William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“So you had a close-up view of our senator in action, so to speak. Could you tell us a little something about his sexual preferences?”

“I don’t see that there’s any cause for that.”

“Oh come on now, sir. The defendant’s wife talked about it.” And opened the door to this tacky field of inquiry, Ben thought. “Why should you have any reluctance?”

“Mrs. Glancy told it pretty much the way it was,” Capshaw said, frowning. “He likes to be in control. He likes to dominate.”

“So describe some of his favored positions.”

Capshaw looked up at the judge, but saw no relief from that quarter. “It was mostly playacting. More often than not, he’d try to subdue her. Put her in a position of powerlessness. He had one deal where he’d bend her over a desk or table, facedown, then stretch out her arms and tie them in place with ropes or socks or whatever was available. And then… you know. Take her from behind. Call her dirty names. Insult her. Sometimes he’d handcuff her to the bed. Slap her around a bit, make her scream till he got aroused. Stuff like that.”

“Such a wide variety of experiences you seem to have observed. Tell us, Mr. Capshaw. Did Senator Glancy to your knowledge have affairs with any women other than Ms. Cooper?”

“Objection,” Ben said quickly. “Relevance.”

“Overruled. The witness will answer.”

“But this can’t possibly relate to the relationship between the defendant and-”

“I’ve overruled you,” Judge Herndon said harshly. “The witness will answer the question.”

Capshaw’s eyes lowered. “Yes. He did.”

A heavy silence blanketed the courtroom.

“How many others?”

“I’m aware of three.”

Next to Ben, Glancy’s chin fell. Behind him, Marie Glancy tried to make herself invisible.

“Three? Well, I suppose you were only on the case for six months, and you spent most of that time tailing Ms. Cooper.” Capshaw gave him a cold look. “How often did he see these three other women?”

“One of them only once. The other two, about once a week. They met at hotels, mostly.”

“Once a week. Just like Ms. Cooper. My goodness, when you add all these women up, you wonder how the man had time to attend any committee meetings at all.” No one laughed, but Ben would’ve rather they had. At least it would’ve broken the pallor cast by this ugly tidbit of information. “And were these other women young?”

“Yeah. All of them. Young, thin, pretty. Blond. He really liked the blondes.”

“So I gather.” Padolino drew himself up and faced the jury. “So we’re not just talking about a philandering husband. We’re talking about a sex addict!”

Ben jumped to his feet, but the judge was already pounding his gavel, trying to quiet the crowd. “Mr. Padolino, you have been warned!”

Padolino didn’t stop. “And we’re supposed to believe that this sex addict was going to pay one of his many lovers a quarter of a million dollars? When it would be so much easier just to kill her and stuff her in his hideaway?”

“Mr. Padolino!” Judge Herndon shouted, even louder than Ben objected, but it didn’t matter. The courtroom was out of control. Reporters were racing out the doors, hoping to be the first to file the story. Calls would be made, trying to track down the other lovers and book them on the earliest possible nighttime talk show. The National Enquirer would make them all millionaires.

But at the moment, Ben’s main concern was the broken man sitting beside him. “All right then,” Glancy whispered, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears. “So maybe I’m not going to be on the national ticket.” He clutched at Ben’s arm. “Just don’t let them kill me, Ben. I did not kill that woman-Miss Cooper. And I don’t want to die for a crime I didn’t commit.”

Ben squeezed his hand and tried to sound reassuring. But as he looked around the courtroom, at the frenzy in the gallery, the anger behind the bench, and worst of all, the faces of the jurors, he knew that every one of them would probably not object if a posse rode into the courtroom and hung Glancy from the nearest tree.

Their only possible course of action now was to put Glancy on the stand, to let him tell his story for himself. But given what had been done to his reputation in the courtroom this day, Ben doubted very seriously that it would be enough.

Loving had experienced a lot of pain in his life, but never anything like this. Every inch of his wet flesh was on fire. Deep Throat had not only jabbed him with the knife, he’d turned the blade, twisting it back and forth, cutting Loving inside and out. He was not content merely to cause injury. He wanted to create pain. And he was doing a very good job.

“Ready to talk yet?”

Loving tried to respond, but the agony was too intense. He had to hold it together, had to keep going until he had a chance to escape. But how could he possibly escape when he was strung up like a slab of meat in the back room of a vampire church?

“I want to know everything you’ve told the police. Or your Mr. Kincaid.” The Sire pushed himself into Loving’s face. “Answer me!”

Loving glared at him. “I would say ‘Go to hell,’ except you might consider that home sweet home.”

The Sire snarled. “Hurt him again.”

Deep Throat jabbed Loving again with the knife, reentering the same wound. Loving tried to keep silent, but it was impossible. It was too excruciating. He let out a ferocious scream.

“Don’t taunt him,” Deep Throat whispered into Loving’s ear. “You have no idea how dangerous he is. How crazy. There’s nothing he won’t do.”

Loving was breathing heavily. Lightbulbs were flashing before his eyes. His heart was thumping out of control. This must be what it was like to be crucified, he thought. Having your body torn, stretched, until your heart gave out or you finally died of suffocation. Strong as he was, he knew he couldn’t take this much longer. Already he was fading…

“Oh no, my investigating friend, we can’t have you dozing off. We need something to stimulate you. Here-I think you’ll get a charge out of this.”

All at once, Loving’s entire body felt as if it had been ignited. He cried out, bellowing nonstop, writhing this way and that.

The Sire had a two-pronged electric cattle prod pressed up against him, right on the knife wound. Worse, Loving was still wet from the hose and he wasn’t grounded, so the electrical shock waves radiated all over him, crashing down his spine, sending his brain into sensory overload.

“Still not feeling talkative? Let’s try it again.”

He jabbed Loving again, this time actually pressing the prod inside the knife wound. Loving felt as if he were being rent apart, torn from the inside out. There was no way he could endure this pain-no one could. His heart, already racing, accelerated even more. He began breathing in short quick gasps, never getting enough.

“Please stop.” Loving could barely see him-tears and pain were blurring his vision-but he recognized the voice of Deep Throat talking to his master. “He can’t take much more of this,” Usher said.

“He knows how to make it stop.”

“I’m telling you-if you keep this up, he’ll die!”

“Then let him die!” the Sire screamed. “I’m ready for my midnight snack!” He thrust the prod forward again and held it, letting the electricity ripple across Loving’s body, over and over again. Loving tried to hold it together, tried to stay awake, because he very much feared that if he passed out he’d never wake. But it was impossible. The pain ate at him, his heart, every nerve ending in his body. The room seemed to swirl. He felt dizzy, then nauseous, until at last the deep swell of a black tidal wave overwhelmed him and he felt nothing at all.