“I don’t understand.”

“Well, you said yourself that you didn’t see him leave. You only guessed what door he exited through. You can’t ‘follow’ someone if you don’t actually know where they are.”

“I thought I knew. And I proved I was right when I found him.”

“Found someone,” Ben insisted, but even to himself he was sounding increasingly desperate. “All you can say for sure is that Senator Glancy left and you found someone in his hideaway. If he in fact just went to the men’s room, you weren’t following anyone, right? You discovered someone.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” she said sullenly.

Ben decided to let it drop. He’d made his point, and she was never going to agree with him. “Miss Craig, why didn’t you say anything about this when it happened?”

“I did.”

Ben did a double take. “Miss Craig, I’ve probably seen you almost every day for the last five months, and you never once-”

“I’m not talking about you. Why would I tell you? You work for-” She looked at Senator Glancy with such contempt it was palpable. “-him. I went to the police.”

Ben turned slowly toward Padolino. “You told the police all this? Months ago?”

“Yes,” she said.

“But you continued to work for Senator Glancy.”

“They asked me to. Just in case I might see or hear something incriminating.”

“You were-you-” He looked back at Christina, searching for help. He’d never encountered anything like this in his entire career. “You were an undercover mole in the senator’s office?”

“If you want to put it that way.”

Ben looked at her harshly. “Miss Craig, did the police-or anyone in the prosecutor’s office-instruct you to withhold what you knew from me?”

“Absolutely not. They said I didn’t have to volunteer anything. But they told me that if you asked, I had to tell what I knew.” She paused, her eyebrows rising. “As it turned out, you never asked. Neither you nor your partner nor any other member of the defense team asked if I knew anything about Senator Glancy’s relationship with Veronica Cooper.”

And why would we? Shandy had just started work the day of the murder. Padolino had calculated this perfectly.

“For that matter,” Shandy continued, “I was told not to eavesdrop on any conversations between Senator Glancy and his lawyers, and that if I did by chance overhear any communications between them, I was not to repeat the information to the police.”

So Padolino had covered his ass perfectly. Small wonder he always knew what Ben was doing, that he never made any decent plea offers. He had a mole in Glancy’s camp the whole time.

“Let me ask you one more thing, Miss Craig. Do you have a conscience?”

Padolino rose. “Your honor, please.”

Shandy held up her hands. “No, let me answer that. I don’t mind. Mr. Kincaid, helping the police capture a murderer does not in any way offend my conscience.”

“Move to strike,” Ben shot back. “You don’t know-”

“Sure, I’ve had to pretend to be Senator Glancy’s friend. I’ve had to put up with him staring at my boobs when he thinks I’m not looking, dropping things on the floor and asking me to pick them up, asking me to adjust his tie so he can press up against me, finding accidental excuses to paw me one place or another. But I put up with it-waiting for this moment. The moment when I could help put away the man who killed Veronica Cooper.”

There was more cross-examination after that, more redirect, lots of shouting, many arguments before the judge, and several carefully drafted instructions to the jury on exactly what they could and could not consider as evidence. Ben filed a motion to suppress based on the prosecution’s withholding of information, but given that he’d had complete access to Shandy during the pretrial period-more than Padolino, in fact-he knew it wouldn’t fly. In the end, none of it mattered, because the true bellwether of a trial was written on the faces of the jurors-and when he looked into their eyes he could see exactly what they thought. They thought Todd Glancy was a murderer, and they were ready and willing to give him the punishment he deserved. Barring an unforeseen miracle, this case was over and Glancy was going to death row.

“You don’t understand. I have to talk to her!”

Loving and Daily stood outside the Bethesda ICU, as they had been for the last twenty minutes, arguing with Dr. Aljuwani.

“I understand your pain,” the doctor answered, “but I believe it is you who does not understand the situation.”

“You said she was awake.”

“Her eyes are open, yes, and she is stable. But she has not spoken or in any way indicated that she is aware of her surroundings. She is breathing through a respirator. She cannot talk and you cannot talk to her. She would not understand what you were saying.”

“I don’t care about that. I just-” His voice choked. Tears began to form in his eyes. “Please. I need to see my little girl. Just-just to know that she’s safe. I’ve been looking for her, waiting for this, wanting it, for so long. Please.”

Aljuwani blew out his cheeks. “You will not attempt to question her? Not even talk to her?”

“No. Not if you say I shouldn’t.”

The doctor was obviously conflicted. But Loving could also see a great deal of kindness and sympathy in his eyes. “Very well. But only for five minutes. And only you. I will not have a crowd in there.”

“Understood.” Daily turned to Loving. “See you in five?”

“I’ll be here. Give Amber my best.”

Daily entered the private room in the ICU alone, as the doctor had instructed. No one else was present, not even an attending nurse.

“Amber?”

Her eyes were open, as the doctor had said, but there was no light in them, no indication that she heard him.

“Amber?” he repeated, but still there was no sign of recognition, no indication of consciousness.

He walked to the side of her bed. “Good.” He switched off the respirator unit, then removed the plastic cup from her mouth. Almost immediately, her breathing became strained, irregular. Her body heaved. She gasped for air.

“And just in case that isn’t fast enough…”

He pulled the pillow out from under her head and shoved it down on her face. She began to convulse, to thrash back and forth on the bed. Her arms flailed and grasped at the air, as if some subconscious spirit was struggling to get free. But he held the pillow down tight. And less than a minute later, the thrashing stopped. The heart monitor flatlined.

“Guess you weren’t immortal after all,” he said, smiling to himself. He put the pillow back where it had been under her head, then started quietly for the door. “Farewell, my princess of the night. Sweet dreams.”

Part Three. Stupod Lasts Forever