William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

Just as he had predicted. They were so hosed.

“Whass goin’ down?” one of the new men asked.

“Nothin’ we can’t handle,” the guard with the lock around Loving said. As if to prove his point, he reared back one booted foot and rammed it into Daily’s face. His head whipped around so fast Loving was afraid he’d hear Daily’s neck crack. Blood spilled from his lips.

“Take them out the back way,” one of the new men grunted. He was taller than the others, and Loving got the impression he was in charge. At least of the goon squad. “Hurt ’em a little.”

“With pleasure,” said the sandy-haired one. His arm still wrapped around Loving’s throat, he pivoted Loving around and walked him to a ramp in the rear, forcing him down to the back of the dance floor. The other man grabbed Daily by the hair, lifted him to his feet, punched him again in the kidneys, then followed his cohort downstairs. They wormed their way behind the dance floor to an emergency exit that opened onto a back alleyway. Loving felt a stunning blow to his ribs, and then he was tumbling face-first into the slime and grime of the slick concrete pavement. Daily fell just behind him.

“And don’t come back,” one of them growled. The two guards wiped their hands, then began to laugh, loudly and heartily, as they let the door slam behind them.

“You okay?” Loving grunted, as soon as they were gone. He was checking his teeth. He thought they’d loosened a molar.

“I’ll live,” Daily answered, several beats later, wiping blood from his face.

“Why the hell did you do that? Do you like having your butt handed to you?”

“I need to see my daughter,” Daily said, through clenched teeth.

Loving sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“We should call the police.”

“No.”

“Why not? The police could get past those jerkoffs.”

“But we’ve got no proof that any crime has been committed-”

“The drugs!”

“-and let’s face it, if the cops start roundin’ up drug users on the premises, they’re gonna get Amber, too. Dependin’ on how deep she’s into this, she might go away for a long time.”

Daily fell silent.

“Even if I rounded up an army of my own, by the time we got in, Amber would be gone. We need to enter without endin’ the party.”

“But how?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Loving pushed himself to his feet, his back complaining all the way. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a local number he’d had the foresight to memorize. “We’re not done here.”

During the break, Shandy Craig pumped Ben for information. Amanda Burton was present also, but after their contretemps of the day before, she’d been keeping her distance, which was okay by Ben.

“Do you think the coroner’s testimony hurt us?”

Ben shrugged. “He said nothing I didn’t expect. And I found some of what he didn’t say quite interesting.”

Shandy knotted her fingers together. “I don’t know how you can stand this. I’m so tense I can hardly bear it. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“You get used to it.” Which was a total lie. He hadn’t slept much the night before, either.

“I’ve been getting offers,” Shandy confided. “Other senators. Don’t stay on a sinking ship, they say. But-I don’t know-it just doesn’t feel right. Todd needs me.”

Todd, Ben noticed. Not Senator Glancy. Todd.

“By the way,” she added, “I brought you some suits.”

“I told Todd-”

“Oh, it’s no sweat. He has more suits than I have shoes. And some of the older ones he can’t wear anymore, anyway.” She lowered her voice a notch. “He’s put on a few pounds lately, as you’ve probably noticed.” Ben hadn’t. “Jail food, you know. Anyway, I think these will fit you just fine.”

“Listen, I neither need nor want-”

“He’ll be delighted to borrow them,” Christina said, appearing out of nowhere. “Such a generous offer. Ben has been needing some sartorial guidance.”

“That’s pretty rich, coming from you,” Ben said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shandy asked. “I think Christina is a very stylish dresser.”

Ben smiled. “You haven’t known her as long as I have.”

Ben rarely crossed hard on the medical witnesses. In his experience, they were usually careful in their testimony, not prone to exaggeration, and frankly too damn smart to mess around with. Dr. Bukowsky was no exception, but Ben had pored over the coroner’s various reports and records and he thought there was just a chance he might be able to do some good for his client. At any rate, in a case this desperate, he had to take every chance he had. It would either be a stunning triumph-or an abject failure.

“If I understand correctly, Doctor, you’ve placed the time of death after the start of Senator Glancy’s committee meeting that day.”

“Objection,” Padolino said. “This witness has no knowledge regarding any committee meetings.” The objection was sustained, as Ben knew it would be. Didn’t matter. He’d given the jury Senator Glancy’s alibi. They would remember it.

Technically, having established the alibi, he could sit down-what did it matter how death occurred, so long as they proved Glancy couldn’t have done it? But Ben knew better than to pass up an opportunity to poke holes in the prosecution’s case.

“You mentioned the large wound on the victim’s right shoulder, Doctor. Why didn’t you tell the jury about the other injury?”

The coroner blinked, leaned forward, as did several of the jurors. Very good. Ben was happiest when he knew people were paying attention.

“The other injury? I don’t recall…”

Ben raised a thick stapled document. “This is your final autopsy report, isn’t it?”

Bukowsky frowned. “Appears to be.”

Ben flipped through the pages. “Here it is. On page twenty-two. ‘Evidence of a small puncture wound barely a millimeter in width on the right jugular vein.’” He looked up. “That is what you wrote, isn’t it?”

“It was a tiny anomaly.”

“Meaning it was something you couldn’t explain.”

“I assume the vein was nicked by the knife-”

“Whoa, now. Let’s rein in the horses. Didn’t you tell the jury the murderer used a great big knife?”

“Yes, but-”

“How on earth could someone make such a small puncture wound with a thick chopping knife?”

“The woman bled to death. I can’t see that this could possibly have any importance-”

“You mean you don’t want it to have any importance, right? Because you can’t explain it.”

“Objection!” Padolino shouted.

Judge Herndon looked down sternly from the bench. “Mr. Kincaid, you will govern your conduct in accordance with the rules of decorum promulgated by this court. That kind of behavior might be acceptable in-” It was impossible to miss the note of derision in his voice. “-Oooo-kla-homa, but I will not tolerate it in my courtroom. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir. My apologies.” Jerk. He turned back to the witness. “The fact remains. You can’t explain the puncture mark.”

“As I said, the knife might’ve nicked the vein-”

“Come on, Doctor. Isn’t it far more likely that the vein was penetrated by something smaller than a great big chopping knife?”

“There’s no evidence that another weapon was used on the woman.”

“Sure, not now. Not after she’s been ripped to shreds. But isn’t it possible that there was evidence of another weapon before? Evidence that was obliterated by the slashing of her neck?”

“Your honor,” Padolino said, “I must protest. This is idle speculation.”

“An expert witness is allowed to offer an opinion, based upon his expertise,” Herndon answered. Ben was glad to see the judge wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge. “I’ll allow it.”