William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

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.”

Like maybe having the killer come to your office to ask if you could get him off the murder he hadn’t committed yet?

Ben couldn’t help but wonder if he was responsible, at least in part. He prided himself on his determination to do the right thing. Had he just allowed a man to be killed? A good man, a public servant?

“I don’t suppose your forensics people have turned anything up?”

“Not yet. Too soon. But honestly, what would they find? It’s not as if there’s much question about what happened here.”

“Any traces of people other than the victim and the alleged assailant?”

“Yes. But remember, this is a hotel room. People come in and out every day, leaving behind their hairs and dead skin cells.”

“Blood?”

“A lot from the victim. No one else.”

“DNA traces.”

“Not yet. But given how many people have probably stayed in this room…”

“Right. Not helpful. Eyewitnesses?”

“The man at the front desk vaguely recalls seeing Thomas come in. And of course he recalls seeing all the police officers roaming about. They were aware there was some sort of police operation going on in this room.”

“And the weapon?”

“Standard handgun. Your guy was lying on top of it.”

“He’s not my guy.”

“Yet. We’re tracing the registration number.”

“Good. Let me know.”

Mike shrugged. “That’s the law.”

“If anything else comes up…”

“Still planning a reelection bid?”

Ben was startled by the abrupt change of subject. “I guess. Why? You think it’s a bad idea?”

“I think you and campaigning will fit together about as well as me and high-heel shoes.” He grinned. “But you have surprised me before.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t forget you’re still honeymooning. These should be tranquil days, filled with love and laughter and promiscuity.”

“Was that a poem?”

“No, that was original.” He glanced over his shoulder at two nearby hair and fiber analysts. “Ben, can I have a word with you in private?”

“Do I have to?”

Mike took his arm. “‘Let us go then, you and I / When the evening is spread out against the sky… ’”

“Would you stop with the poetry already?” Ben sighed. “Why couldn’t your father have put you to bed with Peter Rabbit, like everyone else?”

Mike pulled him to the side. “I hope you understand that I am speaking to you now as a friend, not a police officer.”

“Am I going to like this?”

Mike put a finger in his chest. “You do not need this case. Seriously. This is a cop killing. People do not like cop killers, particularly in conservative towns like Tulsa. There will be massive publicity. You do not need to be a part of it. Not under any circumstances. But especially not if you’re planning to run for another Senate term.”

“Got it.”

He looked at his friend sternly. “This case will not help you, Ben. The press will not be kind if you represent an accused cop killer.”

“The press assume everyone accused is guilty. I don’t.”

“I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying.”

“You’re wrong. Message received and understood.”

“But taken to heart?”

Ben drew in his breath. “I’m just going to talk to the man. I have no desire to get involved in this. For reasons you can’t even begin to comprehend.”

“Glad to hear it. Take care.” Mike hesitated a moment. “Um, heard anything from your sister?”

“Not much. A few quick phone calls. But that’s good, for her.”

“And that little boy of hers?”

You mean, that little boy of yours? Ben thought. He still had no idea whether Mike realized what was so patently obvious to him. “Haven’t spoken to Joey. I hear he’s doing better in school.”

“That’s good. Not that I care, but if she happens to come to town…”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thanks. I better get back to work.” He started away, then turned back one last time, holding up a finger. “Now remember-no underdogs. No lost causes. No bad publicity.”

“Got it.”

“Scout’s honor?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Mike paused a moment, then said: “You never were a Scout, were you?”

Ben smiled. “Couldn’t stand the uniform.”

Ben hated how his footsteps echoed as he walked down the metal-floored corridor that led to the county jail holding cells. He had been here before-on one notable occasion wearing orange coveralls, cuffs, and foot shackles-and it never failed to give him the willies. The deliberate austerity, the cold and mechanical environment, and the superior attitudes of those in attendance all made for an indelibly unpleasant experience.

Of course, that was the point.

“Here you are,” the man in the tan uniform said, as if those three words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ben wasn’t surprised. The arrestee was accused of killing a police officer. There would be no kindness in these quarters.

“Thanks, Sam.” The attending officer unlocked the cell, let Ben in, then closed the door behind him.