Capitol Murder (44 page)

“I think that’s a bit of a stretch,” Ben said.

“Of course you do. You’re a good guy. So you assume everyone else is, too. But mark my words,
Ben—one day that foolish assumption is going to drop-kick you right between the legs.”

Actually, Ben thought, it already had, on more than one occasion, but those were stories he
didn’t care to repeat.

Glancy stretched back into his chair. “So what are the odds? Fifty-fifty? Better? Worse?”

“I never make predictions,” Ben answered. “Juries are too unpredictable.”

“Aw, come on. Give me a hint.”

“Sorry. I don’t know. We’ll all find out together.”

“Fine.” Glancy scrunched down in his seat. “But if we lose, I’m not inviting your mother to my
annual May Day barbecue.”

“Just as well,” Ben said, smiling slightly. “She wouldn’t come.”

The outside door whipped open. Padolino leaned inside. “It’s showtime!” He shut the door
behind him.

“Already?” Glancy said. “They’ve barely been out two hours! What does that mean?”

Ben glanced at Christina, his lips pursed. “It means they didn’t need much time to make up
their minds.”

Ben thought they got it from television, but Christina’s theory was that every person—and thus
every juror—had a secret sadistic streak, a Mr. Hyde lurking in the back of the cerebral cortex
waiting for a proper exercise of power to give it expression. Either way, it was a universal
constant that when the jury returned from deliberation, they took great pains to give no
indication of their decision. Their faces were blank. They looked at no one.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Herndon asked.

“We have,” said the foreperson, an older woman sitting on the far left of the front row. The
bailiff took the folded verdict form to the judge, who carefully scrutinized it with the same
stoic expression that was plastered on the jurors. Finally, without a word of comment, he
returned it to the bailiff.

“The defendant will rise.”

Glancy did so, followed by his counsel. To their surprise, just behind them, Marie Glancy rose
as well.

The foreperson cleared her throat. “We the jury, in the case of the District of Columbia
versus Todd K. Glancy, on the charge of first-degree murder—” She stopped.

Ben winced. Why did they always insist on the dramatic pause?

“—on the charge of first-degree murder,” she continued, “and for that matter, on the charge of
second-degree murder and manslaughter, we find the defendant Todd K. Glancy not guilty.”

The courtroom exploded. That was the only way Ben could describe it. Some people were shouting
with joy. Some were expressing disgust. But whether out of surprise, relief, or pure cynicism,
everyone was talking.

“Oh my God,” Ben heard Glancy muttering softly beside him. “Much as I tried to keep my spirits
up, I never really believed—never thought it was possible—” His voice choked. “Oh. My. God.”

Ben closed his eyes. They had actually managed to pull it off. Against all odds, he and
Christina had actually managed to pull it off.
O frabjous day
!

Glancy was nearly in tears. He thanked the jury, then tried to hug Christina and shake Ben’s
hand, both at once. He looked silly and confused, clearly so overwhelmed he hardly knew what he
was doing. Judge Herndon slammed his gavel several times, making a mostly futile effort to quiet
the courtroom. When the tumult had finally subsided sufficiently that the judge could be heard,
he thanked the jury, gave them a few more final instructions—including reminding them that they
were not required to speak to the press and that he personally advised against it—and discharged
them. Then he turned his gavel to the main attraction in the courtroom.

“Mr. Glancy,” he said sonorously, “you are free to go.”

There was more cheering now, less mixed than before. The opposition was leaving the
courtroom—Ben had seen both Steve Melanfield and Brad Tidwell depart with shocked expressions on
their faces—and Todd’s friends and staff were gathering around him, embracing him,
congratulating.

“Thank you,” he said graciously, “but the accolades should go to Ben and Christina. They’re
the ones who made this happen.”

There was more jubilation, slapping of backs, and aggressive hand-shaking. Marie Glancy
stepped up to Ben and quietly whispered in his ear. “Thank you,” she said, and she kissed him
lightly on the cheek. “You’ve pulled off a miracle.”

“That’s why I get paid the big money,” he replied.

Christina gave him a wry expression.

“I feel as if I’ve gotten my whole life back,” Glancy said. He still seemed stunned, utterly
amazed. “All the anxiety, the turmoil, all these months. And now, it’s finally over.”

Of course, Ben knew it wasn’t. There was still a possibility of statutory rape charges. If
Padolino could figure out a way to pursue them that didn’t make him look like a poor loser
spitefully determined to put Glancy away on any charge he could scrape up. And the only way
Glancy could avoid being censured in the Senate would be if he resigned first.

The celebration continued. Ben was surprised to feel a hand tugging on his back. It was Joe
Padolino.

“Kudos, counselor,” Padolino said graciously. “You tried a fine case. Hell of a closing. I
think that’s where you won it.”

Ben brushed the compliment away. “The evidence won it. The jury knew Beatrice Taylor was
telling the truth.”

“Yes, but on cross, I—” He stopped himself. “Aren’t we lawyers pathetic? We never know when to
quit.” He smiled, then passed Ben a scrap of paper. “When all the celebrating is over, would you
give this to Christina?”

“What is it?”

“My phone number.”

“Um—oh.”

“I just thought now that the trial was over, she might have more time for . . . you know.
Socializing.”

Ben nodded slowly. “I’ll see that she gets it.”

“Great.” He slapped Ben’s shoulder. “And congratulations again.”

Ben returned to the frenzied activity surrounding his client. Hazel had her steno pad out,
taking notes. Amanda was doing some scribbling as well. Glancy was firing off one assignment
after another. Apparently, now that the trial was over, he wasn’t wasting a minute before taking
charge again.

“—and I want the Blue Beetle replaced once and for all, even if it has to come out of my own
pocket. Next time I’m caught in a national crisis, I don’t want my interns running to Kinko’s to
get the press releases copied.”

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.”

Ben 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 three times as bright as their bosses. But she was a lawyer now, and a partner,
and—