William Bernhardt - Capitol offence

"I'm not seein' the connection."

"Haven't you guessed, Loving? She got cancer. Cervical cancer. Had no medical insurance. Turns out her boss didn't cover her. I took her to St. Benedict's. They're supposed to be the experts, right? But without insurance, she couldn't afford treatment. Think I could afford it? In one month they billed more than I make in a year. It was hopeless. My sweet sister was fading away, turning skeletal right before my eyes. And there was nothing I could do about it."

"So you went dirty. To get money."

"I went dirty to get treatment," Shaw said, kicking his feet in the sand. "What else could I do? When did medicine stop being about healing and start being about money?" He stomped angrily around Loving. "Dr. Sentz approached me privately. He knew who I was. Said his brother had recommended me. Said I might be just right for a very special job."

"Smuggling cesium."

"Chris was already helping his brother set it up. They were taking their lead from some major muckety-muck."

"The guy in the police station. The one who nixed lookin' for Joslyn Thomas?"

"All I know is that I went from catching crooks to being one. They had already made one smuggling attempt that went sour. Pig leaked and their accomplice got killed. Some poor clown named Parsons. Radiation poisoning."

Loving remembered the victim Mike had told him about.

"They said it would be easy. It wasn't. It went bad, right from the start. First time Dr. Sentz tried to sneak cesium out of the hot lab, Joslyn Thomas caught him. He tried to make some excuses, but she wasn't an idiot. She ran out of the hospital. Probably had no idea what to do. But Sentz did. He called his brother. Told him to meet Joslyn on the way home."

Loving's lips parted. "That's why she went off the road."

"Chris drove her into the ravine. She wasn't dead, but he knew she would be in time, and it was better that way. Looking like an accident. If he had shot her or strangled her, everyone would know it was murder. He made sure she wouldn't be found anytime soon. Hid her car behind the blackberry bushes. Smoothed out the dirt, any sign that her car had gone off the road. And that was it." Shaw took a deep breath, then released it. "So you can imagine his reaction when this guy comes into the station wanting someone to look for his wife."

"Small wonder he didn't want to open an investigation."

"Into the accident he caused. Right. He wanted to make sure she was good and dead before anyone found her. And he did." Shaw crouched down beside him. "What he didn't reckon on, of course, was the husband."

"Dennis blamed Sentz."

"He was righter than he could ever imagine. Sentz knew that. Guilt was eating him alive."

"So what happened at the hotel?"

"I saw Thomas as soon as he entered. Called Dr. Sentz, asked him what to do. Sentz brought over a drug to slip into the coffee Thomas sipped while he watched for Chris. I did while he was in the restroom. Didn't work immediately. He still managed to ride up the elevator, just like I said. I wanted that. See, I was worried about Chris. His guilt was getting the best of him. He was making noise about going to the chief, telling him what happened, trying to make some sort of immunity deal in exchange for a lead on the terrorists. I thought that was a very bad idea. I couldn't let that happen." He paused. "Chris had to die."

Loving clenched his teeth. "Did you let Dennis go up to the room so he would do the killin' for you? Or so he would get blamed for what you did?"

"What difference does it make? Chris is dead. Dennis Thomas took the rap. And here we are."

"Yeah," Loving said bitterly. "What are you gonna do with me?"

"Well, there's really only one choice, right?" He walked away for a moment, then returned with something in his hands. "And it has to be done in a way that cannot be traced back to me. No clues. Not even a bullet."

Loving stared with horror at the small stainless steel tube in Shaw's gloved hands. "Don't do it, Shaw. You don't want this on your conscience. Do not do this."

"Did you know they still haven't identified Parsons? That's how bad this stuff is. Tears you up like nothing else. Add that to the effect of the sun and critters, plus the fact that you won't be found for weeks, probably years, out here in the vast desert." He pulled out the plug in the tube. "It isn't pretty. But it is necessary."

"Don't do this, Shaw."

"Don't have any choice."

"Do you think this is what your sister would want? Do you? You said she was an angel. Would an angel want to live at the cost of so many others?"

"She will never know."

"How can you be sure of that? Three people have died already."

Shaw began to tremble. "Do you think I don't already know that?"

Slowly, he tilted the brim of the tube. A silver-gray powder drifted downward onto Loving's chest.

Loving's eyes ballooned. He twisted from side to side, but he had been tied so tightly he could barely move. "Get that off me!"

"If it's any comfort," Shaw said, "you'll be dead in about six hours. On the down side… it won't be a very pleasant six hours."

"Shaw!"

"Goodbye, Loving. You'll understand, I hope, if I don't stick around. Got an appointment to keep. And now that that stuff's loose, I want to be as far away as possible."

"This is wrong, Shaw! Wrong!"

Shaw turned away, covering his eyes. "I can't stop it now, Loving. Don't you see that? It's gone too far. Too far. There's nothing I can do."

"There's always something, Shaw. It's never too late. You can do anything you want. You can be whoever you want to be. Get this stuff off me!"

Shaw shook his head. "No." And then he disappeared.

"Shaw!" Loving bellowed as loudly as he could, but there was no response.

He heard the sound of a vehicle driving away. He was alone. In the desert. Under the hot sun.

The powdered cesium was burning him. Burning a hole straight through to his heart.

You can't save everyone.

Ben stared out at the darkened city streets. He had climbed onto his rooftop perch, but tonight he found no solace there. The air was brisk, but it did not invigorate him. The electric blue moonlight cast a shimmering, ethereal glow around the midtown neighborhood, but the sense of forgiving and forgetting that he usually obtained here, at least in a small and temporary fashion, was not forthcoming. The streets were always busy on a Friday night. Everyone was going out to dinner, it seemed, and each of Tulsa's restaurants would be packed to the brim. He and Christina usually stayed in, but it was fun to watch everyone else hopping about. Movie theaters would be packed with those anxious to get out of the house to see the latest Hollywood extravaganza in the eyeblink before it showed up on DVD. He could see a group of teenagers walking along, singing, shouting, raising a ruckus. A local gang? They didn't look dangerous. Bored, mostly. Looking for something to do. Something to define their existence on a warm spring Friday night.

And what would Dennis Thomas be doing right now? Ben closed his eyes tightly shut. He didn't want to think about it, but the imagery came unbidden. By now the booking would be complete. He'd be in coveralls tonight. Guards acting out power fantasies, or hiding their insecurities with bitterness. Either way, the effect would be equally unpleasant for Dennis. He would not be allowed to bring books. He would not be allowed a window. He would be put in a cold cellblock in a small room with someone he didn't know and had nothing in common with until it was time to haul him away to the penitentiary where he would in all likelihood spend the rest of his life. However brief that might be.

Ben ran his fingers through his hair. Christina had tried to comfort him, of course, but it hadn't worked. He not only didn't respond to it, he resented it, if he were to be honest with himself. He didn't want to hear a lot of claptrap about how he had done his best. What good was that? He hadn't been asked to do his best. He had been asked to win. It was no consolation to hear that you can't win them all. At this moment in time, there was only one case, and he had lost it. That was why Dennis was spending the night on a metal cot staring at the ceiling, wondering if he would ever sleep well again.