William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“Did this behavior strike you as… unusual?”

“He said he wanted to avoid the press, which under the circumstances I could understand. So when he disappeared during the meeting, I assumed he went the same way he had come.”

“What did you do?”

“I followed him.”

Ben felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. Was it possible? Could Padolino finally have what he needed most? An eyewitness?

“What did you do?”

“I entered the stairwell through the door we had used to get to the committee room and tried to thread my way to his hideaway. But remember-this was my first day, and I’d only been in this place once. I got lost. There are very few exit doors. So I wasted a lot of time wandering around, not really knowing where I was.” She paused. “I probably never would’ve found them-if I hadn’t heard the noise.”

“The noise? Could you please be more specific? What did you hear?”

“I heard two voices, a man and a woman, even though the door was closed. But that wasn’t the main noise.”

“What was the main noise?”

Shandy took a deep breath. “The sound of two people… doing it. You know what I mean. Making love.”

Jaws dropped in the jury box. And elsewhere as well.

“What did it sound like?”

“It’s a little hard to describe, but-we’ve all heard it. It’s a pretty distinctive sound. There was… jeez…” She rubbed her brow for a moment. “Rhythmic grunting. Low-pitched. The sound of someone being knocked against the wall at a steady rhythm. Some crying out.”

“Crying out? As in pain?”

“No. As in… you know. Orgasmic ecstasy.”

“Are you sure?” Padolino asked. “The two might sound alike. And if you couldn’t see them-”

“Yes, I’m sure. And no, actually, they don’t sound anything alike. I’m no tramp, but I know an orgasm when I hear it.”

Ben cast a quick look at Glancy, who was remarkably stone-faced. He couldn’t tell what was going on in that brain, but the wheels were definitely turning. And he didn’t want to know what Marie was thinking.

“How long did these… noises go on?”

“Oh, I’d guess around two minutes. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to stay. Part of me wanted to go. I couldn’t decide. Then I heard the man speak.”

“What did he say?”

“Objection,” Ben said. “Hearsay.”

“You must be joking,” Judge Herndon said. He was hunched forward over his bench, hanging on Shandy’s every word. “The witness will answer the question.”

“It was more of a whisper, actually,” Shandy explained. “But I could make it out, just barely. He said. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Because it’s the last time for you. Forever.’”

The buzz in the gallery had been growing for the past several minutes, but at this point it reached a distracting crescendo. Herndon banged his gavel several times. “Don’t make me clear this courtroom!”

That quieted the crowd. No one wanted to risk missing what came next.

“Was there anything more?” Padolino asked.

“Yes. I heard the woman give out a little gasp, and then there was this-this-really strange sound, almost like air being sucked in. I heard a sudden thud-as if one of the parties had hit the floor. After that, the room was silent.”

“What did you do then?”

“I turned back the way I had come and found the committee room, in a lot less time than it took me to stumble upon those two. Amazing how much better your brain works when you really don’t want to be caught somewhere. I came back later, trying to get a break from all the chaos upstairs. I assumed they would both be gone but… that was when I found her. Veronica Cooper. Dead.”

Padolino nodded sympathetically. “Thank you, Miss Craig. Pass the witness.” Padolino looked pointedly at Ben.

He wasn’t the only one in the courtroom looking that way. Ben had learned to watch the expressions on the jurors’ faces surreptitiously and frequently-and what he was reading now he didn’t like at all. What he was reading was that every juror on the bench thought Glancy was a murderer-and a disgusting, perverted, cradle-robbing, sex-addicted murderer at that.

“Will there be any cross?” Judge Herndon asked.

Ben rose to his feet. “Oh yeah.”

Once they got Shalimar to put away the crossbow, Loving and Daily escorted her to a nearby Georgetown all-night coffeehouse so they could exchange notes.

“Why do you think vampires were responsible for Beatrice’s disappearance?” Loving asked.

She drank deeply from her coffee cup-almost an entire cup at once. If Loving had done that, he’d never get to sleep, but it didn’t seem to be a problem for her. Or maybe vampire hunters didn’t sleep nights. “I was going to school in Philadelphia-Bryn Mawr-but I have friends in DC, and they kept an eye on my little sister for me. Told me she was changing, going out almost every night, dressing in black, wearing turtlenecks even though it was hot as blazes out. Then she started disappearing, not coming back to her apartment, sometimes for days. At first I just assumed she had a new boyfriend. But one of my friends managed to get a look under the collar of her sweater-and found two unhealed puncture wounds. Bite marks.”

“And before that you had no hint that your sister was… gettin’ into some seriously weird stuff?”

“None at all. Last time I saw her, she was an All-American straight-A student. The next-she’s Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Except without the laugh track.”

“So what did you do?”

“What choice did I have? I came up here as soon as possible. But it was too late. She was gone. She hasn’t been seen since.”

“My daughter disappeared, too,” Daily said, clenching his fists. “Now she’s in the ICU unit of the hospital. If I’d only been smarter. Moved a little faster.”

“I kept saying the same thing. Blaming myself. But that didn’t help. So I dropped out of school and started spending all my time looking for Beatrice, learning about these vampire cults. I went from one vamp club to the next-gay vamp bars, straight vamp bars-places where they actually serve blood over the counter, like it was a cocktail. You wouldn’t believe how many of them there are. No one ever wanted to talk to me-so I had to get tough. That’s when I became a vampire hunter. Whether they’re real vampires or pretenders, the mythos of the vampire hunter-Van Helsing, Captain Kronos, Kolchak, whoever-terrifies them.”

“And that’s what brought you to Circle Thirteen tonight?”

“Took me forever to get a lead on that place. But I was told there were some vampires in there.”

“Some? It’s a regular Vampapalooza. But it’s all up here.” Loving tapped a temple. “I mean, they’re not really hell demons or ‘vampyrs’ or whatever the politically correct term would be. Undead Americans? They’re just basket cases trying to convince themselves they’re special by affecting this Bela Lugosi fetish.”

“You mean… they’re normals?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re gonna see any of them on the cover of Sanity Fair. But I’m pretty damn sure they’re not walking corpses.”

Shalimar’s chin sagged. “Then it’s a dead end.”

“Maybe not. Someone I talked to said women sometimes disappeared-said they were chosen by the minions of someone called the Sire for… the Inner Circle. She also mentioned a place called the Playground.” He paused. “Shalimar, I think we should team up. We’re all looking for the same girl. Maybe if we pool our knowledge-”

He was interrupted by the sound of Daily’s cell phone ringing. “Yes?”

Less than ten seconds later, Daily snapped it shut. “It’s Amber. She’s awake.”