5

The first time Ben and Christina visited Senator Glancy’s office, the scene had been chaotic. When they returned after lunch, it was empty. They were baffled-until the police officer posted inside escorted them downstairs.

“Where is this they’re taking us?” Ben asked.

“My hideaway,” Glancy explained, his lips pursed. “In the basement. The best of all possible Senate perks-and one of our most closely guarded secrets. A private haven far from the madding crowd, but close enough to the action that you can still make it upstairs in time for a roll call vote. Just a little place you can use to avoid lobbyists or tourists or anyone else. No one is supposed to know about them-they don’t show up on the maps. Not even the Senate floor plan. But all the top senators have one. Dianne Feinstein used hers as a temporary office during the anthrax scare of ’01 and the ricin scare of ’04. Hell, in his prime, Tom Daschle had six of them.”

When they finally arrived, the narrow hallway was congested by so many people it was difficult to pass through. The door to the hideaway had already been restricted with yellow crime scene tape. Hazel was there but not much help; her hands covered her face, which was streaked with tears. Most of the other staffers were equally distraught. Only Amanda appeared to have kept her head. She was facing down a mildly overweight man in a tan suit and white shirt, arguing with him about some topic they couldn’t discern.

“What the hell happened?” Glancy muttered, soaking it all in. “Did the White House send cops out to look for a semen-stained dress?”

“There must be more to it than that,” Ben said quietly. “A lot more.”

“Why?”

“That man Amanda is talking to? He’s a police detective.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I’ve spent a lot of time around detectives-and they didn’t put this crime scene tape up for decoration. Something happened, and judging by the flurry of coveralled crime tech personnel in there, it happened in your hideaway.”

“How could anything happen here? I’ve been in the cafeteria for hours.”

“I don’t know. Let’s see if we can find out. Christina, try to get to one of the uniforms. I’ll work on the detective.”

They split up. Ben moved beside Amanda and the detective and waited for a pause in the conversation, which given the speed at which Amanda bellowed, was a fairly long wait.

“Who else had access to this location?” the detective asked.

“Only members of the staff. No one else would even know it existed.”

“And I’ve met all the staffers here. Is there another office?”

“We have a secondary office a few blocks from here. At the Democratic headquarters.”

“Why so far away?”

“They’re full-time fund-raisers. They make cold calls, stay in touch with major donors, that sort of thing.”

“You keep a separate office just for that?”

“No choice. Federal law prohibits fund-raising calls from a government office or on a government phone. Just ask Al Gore.”

“Excuse me,” Ben said, cutting in. “May I ask what happened here?”

The man looked at Amanda, not at Ben. “Who the hell is he? Is he on my list?”

“He’s…” She waved her hand in the air. “Actually, I don’t remember his name. He’s the senator’s lawyer.”

“My name is Ben Kincaid. Why are the police here? What’s happened?”

The detective scowled. “Like Glancy doesn’t already know?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Then what a coincidence that he just happens to show up with a lawyer in tow.” He snorted.

Ben did his best to control his temper. “Would someone please tell me what happened?”

The man reached past his bulging belly into his jacket and removed a black wallet, then flashed his badge. “I’m Lieutenant Albertson, DCPD. Homicide.”

Ben felt his pulse quicken.

“We found the senator’s missing girlfriend doing a headstand in the senator’s hideaway. On the sofa, with her face wedged between the cushions. And her legs sprawled backward over the edge. And a nine-inch gash in her neck. Huge blood loss. Does that answer your question?”

“Is she dead?”

“You betcha. That’s why we call it a homicide.”

“May I see the crime scene?”

“No.”

“May I speak to whoever found the body?”

“No.”

“I’d like to receive copies of all your preliminary reports.”

“Hell, no.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I?”

Ben knew he was staring at a brick wall, and nothing less than a cannonball was going to get him through it. He realized how spoiled he had been, working in Tulsa, where his best friend and former brother-in-law was a homicide detective. Mike usually kept him involved and shared pertinent information, even when it infuriated the prosecutors. Obviously he was not going to get the same courtesy from this detective.

He retreated to the doorway, where he found Glancy with Christina. “They found a corpse.”

“We know,” Christina said. No surprise there. Christina was infinitely better at working people than he was. “I got the skivvy from the hunk posted outside the door. It’s Veronica Cooper. The young woman in the video.” Both Ben and Christina slowly turned toward Glancy.

“What are you looking at me for? I didn’t have anything to do with it! I’ve been in the cafeteria with you, remember?”

“And before that?”

“I’ve been in and out of my office. At a committee meeting. In case you didn’t notice, we’ve had a fairly busy morning. I haven’t had time to come down here. But anyone could’ve gotten in.”

“Anyone could have, maybe, but why would they?” Ben surveyed the scene. The videographers were making their visual records, the hair and fiber teams were crawling on their hands and knees searching for trace evidence, and a chemical ID team was coating the floor with luminol. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Todd, but that serious problem you had? It just got a hell of a lot worse.”

The police officers wouldn’t cooperate with Ben at all, but they couldn’t evict him, at least not beyond the perimeter of the crime scene tape. Ben suspected they really didn’t want to; they knew that if he left, Glancy would go with him, and they wanted the senator on tap. So far there had been no questioning. Albertson was probably waiting until he knew as much as possible before he started interrogating their most likely suspect.

Christina continued to schmooze the officer at the gate and anyone else whose ear she could bend. She was amazing. Never once did she do anything that could be called flirting, but at the same time she had an instinctive knack for making people like her, for figuring out the best way to loosen someone’s tongue. At the end of the day, she would have more insight on the situation than Ben could get in a week.

Ben was still standing outside the door when the coroner’s team took the body out of the office. They seemed nervous, and Ben could understand why; it was a fair bet they’d never been asked to haul a corpse out of the U.S. Senate before. At one point an assistant stumbled and the top sheet slipped. Glancy averted his eyes. Ben didn’t.

Her face was ashen and gray, but there was no doubt that it was the woman in the video. She was wearing more clothing now, but not that much more. Her white blouse was open three buttons down, exposing her neck and a significant amount of cleavage. She was wearing a short but professional-looking skirt, red and blue plaid, and red pumps.

Once the sheet was replaced and the corpse removed, Glancy turned back around. “My God,” he whispered. “Who would’ve done this to her?”

Ben had no answer for him. But he suspected that every law enforcement officer in the room did, and that it was an answer Glancy was not going to like.

Christina pulled a chair beside Hazel, the receptionist, and tried to comfort her. She was still sobbing, blowing her nose, wailing about “that sweet girl who never wanted to hurt anyone,” a dolorous expression engraved on her face.