William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“Still, you must have more important things-”

“Sir, running errands for senators is what pages do. It’s, like, our job description.”

“Very well,” Christina said. “Lead on. By the way, love that suit.”

“Thanks, but I didn’t pick it out. It’s the standard page uniform. You can’t change it. We’re not even allowed to wear jewelry. I try to do the best I can with it.”

“You succeed. Helps that you’re in great shape.”

“I should be. On average, pages walk seven miles a day.”

“Wow. You must be all muscle tone. Ben, I’m dumping you to become a Senate page.”

Tiffany laughed. “I think you’re over the age limit, nothing personal. And even though it’s good exercise-it’s exhausting. Back and forth between the houses, all day long. The underground tram barely helps. Though I’d rather be out and about than stuck in that tiny former cloakroom we call our headquarters.” She led them around a corner and down a long marble hallway. “Do you have time for a quick tour? We don’t have to stay in this building. Wanna see the Senate chamber? The antique desks? The photo op platform where Vice President Cheney gave Patrick Leahy the f-word? Or the West Front-that’s where presidents are sworn into office. Statuary Hall? The Rotunda? Or the catafalque beneath-that’s where they originally planned to bury George Washington, and where Lincoln and Kennedy and Reagan lay in state before burial. Did you know that the first Supreme Court chamber was in this building, before they got their own place across the street?”

“I did,” Ben said, “and I’d love to see all that, but I think your boss is anxious to talk to us.”

“All right. If your schedule lightens up, just ask someone to call for Tiffany.” She turned toward a long narrow stairway and led the way.

Senator Glancy’s office on the second floor of the Russell Building, Room S-212-D, was a study in chaos theory. Ben stood at the threshold and watched as more than a dozen staffers scurried back and forth, ants in an anthill, each with their appointed tasks, each on a path that intersected those of numerous others without quite colliding. Perhaps this was not the chaos that it appeared after all, Ben mused. Perhaps, as Mrs. Austin, his fourth-grade social studies teacher taught, this was Our Government in Action.

The office consisted of a large lobby with many chairs and a sofa, but only one desk. There were four doors to smaller inner offices, all of them open. Three were occupied; one, the largest, was empty. Ben assumed that was Senator Glancy’s office and wondered where he was. Despite the embarrassing security kerfuffle, they had arrived almost exactly at the appointed time.

The fiftyish woman behind the desk was juggling two phones at once while simultaneously writing something on a yellow legal pad. Almost everyone in the room had a cell phone pressed to their ear or, worse, one of those near-invisible headsets that allowed them to walk and talk on the phone, but made it look as if they were muttering to themselves. Like the receptionist, they were all multitasking. Apparently their jobs required them to do three things at once, perhaps more. Ben wondered if the place was always like this, or only the day after a graphic, grotesque sex video featuring the boss hit the airwaves.

Not everyone currently in the office worked there. Ben spotted what appeared to be at least two civilians, one of them a father with three children clustered around his feet. “When am I going to get those tickets to the White House?” he kept saying, to anyone who passed near him. No one answered. Ben sympathized with the man, but he expected that visitor tours were not high on anyone’s agenda today. Another woman was short, obese, and with such an evident mad-on that Ben was surprised the security guards let her through the door. She stood in the middle of the lobby and shouted, “When is my boy going to get his furlough? His dad’s sick. I need him!”

The ants scurried past her. If they noticed, they gave no sign. A young woman with platinum-blond hair crossed right past Ben and stopped at the receptionist’s desk. Despite her worried expression, she had an attractive face, with a slight overbite that made her appearance all the more endearing. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. “I’m sorry to keep pestering you, Hazel. But I’m still having trouble with the Blue Beetle. I don’t know if it’s broken or if I just don’t know how to work it.”

“Probably a combination of both,” the woman replied, holding her hand over the voice end of one of the phones. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”

“The senator said he wanted these memos out immediately.”

The receptionist gave her a long look. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”

While the young woman was momentarily still, Ben seized the opportunity. “Excuse me, can you help me?”

“No,” the woman said, frowning. “I can’t help anyone. This is my first day here and I’m proving myself totally useless.”

“Your first day? Good grief, what a time to start work.”

“Yeah. I’m filling in for you-know-who, since she didn’t turn up for work today. Not that anyone was surprised.”

Ben was able to put the pieces together. By yesterday afternoon, the press had revealed that the young woman in the video with Senator Glancy was none other than one of his office interns, a relatively new hire named Veronica Cooper. She was probably deep in hiding, dodging reporters. This young lady was taking her place.

“Tough situation to be plunged into,” Ben said, hoping that if she warmed up to him a bit he might actually persuade her to take him to the senator. “You have my sympathies.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I wanted this job. I wanted it three months ago when it first became available, but Veronica beat me out. Career-wise, this is a great opportunity. Sanity-wise, it’s a disaster. The phones have been ringing nonstop. Just getting past the press corps stalking the office was a challenge.”

“We had to meet that challenge ourselves,” Ben explained. “By the way, I’m Ben Kincaid. I’m an attorney.”

“Shandy Craig,” she replied, shaking his hand. “I’m a baby intern.”

“Shandy,” Christina repeated. “I like that. Is it Scottish?”

“Oh, it isn’t my real name. But that’s what everyone calls me. Since I was a kid.”

“I’m supposed to have a meeting now with the senator,” Ben explained.

“Good luck. Everyone from the minority leader on down has been trying to talk to him today, and no one has managed to do it. I think he’s lying low until he figures out how best to deal with this mess.”

“Yes, that’s what he told me he planned. In part, that’s why I’m here.”

“You’ll need to talk to Amanda Burton. She’s the senator’s PR director. She keeps his calendar. Makes sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. She’ll be able to tell you where he is. If you can get her attention.”

Christina stepped forward. “Mind if I ask a question?”

Shandy held up her hands. “All I was supposed to do was run the automatic-pen signing machine. I don’t know anything more about that video than you do.”

“No, not about that. I was just wondering-what’s the Blue Beetle?”

“I believe he was a comic book hero in the forties…,” Ben said quietly.

They both stared at him for a moment, then Shandy laughed. “Is that where it comes from? I didn’t know. The Blue Beetle is what they call the senator’s obsolete copying machine. He insists on having all his memos printed in blue ink-and this is a senator who still hasn’t figured out how to use e-mail, so we’re talking about a lot of blue ink.”

“Why blue?”