William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“Heard anything from Loving?” Christina asked. She had changed into a turquoise dress with a hip-hugging waist that was positively lovely. Even some nice bling-a faux pearl necklace and earrings.

“Barely.” Ben was wearing the same suit he’d had on all day. Of course, he had only three, and the dry cleaning at the Watergate wasn’t that speedy, so he couldn’t afford to be extravagant. “He did leave me a message. Thinks he’s got some kind of lead on Veronica Cooper’s friends.”

“’Bout damn time, as my father used to say.” She flagged the waiter and asked him to refill her club soda. “You know how little we’ve got, and the prosecution has a mound of evidence. Not to mention public opinion-a general populace predisposed to convict. Everyone commentator and quidnunc in the city is talking about this case.”

“Because of the video?”

“Because this is a nation where news has been supplanted by gossip. Because most people would rather think the worst of their elected officials than the best.”

“There is that…”

“And I don’t care what the judge says in court. As soon as the jurors see that video, in its full and unexpurgated form, the burden of proof will be on us.”

“We don’t have to prove he’s a hero. Or even a nice guy. We just have to prove he’s not a murderer. I think we should all but ignore the video, admit the affair. Focus on the murder, the forensic evidence, the bizarre appearance of the corpse in the hideaway. Glancy’s alibi.”

“Padolino will do his darnedest to bust that alibi.”

“Just the same, that’s where we should concentrate our energy. That’s where Padolino has some holes in his case. We should make the most of it.” He fidgeted with his fork. “Did I mention… that’s a very attractive dress you’re wearing tonight. Have I seen it before?”

She flashed her usual fulgent smile. “This is what I always wear when we go someplace nice.”

“So that would mean…”

“You’ve seen it twice.”

“Well… it looks… particularly nice tonight.” He wanted to slap himself. Ben, you smooth talker. More talk like that and she’ll be putty in your hands.

“You’re sweet. But I’ve had it for years. It’s getting worn. I should go shopping.”

“Well, we are in DC. After the case is over…”

“Maybe if we win. And you actually collect a fee this time.”

“Christina…”

“Just joshing, partner.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You know I care nothing about monetary gain. Why else would I work with you?”

“I think our only danger is that Glancy will spend too much on associated counselors. How many people are technically a part of this defense team now?”

“I think we’re up to ten, counting the local counsel that have been assisting on the paperwork and document review, the DNA expert, and the appeals expert.”

“Both of whom are totally unnecessary at this time.”

She nodded her agreement. “My theory is that Glancy wants to have more lawyers than O. J. and Jacko combined. It’s an ego thing. And if he can afford it…”

“Whatever. Just so they’re invisible in the courtroom. I don’t want the jury to get the idea Glancy is trying to buy his way out of trouble.” He glanced at the list in the center of the table. “Did you want some wine?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Does this mean the Four Georges doesn’t stock chocolate milk?”

“ Très amusing. I just thought you might like a little stress-reducer.” And as a matter of fact, yes, the waiter had whispered to him earlier that there was no chocolate milk, but she didn’t need to hear that. What she needed to hear… well, he knew perfectly well what she needed to hear. So why wasn’t he able to say it? “You know, Christina, I really… really appreciate your help on this case. You were invaluable in the courtroom today.”

“That’s what partners do.”

“Read jurors’ minds?”

“They complete each other. Make a whole greater than the sum of the parts. That’s true for… all kinds of partners.”

Well that was unsubtle, even for Christina, the Queen of Blunt. Ben cleared his throat and fiddled nervously with the menu until the waiter blessedly reappeared.

The menu selections were extremely rarefied for Ben’s taste, but he managed to order something he was pretty sure involved beef; Christina had the grilled salmon. After they’d given their order and the waiter poured the Beaujolais, Ben pitched various approaches to his opening statement to Christina. She didn’t like any of them. Too defensive, too exculpatory. The trick was to remind the jurors that this was about murder, not sex; to direct them to disregard the video without appearing to make excuses for it. “If I were you,” she advised, “I’d just come straight out the first time I addressed them and say-”

“Excuse me.”

Ben looked up and saw a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper goatee standing next to the table beneath one of the pseudo-palm trees. He was staring at Ben with a crazed, walleyed expression. Ben didn’t know who the man was, but he was certain he’d seen him in the courtroom earlier. “Yes?”

“Are you two the lawyers defending Thomas Glancy?”

“We’re the lead trial counsel, yes.” Ben pondered. Reporter? Police officer? Autograph hound? “We’re working in affiliation with a number of-”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Uh, I’m… sorry, no.”

“Maybe this will refresh your memory?” Before Ben had a chance to react, the man had grabbed Ben’s wineglass and flung the drink into his face.

Ben reared backward, blinking, wiping the stinging liquid from his eyes. Great, he thought, now I’m down to two suits. Christina started to rise, probably planning to slug him, but Ben waved her back into her seat. The last thing they needed was salacious publicity on the eve of trial.

“So,” Ben said, looking up at him, “you’re… my dry cleaner?”

“I’m Darrin Cooper-Veronica Cooper’s father, you son of a bitch.” He spoke with such venom that spittle flew from his teeth. “Isn’t it interesting that you didn’t know? You’ve spent months looking for anything that might get that goddamn rapist off the hook, but you never bothered to talk to the victim’s family.”

“Actually,” Christina interjected, “I did contact Ms. Cooper’s family almost immediately after we took the case. I spoke to her mother; her sister declined to be interviewed.” She paused. “I was told that Veronica was raised in DC by her mother-that her parents were divorced and her father lived on the other coast and hadn’t seen her for years.”

“What the hell difference does that make?” He glared at Christina, bitter and angry. Ben not-so-subtly moved her wineglass to the opposite side of the table. “She was still my little girl.”

Ben tried to sound comforting. “Sir, I’ve never had children myself, but I can only imagine how devastating it must be to lose one.”

“Don’t give me that fake sympathetic bullshit. I won’t take it from the man who’s defending my little Ronnie’s killer.”

“Sir, you don’t know that.”

“The hell I don’t. Everyone in the country knows it.”

“If I’ve learned anything in my years of practice, it’s that appearances can be deceiving.”

“Don’t try to bullshit me. Don’t you dare try to bullshit me. You think I don’t know why that monster hired you, Mr. Fancy High-Dollar Lawyer?”

Christina stifled a guffaw.

“You think I don’t know what goes on in courtrooms? Listen to me, buddy. I know the way the world works. I’ve watched Court TV.”

“I can understand your anger, sir. But I have to think that, deep down in your heart, you don’t want revenge. You want to know the truth.”