William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“She was a beautiful woman,” he said, with such sincerity that Ben found himself feeling sympathy for a man who was threatening to kill him.

“I know. I’ve seen the photos.”

“We met the first time she came to Todd’s office to try to enlist his support for that damn insurance bill. We hit it off immediately. I couldn’t believe my luck. Here was a beautiful, vivacious woman paying attention to a pathetic cripple. No woman had given me the time of day since my accident-until Delia. Of course we knew her time was limited, but somehow we managed to put that out of our minds. We kept dating-always on the sly so no one would accuse Todd of being improperly influenced-and one thing led to another. Fast. We were so in love. We could hardly keep our hands off each other.” He chuckled. “That idiot MacReady who stumbled in and saw Delia making love. She wasn’t with Todd. She was with me. Can you believe it? Me!”

“That’s what I figured,” Ben said. “Eventually. I should’ve seen it earlier.” Because Glancy, the control freak, would never have allowed a woman to be on top. Marshall, being crippled, had no choice but to lie on the floor. That’s why he didn’t get up when MacReady came in-he couldn’t.

“I did everything in my power to get Todd to support the bill. But nothing worked. Nothing. And you know why? Not because he didn’t believe in it. He did. But he wouldn’t support it. He was too dependent upon insurance companies for their campaign contributions. He wanted to remain viable-in the running for a national ticket. That was the worst of it. We like to pretend that this is a democracy, but it isn’t. It’s the big money, the special interests, the men pulling the strings behind the curtains, they’re the ones who decide what laws are passed and what laws aren’t. They decide which candidates to support, which candidates get on the ballot. At best, we get to choose between two candidates who have been selected for us by opposing special interests-and even then the political discourse is determined by campaign contributions. Once the candidates are in office, they’re so beholden to their financiers that the whole idea of ‘government by the people’ becomes a joke.” He clenched his teeth tightly together. “You talk about your vampires. These are the real vampires, the genuine article, the monsters who take our public trust and suck it dry, who start out caring about the world and end up only caring about reelection.”

Ben tried to understand. “So Glancy killed the bill Delia wanted. Still-she was terminal. Todd Glancy didn’t kill her.”

Bressler looked at Ben, a stony expression on his face. “About six months after Delia died, clinical tests by a team of researchers in Denmark showed that in some cases, an experimental interferon-based cocktail could slow the spread of ovarian cancer, or in some cases induce a full remission. The FDA eventually approved it for general use in the United States. Delia wanted that treatment. But because it hadn’t been approved at the time, Delia’s insurance company wouldn’t pay for it. And since our American health care system only provides health to those who can pay for it, her sole recourse was Congress. And because Todd Glancy cared more about his own reelection than a bill that could save lives-Delia Collins died. My sweet perfect Delia died.” His voice was like gravel, racked with sorrow. “My life was over. What chance did I have of ever finding a love like that?”

“What chance does any of us have?” Ben responded quietly, wondering what was going on outside, in a hospital room somewhere, with a beautiful strawberry-blond patient. “So you decided to take revenge.”

“I bided my time, waiting for the right moment. Todd is a careful man; he doesn’t take many chances. But when he started up with that intern, I knew I had my opportunity. I was just going to expose him, create a scandal, originally. Then I thought of something better.”

“Framing him for murder.”

He nodded. “After I first conceived the idea, I became obsessed by it. Spent all my spare time thinking of ways to pull it off. Brought the knife to work, even before I knew what I was going to do with it. I couldn’t help myself. That man’s evil was so enormous I couldn’t get it out of my mind.”

More likely he was building up an immunity to the antipsychotic drugs that were supposed to keep him under control, Ben thought. After so many years, their effectiveness must have diminished.

“And then one day, the perfect opportunity fell into my lap. I found Veronica in the hideaway-as I told you before, thanks to the Americans with Disabilities Act, this entire building is wheelchair-accessible. She was making time with that living filth-the one they call the Sire. I heard what they said, what they did. Her vampire lover took the money, had tawdry sex with her, sucked her blood, gave her that drug, and left her for dead. But the amazing thing is-she didn’t die. Veronica was stronger than any of us imagined. She might’ve pulled through-if I hadn’t intervened.

“I got the knife and cut her across the shoulder to obscure the bite mark her boyfriend had left behind, and to make a wound so large she couldn’t possibly recover. I flipped her upside down, just for dramatic effect and to make her blood drain faster; my legs might be crippled, but my arms are quite strong-I work out, remember? I was careful not to get blood on me or my chair. And then I left. With all the press we had streaming around the building that day, I knew it was just a matter of time till some snoop discovered the body. Plus I’d spotted Shandy eavesdropping on them-though I made sure she didn’t see me. After that video, it wasn’t hard to deduce who would be the cops’ primary suspect.” He paused. “What put you on to me?”

“I eventually realized you were the only one who could’vegotten that big knife into the building,” Ben explained. “Security is so tight I couldn’t get in with a metal button sewn to my shirttail. But I bet you could get almost anything in. Everyone knows you’re going to set off the alarm. Because you’re riding around in a wheelchair.”

Bressler smiled a little. “At first they made some effort to search me, examine the chair. But it was so hard-someone had to hold me while they sent the chair through separately, and I acted like it really hurt, and after a few months…” He shrugged. “Well, what threat could I possibly be? I’m just a harmless old cripple, right? And even if they had patted me down-which they didn’t-they wouldn’t have found the knife. Just like they didn’t find this gun.”

“Because you put them in the compartment under the armrest of your chair,” Ben guessed. “Very bold of you to show me that, way back when. I tried to call Marie before I came over here, to verify my recollection, because I remembered you telling me she’d had the chair specially designed for you. I’m sure she never imagined you’d use it to… well.” To smuggle in the gun you used to shoot her.

“Yeah.” Marshall took a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered; Ben could see he was barely able to keep them open. “You about ready to go, Ben?”

“I’d appreciate it. Those FBI guys outside must be going nuts. And-I’d really like to see how Christina is doing. And I wouldn’t mind putting my clothes back on, either.”

Marshall nodded. “I heard what you said, when you carried Christina out of here. Reminded me of Delia. How we were. While it lasted.” His eyes filled with tears. He laid down the gun. “I loved her so much, Ben. So much. Did you ever love someone like that? Love them so much-and then lose them?”

“Yes. I mean, she didn’t die, but-it hurt just the same.”

“You’re too young.”

“No one’s too young,” Ben replied. “And my father died, several years ago. That hurt, too. And we didn’t even get along. He thought I was wasting my life, that I’d been a traitor to him. But when he died-I couldn’t handle it. Probably should’ve gone into therapy. Instead I ran off to Tulsa and tried to leave my family, my past, far behind.” He paused. “It didn’t work. Running isn’t the answer.”