Glancy turned back toward Ben and Christina and winked. “You gotta love it. The man acts as if nothing has changed. No shocked expression, no double take. He’s a pro.”

Just as well, Ben thought, because he noticed a lot of double takes from the patrons as they passed through the elegant and exquisitely chic Four Seasons restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue. Just a stone’s throw from the POTUS himself, Glancy had said. The Man with the Big O. Which in this case stood for the Oval Office. “I supposed they’re used to scandals in this town.”

“It’s not that they’re jaded,” Glancy replied quietly, as they approached the secluded table in an alcove in the rear of the restaurant’s dining area. “It’s that they’re cautious. A politician can be down one minute, up the next. No way of predicting. One day Newt Gingrich is practically running the country; a year later he’s writing bad science fiction novels and reviewing books for Amazon.com. One day Nixon is humiliated and retired from politics; next thing you know he’s the damn president. In the long run, it’s smart to be nice to everyone of importance. Or who might be. Or ever was.”

“Or,” Christina said, “you could just be nice to everyone. Period.”

“You could. But you’ll never get yourself elected to the U.S. Senate that way.” He took the menu from the waiter and smiled. “Thanks for humoring me. I get the impression this fancy-schmancy haute cuisine isn’t your usual bill of fare. But I wanted to make the most of my night out.”

“Not at all,” Ben said, as he gazed at the menu. The prices were not listed, which was never a good sign. “If I don’t eat this way often, it’s not by choice, it’s because… um, because…”

“Food allergies,” Christina said, bailing him out. “Has to be very careful or he gets heat flashes. Believe me, it’s a mess.”

Glancy smiled. “You shouldn’t have any problem here. The original owner set a standard for quality that has never been compromised. The four-star chef is probably the best in DC. Get this-the filets are dry-hung to age for four weeks before serving. Four weeks! And this is top-grade USDA-prime triple-plus beef. The best there is.”

Christina gazed at the menu. “Despite hailing from Oklahoma, I’m more of a fish person.”

“Of course you are.” Glancy flashed a quick smile. “Fish is brain food.” He reached across, brushing her hair with his hand, pointing at her menu. “Let me recommend the terrine of baby coho salmon with truffles and pistachios. It’s better than sex.”

“Really?”

“Well, no. But you know. It’s a thing people say.” He grinned again, the high-wattage smile that got him elected.

Was it Ben’s imagination, or did it seem as if everyone in this whole damn case was trying to hit on his partner?

“We should have brought Shandy,” Ben said, trying not to be too obvious.

“Oh, she’s been here before. And she pretends to enjoy it, for my sake. But she’s a girl of simple tastes at heart. A good girl, loyal. Not a dishonest bone in her body. But more the quarter-pounder type, if you know what I mean.”

“And Amanda?”

“Amanda gets off on work. It’s all she knows, all she loves. Spinning a PR disaster into a triumph, that’s her natural high. Nothing I could give her could ever compete with that.”

After they ordered, Glancy predictably wanted to discuss the case. “Don’t take this as criticism, Ben. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but-are we getting creamed?”

Ben took a long draw from his water crystal. “It’s much too soon to predict-”

“It’s slaughtersville, right?”

“Things always look bad when the prosecution is putting on their evidence,” Christina said.

“Naturally,” Ben added. “I mean, we knew they had a case. If they hadn’t, they never would’ve gone to trial. Not against you. We’re just going to have to tough it out until Padolino finishes.” He paused. “I am sorry about the trouble with your wife.”

“Marie?” Glancy waved his hand in the air. “Don’t worry about her. She gets it. She knows how the game is played.”

“She looked pretty upset…”

“Well, that’s the best way for her to play it, don’t you think?”

“I’m not quite sure I follow…”

“Then let me spell it out. If she didn’t cry or act distraught, people would say she’s a coldhearted bitch, Little Miss Iceberg, which is the stereotype every woman in politics has to fight against. If she acted as if she didn’t care what I did, it would suggest she didn’t care about me, which would lose her the support of the middle-American housewife-the stand-by-your-man crowd. And her being supposedly shocked about my affair isn’t going to do me any harm with the jury-this case isn’t about whether I slept with the girl, it’s about whether I killed her. No, I’d say Marie played it very smart.” He grabbed a roll and slathered it with butter. “Don’t worry about my Marie. She’s a smart woman. She’ll always be on top.” He blinked, then quickly turned to Christina. “I didn’t mean that in a sexual way.”

Ben grimaced. As if anyone thought he had-until he raised the suggestion. To Christina.

“And once Padolino has done his worst and rested,” Glancy continued. “Then what?”

Ben cleared his throat. “Then we put on our defense. Start turning the jurors’ minds around.”

“And how exactly do we do that?”

“My investigator, Loving, has been tracking the friends of Veronica Cooper. Last time I was able to talk to him, he thought he was onto something.”

“But he hasn’t been able to find them.”

“He found one-but she’s in the hospital, unconscious.”

“And that’s it?”

“Well, the main point we’ll be making is that the prosecution evidence really only shows that you and Ms. Cooper were, um, you know-” He coughed in his hand. “Involved.”

Glancy smiled at Ben’s discomfort. “That would be one way of putting it.”

“But they have precious little that suggests you committed the murder. Sure, Padolino’s created a motive for you. But he hasn’t proven Opportunity. In fact, just the opposite. One of his own witnesses said you were in a committee meeting at the time of the murder.”

“I’m sure the prosecutor has some way around that.”

“Even if he does, it won’t prove you murdered Veronica Cooper. What he has is entirely circumstantial.”

“As I recall, aren’t most murder convictions based upon circumstantial evidence?”

Ben fidgeted with his fork. It was harder to comfort a client who was so blisteringly smart. “True. Eyewitness testimony is rare-murderers don’t normally commit their crimes while third parties are watching. But these days, science has made forensic evidence the star of the show. And juries are actually listening. Thanks to TV shows like CSI, the parts of the trial that used to be the most boring and least persuasive have become what jurors give the greatest credence. And Padolino has precious little forensic evidence against you.”

“He can trace me and the corpse to my hideaway.”

“As far as I’m concerned, that cuts against him,” Christina opined. “I mean, after all, if you really were the murderer, would you leave the corpse in a place so obviously linked to you?”

“If I was desperate,” Glancy answered. “If I had no other choice-no time to find another hiding place. Which is undoubtedly what Padolino will say.”

“We can also put on character witnesses who will tell the jury that given your upright character you couldn’t commit possibly a murder.”

“After that video? You’ll never convince the jury I have any character. They think I’m capable of doing anything.”

“I think maybe you’re being a little-”

“No, I’m being a lot. But I have to be. My entire future is on the line.” He buttered his last piece of bread. “Sorry to be Mr. Funsucky, Ben, but I’m doing it for a reason. I suspect you’re not planning to put me on the witness stand.”

Ben and Christina exchanged glances. “There are obvious dangers in calling you. Especially after the video. With any public figure, there’s always plenty of grist for cross-ex character assassination.”