William Bernhardt - Capitol offence

"He was more than just creepy, Ben. He's planning to kill someone!"

"He never actually said that."

"He didn't have to. It was obvious. That's why he was there."

"He said he was there because he wondered hypothetically if I would be able to arrange a pardon. Because he was researching a book. A work of fiction."

She took his hand. "Ben, I don't want to see you get in trouble over this. Especially not when you're planning a reelection campaign. Maybe you should report it to the bar association."

"If he had said he was planning to commit a crime, I would agree. But unless and until he does that, prospective client interviews are protected by privilege. Even though I didn't help him, I'm still bound not to reveal anything I was told."

"Unless he says he's going to commit a crime."

"Which he did not. The test is whether I believe he's planning to hurt someone. And I don't."

"And that's based on what? Your profound understanding of human nature? Give me a break, Ben. You're clueless when it comes to people. You couldn't psychoanalyze a Barbie doll."

She had a point. He wanted to argue and defend himself, but unfortunately, he could never win an argument with her, especially when she was right.

"I know what you're saying. I've been agonizing over this, too. I just don't know what to do."

"You have to protect yourself."

"I have to protect the victim. If there is one."

"That's another problem. You don't even know who it is." She raised her hand to the side of his cheek. "Well, sleep on it. Perhaps in the morning it will all be clear."

"Good idea."

"Sleepy yet?"

"Not really."

She sat upright and smiled. "Good. Let's go to bed."

And then he heard the Blue Danube waltz. His cell phone. This sort of untimely interruption seemed to happen more frequently these days. Or perhaps it just seemed that way because, being newlyweds, something else was happening more frequently…

He flipped open his phone. "Yes?"

"Boss? Jones. Having a good evening?"

"Trying."

"Still wringing your hands over whether to report that guy who might be planning to kill a cop?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, you can stop."

"Can I now? Why is that?"

There was a brief static-filled pause before Jones continued. "Because he just did it."

After Ben showed his ID, the uniform at the door allowed him to pass beyond the crime scene tape. The room at the Marriott Southern Hills was a spacious suite, but it didn't take him any time at all to determine where the action was. Crime scene techs scrambled all over the site where the body was found. Videographers recorded everything. Two outlines had been drawn on the carpeted floor.

Major Mike Morelli stared at the scene, standing just above one of the outlined figures and a huge patch of bloodstained carpet, his hands deeply thrust into his coat pockets. Ben had seen this expression before. Mike was not pleased.

"That looks… awful," Ben said, staring down at the carpet.

Mike nodded. "April really is the cruelest month, huh? 'The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere / The ceremony of innocence is drowned… '" He exhaled heavily. "Miles to go before I sleep."

"So if I'm not mistaken," Ben replied, "that was Eliot, Yeats, and Frost, all in one breath. That may be a new record for pretentious allusion, even for you."

Mike shot him a wry smile. "Good to see you, Ben."

"Thanks for letting me in."

"I gather from your presence here that you will be representing the alleged perpetrator?"

"He's called for me," Ben said, not filling in all the details. "I haven't taken the case."

"Don't." Mike replied. "This probably appeals to your insane predilection for representing underdogs and lost causes, but this is going to be ugly. It's premeditated. And a cop is dead."

"Even assuming Dennis Thomas committed the crime-"

"He did."

"You must admit, there were some keenly sympathetic circumstances."

"When it comes to cop killers, sympathy does not exist."

"Thomas blamed this guy for the death of his wife."

"So he killed Detective Sentz, who also had a wife, not to mention two daughters. I'm telling you, Ben, stay away. This is a loser."

Ben frowned. There was no point arguing with Mike about this. Better to change the subject. Try to slip in through the back door. "You're, um, looking good. Walking without a cane, I notice."

"Didn't like it. Made me look prematurely old. And you know what they say. 'This is no country for old men. The young / In one another's arms… '"

"That more poetry?"

"Yeats."

"Right. Sergeant Baxter been making you go to physical therapy?"

"You know it." Mike glanced his way. "To tell the truth, you look pretty good, too. Can barely see the scar."

A few months before, Ben and Mike'd had the misfortune to be at the epicenter of an assassination attempt. Trying to escape, they ended up in a car a few seconds before it exploded. Mike threw Ben clear, taking most of the damage in the process. Ben had a small crease from a stray bullet on his right cheek. Mike had been in the hospital for months and was only now getting back to work. Ben and Mike's partner, Kate Baxter, had been nursemaiding him most of the time. He was a difficult patient. He didn't like people fussing over him. Or so he said, anyway.

Ben and Mike's friendship was a resilient one. They had known each other since college and at one time had even made music together, Ben on the keyboards, Mike on the guitar. Mike had married Ben's sister, a union that did not turn out well or last long. But that was years in the past. They had managed to hold on to their friendship, at least as well as could be expected, given what each did for a living.

"I guess you knew the, uh, victim?" Ben asked.

"Of course I did." Mike was the senior homicide detective on the Tulsa PD. "I know his wife, too. Both daughters. Real cuties." Mike gave Ben a pointed look. "They don't have a daddy now. You have any idea what that's going to do to them?"

"I can only imagine."

"It won't be good. Sentz was a fine officer. A little grumpy, perhaps too rigid, somewhat unimaginative. But you don't make detective by being a dummy. He had the right stuff and he kept it together. I didn't see him ever making the transition to homicide, but I knew there were other jobs he could perform perfectly well. There was no need for him to come to an end like this. No need at all." He shook his head bitterly. "Such a waste."

"I'm sorry, Mike."

"He was hoping for my job one day. Wanted to be my second, to get Prentiss's old position. 'Oh, the vanity of earthly greatness… '"

"Why was he in this hotel room?"

"I don't know all the details. I think some of his co-workers were here, too, judging from what the clerk at the front desk told me. I'm trying to track that down. Apparently they were on some kind of stakeout. Drugs, I assume."

"But you're certain Dennis Thomas was here?"

"The first responder found him in a lump on the carpet." Mike pointed to one of the outlines on the floor. "That's him."

"Why was he here?"

"To commit murder, obviously. Why Sentz agreed to meet him, or let him into the room, I don't know. He probably felt bad about what happened to the guy's wife and wanted to help him. And you see what he got for his kindness."

"There must be more to it than that."

"Why? Because that's how you get people off? By complicating things that don't need complicating?"

"That's a little cynical, even for you."

"An officer died here, Ben. If you were expecting me to be jolly, you were sadly mistaken." He jammed his fists into his coat pockets. "Times like this, I really miss smoking." He stared out the hotel window. "I just wish I'd seen this coming, you know? Had some hint."