Free Capitol Murder by William Bernhardt Page B

sidestep, Ben blocked his progress. “Wait a minute. We need to move on to the
courtroom.”
    “I’m giving a press conference,” Glancy said, smiling. “I’m a politician, Ben. It’s what we
do.”
    “No way,” Ben replied, standing firm. “I told you. You say nothing unless and until we put you
on the witness stand.”
    “This is a critical moment, politically speaking,” Glancy explained. “The press has been
building toward this for months. They expect me to say something. I can’t let them down.”
    “Listen to me,” Ben said, keeping his voice down so the mikes surrounding him wouldn’t pick it
up. “This is not a campaign. You’re on trial for murder. Under the new federal execution act, the
jury has the option to give you the death penalty.”
    “But the potential jurors have already been sequestered, right? They won’t be able to hear
what I say.”
    “True, but—”
    “Please excuse me.” His face remained calm. To anyone who couldn’t hear what was being said,
it would look as if two close friends were having an amiable chat. He started again toward the
podium.
    “Todd.” Ben held his arm. “When I agreed to take on this murder case, you agreed that you
would follow my instructions. To the letter.”
    “As regards the case, yes. As regards my career—well, I think my political advisers are more
qualified to make those decisions, don’t you?”
    “Todd, if you endanger—”
    “I’m not going to say anything that will help the prosecution, or that will even directly
relate to the case.” He gently removed Ben’s hand from his arm. “You know how to play your game,
Ben, and I respect that. Now let me play mine.”
    Glancy squared himself behind the podium. He started to speak, but another round of cheers and
applause erupted, drowning him out. Ben wondered what his advance men had done to trigger that.
Paid off a wino? Goosed a maiden aunt?
    “My friends,” Glancy began. Even in these circumstances, something about the way he said it,
his crisp mellifluous voice, the way he looked squarely into the camera as he spoke, made you
want to believe it. “I thank you for your support during these troubled times. I particularly
thank those of you who have been so kind to my wife, Marie. My lawyer won’t let me talk about the
case—and you know how those lawyers act when they don’t get their way.”
    The crowd laughed heartily. What was all this “those lawyers” jazz? Ben wondered. Hadn’t
Glancy picked up a JD way back when, too?
    “Nonetheless, I can assure you that when this is over—and it will be over soon—I will be back
to work, doing what I’ve always done: defending and protecting the best interests of my
constituents.” The resultant swell of cheers and enthusiasm almost drowned out his closing.
“Thank you again for your support. See you on the other side.”

    Loving drummed his fingers on the desktop. He circled Jones’s workstation, pacing trails into
the burgundy carpet. He checked his watch. He gazed at the view of the Main Mall out the north
window of their borrowed office space. He shuffled through his papers and daily reports. And then
he sat back down and drummed his fingers some more.
    “Would you cut that out!” Jones said, finally.
    “Huh? What?”
    “Everything! All of it. The pacing, the fiddling, the drumming. You’re driving me insane!”
    “Short drive,” Loving muttered. “Why are you so touchy?”
    “Because I’m swamped! As you may recall, the trial we’ve been prepping for the past five
months began today. I have a mound of motions and other paperwork to deal with.”
    “Didn’t Glancy hire a team of big-firm lawyers to do that kinda stuff?”
    “Yes, a magnificent beau geste designed to show his gratitude to Ben—that hasn’t helped in the
least. A bunch of twenty-eight-year-olds in starched shirts billing three hundred dollars an
hour. Give me a break. I’d rather do it myself.”
    Loving