William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“No,” he said quietly.

“And you won’t deny that you had an affair with her, either, will you?”

“If she’s already admitted it publicly, I suppose there’s no point.”

“Glad you’re being so reasonable. Let me ask you, Senator-how old is she?”

Glancy hesitated. “I… don’t know. She’s young, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Well, of course, she’s young. You only interview, hire, and sleep with women who are young.”

“Objection!” Christina shouted.

“Short leash, Mr. Padolino,” Judge Herndon said, a fierce tone in his voice. “Very short leash.”

“Right, right,” Padolino said, holding up his hands. “My apologies. What I want to know, Senator, is her age.”

“I don’t know her age.”

“Don’t you? You sponsored her. Because she’s not exactly a congressional staffer, as you led the jury to believe. She’s a congressional page. A high school student.” He paused. “She’s seventeen.”

Christina’s eyes closed. Just as she feared. It was the same Tiffany whom Glancy had sent to meet Ben and Christina when they first came to the Senate.

The stir in the courtroom was almost deafening. Judge Herndon slammed his gavel, but it still took several moments to restore any semblance of order.

“Senator, why did you sponsor Miss Dell?”

Glancy took a deep breath. “She’s a bright, ambitious young woman who was raised in a very poor undereducated family in rural Oklahoma. As with Ms. Cooper, I was trying to do her a favor.”

“Do her a favor? Or do yourself a favor? What did you promise this bright, ambitious girl if she would submit to your disgusting advances?”

“I never did anything of the sort. This is all untrue!”

“I don’t think so, Senator. She was a minor and you knew it. You knew it when you sponsored her and you knew it when you took her to bed.”

“I object!” Christina bellowed.

“Sustained!” Herndon said, equally loudly. “Consider yourself fined, Mr. Padolino. One more outburst like that and you’ll be spending the night in jail.”

Padolino plowed ahead just the same. “You didn’t suppress her name because you were trying to protect Miss Dell. You were trying to protect yourself. From a rape charge!”

“That’s not true!” Glancy insisted. “It was entirely consensual.”

“It was statutory rape, at the very least,” Padolino continued. “And I wonder if it wasn’t more than that.”

“Again I must object!” Christina said. “This is pure character assassination. It has nothing to do with the murder.”

“Oh, I’m getting to that,” Padolino said, in a way that sent chills down Christina’s spine. “I’m just laying the foundation here. There’s much more yet to come.”

“Then get to it,” Judge Herndon said. “I’ve had about as much of this as I’m going to take.”

“Senator Glancy,” Padolino said, “do you recall the intimate evening you spent with Miss Dell?”

Glancy’s whole demeanor, his very presence, had changed. He looked rumpled, confused, uncomfortable. His face was red. Sweat dripped down the side of his face. “Of course I do.”

“That’s good. Do you remember the part when you bit her on the neck?”

One of the female jurors gasped. They all looked horrified.

“I didn’t do anything I thought would be… unpleasurable to her.”

“Indeed. Do you remember when you cut her?”

And that was when Christina knew. Knew for certain. That was when it became hopeless.

“Again,” Glancy said, suddenly looking old, desperate, lecherous, and totally untrustworthy, “it’s none of your business what goes on between consenting adults.”

“But she’s not quite an adult, is she?”

“I didn’t do anything she didn’t like!”

“Anything she didn’t like? Or anything you didn’t like?”

Glancy’s face was so tight, so flushed, he looked as if he might explode. “She… was enjoying it!”

“No, sir. You were enjoying it. It was your fetish. Always being in control. She told me she asked you to stop repeatedly. But you wouldn’t.” The buzz in the courtroom rose, but Padolino continued. “She said you cut her neck, and she cried out for you to stop, but you wouldn’t. She said it was as if you lost all reason, as if you became some sort of monster!”

“Objection!” Christina shouted. “Is counsel testifying now or just repeating hearsay from his ambush witness?”

Padolino ignored her. “Tiffany said you cut her, and you wouldn’t stop, and she believed that if she hadn’t been strong enough to stop you, you would’ve killed her!”

Christina objected, and Glancy denied, but they were both drowned out by the tumult that swept across the courtroom. It took much gavel pounding before Judge Herndon restored any semblance of order.

“Just answer this for the jury,” Padolino said, “and answer truthfully, sir, because I have photographs that were taken by Miss Dell the very night it happened. Do you deny that you cut your young lover on the neck? With a knife?”

The wait seemed interminable. But at last they got their answer.

“No,” Glancy said quietly. “I don’t deny it.”

And then it was over. Not the cross-that went on for another half hour, and then Christina attempted to redirect, for all the good it did. And they would interview Tiffany Dell and try to find some holes in her story. But that had nothing to do with the trial. The trial, as Christina knew all too well, was over. She had no doubts now about whether the jury would convict. She only wondered if they would do her the courtesy of deliberating.

The Sire was dancing around the dead body of his former underling, clapping his hands and shouting in tones that bordered between elation and hysteria. “You thought you could escape the Inner Circle? You thought you could escape my wrath? You fool ! Thus to all traitors. Thus to all who challenge the Brotherhood of Miatas. I am the Sire! I cannot be defeated!”

He’s insane, Loving thought, as he lay helplessly on the floor. Totally over the edge. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Sire killed him. And in his current condition, he was unable to stop it. Even if he managed to pull himself up, he could never move fast enough to elude that drooling psychopath.

“You thought you could defeat me, didn’t you?” He jerked the scalpel out of Deep Throat’s neck and pressed it against Loving’s throat. “You thought you could take what was mine. Mine! You thought you could steal from me! No one takes what is mine, my sad pathetic friend. I am an immortal! I am a god among men.”

“Fine,” Loving managed to spit out. “Kill me. But let Beatrice go. There’s no reason why you have to kill her.”

The Sire shook his head, giving Loving a pitying expression. “How little you understand. After all this time.”

Loving felt his gorge rising in his stomach. He had failed-totally and utterly failed. He couldn’t save Beatrice. He couldn’t even save himself.

“How does it feel to be helpless, my strapping friend? How does it feel to know that your time on this planet is about to come to an end? That I’m going to add your petty life to my collection of souls. That I will drink your blood for my breakfast?”

Loving desperately wanted to tell him what he thought, but he knew that wouldn’t be wise.

“Still silent? Very well. Prepare yourself. Say a prayer, if you think it will do you any good.” He held up the scalpel; it glistened in the overhead light. “I’m going to cut your throat now. And drink from you like a fountain. Like a fountain!” He crouched down beside Loving. “I’m going to cut you like-”

“I don’t think so. Say cheese, Dracula.”