Ah, Loving thought. One of those kinds of escort services.

He knocked on the door, wondering if he needed a secret knock or handshake. Fortunately, that didn’t prove necessary. The door opened a crack. A pair of dark female eyes became just barely visible. “Yeah?”

“I’m here to see Lucille,” Loving replied.

“Does she know you’re coming?”

“Darn! I forgot to call ahead. But-”

“She isn’t seeing any more clients tonight.”

“Are you sure? Maybe if you asked, she-”

“I’m sure. She… had a bad experience. Asked for the rest of the night off. But we have other escorts on duty tonight. What are your requirements?”

“My… uh, requirements?”

“What exactly were you looking for? We have other redheads. Other large-breasted women. Much larger, in fact.”

Loving squirmed. “No, it, uh, has to be Lucille.”

The crack in the door began to narrow. “Try again another night, cowboy. If you want to avoid disappointment, make an appointment.”

Loving thrust his toe forward, stopping the door.

The woman’s face turned cold. “Look, buddy, I’m not alone here. You may think you’re hot stuff, but I’ve got three guys inside just as big as you who’ll rip your-”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Loving assured her. “I just gotta talk to Lucille.”

“Then come back another night. There’s no way-”

“Tell her it’s about Amber.” It was a shot in the dark, but he had to try something. “Tell her I’m looking for Amber.”

The two coal-black eyes in the narrow slit stared at him for a long moment. A good thirty seconds passed before Loving heard the sound of the door chain being released.

“You can come inside. But stay in the lobby. I’ll ask Lucille if she’s up to it.” She held up a finger. “You better not be screwing with us.”

“Gosh, no,” Loving said. “I wouldn’t dream of… trying to screw with someone here. At the escort service.”

She gave him another long look. “Back in sixty seconds. Don’t go anywhere.”

Senator Glancy had recommended the Four Georges at the Georgetown Inn for dinner; he’d even made the reservation himself on Ben’s cell phone and told the maître d’ to put it on his tab. He wasn’t attending himself, since the federal marshals collected him as soon as the jury was dismissed, but Ben and Christina opted to take his recommendation-and his free meal. They were seated in the elegant and somewhat exclusive George II room-apparently senators had pull in this town, even when they were currently residing in a holding cell. The room was decorated in a desert motif: palm trees, or something that looked like them, brick-laid walls painted a sandy hue and ornamented with several variegated mosaics. They didn’t have to sit on the carpet or wear turbans, but the low tables and the belly-dancing music still conveyed the desired ambience.

“Heard anything from Loving?” Christina asked. She had changed into a turquoise dress with a hip-hugging waist that was positively lovely. Even some nice bling-a faux pearl necklace and earrings.

“Barely.” Ben was wearing the same suit he’d had on all day. Of course, he had only three, and the dry cleaning at the Watergate wasn’t that speedy, so he couldn’t afford to be extravagant. “He did leave me a message. Thinks he’s got some kind of lead on Veronica Cooper’s friends.”

“’Bout damn time, as my father used to say.” She flagged the waiter and asked him to refill her club soda. “You know how little we’ve got, and the prosecution has a mound of evidence. Not to mention public opinion-a general populace predisposed to convict. Everyone commentator and quidnunc in the city is talking about this case.”

“Because of the video?”

“Because this is a nation where news has been supplanted by gossip. Because most people would rather think the worst of their elected officials than the best.”

“There is that…”

“And I don’t care what the judge says in court. As soon as the jurors see that video, in its full and unexpurgated form, the burden of proof will be on us.”

“We don’t have to prove he’s a hero. Or even a nice guy. We just have to prove he’s not a murderer. I think we should all but ignore the video, admit the affair. Focus on the murder, the forensic evidence, the bizarre appearance of the corpse in the hideaway. Glancy’s alibi.”

“Padolino will do his darnedest to bust that alibi.”

“Just the same, that’s where we should concentrate our energy. That’s where Padolino has some holes in his case. We should make the most of it.” He fidgeted with his fork. “Did I mention… that’s a very attractive dress you’re wearing tonight. Have I seen it before?”

She flashed her usual fulgent smile. “This is what I always wear when we go someplace nice.”

“So that would mean…”

“You’ve seen it twice.”

“Well… it looks… particularly nice tonight.” He wanted to slap himself. Ben, you smooth talker. More talk like that and she’ll be putty in your hands.

“You’re sweet. But I’ve had it for years. It’s getting worn. I should go shopping.”

“Well, we are in DC. After the case is over…”

“Maybe if we win. And you actually collect a fee this time.”

“Christina…”

“Just joshing, partner.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You know I care nothing about monetary gain. Why else would I work with you?”

“I think our only danger is that Glancy will spend too much on associated counselors. How many people are technically a part of this defense team now?”

“I think we’re up to ten, counting the local counsel that have been assisting on the paperwork and document review, the DNA expert, and the appeals expert.”

“Both of whom are totally unnecessary at this time.”

She nodded her agreement. “My theory is that Glancy wants to have more lawyers than O. J. and Jacko combined. It’s an ego thing. And if he can afford it…”

“Whatever. Just so they’re invisible in the courtroom. I don’t want the jury to get the idea Glancy is trying to buy his way out of trouble.” He glanced at the list in the center of the table. “Did you want some wine?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Does this mean the Four Georges doesn’t stock chocolate milk?”

“Très amusing. I just thought you might like a little stress-reducer.” And as a matter of fact, yes, the waiter had whispered to him earlier that there was no chocolate milk, but she didn’t need to hear that. What she needed to hear… well, he knew perfectly well what she needed to hear. So why wasn’t he able to say it? “You know, Christina, I really… really appreciate your help on this case. You were invaluable in the courtroom today.”

“That’s what partners do.”

“Read jurors’ minds?”

“They complete each other. Make a whole greater than the sum of the parts. That’s true for… all kinds of partners.”

Well that was unsubtle, even for Christina, the Queen of Blunt. Ben cleared his throat and fiddled nervously with the menu until the waiter blessedly reappeared.

The menu selections were extremely rarefied for Ben’s taste, but he managed to order something he was pretty sure involved beef; Christina had the grilled salmon. After they’d given their order and the waiter poured the Beaujolais, Ben pitched various approaches to his opening statement to Christina. She didn’t like any of them. Too defensive, too exculpatory. The trick was to remind the jurors that this was about murder, not sex; to direct them to disregard the video without appearing to make excuses for it. “If I were you,” she advised, “I’d just come straight out the first time I addressed them and say-”

“Excuse me.”

Ben looked up and saw a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper goatee standing next to the table beneath one of the pseudo-palm trees. He was staring at Ben with a crazed, walleyed expression. Ben didn’t know who the man was, but he was certain he’d seen him in the courtroom earlier. “Yes?”