William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“What might be news,” Ben said quietly, “is that I know you’ve hired a private detective to follow your husband around. That you were having Todd tailed for something like six months before the murder.”

Marie settled back into her seat, her hands folded. “I had my reasons.”

“Planning a divorce?”

She removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Ben had noticed that she never wore the specs in court or at social functions, but always wore them at press conferences, interviews, or anywhere else she wanted to appear smart. A prop? he wondered. Or a distancing mechanism? “I have no intention of divorcing Todd.”

“Forgive and forget?”

Her lips thinned. “Divorce is not an option. It would destroy both-” She checked herself. “It wouldn’t be prudent.”

“Then why the detective?”

She peered at Ben with an expression he thought she must’ve practiced on Meet the Press. “I would think that was perfectly obvious. I don’t like surprises.”

“You must’ve suspected something was going on or you wouldn’t have hired the man in the first place.”

“Suspecting is one thing. Knowing is quite another. Having details is useful. Having photographs is even better.”

“But why go to the trouble of gathering information if you don’t intend to use it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She snapped the glasses back on with the heel of her hand. “I didn’t want to be perceived as some pathetic Hillary Clinton clone. ‘I was misinformed.’ Give me a break. If my husband decides to adopt a new cuddle-bunny, I want to know everything about it. I want to be ready when the news breaks. I want to be positioned.”

“Positioned?”

“Ready to deal. Ready to spin. Ready with my well-calculated coping strategy. These things can’t be concocted overnight, you know. It requires thought, planning. Polling. Brainstorming with consultants.”

Ben stared at her, uncomprehending. Or to be more accurate, he comprehended every word. He just couldn’t believe it. It was too strange, too foreign to his usual reasons for dealing with a client’s spouse. The woman wasn’t concerned that her husband was having an affair. She wasn’t even concerned about what it might do to his career. She was concerned about the possible ramifications on her public image.

“You have your own political ambitions.”

“People always say that because I won’t act like the typical token congressional Stepford spouse who lives only to serve her master’s political career. They want me to be Malibu Marie. Why should I? Why shouldn’t I think about myself? Women are allowed to be more than just a subservient spouse in almost every other field. When are politics going to catch up to the rest of the world?”

“Here’s the thing,” Ben said. “I want access to your detective’s records. Files, photos, movies. Whatever he’s got.”

“Are you kidding? I can assure you there’s nothing there that will make Todd look better to a jury.”

“Right now, there’s nothing short of bestiality photos that could make him look worse to the jury. I want to know what your man dug up on Veronica Cooper.”

“What makes you think he has anything?”

“He was on Todd for months. I’m betting he spent some time digging into Veronica’s background, her lifestyle, her recreational activities.”

“So that’s your defense strategy. You’re going to put the victim on trial.”

Ben squirmed. “It’s a possibility.”

“Do you think that could work? I mean-good or evil, the woman was still murdered.”

“In the eyes of the law, you’re correct. But in the eyes of a jury, who the victim was can make a huge difference. Up till now, the press has played her as a poor innocent, a naïve waif who went to Washington to serve her country and ended up being abused and debased by a depraved senator-despite a video that to me shows her to be anything but naïve and innocent. We need to turn that around. Loving tells me she was into some really weird stuff, and I’ve got at least one witness at an escort service who can give the jury some insight on Ms. Cooper’s secret life. But I need more. I’m hoping your detective can give that to me. If he does, it will do a lot more than tarnish the victim’s image. If we can prove she was all wrapped up with some bizarre vampire cult-”

“Reasonable doubt,” Marie whispered.

“Exactly. Parade in a coven of vampires, and suddenly the list of possible suspects gets a lot longer. Everyone has been assuming Todd was guilty because of the video, where the body was found, and because there were no other likely suspects. But if we can show she was involved with all sorts of dangerous characters-”

“That’s brilliant,” she said, slowly nodding her head. “I mean, it’s evil. Bogus. Lies and calumny.” She smiled. “But brilliant. I’m finally beginning to see why Todd hired you.”

“We aim to please.”

She laid her hand on Ben’s wrist. “You’re an experienced trial attorney, Ben. Tell me the truth. Are you going to get my husband off?”

“It’s impossible to say,” he replied, trying to resist his instinctive impulse to brush her hand away. “We haven’t put on our case. Juries are unpredictable. The evidence is massively stacked against Todd.” He paused. “But I think we have a shot. A small shot, perhaps. But a shot.”

She removed her hand. “That’s good to know.”

“Now, I don’t mean to give you false hope.”

“It’s not about hope,” she said, pushing herself out of the chair. “It’s about intel. I like to know what the contingencies are. So I can lay my plans accordingly.”

Loving and Shalimar stayed hidden in the shadows of an alley off one of the seediest streets in Georgetown, staring at a tall brownstone building across the darkened street.

“That’s the Playground?” Shalimar whispered.

“So my sources tell me.”

“The whole building?”

“Probably not. Someone’s private suite, I bet. Somewhere they can restrict access.”

“Then how are we going to get in?”

“I’m workin’ on it.” Loving had spent the entire day turning over every slimy rock in the city to get a lead on the place.

“I can’t believe my sister would be involved in-in anything like this.”

“Why? She hung out with vampires.”

“But I never-” She stopped short, biting a knuckle. “I imagined-pretended, perhaps-that she’d been taken against her will. Like white slavers or something. But from what you told me, she did it all by choice. She did it for fun.”

“Maybe up to a point,” Loving said. “But I’ve got a hunch her power of choice was removed. Otherwise you woulda heard from her.” He slowly pulled out of the shadows. “C’mon, Slayer. Let’s go find your sister.”

They crossed the street and approached the front door of the building. The front door was locked. Just to the right, he saw an intercom speaker. He pushed the button.

“Yes?” the electronic voice crackled.

“Umm… could you please open the door?”

“Are you a resident?”

“No. Visitor.”

“And who are you visiting?”

Loving looked at Shalimar. She shrugged. He tried, “The Playground.”

“Just a moment. I’ll transfer you.” As if he had asked for nothing out of the ordinary.

A few moments later, the speaker crackled to life again. The voice was different. “Yes?”

“We’re here for the Playground,” Loving said.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, we’re-” Looking for someone? Loving thought better of it. “New. This is our first time.”

“Are you cops? Or in any way associated with the law enforcement community?”