“I’d seen her in Senator Glancy’s office from time to time,” Melanfield explained. He was dressed conservatively-a dark pin-striped suit that did the best that could be done with his outsized frame. “Probably said hi once or twice. I don’t really remember. I never suspected anything was going on between them. Until the night of September 25.”

“What happened that night?”

“I was working late-I’d been pulling double shifts ever since the Alaska wilderness bill left committee. Finished making the rounds about ten, ten thirty. Clerk told me Glancy hadn’t left the Russell Building, so I went to his office. The door was unlocked, slightly ajar. Hazel was gone for the day.”

Ben shook his head. Imagine how much easier this case would be if Glancy had just learned to lock his doors at quitting time. Or hired a receptionist who didn’t require sleep.

“And what did you see in Senator Glancy’s office?”

“Well, actually, I heard something before I saw anything. Two voices. Loud. Didn’t take long to figure out that they were arguing with each other.”

“Could you identify the voices?”

“Yes. But just to be sure, I crept forward a little and peered through the crack in the door. It was Senator Glancy and his intern, Veronica Cooper. Except she wasn’t wearing much. Just her underwear. Black lace. And his fly was unzipped.”

“Indeed.” Padolino lowered his chin, giving the jury a minute to catch up. “Could you make out what they were saying?”

“Objection,” Ben said. “Hearsay.”

Padolino didn’t blink. “As per our brief, your honor, if there is hearsay, it is permitted by bona fide exception in the Federal Rules of Evidence. Any statements made by Senator Glancy are, of course, admissions against interest. And since Ms. Cooper is now deceased, her statements would fall under the exception permitting testimony where the declarant is unavailable.”

“The objection is overruled,” Herndon declared. Ben wasn’t surprised. He had briefed the issue in advance, and Herndon hadn’t bought it. But he had to make an in-court objection to preserve the issue for appeal.

“Let me ask again,” Padolino said, picking up the thread smoothly. “Could you hear what the parties were saying?”

“Some of it.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

Ben grimaced. There Padolino went again, being smart. Bringing it out on direct so Ben couldn’t make hay with it on cross. He hated it when prosecutors were smart.

“Look, in my business, information is the coin of the realm. A lobbyist can’t know too much, especially about the people he’s trying to persuade. Don’t get me wrong-I’m not saying listening at keyholes is a great thing. But I genuinely believe my company is doing good, important work for the people of this nation. Securing our political and economic independence. So if I can learn a little something to advance that cause-so much the better.”

Jeez Louise, Ben thought. What a patriotic eavesdropper. The man must’ve rehearsed that speech all night.

“So what exactly did you hear?”

“I heard that Veronica Cooper was very angry. There was something she wanted-I never heard exactly what it was-something Glancy wasn’t giving her. She tried everything she could-she begged, she whined, she got flirty. Nothing would change his mind. So she threatened him.”

The jury stiffened, almost in unison. They were beginning to see where this testimony was going.

“What exactly did she threaten?”

“She said if Glancy didn’t change his mind, she was going to tell everything. She didn’t specify what. But given how she was attired and… you know… the circumstances, I assumed she was going to tell his wife about their affair.”

Technically this was speculation, Ben thought, but there seemed little point in objecting. The jury had undoubtedly already reached the same conclusion.

“Was Senator Glancy moved by this threat?”

“No. Just the opposite. He laughed at her. Right in her face. Said she could tell his wife anything and it wouldn’t matter a damn bit.”

Ben could feel the heat radiating from his client, seated just beside him. But as always, Glancy’s sangfroid remained in place. According to him, this entire incident was a politically motivated fabrication. But that couldn’t make it easy to listen to. Especially not with his wife sitting just behind him.

“He didn’t care what his wife thought?”

“He said she had her own agenda. And she wouldn’t let it be screwed up by-this is a quote-‘some two-bit tramp whose only real talent was something you couldn’t put on a résumé.’”

Padolino paused a moment. “What was Ms. Cooper’s reaction to that statement?”

“She was infuriated. Totally lost what little cool she had left. She jabbed Glancy in the chest and said, ‘If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll ruin you.’”

There was a silence in the courtroom-not a good one.

“Was there any further discussion?”

“If there was, I didn’t hear it.” Melanfield turned to face the jury. “After that last blowup, Ms. Cooper grabbed her clothes and headed toward the door. I didn’t want to be caught playing Peeping Tom, so I ducked out of the office and ran downstairs.”

“Thank you,” Padolino said. He turned to Ben with a sad smile. “Your witness.”

Loving tried to think of a question quickly, something, anything to distract Morticia. She was sitting much too close to him, her bosom was too near his nose, and was staring at his neck in a way that made him supremely uncomfortable.

“So, I guess, all these guys.” Loving waved his hand generally about the room. “All Goths?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” She drew in her breath, her chest heaving. “No, despite the superficial similarities, there are two distinct groups. Goths are children, amateurs. Pretenders. Nothing like us. In fact, sometimes I wear colors other than black.”

“Like what?”

“A very dark midnight blue.”

Loving heard a cracking sound behind him.

“Bend over!”

He turned just in time to see a young woman with a supermodel figure and an endless mass of black curls bend over the back of a chair, which had the effect of hoisting her ridiculously short skirt and exposing her perfectly rounded snowy white cheeks. While Loving stared, a short, stout man-presumably he who had issued the command-brought his hand around and slapped her bottom with a wooden paddle. The woman winced as the paddle made contact-but her ecstatic smile grew broader with each smack.

“You have got to be kiddin’.” Loving turned back to Morticia. “Should I do somethin’?”

“Like what?”

“Like give that creep a taste of his own paddle.”

She brushed her hand against his. “My friend, he’s not doing anything she doesn’t want. Just getting her in the mood for the Ceremony.”

“But-”

“There is a decided correspondence between the Circle and the dark fetish world.”

“You mean-”

“Dominance and submission. Bondage and discipline. Sadomasochism.”

“Right out in public?”

“This isn’t the public. This is the Circle. We understand one another.”

“But isn’t this all a little… twistedish?”

She laughed, a surprisingly high-pitched giggle. “Don’t ask me. I’ve been into scarification since I was fifteen.”

“And that’s-”

“Hurting myself. Cutting myself. I used a razor blade. Sometimes I’d draw patterns, shapes.”

Loving winced. “Bet that stung.”

“Wonderfully so. After I was done cutting, I’d pour alcohol over the wounds. To prevent infection-but also because it hurt so good.”

Loving’s eyes narrowed.

“Once the welts formed I’d have the image of a raven, an ankh, whatever design I’d crafted.”

“But-why?”

She shrugged. “Who can explain why they like what they like? There’s no logic to it. We’re just hardwired that way. Some say it’s endorphins-the body releases them to help you deal with pain and you get a head rush. A natural high. It’s a deeply spiritual experience. Try it sometime.”