William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

He started to push himself to his feet, and just as he did, he felt a pair of hands slap down on his shoulders and shove him back down onto the bench.

“Don’t turn around!” the voice commanded, stifling Loving’s natural instinct.

“Why not?”

“I swear, if you turn around, I won’t tell you a thing.”

“Fine. I won’t look at your pretty face.” At least, not yet. “So whaddya got for me?”

“A name.” He was breathless, making an effort to stay low-key and quiet. But it was definitely a man. “Colleen Tomei.”

Colleen Tomei. Loving ran the name through his cranial database a few times. He’d heard it before, but where? Oh-right. “She was a friend of Veronica Cooper’s. I tried to track her down. Never found her.”

“And there’s a reason for that.” Loving could feel his informant twisting from side to side, as if checking to make sure he hadn’t been spotted. “She’s been eliminated.”

“Eliminated? Whaddya mean?”

There was a long pause. Loving could feel the hands on his shoulders lightening. Was this guy planning to bolt? Because if he did-

“Look, I can only stay another minute. I’ve taken too many risks as it is. If he found out-”

“There you go again. Who?”

The voice behind him barreled onward, ignoring the question. “There were four of them: Veronica, Colleen, Amber, and Beatrice. Four DC girls who liked to party. But they got into some weird stuff. Seriously weird stuff.”

“Like drugs? Bad boys?”

“That’s not the half of it. Just listen, okay? They got in over their heads, seriously kinked, and that’s why you’re never, ever gonna find Colleen. But there’s still a chance for the other two. If you move quickly.”

“And why do I hafta move quickly?” Other than the fact that Ben’s trial had already started.

“Because you’re not the only one looking, idiot. Do you think he doesn’t know? Do you think he can risk them talking? After what happened to Colleen?”

“I’m sorry, man, but you’re not makin’ any sense.”

“I don’t have time to make sense!” Loving felt the hands on his shoulders trembling. “Look, I’ve got to get out of here.”

Loving almost turned. “And suppose I don’t let you leave?”

“Then you don’t get the only lead you’re ever going to get!” he said, raising his voice. “I don’t know where Amber is, but I know how you can find her. And I’ll tell you. If you promise you won’t turn around. Won’t move a muscle, and will give me a full minute to get away.”

“And what makes you think I’d keep that promise?”

“Because I checked you out before I called. You’re a man of your word, that’s what I hear. Is that right?”

Loving didn’t answer.

“Will you keep the bargain?”

Loving sighed heavily. “I’ll keep the bargain. But why are you helpin’ me?”

“Because this has got to stop, man. I mean, it was fun at first. I really went for it. It appealed to my dark side, you know? Made me feel like I belonged. But this-what’s happened now-God. It’s just got to stop.”

“Can’t you stop it?”

The man laughed. “Me? Against him? Jesus!” Loving felt the hands lifting from his shoulders. “Look, I’m making tracks.”

“The lead!” Loving shouted. “You never gave me the lead!”

There was a moment of hesitation. “Martin’s Tavern, after dark. Through the back door, down the alley. Look for an escort service.”

“An escort service!”

“When you get there, ask for Lucille.” His hands rose off Loving’s shoulders. “I’m outta here.”

“Wait!”

“Remember your bargain!” the man hissed, and Loving could tell from the sound of his voice that he was already moving away.

Blast! He should look, he knew he should, any other investigator would. But the man had played him perfectly. He’d given his word. He wasn’t going to break it.

As soon as his watch told him the minute was up, Loving jumped to his feet and looked all around. No trace of the informant. Or, to be more accurate, no one he could positively identify as the informant, given the large number of people surrounding the Pool.

What had the man been babbling about? Who was this person he was so scared of? And what could those four party girls have been involved with that could lead to Veronica Cooper’s murder in the U.S. Senate?

He didn’t know. Didn’t have any idea. But at long last, he had a clue. Or a chance of one. If the man wasn’t totally whacked, or playing him. Or covering up something by leading Loving in the wrong direction. It was impossible to know.

Only one thing was certain. Tonight Ben was going to have to schlep his own gear back from the courtroom. Loving was going tavern-hopping.

E ven though the federal courts gave attorneys far less leeway during jury selection than the typical state court, and even though the questions were screened in advance and were asked by the judge himself, not the lawyers, jury selection was still an unbearably time-consuming process. This was a murder case, after all-potentially a capital murder case, and one involving a very well-known public figure. It was nearly impossible to find a juror who did not know the defendant or who was not familiar with the case. The best Ben and Christina could hope for was twelve people who claimed that they had not yet made up their minds as to his innocence or guilt and who would not do so until all the evidence was presented. Which was how it should be in every case, of course, but Ben wasn’t kidding himself that this was anything like every case.

The stickiest point of discussion, of course, was the video. Everyone had already seen it, but just in case they hadn’t, Prosecutor Padolino was desperate to show it to them during voir dire. Not for evidentiary purposes, of course-that would be wrong. He just wanted to be sure the jury wouldn’t be so shocked by the graphic content-especially when the network pixilated masking was removed-that they would be unable to adjudicate the case without bias. Yeah, right.

Ben did rather like the way the judge conducted the jury questioning. Judge Herndon was a tall man, lean, with a slow, studied expression reminiscent of Gary Cooper in High Noon. He knew Glancy was concerned that the judge would show partisan bias, but as he conducted his measured, careful jury questioning, Ben saw few indications of favoritism. Maybe it was because he knew the press was watching, but he appeared determined to observe each and every punctilio of federal criminal procedure.

Lawyers were forever shading and slanting their jury questions, attempting to preview their case during voir dire. None of that from the judge. He toed the line, never once giving any indication how he felt about any of the parties, the matters at issue, or even the damnable video. He asked his questions simply and for one purpose-to determine if anything in the venireperson’s background, beliefs, or personality would make him or her an unsuitable juror. Did they know any of the parties, object to the senator’s political positions, or have a past experience with romance in the workplace? He let the jurors talk back, even ask questions of their own-something an experienced trial attorney would never risk. Christina took down some of the jurors’ most noteworthy remarks:

“Any woman who wears underwear like that is asking for it. End of story.”

“Will the senator be questioned about his surgeries? Because I think he’s had some kind of surgery. And I’m not talking about circumcision.”

“I’d like to know what time of day it was. If it was during work hours, that means the taxpayer was paying for it. Maybe he was, too, I don’t know. But if it was the taxpayer, I’m angry.”