at least we had Ben Kincaid up there to show the world what it really means to be an Oklahoman.”

  Ben gaped. He couldn’t believe it.

  Beatrice grinned, her lips chapped and cracking. “So yeah, I’d say he did okay.” She pulled Loving’s hand closer and laid it against her cheek. “But you’re my hero.”

  “Mine, too,” Shalimar said, jumping in.

  Loving turned a bright shade of crimson. “Aw shucks,” he said, sounding for all the world as if he had just stepped out of a Goofy cartoon. “I’m no hero. You’re the one who pulled my fat outta the fire after I got myself caught.”

  “After you got yourself caught trying to save my sister’s life. You are a hero, Loving. And I’ll never forget what you did for us.”

  “But testifying was so… draining,” Beatrice added. “They’re giving me drugs to ease the withdrawal symptoms, but it’s still… hard. The docs say I have to stay here at least another week so they can monitor my recovery.”

  “That’s okay,” Loving said sheepishly. “We’re not going anywhere soon. I’ll keep you company.”

  “Would you really?” her eyes brightened immediately. “That would be wonderful!” She squeezed his hand tighter. “I feel so much safer when you’re around.”

  “Aw, sweetie, you got nothin’ to worry about now.” Ben noticed that Loving’s eyes were almost as moist as Beatrice’s. “The Sire is locked up. The Inner Circle has been dissolved. Nothing can harm you.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She paused. “Did they ever find the knife that was used on poor Veronica?”

  “No,” Loving answered. “I imagine the Sire hid it someplace after he left the Capitol building. Doesn’t matter. What matters is-”

  “Wait a minute,” Ben said. All at once, he felt a cold chill race down his spine. “Wait just a minute.”

  Loving turned to stare at him. “What’s the problem, Skipper?”

  “The knife, that’s the problem. It does matter.” He pounded himself on the forehead. “I thought at the time-but then I got so busy with the rest of the trial-my God. Why didn’t I see it before?”

  “See what?”

  “Loving, I think I’ve made an incredibly stupid mistake. Incredibly stupid-and incredibly dangerous.”

  “Would you slow down a minute and explain what you’re talkin’ about?”

  Ben didn’t answer. “Can I borrow your cell phone?”

  Loving fished it out of his pocket. “Yeah. But why? Who’re you calling?”

  Ben punched in the number from memory. “Marie Glancy.”

  “Would you wonderful people mind if I had a few minutes alone with my husband?” Marie said. They were gathered in the lobby of Glancy’s office-Todd, Marie, Christina, Marshall, and Hazel. Marshall had popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and was pouring it into Dixie cups. Amanda had left to procure more bubbly and some snacks.

  “Of course not,” Marshall said. “How long have you two been apart now? Five months?” He winked. “Take five minutes. Ten, even.”

  Marie took her husband by the hand and led him into his private office, then closed the door behind them.

  “Think they’ll be able to patch things up?” Christina asked.

  “Of course they will,” Marshall opined. “They’re both professionals. A divorce at this juncture wouldn’t be helpful to the career of either of them.”

  “She heard some pretty ugly stuff in that courtroom.”

  “Trust me,” Hazel said, “she’s heard it all before. Maybe not in such a public forum. But she knew what her husband was. She knew when she married him.” She shook her head. “This won’t make a damn bit of difference.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Marshall said, wheeling himself up and handing them each a cup of bubbly. “I hate to start drinking without them. But there’s no telling how long they may be. And I for one could use a drink. Christina?”

  She hesitated. “Well, maybe one. But then I need to start packing up our stuff. No reason to have all this legal garbage cluttering your office.”

  “You can take a minute,” Marshall insisted. They hoisted the cups above their heads. “Here’s to Todd Glancy.” They all clinked their cups together.

  “What do you think he’ll do now?” Christina asked. “Politics is out.”

  “I don’t know. But he’ll think of something. Maybe he’ll teach, maybe he’ll practice law. Maybe he’ll write a book. Who can say?” Marshall glanced over at the closed office door. “He has so many possibilities. There’s no telling what might happen next.”

  “Damn!” Ben swore. “Still no answer.”

  “She’s probably callin’ all her friends,” Loving said. “Tellin’ ’em the good news.”

  “As if there’s anyone in this town who doesn’t already know. It isn’t busy, it just isn’t ringing.” He closed the cell phone with a firm snap. “She probably turned off her phone when she went into the courtroom and hasn’t thought to turn it back on yet. Either that or she’s ignoring me. Either way-” He turned back to Loving. “-you can stay here, but I have to go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Where you headin’?”

  “Back to the Russell Building. As quickly as humanly possible.”

  Why do I always get stuck with the packing? Christina wondered as she loaded the voluminous documents that had been produced into catalog cases and banker’s boxes. It was one thing when she was a legal assistant. Legal assistants expected to get stuck with menial assignments, even when they were t
hree times as bright as their bosses. But she was a lawyer now, and a partner, and-

  What was the use? She’d never be able to train Ben to clean up after himself, just as she couldn’t train him to take cases that might actually turn a profit. Just as she couldn’t get him to-oh, what was the use?

  She slung a few more piles of documents into the nearest open box. They were tumbling out of order, but what did it matter? In all likelihood, they would never be looked at again and would eventually be tossed out, unless Ben used them to write another book. It would be smarter to concentrate on the supplies and equipment.

  She thought she had everything-Post-it notes, perpetual calendar, the stapler shaped like the Eiffel Tower, the legal pads, the laptop-

  Wait a minute. The laptop. Where was that, anyway? She’d loaned it to Marshall yesterday so he could review the previous day’s transcript, and she hadn’t seen it since. Where was he now?

  The door to Marshall’s office was open, and she was sure he wouldn’t mind if she went inside. After all, Marie had been using it as if it were her own ever since the case began. It wasn’t as if Christina could leave without the laptop-the gizmo cost more than she made in a month. It wasn’t on top of his desk, so she checked the wide middle drawer. No luck. She started with the side drawers, the first, then the second, then…

  At the bottom of the third drawer, under a hodgepodge of papers, she saw something gray and metallic. At first, she thought it was the laptop, so she pulled it out. Wrong. Even from the back, she recognized it was a picture frame.

  Well, she was never one for denying her unquenchable curiosity.

  The woman in the picture was not immediately familiar to Christina, but she was almost certain she’d seen the face before. Not in person, but in another photograph. Perhaps a more formal one. Here, she was laughing, her hair whipped behind her, looking out at the photographer with what could only be called eyes of love.

  But who was it? Christina racked her brain, searching for the answer.

  And then it came to her. And when she remembered, it suddenly became all too clear what had really happened.

  In the corridor behind her, Christina heard someone approach.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it isn’t nice to rummage through other people’s belongings? Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

  Christina slowly turned to confront the person behind her, even though she already knew who it was.

  Marshall Bressler sat in his wheelchair, looking just as he always had. Except this time, there was a very large gun in his right hand. Pointed directly at her.

  27

  “W hat the hell is going on here?” Todd Glancy said as he emerged from his private office, his wife close behind him. Marshall Bressler was in the main lobby holding a gun on Christina. “Marshall, have you lost your mind?”

  “Maybe I have,” he said. There was something eerie about his voice, something Christina had never heard in it before. “Maybe it’s been coming for a long time.”

  “How did you get that gun in here?”

  He smiled. “Same way I got in the knife.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  At that moment, Hazel entered through the front door. “What on-?”

  “Get away from the door!” Marshall ordered. “Now!” The older woman slithered inside, her eyes wide and fixed not so much on Marshall as on the weapon in his hand.

  “All of you-get together. Huddle up in the center against the wall-by the Blue Beetle. Get friendly.”

  Marshall pushed his chair backward to the center of the lobby, waving the gun back and forth to make sure everyone was covered. “I’m sorry it’s had to come to this, people. The only one I wanted was you, Todd. All I ever wanted was you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t. Because it’s about me, not you. And in your world, it’s always about you. You don’t give a damn about anyone else.”

  “Marshall, how can you say that? After all the good we’ve done, you and me, working side by side, fighting the good fight.”

  Marshall’s teeth locked, his whole face displaying his contempt. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Then talk to us,” Christina said, trying to deflect his attention. It was obvious Marshall was not stable and that he had some sort of grudge against Glancy. If they continued talking like this much longer, that gun was going to fire. “What is it you want?”

  “From you, nothing. You’ve never been anything but a warm, beautiful, caring person. All you had to do was look at that picture for a second and you got it, didn’t you?” Christina didn’t answer. “I could’ve put the damn thing out on my desk, and Todd still wouldn’t have understood.”

  “Maybe if you explain it to him. Maybe if we all just calm down and-”

  “It’s too late for that!” Marshall’s voice soared in volume. His hands began to tremble. “I very much regret having to do this to you, Christina. And to you, Marie, and Hazel.” He pointed the gun at Glancy. “But now you’re all going to have to watch this son of a bitch die.”

  “Marshall!” Glancy said. “You can’t mean it.”

  “Believe me, I do.”

  “Marshall!” Marie shrieked. “Please! I beg you.”

  “Don’t waste your breath.”

  “Marshall,” Marie continued, “look at me. Look-at-me!”

  He did, and the instant he did, Todd Glancy dove toward the open front door. Marshall wheeled around and fired, but he was well wide of the mark. He swiveled his chair then fired again, this time missing by inches. Glancy did a forward somersault, landed on his feet, then raced through the door.

  “Come back, you miserable coward!” Another bullet shattered the jamb. But Glancy escaped.

  “Marie-you traitor!” Enraged, eyes wide and red, Marshall whirled himself around to face the three women huddled around the ancient copying machine. Without a moment’s hesitation, he raised the gun and fired. Marie Glancy gasped, then tumbled to the floor.

  Christina screamed. “Marie!” Hazel began sobbing.

  “And I’ll kill you two just like I did her. Just like I did Veronica!” he shouted, weaving back and forth in his wheelchair. “Nobody else moves. Nobody else speaks. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Because if you don’t do what I say, you’re both dead!”

  28

  B y the time Ben arrived at the Russell Building, a siren was wailing and the Capitol police had already cordoned off the area surrounding Glancy’s office. People were being evacuated as quickly as possible. The FBI was on the scene as well. Todd Glancy had contacted the authorities as soon as he escaped, and a full-fledged hostage situation had ensued. The federal agents were assembling an operations center and trying to establish contact with Marshall Bressler, the administrative assistant who was now holding three women hostage.

  Including Christina.

  “I’m Agent Martinez,” said a wide-framed officer wearing a standard FBI blue suit and white shirt. “I’m the situation commander.” He gestured toward an older woman in a black sweater with a brown leather gun holster slung over her shoulder. “This is Advisory Commander Cross. We understand you know one of the hostages. A Miss McCall.”

  “I know all of the hostages,” Ben explained. “But yes, I know Christina very well. She’s my partner. We’ve worked together for years.”

  “Good,” Martinez said, while simultaneously waving at an operative at the opposite end of the hallway and pulling out his buzzing cell phone. “That could be useful.”

  “You got here fast,” Ben remarked, impressed.

  “We’re trained for speedy response. After 9/11, we have no choice. Anthrax, ricin, whatever happens next, we have to be able to respond quickly to protect the nation’s leaders. Soon as we got the call from Senator Glancy, we roped off the area and began evacuating the senators and their staff across the street to the Library of Congress. We called out the HAZMAT team-the boys in the white space sui
ts. Just to be on the safe side. Tours have been shut down. The restaurants closed. The pages have been given the day off.”

  “Why the FBI?”

  “We’re the hostage experts. The Capitol officers are used to dealing with poison in the mail and streakers and such, but they’ve never had a full-out hostage scenario here before.” He flipped open the lid of his phone. “Excuse me. It’s Lieutenant Carney, our tactical commander. I have to take it.”

  He moved to the other side of the corridor where he could talk with some semblance of quiet. Although the passageway had been blocked off and all civilians had been evacuated, there were still dozens of people in the corridor, all of them moving in busy crisscross patterns, pursuing their appointed tasks with great urgency.

  A large marker board had been set up at the top of the stairs. Ben didn’t comprehend a lot of it, but he did recognize one sketch as a rough outline of Glancy’s office. Several names were written to the side, with abbreviated duty assignments reduced to incomprehensible acronyms. And at the top of the board, in bold black letters, someone had recorded THE FOUR STEPS OF SUCCESSFUL HOSTAGE NEGOTIATION: TRUST, CONTAIN, RECONCILE, RESOLVE.

  “I know you’re busy,” Ben said, grabbing the arm of Advisory Commander Cross, “but can you give me some idea what’s going on?”

  “We still don’t know what started it,” Cross patiently explained. She had short brunette hair, an efficient cut that would prevent her hair from ever obstructing her vision. “But the Senator’s administrative assistant has apparently gone psychotic. He has a gun-we don’t know how he got it in the building. Maybe he overcame one of the security guards.”

  “Bressler? He can’t even stand up.” Ben shook his head. “I know how he got the gun into the building. Same way he got in the knife.” And then Ben explained it to her.