It was really no business of hers, but Christina noticed that no one else in the office was paying Hazel any attention. Certainly not Amanda, who still bore a stony expression and periodically thrust herself into the police officers’ paths for no apparent purpose other than being an irritant. She overheard a conversation between Lieutenant Albertson and his sergeant in the corridor. They didn’t know she was with Ben; neither even looked her way as they talked.

“What do you make of it?” the sergeant asked in hushed tones.

“Got no idea,” Albertson answered. “It’s too crazy. But the evidence all points in one direction.”

“Think he did her in there?”

“The CSIs haven’t found blood anywhere else.”

“I guess you noticed she wasn’t wearing panties.”

“Be hard to miss.”

“Think Glancy decided to go back for seconds? Maybe she didn’t like it, and-pow.”

Albertson grunted. “Hard to know. A man who would do what he did in that video is capable of anything, far as I’m concerned. Think we’ve got enough?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Me, too. Let’s do it.”

Christina raised her arms, not dramatically, just enough to get Ben’s attention. While he was watching, she locked her fingers around each wrist, pantomiming handcuffs. Which probably wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. But they’d been working together for a long time. He’d get the message.

“Senator Glancy,” Lieutenant Albertson said, as he strolled casually toward the senator and Ben, a friendly expression on his face. “I think I’m ready to ask you those questions now. Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Of course,” Glancy said. “Anything I can do to help.” He glanced at the still-blood-soaked sofa, his eyes filled with regret. “I tried to warn that girl.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“Warn her?” Albertson asked. “About what?”

“Don’t answer,” Ben interjected.

The lieutenant and Glancy both stared at him. “Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Don’t answer.”

“Well, then let me ask this,” the lieutenant said. “How long have you been in this building today?”

“Don’t answer,” Ben insisted. “I’m cutting this off now. No more questions.”

Glancy protested. “But, Ben-”

“You heard me. Don’t say a word.”

Albertson frowned. “May I ask on what authority you’re impeding this investigation?”

“I’m Senator Glancy’s attorney. And he has the right to remain silent, as you very well know, even though you seem to have forgotten to read him his Miranda rights.”

“It was my understanding you were representing the senator with regard to a civil matter, not a criminal one. As for the Miranda rights, this is not a custodial interrogation. We just want to ask the senator a few questions.”

“What do you take me for?” Ben shot back. “I’m his attorney in all regards until you hear otherwise. He’s not talking and that’s-”

“Excuse me, may I be of service?” It was Marshall Bressler, suddenly wheeling up beside them.

“Where did you come from?” Ben asked.

Bressler smiled. “The entire building is wheelchair-accessible, Ben. Including the basement. Federal law.” He looked up at the police lieutenant. “I’m the senator’s top aide. His administrative assistant.”

“All we want is to ask the senator a few questions.”

Ben jumped in. “And I absolutely forbid it.”

Bressler gave Ben a stern look. “Failure to cooperate with a criminal investigation is a serious matter. We could get all kinds of bad press.”

“I agree,” Glancy said. “I don’t see any reason not to assist the police, Ben. If I can help them find the man that did this-”

“Don’t kid yourself, Todd. They think they already have.”

“What? Are you suggesting-”

“No, but they will.”

Lieutenant Albertson tried again. “It would be very helpful if we could just get clarification on a few points about the senator’s whereabouts and-”

“He’s not talking.”

“Is that right?” Albertson said, exasperated, addressing the senator.

“You heard what I said,” Ben said forcefully.

“You’re just a counselor, Mr. Kincaid. An adviser. He can take your advice-or not. It’s his call.” He paused. “You know, my uniforms tell me there are about, oh, two billion reporters outside waiting to see what happens next.”

“What is that supposed to be?” Ben bellowed. “A threat? Blackmail? Any attempt to deny my client his Fifth Amendment rights is impermissible under Miranda v. Arizona and sanctionable by-”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.” The lieutenant ignored him. “So what’s it going to be, Senator? Do you come clean, or do we go outside and inform the world that you’re not talking?”

Glancy paused, pursed his lips, exhaled heavily. It was obviously a difficult decision for him. “It goes against my every instinct not to cooperate with a legal inquiry.” He sighed. “But I suppose I have to respect my attorney’s experience in these matters and do as he says.”

“Have it your way.” He waved to his sergeant. “Senator Glancy, you are now under arrest on a charge of murder in the first degree. Sergeant Reasor, handcuff the man.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Glancy said.

“I’m afraid I insist.”

“Why?” Ben said. “Just to humiliate him on the six o’clock news?”

“Standard operating procedure.” He leaned into Ben’s face. “I gave you a chance to save face, wiseass. Now your man pays the price.”

“You’d already decided to arrest him. You were just trying to get a few pre-Miranda freebies and we both know it.”

The sergeant handcuffed Glancy, then pushed him toward the door and down the corridor.

“I can run interference for you,” Ben said, as they approached the swarm of reporters waiting at the top of the stairs. “Hold up a newspaper. Keep them from getting TV footage.”

“Please don’t,” Glancy said, and a moment later he had his television face on while a hundred bright lights shone down on him and a thousand questions were shouted at once. “This is all a terrible mistake,” Glancy said. “I intend to cooperate with the investigation fully, so we can find out who really committed this atrocity. And then I’ll be back to work, serving the best interests of my constituents, in no time at all.”

But even as he watched the man perform like the pro he was, Ben knew he was wrong. This wasn’t going away anytime soon. If it went away at all.

Part Two. The Judicial Evidence Is All-Embracing

*

6

WASHINGTON DC, FIVE MONTHS LATER

Ben thought he was beyond the point where anything that took place in, at, or near a courtroom could surprise him. After the trial in Chicago -an emotionally and politically charged hate crime, covered blow-by-blow by the media nationwide-what could possibly be more difficult? He thought he’d seen it all.

He was wrong.

The federal courthouse was swarming with reporters. That was hardly startling. The so-called Glancy’s Glen had established itself in the courthouse parking lot almost immediately after the senator was arrested. Scores of reporters representing all the media were there, making daily, sometimes hourly updates with the majestic stone pillars of the courthouse as a backdrop. According to the experts, the media stronghold outsized the famed O. J. outpost. Every pretrial proceeding, no matter how minor, had been covered in detail: every docket hearing, every pretrial motion, every judicial conference, no matter how trivial. The reporters would deliver their reports in somber tones, usually concluding with a small pivot toward the courthouse and a reference to how “no one would know for sure” what happened to Veronica Cooper until the parties gathered in this building “for a final reckoning.”

What did surprise Ben as he and Christina stepped out of their taxicab was how expertly the area surrounding the courthouse appeared to be organized this morning. Ropes cordoned off the central flight of steps leading to the front doors. There were protesters present, firebrands from the left and the right as there had always been, but somehow they had been pushed far to the rear, far enough that not even the loudest of them would be heard once the minicams started rolling. Ben recognized many of the people standing closest to the ropes-including several of the senator’s staff members and friends, such as Amanda Burton and Shandy Craig. A podium had been placed at the top of the stairs with several microphones already in place.