William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“What?” The Sire whirled around in the direction of the voice, but before he could complete the turn the room was split by the sound of a projectile whistling through the air. It thudded into the center of the Sire’s chest. He screamed, then collapsed.

His hands were clutching the bolt of a crossbow.

“Nice shot, if I do say so myself. Kind of disappointed he didn’t turn into dust, though.”

Loving leaned forward, struggling to see. “Shalimar!”

She walked beside him, beaming. “Yup. Your friendly neighborhood vampire hunter.”

Loving did his best to appear cross. “I told you to stay outside.”

“Yeah. Good thing I didn’t listen, huh?” She crouched beside him. “How are you?”

Loving grunted and stretched out his arm. “Help me up.” He felt extremely woozy, but he was determined to stay at his feet. “The Sire. Is he dead?”

“Nah. Hurting real bad, I hope, but not dead. See? Eyes still open.”

Loving bent over the Sire, who was writhing on the floor, trying unsuccessfully to remove the bolt. Loving desperately wanted to kill the fiend on the spot, but he knew that wouldn’t be smart, however pleasurable.

He grabbed the end of the crossbow and gave it a twist. The Sire screeched like a banshee. “Not so fun when the sharp instrument is inside you, huh? You’re bleedin’ big-time. The human body only contains eight pints of blood, as I ’spect you know, bein’ an expert on the subject. So if you don’t tell me what I want to know, immediately, not only am I not gonna call an ambulance, but I’m going to leave you here to die slowly. Then I’m going to let all your henchvamps come in and lap up your blood. And then-” He leaned closer so the Sire could feel his breath. “Then I’m going to take your body to the Playground and put it in the room reserved for necrophiliacs. For the first time in your miserable existence, you’ll be bringin’ some joy into someone else’s life.” He paused, giving the man a look that made it clear he was not bluffing. “One chance. Only. Where’s Beatrice?”

The Sire raised a shaky hand and pointed up the stairs. Then he jerked his hand to the left.

“You’d better be tellin’ the truth, or I’ll prove to everyone in the Inner Circle that you’re not immortal. Come on, Shalimar.”

Shalimar raced upstairs and across the hall, then through the far left door. Loving hobbled behind as best he could. She threw open the door.

“Oh my God.”

It was like a wing of a hospital ward, one bed after the next, all of them alike, all of them occupied. By young girls.

“Beatrice!”

Shalimar spotted her long before Loving did. She raced to her sister’s side. Loving followed as quickly as possible.

She looked much as she had when he’d seen her earlier, in the Inner Circle ceremony-pale, weak, motionless. But now her eyes were open, and they reacted to the sound of her sister’s voice.

“Beatrice! Oh my God. Beatrice!”

Shalimar leaned across the bed and hugged her sister tightly, tears streaming from her eyes. Loving sat on the edge of the bed, tired, hurting, but so so glad. They’d found her. She wasn’t dead. She was-

Loving spotted the IV needle in her arm. Beside the bed was a bottle filled with a red fluid.

Her blood.

And as he scanned the room, he saw that on every bed, every girl had an IV needle in her arm, and a half-filled bottle beside her.

Oh my God, Loving thought. This was too much. Too much.

“Call the ambulance,” he whispered, the best he could manage. “Call the police. Ask for Lieutenant Albertson.”

And then he closed his eyes and tried to make the rest of the world go away.

Oh my God. Oh my dear God.

*

B en and Padolino were huddled in the judge’s chambers, both hunched over the man’s desk while Christina and Padolino’s assistants stood barely a foot behind them, each feeding their attorneys case law and citations as the legal wrangling roiled. The court reporter sat just behind them, her fingers rapidly taking down everything that was said.

“This is absolutely unacceptable,” Padolino declared. “The trial is over. He was done.”

“I never rested,” Ben said. “The judge specifically said we could have more time.”

“To interrogate Tiffany Dell, yes. Not to drum up some surprise witness.”

“Right,” Ben shot back. “Only the prosecution is allowed to do that.”

“I never put Tiffany Dell on the stand!”

“You used her as a witness just the same.”

“Gentlemen, stop!” Herndon put his hands down firmly on his desk. “I’ve had enough of this bickering. If you have a legal argument to make, then make it. If you have some precedent to present to the court, heaven forbid, please do so. Otherwise, be quiet!”

They both started to speak at once. Herndon raised a finger. “I want you to both sit down. Now. We’re going to take turns. You remember about taking turns? Perhaps your mothers introduced the concept one day when you were playing Candy Land.”

Both attorneys eyed each other. Lips parted.

“Padolino,” Herndon declared, “you’re first.”

“Your honor, in the name of fundamental fairness, do not allow the defense to pull out some unknown witness at the eleventh hour in a desperate attempt to salvage a case they are going to lose-for good reason. My associates can provide you with a dozen cases in which judges refused to hear testimony from witnesses who were not on the pretrial witness list.”

“Nonetheless, this is surely a matter that has to be considered on a case-by-case basis.”

“But we didn’t even know this woman existed before Mr. Kincaid called us last night. We’ve had no opportunity to talk to her.”

“I have it on the authority of Lieutenant Albertson of the DCPD that Mr. Kincaid himself did not know about this woman or talk to her prior to her discovery by his investigator last night. And the only reason you haven’t been able to talk to her is that she’s been in the Bethesda intensive care unit along with many other young women discovered on the same premises.”

“Just the same-”

Herndon adjusted the direction of his finger. “Okay, you’ve had your say. Now it’s Mr. Kincaid’s turn.”

“Your honor, the only reason I’m asking the court to permit this testimony is that it is vital to uncovering the truth.”

“It always is,” he said wearily.

“Moreover, it is critical to understanding what happened to Veronica Cooper.”

“Oh honestly,” Padolino said, “as if we didn’t already know what-”

“Counselor,” Herndon admonished, “it is not your turn. Back to the Peppermint Stick Forest.”

Padolino clammed up.

Ben continued. “Of course we’ll give the prosecutors access to her, the same as we’ve had, as much as her doctors will permit.”

“What about this other person? The one the police chief called ‘the Sire’?”

“Real name Barry Dodds, real estate agent by day. Vamp by night.” Ben shook his head. “He’s not talking-for obvious reasons. Judge, this girl is all we’ve got.”

“And the minor problem of her not being on the witness list?”

“I could show you mounds of case law in which new witnesses were allowed to be added when they were discovered after the trial began-but I don’t have to, because you already know all about them. Mr. Padolino was allowed to use a previously unlisted witness, and whether he actually called her or not, her testimony was devastating to my client on cross-examination. All I’m asking for is the same leniency you gave the prosecution.”