*
As Ben Kincaid peered at his client through the acrylic screen, he was startled by how appealing, how downright cute she still looked. Usually, the first few weeks behind bars took a terrible toll on first-time inmates. The lack of sunlight, the coarseness of the company, the absence of hair care and beauty products, the low-watt institutional lighting, the inevitable depression-all conspired to make the newly incarcerated appear as if they had emerged from the ninth circle of hell.
But not Candy Warren. Somehow Candy had managed to retain her fresh-faced charm. When her father first introduced her to Ben, he had compared his daughter to Lizzie McGuire-perky, effervescent, goofy but lovable. Two weeks in the slammer and a switch from Gap jeans to TCPD orange coveralls hadn’t changed any of that. She was still adorable. She even had her hair up in pigtails.
“So you’ve talked to my daddy?” she asked, speaking into the telephone receiver that allowed them to communicate.
“Yes,” Ben answered. “He’s worried about you, of course. But I assured him we would do everything we could. And I got him the present you wanted to send. The Hilary Duff poster.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Ben loved the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. “Can you believe it? The man is in his sixties, and he’s crazy about this girl who’s barely a teenager. Isn’t that wild?”
Ben could think of a different word for it, but never mind that. Always refreshing to have a client who still cared about her parents. “I have some good news for you. To my utter surprise, DA Canelli has made an offer.”
“An offer?” She lifted her chin, giving those pigtails an endearing bounce. “What kind of offer?”
“A plea bargain. A chance to avoid trial.”
“Assuming I plead guilty.”
“To a lesser charge. Yes.”
Candy kneaded her hands. Ben noticed that her fingernails were painted electric pink. “But what will my daddy say?”
“What will he say if this goes to trial?”
“Aren’t I entitled to my day in court?”
“Yes. But that day is fraught with risk. Canelli is offering you a sure thing.”
She sat up straight, throwing her shoulders back. “I can’t do it. I can’t take the easy way out. I owe that much to my daddy. And while we’re talking about this, Ben, I want you to do something about those newspapers.”
Ben didn’t follow. “Which newspapers?”
“All of them. Have you read the articles they’ve been printing?” Creases flanked the bridge of her nose. “File some kind of lawsuit against them.”
“On what grounds?”
“What grounds?” she said with great indignity. “They’ve been saying horrible things about me. They’re libeling my reputation! Destroying my good name!”
Ben shook his head. “Candy… you’re-”
“Ben, don’t. You know I have labeling issues.”
“Nonetheless-”
“Ben, I don’t want to hear-”
“Candy…” Ben cleared his throat. “You’re a hit man.”
She gave him a stern look. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry. Hit person.”
“Better.” Her face hardened; the adorable factor vanished. In the space of a second, she went from Lizzie McGuire to Lizzie Borden. “Now, what are you going to do about those goddamn newspapers?”
Ben drew in his breath. “Nothing. A libel suit would be frivolous, given the circumstances, detrimental to your criminal case, and so utterly stupid that if you really want to do it, you’re going to have to find yourself another lawyer.”
She glared back at him with eyes like Uzis. “Then what do you suggest?”
“I suggest you take the DA’s deal.” He hung the phone receiver back in its cradle. “Be seeing you, Candy.”
Christina McCall sailed through the front doors of her law office with an air of insouciance, bouncing with each step, whistling as she walked. Jones, the office manager and part-time oracle, did his best to interpret the signs. He could tell she was in a merry mood, not only from the whistling, but also because she was dressed less like an attorney and more like, well, Christina. She was wearing a short, pleated skirt, knee-high boots, and a clinging sweater ornamented with irregular patches of fake fur.
“I’m guessing you didn’t get that outfit at Saks,” Jones commented.
“Dear Jones,” she said smiling, “Don’t you know? This is all the rage amongst the jeunesse dorée.”
Jones didn’t know what that meant and wasn’t interested enough to ask. “Is there a reason why we’re whistling this morning?”
Christina beamed. “Because it gives me a happy.”
“Uh-huh. May I assume from this unsuppressed display of jocularity that you must’ve beaten Ben at Scrabble last night?”
She stopped at his desk in the lobby and snatched the pink message slips from her spindle. “Jones, Jones-you’re so passé. We’re long past the Scrabble stage.”
“’Zat a fact,” he said dubiously. “Might I have the temerity to suggest the possibility that he actually… kissed you good night?”
“Jones, Jones, Jones!” She leaned across his desk, still grinning. “You are such a busybody.”
“I’m just trying to stay up-to-date on this putative romance.”
“And I’d love to continue this delightful raillery, but-”
“Look, I’m trying to run an office,” Jones said, raising his chin. “It’s my job to know if anything potentially damaging to the firm is developing. So I’m naturally concerned when the firm’s two attorneys make the incredibly boneheaded decision to start dating each other. But if you don’t want to tell me anything, fine. I don’t care.”
A few seconds of silence passed. Christina stared at him. Jones drummed his fingers.
“All right, so I do care. Don’t make me grovel. Tell me already.”
Christina fluttered her eyelashes. “Dear sweet Jones. Don’t work yourself into a swivet. I’ll tell all. Ben and I are so past the good night kiss stage.” She gave him a pronounced wink. “Way way past. What a libido that man has.”
“Really. I thought Ben was more glibido.”
“Huh?”
“All talk and no action.”
“Well, you are… totally wrong.”
“Glad to hear it. I guess.” As Christina bounced toward her office, he added, “But I notice there’s no ring on your finger.”
Her neck stiffened first; the rest of her body soon followed. She slowly pivoted on one heel. “That… doesn’t mean… anything. We haven’t been dating all that long.”
“Oh? Seems to me it’s been…”
“Just a little over a year.” She paused. “With, like, ten years of foreplay. Look, he’s a typical nineties male. Afraid of commitment.”
“Wake up and smell the calendar, Chris. The nineties were over a long time ago. Your boy is stalling.”
“He isn’t stalling. He’s just… Ben.” Her fingers fluttered through the air. “You know how hard he was hit by that Ellen mess, how she betrayed him. That’s how he sees it, anyway. And that business with Belinda Hamilton didn’t help any.”
“And Keri Kilcannon.”
“Ugh.” Christina’s face twisted into a grimace. “Did you have to bring her up?” She sighed. “I keep telling myself this romance isn’t hopeless, that eventually we’ll take the next step. But how long can I wait for this man to come to his senses?”
“Hearing that old biological clock ticking?”
“Yeah. The one that tells me I probably won’t live past one hundred and ten. And that may not be long enough.”
“I feel for you. Truly.”
“What would you know about it? You and Paula fell in love right off the bat.”
“We didn’t get married right off the bat.” Jones’s eyes twinkled. “But I knew it was going to happen. Knew the first moment I laid eyes on her.”
“And you’ve been happily married ever since. How did you know? How could you be sure? Give me a test.”
“That’s easy enough. Has he ever told you he loves you?”
She frowned, then stomped across the lobby to her office.
Jones leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”
Ben crept into the lobby, carefully opening and releasing the door so the automatic chime would not sound. When was he going to have that private-access elevator to his office installed? Answer: probably sometime after he actually made some money, a goal that perpetually eluded him. And it wasn’t because of his profligate ways, either. In all his years as a lawyer, he’d tried dozens of cases, mostly with some degree of success, settled a multimillion-dollar tort case, written two books, inherited a boardinghouse, and rarely spent a dime on himself. But he still only barely managed to keep the firm afloat. And for the most part, it was his own fault. And he knew it.
Which was why he was tiptoeing past his office manager’s desk, hoping Jones kept his attention fixed on his computer screen. He felt certain that Candy Warren would take the DA’s offer. He also felt certain that as soon as her father found out about it, he would refuse to pay Ben a dime, which would make her the third no-pay in a month. The only check he remembered seeing recently had come from the government for a court-appointed representation, and that hadn’t amounted to enough to take his staff to the Golden Arches for a burger and fries. No, he definitely didn’t need to have a confrontation with Jones this early in the morning.
As he turned stealthily down the corridor to the private offices, he saw that Christina was already in. His spirits got an instantaneous lift, as they always did when he saw her. He almost said hello-then thought better of it and returned to stealth mode. They’d had a wonderful time together the night before, absolutely blissful: takeout from Right Wing, a new episode of Says You! on the radio, and some extremely gratifying snuggling. But when the evening came to an end, and they stood at the door together, and he’d given her one last goodbye kiss about as many times as was possible without it becoming ridiculous, she paused, held him at arm’s length, and waited.
He knew what she was waiting for. And the pathetic thing was, he wanted to comply. But he couldn’t make himself do it. No matter how hard he tried. So he bumbled something inane about what a “swell girl” she was, and she left.
Yes, he was definitely tiptoeing past her door, too.
He slid into his desk chair and thumbed through the mail Jones had left. Bills, bills, and more bills. A possible case in Creek County against a crop-dusting school. A small-time Internet florist that wanted to sue its fulfillment service. Nothing remotely interesting. Nothing likely to make him rich overnight. And nothing that was ever going to help him work up the nerve to do right by-
“Christina!” He sat upright, startled by her sudden appearance. “What-”
She marched past his desk, grabbed him by the shoulders, raised him to his feet, and planted a big wet one right on his lips.
“Ub-dub-what-”
“Yes, yes, I know your rules. No smoochies in the workplace. But today I think you’ve earned an exception. I just got word from the courthouse. Father Beale is going to be released!”
“You’re kidding!”
“You know I wouldn’t joke about something like that. He’s been wrongfully incarcerated for far too long. It’s an embarrassment to the entire state.”
“So our appeal finally worked.”
“Appeal, schmiel. It was your book that did it.” Not long after he had tried Father Beale’s case-and lost-Ben began writing his second nonfiction book. It had finally been published about a month before, and the sales had been considerably better than those for his first book-which meant they were at least in two-digit numbers. Bad Faith had also generated a fair amount of media attention, especially in legal circles.
“The governor, archconservative that he is, couldn’t help but get involved after you turned up the heat, Ben. People were calling for Father Beale’s release all over the state-heck, all over the nation. Greta van Susteren devoted an entire hour to the case, for Pete’s sake. Make no mistake, Ben-this had nothing to do with any judge, jury, or legal argument. You made this happen.”
“Well… I’m glad he’s getting out, anyway.” Which was putting it mildly. Father Beale had been Ben’s childhood priest, a man he loved dearly for all his faults. Losing his case had been a devastating blow. “I want to be there when he’s released.”
“I knew you would. I’ve made all the arrangements.”
“Great. That’s just… great.” Ben had been trying to avoid her eyes, but something about Christina made that impossible. Whether he wanted to or not, his gaze returned to her long strawberry-blond hair, her freckled nose. She was half a foot shorter than he was, and yet everything she did, everything she said exuded confidence and fortitude. “Look…” He hesitated. “About last night…”
Her eyes turned up. “Yes?”
“I just-I just wanted you to know that-that-”
“Yes?”
Ben felt beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face. “That you were totally robbed by that Says You! fake definition round. I mean, who on earth would know that babbing was some kind of eel fishing? Arnie has a way of bluffing that takes everyone in. And-and you shouldn’t feel bad about missing that one.”
Her head moved slowly up and down. “Thanks, Ben. Appreciate that.”
A large crew-cut head bobbed into the office. “Hey, you guys got the TV on?”
It was Loving, their investigator. A huge man, built like a storage freezer, but at heart as soft as a new pair of Hush Puppies.
“No,” Ben answered. “Why? Oprah going to help you find fulfillment by buying some book?”
“Nah. Somethin’ really excitin’. On C-SPAN.”
Something exciting on C-SPAN? Ben thought. That’ll be the day. “What about?”
“Come see for yourself. It’s that Senator Glancy guy.”
“Glancy?” Christina turned her head. “Don’t you know him, Ben?”
He nodded. “Went to law school with him.”
“Friends?”
He shrugged. “His family knew my family. Titans of Nichols Hills, that sort of thing. But no, he and I were never particularly close. My mother is constantly comparing us, throwing his success in my face.”
“Why? Because he was a successful and fabulously wealthy oil magnate and then got elected to the Senate, and you’re a-a-”
Ben waited. “Ye-es?”
“-a… increasingly prominent attorney. Let’s go see what Loving is talking about.” She did a quick about-face and headed out of the office.
Ben almost smiled. Smoothly done, Christina. Very smooth indeed.
Ben and Christina stared at the small television set in the office lobby, their lips parted. Even in black and white, it was difficult to believe. Or stomach.
“And you say they’ve been running this all morning?”
“Oh yeah,” Loving replied. “You know how these news guys are. They get their hands on somethin’ this good, they’re gonna find some reason to play it over and over again. Before, the talkin’ heads were usin’ it for a discussion of character issues. Now it’s some kinda chitchat about employer ethics. It’s all just a big dog-and-pony show so they can run the tape.”
Loving may have a homespun way of expressing himself, but Ben knew he wasn’t wrong. In a previous age, the press, of their own volition, declined to ever print a photo of FDR in a wheelchair or using leg braces. Today they would show… this. Repeatedly.
“How did they get it?” Ben wondered aloud.
“No one seems to be sure. They said the tape showed up on a C-SPAN reporter’s desk.”
“I am so totally disgusted,” Christina said. “I mean, an affaire de coeur is one thing, but this-”
“Jiminy Christmas,” Ben groaned. “They’re starting it again.”
Christina’s lips pursed. “Let’s just hope they resist the temptation to use slow motion.”
The video was black and white and grainy, but it was still clearly Senator Todd K. Glancy, D-OK, in the foreground, wearing a blue business suit. Kneeling before him on a sofa was a brunette woman who couldn’t possibly be older than her early twenties. She was wearing nothing but lacy undergarments, a black push-up brassiere, and panties connected by a garter strap to fishnet hose, like something you might see in a Victoria ’s Secret store window. No, Ben thought, it was too tacky for Victoria ’s Secret. Maybe Frederick ’s of Hollywood. No, still too tacky. Maybe Ashlyn’s Adult Toy and Costume Shop.
The lead anchor appeared on the screen, a somber expression on his face, continuing his prosaic commentary. “Again, we want to caution our viewers-what you are about to see will shock you. We are airing this only because it is clearly newsworthy, and because it could have profound ramifications for the future of this country. Nonetheless, if there are any impressionable minors in the viewing area, or for that matter anyone who might be offended by graphic sexual content, we strongly urge you to remove them, or to turn off your television immediately.”
Brilliant lead-in, Ben thought. Guaranteed no one on earth would be changing the channel. Especially impressionable minors.
As the tape began, the audio was staticky, but captioning at the bottom of the screen helped fill in the gaps. The young woman on her knees bore a lascivious grin. “I’ve been watching you all day,” she said, breathily. “Trying to contain myself. But it’s been hard. You are so hot.”
“Am I?” Glancy replied.
“Oh yes. God, yes. You’re a firecracker. Every woman in the office dreams about getting a piece of you.”
Glancy’s voice softened. “Tell me more.”
“I’ve heard them talking about it, the secretaries, the other interns. How incredibly sexy you are. The fantasies they have about you. How they cream every time they get a whiff of you. How they’d give anything-anything-just to get you inside them.”
“Does that include you?” he asked, a sickening, raffish expression on his face.
As if to answer, with both hands, she pushed in on her bosom, which was already all but spilling out of the brassiere. “What do you think?” she asked, in a coy, singsong voice. “Brand new.”
“Which,” Glancy replied. “The bra or the boobs?”
“The bra, silly.” She put her finger in her mouth, sucked on it, then pulled it out, slowly, biting down on her nail just before she finished. “The whole outfit. I’ve been wearing it under my suit all day. Just waiting for you. Waiting till we had a chance to be alone together. You like?”
“Yeah,” Glancy replied. Because the camera was focused on the woman and the sofa, his head was now off the top border of the screen. “I like.”
The woman lay back against a sofa cushion with her legs slightly spread. “You want to show me how much you like it?”
“I think I can do that.” His hands moved below the screen, but it was obvious he was pulling down his pants and advancing toward her.
The woman’s eyes ballooned. “Oh God. I didn’t mean-I-You’re-”
“Waiting for you, baby.” She leaned back as if to lie down, but he held her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him. Pixilated masking obscured his groin area. “Show me how bad you want me, baby.”
“Oh, honey, I-I-can’t-” She was staring at him-staring at his pelvis-with unmasked horror. “I can’t-put-that-”
“Sure you can, baby.” He pulled her closer to him, even though she was visibly resisting. “I’m your Sugar Daddy, right? Your all-day sucker. You said you wanted me inside you. Here’s your chance. Get to work.”
“Oh God, Todd, I-” As he pushed her face nearer to him, the pixilated masking spread from his groin to cover most of her head, but the audio continued uninterrupted. “Please, I-I-mmph-”
Her voice was obscured by a series of gagging noises. The captioning couldn’t possibly transcribe this dialogue, but it didn’t matter. No matter what language viewers spoke or wrote, they would have no trouble interpreting this scene.
The man’s head was still off screen, but his torso stiffened. “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, baby. That’s it. That’s exactly it.”
“Mmmph-mmm-” She was struggling, but with his arms locked around her, there was nowhere to go. Her eyes, the only part of her face that wasn’t obscured, were wide and panicky.
“Just a little more, baby. We’re almost there.” His hips started rocking. “Oh my God. Oh yes. Oh yes.” He began to shout, twisting back and forth. “Oh yes! Oh yes yes yes yes yeeeeeessssss!”
When he was finished, he leaned back, releasing her, and pulled his pants up. He smacked her once on the side of her left buttock. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
As soon as she was free, the woman rolled over. Her head was out of the camera frame, but the audio made it clear she was retching, then gasping for air, then retching again, her body convulsing with each new upheaval.
And then, abruptly, the tape ended, replaced by the image of the commentator who had introduced the piece. “And there you have it. Cynthia, what do you think?”
She didn’t need to speak. The expression on Cynthia’s face effectively conveyed what she thought. “Well…,” she began slowly, “of course, dressing up or playacting during sex is not that uncommon. The domination-subjugation model is a common facet of many people’s sex lives, and some forms of… punishment, such as spanking, while arguably aberrant, are not that unusual. But what we just witnessed on that videotape, particularly given the persons involved and the apparent absence of consent, went far beyond the bounds of… of… I mean, did you hear the girl vomiting? He obviously-”
Ben switched the television off. “Ugh. Too much information.”
Loving’s lower lip protruded. “I was kinda interested…”
“I think we’ve seen enough. I don’t need the color commentary.”
Christina had a hand pressed against her mouth. Her face had turned a greenish tint that, Ben noted, did not go particularly well with the red hair. “Are you okay? That was rather gross.”
“Übergross,” Christina corrected him. “What do you think will happen to Glancy?”
Ben puffed out his cheeks. “Well, for starters, I think he’s probably going to be dropped from my mother’s Christmas card list.”
The phone rang. A moment later, Jones held his hand over the receiver and whispered across the lobby. “Ben? It’s for you.”
At the moment, Ben had an overwhelming desire to brush his teeth. “Is it something that can wait?”
Jones shook his head fiercely no.
Something about the expression on his face made Ben’s Spidey-senses start tingling. “Who’s calling?”
“It’s from Washington. As in DC.”
All heads slowly turned toward Jones. Ben made his way to the phone. “Where in Washington?”
Jones pointed toward the caller ID screen on his phone console. “The U.S. Senate, that’s where.” He pushed the receiver firmly into Ben’s hand. “I think you’d better take the call.”
WASHINGTON DC, THE NEXT DAY
Ben was crushed with disappointment as they exited the overpass for I-395. Even though he knew they were nearing Capitol Hill, the neighborhood was, to put it politely, a dump. They were surrounded by all the hallmarks of abject poverty: low-income housing, trash in the streets, rampant graffiti, broken chain-link fences, homeless people holed up in cardboard boxes. He spotted two teenage boys in stocking caps huddled between homes, doing what looked very much like a penny-ante drug deal. Ben had read that DC had an astronomical crime rate, and gazing at this neighborhood, he didn’t doubt it.
Jones turned onto C Street, and the view gradually improved. Shantytown gave way to tall narrow brick townhouses, one squeezed closely up against the next. He could believe that congressional staffers could conceivably live here, although he was beginning to understand why most members of Congress had places in the suburbs.
“We’ve arrived,” Jones said at last. “And we’re early. Let’s take a spin around and see the sights.”
Ben gazed at the shimmering image of the Lincoln Memorial in the famed Reflecting Pool. Magnificent. The cherry trees were in bloom, and the Main Mall was dotted with picnickers, families tossing Frisbees, and aging hippies handing out flyers. They whizzed by the Holocaust Museum, then the Vietnam War Memorial-the first one. Ben marveled at its sheer stark blackness. A perfect commemorative of a stark black war, he thought. And all those names.
“There it is,” Jones said, pointing ahead of them. He was driving the rental car down New Jersey Avenue, and doing an admirable job of it, maneuvering through the frenzied DC traffic. They raced past the corner of Independence and South Capitol.
Ben didn’t need Jones’s help to spot it-Capitol Hill, the white sculpted dome glistening in the bright sunlight. A magnificent work of architecture. Again Ben felt his heart swelling. Gazing at this fabulous construction, it would be easy to become a superpatriot. Especially since, from this distance, you couldn’t make out any of the people who inhabited it.
“This is the House side,” Ben said. “We need to get around to the north-that’s where the Senate is.”
Jones complied. “Which building?”
“The Senate has three office buildings-the Russell, the Dirksen, and the Hart. Senator Glancy’s office is in the Russell.” He leaned forward and pointed. “That one.” Jones turned toward First and Constitution Avenue.
“That’s the side entrance where he told us to come in,” Ben continued. “I’ve got our passes.” Jones pulled up behind a cab stand. Ben, Christina, and Loving popped open their doors.
“Shouldn’t there be some sort of formal greeting party?” Christina asked. “Team Kincaid has arrived.”
“Guess all the heralds and buglers are momentarily occupied.”
A sign by the curb informed them in no uncertain terms that although this was a valid drop-off point, anyone trying to park here would be immediately apprehended by surveillance guards. “Wait a minute,” Jones said. “What am I going to do?”
“Guess you’ll have to stay with the car,” Ben replied, gathering his briefcase.
“What am I, the chauffeur? I’m a college graduate, Ben. A skilled professional.”
“Sorry. I don’t see any alternative. We’ll call you when we’re done.”
Jones watched, teeth clenched, and the three of them clambered out of the car, leaving him behind. “Swell,” he muttered under his breath. “We come all the way to Washington, DC, and once again I’m stuck at the children’s table.”
“Can you believe the security?” Ben whispered to Christina. They were standing in line, waiting for their turn to be scanned and searched by the officers posted at the X-ray and metal detectors.
“After 9/11? Yes, I can.” She stepped forward, laying her briefcase flat on the conveyor belt, then waiting while the female Capitol police officer waved a metal detection wand from her head to her toe. “Would you think it funny if I told you I’m getting a real charge out of this?” The guard laughed, but not much.
Loving was next through the portal. He had to take off his shoes, then his belt, but he got through in a minute or two.
And then it was Ben’s turn.
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” the officer said, “but this is the seat of the American government. We can’t be too careful.”
“Right, right,” Ben said, as he removed his college ring, then his belt, then the brand-new Harold’s shoes he’d bought just for the occasion. His mother told him that important people judge you by your shoes.
“Thank you, sir. Appreciate your cooperation.” The officer waved the wand over him again-and it beeped just as it reached his waist.
“Sir,” the officer said, “do you have any, er… any studs?”
“Studs?” Ben tried not to raise his voice. He knew the man was only doing his job, an important job, but this was a little exasperating. “Of course not.”
“He is a stud,” Christina said quietly, from her vantage point, “but he doesn’t have any.”
Loving gave her a look but made no comment.
“What about any, um, any…” He cleared his throat. “Any implants?”
“What, like have I had my breasts augmented?”
“No, sir. I was talking about, um, you know, your… penile implants.”
Christina covered her face with her hand.
“They have been known to set off the detectors on occasion,” the officer continued. “Some are made of nitinol reinforced with a copper alloy, so when the machines are on their most sensitive settings, as they are today-”
“No,” Ben said, with a sort of low growl, “I do not have-nor do I need-any… what you said.”
The Capitol police officer nodded, his face a phlegmatic mask. He could’ve been a Vulcan, except that Ben couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling that the man was laughing at him behind his eyes. “Then, sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remove your trousers.”
“Remove my-are you kidding me?”
“No, sir. Regrettably, it is a necessary security precaution. We have a side room here you can use. We’ll have to call for witnesses and a video crew.”
“What!”
“Just to document that the proper procedures were followed. Can’t be too careful, you know. Frivolous lawsuits costs the taxpayers billions of dollars each year.”
“And how long will this take?”
“Oh… probably no more than half an hour. An hour at most.”
“I have an appointment with Senator Glancy. I’m expected.”
“Can’t be helped. Security first, that’s our motto. Now if you’ll just step inside this room, there are some forms-”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” With one angry flick of his wrist, Ben unfastened the button on his pleated slacks and released the zipper. The slacks fell in a bunch to the floor. Revealing the tail of his pressed white shirt. And a darling pair of boxer shorts, baby blue, with little red hearts all over them.
The officer’s stony façade began to crack.
Christina grinned from ear to ear. “Now that’s adorable. Did your mommy buy those for you, too, Ben?”
“Be. Quiet,” he replied, through clenched teeth.
“I don’t know why he’s being defensive. Do you, Loving?”
The investigator managed to keep a straight face. “No idea.”
“You work with someone for years, you think you know them, and then one day you realize they’re wearing cutie-pie boxers with little red hearts all over them. Isn’t that remarkable?”
“What I think is remarkable,” Loving said, “is that this is the first time you’ve seen his cutie-pie boxers with little red hearts all over them.”
Christina’s smile diminished considerably.
“Here’s the problem, sir,” the officer explained. “Got a button stapled to the inside of the tail of your shirt. Metal button. Probably came from the store that way, and you never took it off.”
“Does-that-mean-I-can-put-my-pants-back-on-now?” Ben answered without moving his lips.
“Of course, sir. Appreciate your cooperation.” He laid down the wand and folded his arms. “And if I may say so, sir, I think those boxers really work for you. Bring out the blue in your eyes.”
“Thanks so much,” Ben said icily. He pulled up his trousers and grabbed his briefcase, then rejoined his companions. “Don’t say it,” he warned them. “Don’t say a word.”
“Of course not,” Christina agreed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pause. “But man-what a pair of thighs.” She whistled.
“Christina-!”
“You’re a regular Casanova, what with the sexy hearts and all. Wouldn’t you say he was a regular Casanova, Loving?”
Loving nodded curtly. “Chick magnet. Big-time.”
“I hope you’re enjoying yourselves,” Ben said, as they reached the central lobby. “Because when we get back to the office-you’re both fired.”
The generally jocund mood continued, much to Ben’s chagrin, until they were greeted by an attractive blond teenager wearing a blue suit with a name tag.
“Mr. Kincaid? I’m Tiffany Dell. I’m a Senate page.”
Ben shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Senator Glancy asked me to show you to his office when you arrived.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find it. You-”
“Don’t count on it, sir.” She laughed, almost a giggle. “This place is a maze to the uninitiated. Took me a week to get the lay of the land.”
“Still, you must have more important things-”
“Sir, running errands for senators is what pages do. It’s, like, our job description.”
“Very well,” Christina said. “Lead on. By the way, love that suit.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t pick it out. It’s the standard page uniform. You can’t change it. We’re not even allowed to wear jewelry. I try to do the best I can with it.”
“You succeed. Helps that you’re in great shape.”
“I should be. On average, pages walk seven miles a day.”
“Wow. You must be all muscle tone. Ben, I’m dumping you to become a Senate page.”
Tiffany laughed. “I think you’re over the age limit, nothing personal. And even though it’s good exercise-it’s exhausting. Back and forth between the houses, all day long. The underground tram barely helps. Though I’d rather be out and about than stuck in that tiny former cloakroom we call our headquarters.” She led them around a corner and down a long marble hallway. “Do you have time for a quick tour? We don’t have to stay in this building. Wanna see the Senate chamber? The antique desks? The photo op platform where Vice President Cheney gave Patrick Leahy the f-word? Or the West Front-that’s where presidents are sworn into office. Statuary Hall? The Rotunda? Or the catafalque beneath-that’s where they originally planned to bury George Washington, and where Lincoln and Kennedy and Reagan lay in state before burial. Did you know that the first Supreme Court chamber was in this building, before they got their own place across the street?”
“I did,” Ben said, “and I’d love to see all that, but I think your boss is anxious to talk to us.”
“All right. If your schedule lightens up, just ask someone to call for Tiffany.” She turned toward a long narrow stairway and led the way.
Senator Glancy’s office on the second floor of the Russell Building, Room S-212-D, was a study in chaos theory. Ben stood at the threshold and watched as more than a dozen staffers scurried back and forth, ants in an anthill, each with their appointed tasks, each on a path that intersected those of numerous others without quite colliding. Perhaps this was not the chaos that it appeared after all, Ben mused. Perhaps, as Mrs. Austin, his fourth-grade social studies teacher taught, this was Our Government in Action.
The office consisted of a large lobby with many chairs and a sofa, but only one desk. There were four doors to smaller inner offices, all of them open. Three were occupied; one, the largest, was empty. Ben assumed that was Senator Glancy’s office and wondered where he was. Despite the embarrassing security kerfuffle, they had arrived almost exactly at the appointed time.
The fiftyish woman behind the desk was juggling two phones at once while simultaneously writing something on a yellow legal pad. Almost everyone in the room had a cell phone pressed to their ear or, worse, one of those near-invisible headsets that allowed them to walk and talk on the phone, but made it look as if they were muttering to themselves. Like the receptionist, they were all multitasking. Apparently their jobs required them to do three things at once, perhaps more. Ben wondered if the place was always like this, or only the day after a graphic, grotesque sex video featuring the boss hit the airwaves.
Not everyone currently in the office worked there. Ben spotted what appeared to be at least two civilians, one of them a father with three children clustered around his feet. “When am I going to get those tickets to the White House?” he kept saying, to anyone who passed near him. No one answered. Ben sympathized with the man, but he expected that visitor tours were not high on anyone’s agenda today. Another woman was short, obese, and with such an evident mad-on that Ben was surprised the security guards let her through the door. She stood in the middle of the lobby and shouted, “When is my boy going to get his furlough? His dad’s sick. I need him!”
The ants scurried past her. If they noticed, they gave no sign. A young woman with platinum-blond hair crossed right past Ben and stopped at the receptionist’s desk. Despite her worried expression, she had an attractive face, with a slight overbite that made her appearance all the more endearing. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. “I’m sorry to keep pestering you, Hazel. But I’m still having trouble with the Blue Beetle. I don’t know if it’s broken or if I just don’t know how to work it.”
“Probably a combination of both,” the woman replied, holding her hand over the voice end of one of the phones. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”
“The senator said he wanted these memos out immediately.”
The receptionist gave her a long look. “I’ll check it out as soon as I can.”
While the young woman was momentarily still, Ben seized the opportunity. “Excuse me, can you help me?”
“No,” the woman said, frowning. “I can’t help anyone. This is my first day here and I’m proving myself totally useless.”
“Your first day? Good grief, what a time to start work.”
“Yeah. I’m filling in for you-know-who, since she didn’t turn up for work today. Not that anyone was surprised.”
Ben was able to put the pieces together. By yesterday afternoon, the press had revealed that the young woman in the video with Senator Glancy was none other than one of his office interns, a relatively new hire named Veronica Cooper. She was probably deep in hiding, dodging reporters. This young lady was taking her place.
“Tough situation to be plunged into,” Ben said, hoping that if she warmed up to him a bit he might actually persuade her to take him to the senator. “You have my sympathies.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. I wanted this job. I wanted it three months ago when it first became available, but Veronica beat me out. Career-wise, this is a great opportunity. Sanity-wise, it’s a disaster. The phones have been ringing nonstop. Just getting past the press corps stalking the office was a challenge.”
“We had to meet that challenge ourselves,” Ben explained. “By the way, I’m Ben Kincaid. I’m an attorney.”
“Shandy Craig,” she replied, shaking his hand. “I’m a baby intern.”
“Shandy,” Christina repeated. “I like that. Is it Scottish?”
“Oh, it isn’t my real name. But that’s what everyone calls me. Since I was a kid.”
“I’m supposed to have a meeting now with the senator,” Ben explained.
“Good luck. Everyone from the minority leader on down has been trying to talk to him today, and no one has managed to do it. I think he’s lying low until he figures out how best to deal with this mess.”
“Yes, that’s what he told me he planned. In part, that’s why I’m here.”
“You’ll need to talk to Amanda Burton. She’s the senator’s PR director. She keeps his calendar. Makes sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. She’ll be able to tell you where he is. If you can get her attention.”
Christina stepped forward. “Mind if I ask a question?”
Shandy held up her hands. “All I was supposed to do was run the automatic-pen signing machine. I don’t know anything more about that video than you do.”
“No, not about that. I was just wondering-what’s the Blue Beetle?”
“I believe he was a comic book hero in the forties…,” Ben said quietly.
They both stared at him for a moment, then Shandy laughed. “Is that where it comes from? I didn’t know. The Blue Beetle is what they call the senator’s obsolete copying machine. He insists on having all his memos printed in blue ink-and this is a senator who still hasn’t figured out how to use e-mail, so we’re talking about a lot of blue ink.”
“Why blue?”
“He says it’s a friendly color. A larger percentage of the American population says blue is their favorite color than any other. Personally, I don’t care what color ink he uses. I just want to make copies. I’ve got a prepared statement I’m supposed to distribute to about a billion news agencies, and I can’t get it photocopied.”
“Loving?”
The burly man stepped forward.
“Would you mind helping this first-day intern see if she can get her copier working?”
“’Course not. Let’s go, Shandy.”
The young woman hesitated. “Is he some sort of… repairman?”
“Well,” Christina answered, “actually, he’s a private investigator. But he’s been fixing Ben’s copier for years. Yours should be a piece of cake.”
“I don’t know. This machine is pretty old. The senator is renowned for his thriftiness.”
“I bet it isn’t as old as Ben’s,” Christina replied. “Ben is renowned for his impoverishedness.”
Loving strolled off with the attractive young intern-not appearing at all displeased with the goodwill assignment, Ben noted. He and Christina crossed the anthill toward the office with the nameplate reading AMANDA BURTON. Unfortunately, just as Ben was about to step in, she came charging out, almost toppling him in the process.
“Hazel? Where the hell is that speech?”
The receptionist immediately put both lines on hold. “I’m doing the best I can. The phones have been ringing constantly and-”
Burton placed her hands akimbo. She was thin-too thin, as far as Ben was concerned-and her obviously tailored suit accented her nearly nonexistent waist. She wore fashionable thin black rectangular glasses and kept her raven-black hair pinned to the back of her head. Not exactly Ben’s type, but she was undeniably eye-catching. “Eighty-six the phone calls. Didn’t I tell you to make this your number one priority?”
“Yes, but when I’m getting calls from the top brass-”
“I can solve that problem.” Burton reached down and yanked the cord out the back of Hazel’s phone console. “In this office, Hazel, I’m the top brass. You will not replace that cord without my permission. You will not get my permission until you have finished that speech.”
“But-we’re expecting a call from the president.”
“I don’t care if we’re expecting a call from God.” She leaned in close. “Like it or not, Senator Glancy is going to have to make a public address today. And I think he just might like to read what he’s going to say before he says it. So get to work. Capice?”
Hazel lowered her chin. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ben and Christina observed the entire scene. “So,” Christina said, “you want to approach her, or shall I?”
Ben hesitated. “You know… she does seem to be more your type…”
“Somehow I had a hunch you’d say that.” Christina marched up to the woman, and Burton did a sidestep to maneuver around her. Christina grabbed her arm tightly and held her in place.
“Excuse me? Your hand is on my arm.”
“Yes. Lovely jacket, by the way.” She tilted her head backward. “This is Ben Kincaid, and I’m his partner, Christina McCall. We have an appointment with the senator.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I can assure you that-”
“I can assure you,” Amanda said, glowering, “Ms. Whoever the Hell You Are, that if the senator had an appointment with you, I’d know about it.” She shrugged off Christina’s hand. “I keep the man’s calendar. He doesn’t go anywhere unless I tell him to.”
Ah, Ben thought, the power behind the throne. Or at the very least, the ego behind the throne.
Christina was trying to be patient, but Ben could tell it was a strain for her. “We set up this appointment with the senator himself just-”
“Doesn’t matter,” Burton said, holding the flat of her hand between them. “Today all our appointments have been canceled. As you’ve no doubt heard, we have important issues to deal with.”
“But that’s why we’re here. We-”
Burton ’s cell phone chirped. She flipped it open and checked the caller ID.
“It’s very important that we-”
“Talk to the hand, lady.” She turned her attention to the phone. “I know you have, Maury. I know I owe you one. But this isn’t the one. I can’t say anything until…” She closed her office door behind her.
Christina stared at the closed door, fuming. “If I killed her,” she said, “do you think you could get me off on justifiable homicide?”
“Probably,” Ben said. “But let’s not go there.”
“Are you Kincaid?”
They both turned and saw a small wizened man in a wheelchair. His hair was gray and not ample. Even through his trousers, his legs appeared atrophied, and he wore extremely thick glasses. Ben guessed he was around sixty, but given the obviously poor state of his health, it was difficult to know for certain.
“I’m Ben Kincaid, and this is my partner, Christina McCall. You are…”
“Marshall Bressler, at your service. I’m Todd’s AA.” He noted their blank faces. “That’s short for administrative assistant. It’s like being chief of staff. I’m the top dog. After the senator himself, of course.”
Ben frowned. “I was under the impression that Ms. Burton-”
“No, she just thinks she’s the top dog.” He grinned a little, and Ben couldn’t help grinning back. “Amanda came on during the senator’s last reelection campaign. The idea was that we needed to reach out to a younger, female constituency, so I hired her to show this old geezer how to do it. After the campaign, we kept her on staff. Mostly she’s in charge of media relations.”
“She’s a spin doctor,” Christina said.
“Yup. Which explains why she’s so frazzled. If ever Todd needed a good spin, this is the day. But she still reports to me, and the only person I report to is Todd.”
“He must have a lot of faith in you.”
Bressler shrugged in a self-effacing way. “I’ve been with him since the get-go. Managed his first campaign for Oklahoma County DA, and every campaign since. Even after a traffic accident seven years ago did this to me.” He gestured toward his useless legs.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said quietly.
“Don’t be, son. Hasn’t slowed me down a bit. I still work as hard for Todd as I ever did-maybe more. I think it would be fair to say he has a lot of faith in me. And I have a lot of faith in him.” He pursed his thin lips. “Which makes these recent developments all the more distressing.”
“Senator Glancy called me yesterday,” Ben said. “He’s concerned about a possible legal action. Maybe a sexual harassment suit, since Ms. Cooper did work under him.”
“There’s also a possibility of censure from the floor of the Senate. Even possible expulsion. He’s going to need some astute legal advice.” Bressler rolled in even closer. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.”
“I didn’t want him to call you in. You or your partner.”
“Oh.”
“Nothing personal, son. But this is serious business. He needs the best there is, not some chum from law school. But then I started doing a little research on you. Even read one of your books last night. You’ve done pretty well for yourself.”
Ben felt his face burning. He was never good at accepting compliments and always changed the subject as quickly as possible. “Well, thanks, but if you want to hire other counsel-”
“Let me finish, son. What Todd told me was that he thought it was important that we hire an Oklahoman-not some fancy-pants DC or New York City lawyer-and that he thought you had one of the best, if not the best, reputations of any lawyer in the state.”
Christina’s eyes brightened.
“And I’m not just talking about your win-loss record, although that’s pretty damn impressive. I’m talking about your personal reputation. I talked to folks, and what I got over and over was that Ben Kincaid was a man with integrity. A man who wouldn’t lie to or mislead the court, not even to defend a client. The world’s most square-shooting geek. A veritable saint.”
Ben shuffled his feet. “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”
“I hope not, son. Because a saint is exactly what we need right now. The news media is going to forget all the good Todd has done for the poor, the homeless, battered women, since he came to Washington. They’re going to try to make him out like he’s a devil. And who better to convince them that he’s not-than a saint?”
Ben tugged at his collar. All this beatific talk was making him uncomfortable. He just tried to do his job as well as he could. He was no saint. Heck, once, when he was ten, he stole a comic book from Crest Groceries.
“So,” Christina interjected, “can we see the senator?”
“Of course. You folk need to have a good chin-wag about how he can best defend himself. He’s waiting for you now in one of the Senate cafeterias.”
“Really?” Ben arched an eyebrow. “That must be…”
“Awkward? Not for Todd. Ballsiest man who ever lived. I think he wanted to do it as a test. See who would sit with him, talk to him. And see who was distancing themselves, shunning him, acting as if he’s already been expunged. A senator needs to know who his friends are. Especially in times of crisis.” He pivoted his chair toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you the way.”
“Oh-let me.” Ben raced around behind the wheelchair to help-but found there were no handles. “Aren’t there usually…”
“Not on my chair, son.”
“I’m surprised they make them-”
“They don’t. This one was custom-built for me. The senator’s wife, Marie, had it designed and paid for it herself. Birthday present, not six months after my accident. Special executive edition. See? A sliding tray I can fold across to use as a desk. A compartment under the armrest for holding documents and files.”
Ben pointed to a recess at the end of the right arm. “Even a cup holder.”
Bressler shook his head. “Cell phone charger.”
“Okay, now I’m impressed. But still-no handles?”
“I don’t need anyone to push me. I push myself.”
“I didn’t mean any offense. Usually-”
“I know, son. But I’ve taken care of myself all my life. Not going to stop now just because of this little accident. Now let’s get to that cafeteria. I think I can smell the bean soup from here.”
H e wasn’t hiding, not at all. Ben had to give him credit for that. To the contrary, Senator Glancy was sitting alone at a table square in the center of the main Senate Dining Room, a linen napkin in his lap, slowly sipping a drink. It would be virtually impossible for anyone to pass through the room without seeing him, and, as Ben watched, several men he recognized as fellow senators did come by and pause briefly to smile, say a few words of encouragement, slap Glancy on the back. But none of the women, Ben noticed. None of the women in the room came within three tables of him.
“Let me introduce you,” Bressler said, as he wheeled his way through the maze of tables to the senator. “Todd,” he announced, “your legal eagles have arrived.”
Glancy immediately sprang to his feet, his hand outstretched. “Ben! Great to see you again. How long has it been?”
“Well… a long time.”
“Too damn long. Particularly given all the good work you’ve been doing.” He shifted his gaze. “You must be Christina McCall.”
She nodded and took his hand, wincing slightly at the grip. “Good to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Ben told me he was bringing his partner. He didn’t tell me she was a beauty.”
Christina’s lips parted, but she remained silent, nonplussed.
“I hope you don’t mind me being blunt. I know we’re supposed to keep our mouths shut about such things these days. Don’t want to be accused of being sexist. Or worse, get slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit. Which is why I’ve asked you to come here.” He glanced down at his administrative assistant. “Marsh, will you join us for lunch?”
“Are you kidding? With all the pandemonium upstairs? I’ll grab a Snickers bar on my way back to the office.” He swiveled his wheelchair around and headed out.
“Great guy,” Glancy said, as soon as Bressler was out of earshot.
“Certainly seems like an asset,” Ben commented.
“You don’t know the half of it. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him. Brilliant strategist. Like one of those chess players who can anticipate what’s going to happen six moves ahead. And so loyal. He’s always stuck by me-even after his accident. His legs are paralyzed.”
“Permanently?”
“I’m afraid so. He tried physical therapy-I went to the sessions with him myself. Didn’t take. He’ll never walk again. And yet, he’s never let it get to him. Never complained, never indulged in self-pity. He works out regularly-he’s very fit from the waist up. You might wonder why he bothers. Well, I’ll tell you why-because this is a man determined to take care of himself. The epitome of self-reliance. Never married, never even dated, as far as I know. And given his current physical condition, probably never will. But he’s still the most productive person I’ve ever met.”
“What a profile in courage,” Christina said. “No wonder you’ve kept him all these years.”
“I’d do anything for the man. Anything at all. But enough about Marsh. How the hell are you, Ben?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Your mom still in that huge mansion in Nichols Hills?”
“Oh yeah. She’ll never move.”
“My folks are the same way. Jesus-how long has it been-ten, twelve years?”
“Something like that. Since law school.”
“Right. How come we didn’t hang out together more?”
Ben shrugged uncomfortably. “Oh… I suppose we just traveled in different circles.”
“Yeah, like you were in the ‘make-good-grades’ circle and I was in the ‘party-down-pretty-mama’ circle.”
“Well, I don’t know…”
“You were on law review, weren’t you? And you won the big Moot Court competition?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“You did all that while I was schmoozing profs and local politicians. My dad wanted me to take over his oil empire, of course, and I did for a while. But I always had my sights on the political arena.” He snapped his fingers. “Didn’t we intern at the DA’s office at the same time? You worked with Jack Bullock.”
“Yes. But I… left early.”
“Right, I remember. Your father passed on. That must’ve been tough.”
Glancy obviously didn’t know or didn’t remember the half of what had really happened, and that was fine with Ben. “It was. But I moved on. And you launched that crusade to stiffen the sentences for domestic abuse. Launched your political career while you were still an intern. Not even out of law school.”
“I was very fortunate. Everything just fell into place. I’ve been lucky-I know that. Until now, anyway.”
The assistant restaurant manager appeared with a pen and order pad. “Three for lunch, Senator?”
“Exactly, Jonathan. What delectable viands have you got for us?”
“It’s Hawaii Day, sir.”
Glancy turned to Ben and explained. “Here in the Senate Dining Room, the menu is based on the food of a chosen state. Different state each day. They rotate through all fifty of them, then start over again. Equal time for every senator.” He turned back toward the manager. “Good God, I hope this doesn’t mean we have to eat poi.”
The manager smiled slightly. “No, sir. I would recommend the grilled mahimahi, mango and coconut on the side.”
“Sounds good. Ben?”
“I’m… not much of a fish eater. And coconut makes me break out in hives.”
“Sounds like you should have the bean soup.”
“I’ve heard the Senate is famous for it. Must be quite good.”
Glancy and the manager exchanged a look. “Not really. And there are potentially embarrassing aftereffects, if you plan to be around people later in the day. But it’s like jumping out of an airplane. Once you’ve done it, you can spend the rest of your life telling people you’ve done it. Christina?”
“I’m not afraid of fish. Mahimahi for me.”
“Done,” the manager said, making sparse notes on his pad. “I’ll have that out right away.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.” Glancy smiled as he departed. “Wonderful man. Keenly mediocre dining room, but great service. Did you see what a straight face he kept? As if he hadn’t seen the video. But we know better, don’t we? And that’s what we need to talk about. Ben-”
Glancy was interrupted by another man whom Ben recognized. A congressman from Arkansas, he thought.
“Hanging in there, buddy?”
Glancy turned, beamed, and put out his hand. He had the gift, Ben thought. When he was talking to you, his attention was entirely focused on you, as if nothing else in the world existed. “Best I can. What are you doing on this side of the dome, Shawn?” That was the name, Ben recalled. Shawn MacReady, R-AR.
“Just schmoozing. Given any more thought to what we talked about day before yesterday?”
“Believe it or not, Shawn, I’ve had a few other things on my mind.”
“I can imagine. Anything I can do for you?”
Glancy chuckled. “Yeah. Vote no.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that. Remember the wisdom of the ancients: Illegitimis non carborundum.”
“Sorry, Shawn. My Latin is a little rusty. Any chance of a translation?”
MacReady smiled. “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”
“That must be gratifying,” Ben remarked, after MacReady departed. “When people stand by you. Even after… something like this.”
“That perfidious cockalorum?” Glancy snorted. “Don’t be fooled. Politicians can be civil without actually being friendly. He’s just consolidating support for his latest Arkansas boondoggle. He’s got no business being here in the first place-he’s a congressman, not a senator. But he thinks because he heads the Appropriations Committee, that puts him on par with us.” He smiled at Christina. “Don’t mean to sound snobby. But it’s kind of like a legal assistant who acts like a lawyer.”
“Heaven forbid,” Christina deadpanned.
“Why is leading the Appropriations Committee such a big deal?” Ben asked.
“Because they decide what gets paid for and what doesn’t. We can pass a bill and the president can sign it, but unless the appropriators earmark money for it, it isn’t going to happen. So MacReady gets to play Big Man on Campus, for a little while, anyway, and we’re all forced to engage in a gigantic horse trading session, endless pieces of pork in exchange for the munificent gift of funding our own legislation.”
“It’s a miracle you can pass anything.”
“Truth is, most of our legislation passes by huge majorities. Small wonder, given how long and hard the process is just to get a bill on the floor.”
“Mind if I ask a question? Why isn’t he sitting with you?” Ben tilted his head toward a tall young man, early thirties, with close-cropped brown hair and a blue suit, sitting alone in the corner. “I would think the junior senator from Oklahoma would’ve been the first to offer a few consoling words.”
“Brad Tidwell?” Glancy shrugged. “He’s a Republican. He’s waiting for instructions from his masters. He won’t speak to me until he has permission. He won’t do anything inimical to his own career agenda.”
“Must make it hard to work together.”
“We don’t. Never have. He’s arrogant, contumacious, and jingoistic-exactly what we don’t need in these troubled times. And a major-league whiner. Says he can’t get any good assignments because I’m in the way. Wants to be the senior senator so bad he can taste it. The man is worthless, and I don’t say that just because he’s in the opposing party. He’s set some kind of Senate record for fatuous remarks designed to please special interests. I don’t think he can remember what his personal beliefs were, if he ever had any.”
After the food was served, the three of them finally got down to business. “My chief concern,” Glancy explained, “is that the Republicans will use this as a tool to engineer a putsch.”
“Excuse me?”
“A coup d’état. To put me out of office, maybe even influence the upcoming presidential election.”
“You’re not planning to run, are you?”
“My prospects don’t look quite as good as they once did, huh? But that won’t stop them from slinging charges of ‘typical Democratic immorality’ at whoever does run, and using me as Exhibit A.” He inhaled deeply. “So, can I assume you’ve both seen the video?”
Ben nodded. “Any idea where it came from? Or who leaked it to the press?”
“None. Looks like a setup to me. Someone wants to bring me down. Like Watergate, or Monica Lewinsky. Start with a molehill, then try to make a mountain out of it. Send in your lackeys to bloviate.”
Ben’s face reddened. “To… um… um…”
“Relax, Ben, it’s nothing dirty. It’s a word President Harding used. Means ‘to speak verbosely or windily.’”
“Oh… right. Why didn’t I know that?”
“Because you’ve spent the last decade in the courtroom, not the Senate.”
Christina cut in. “Sir,” she said slowly, carefully measuring her tone. “I… don’t think what I saw in that video can be characterized as a molehill.”
Glancy shrugged. “It was sex between two consenting adults.”
“Was it? What happened… toward the end. Didn’t look to me as if she wanted that at all.”
“Did you see what she was wearing? How she looked at me? Did you hear what she said? She was hot and heavy and raring to go.”
“But-”
“She wanted sex,” Glancy continued. “She consented to sex. And the fact that it may not have been the precise sex act she anticipated does not turn it into a rape case. Consent is consent.”
Christina fell silent.
“ Marshall has already spoken to the DA. They have no intention of pressing any criminal charges.”
Ben jumped in. “So you’re only worried about civil actions.”
“And the political ramifications, yes.”
“Do you think it’s likely that this… Ms. Cooper would bring a charge of sexual harassment against you?”
“She disappeared from the office as soon as the story broke and didn’t show up for work today. We haven’t been able to contact her. Who knows what anyone will do if you wave enough money in their face? Remember Paula Jones? She waited years before she brought her case against Clinton. Why sue all of a sudden? Because a Clinton-hating right-wing organization adventitiously provided funds to cover her legal expenses, that’s why. And the Republicans then used that little indiscretion to try to bring down the president. They appointed an obviously biased ‘independent prosecutor’ who blew over fifty million in taxpayer dollars prying into Clinton’s sex life, and Clinton ended up getting impeached over it. They’ll try the same thing with me-try to turn me into the scandal du jour. Some of the more vulpine members of the current administration are already calling for me to resign, but that isn’t going to happen. I worked too damn hard to get where I am. I’m not going to give it up over this pip-squeak.”
“There’s nothing I can do to prevent someone from filing a suit,” Ben said.
“Yes, but if she does, you can crush it dead before it gets out of hand. I’ve followed your career, Ben. You’re smart, you’re hardworking, and you’ve got credibility. People believe you. That work you did up in Chicago on the Tony Barovick case-absolutely brilliant. And very well covered by the media. You came out smelling like a rose, even though you had a supremely unsympathetic client. How many defense attorneys could’ve pulled that off? I think that case made you the best-known attorney from the state of Oklahoma.”
“And, ironically,” Christina interjected, “the poorest.”
“Anyway, that’s why I want you working for me. If you can defend a violent gay-basher and come out looking good, my case should be a cinch.”
“You can’t be sure of that, Todd. I’m new to this town. I’m not even licensed to practice here.”
“Big deal. We’ll line up some token local counsel and get you admitted pro hac vice. The bottom line is this: if you tell the judges this case is frivolous, they’ll listen, and we can get rid of it before the right-wing nudniks turn it into a political football.”
“The plaintiffs will try to make you out as some sort of sexual predator. The Senate lothario. Anything to back that up?”
“Like what?”
“Prior incidents. In the office or elsewhere.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Todd,” Ben said slowly, “you’re a lawyer. You know how important it is to tell your counselor everything. The good and the bad.”
“Ben, there’s nothing. So what do you think? Will you go to bat for me?”
“I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Sure you can. You can guarantee you’ll do your damnedest. That’s all I can ask of anyone.” His eyes shifted slightly. “And I want you working right beside him, Ms. McCall.”
Christina shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Senator… I’m not sure I should be working on this case. I-”
He held up his hands. “I know. You think I’m a scum bucket. You think I forced that intern to perform a vile sex act against her will. Veronica wasn’t like that. I’d been with her before-she was a poster girl for saying ‘no’ when she meant ‘please God yes.’ But you don’t have to believe me. In fact, I don’t want you to believe me. I think it’ll be good to have a skeptic working with Ben, someone to play devil’s advocate. That could be very valuable when we’re planning our strategy.”
Christina’s head tilted slowly to one side. “If you say so.”
“I know so. I also know that-”
He was interrupted by a burly man, sandy-haired, with a bright tie and a pin-striped suit that was way too flashy for Ben’s taste. He seated himself in the fourth chair at their table without asking. “How’s it hanging, Todd?”
Glancy did not appear particularly pleased or amused to see his visitor. “Oh, fine. Just a day like any other,” he replied, rolling his eyes.
“Todd, we’ve got to talk about the Alaska bill.”
Glancy brought Ben and Christina into the picture. “This is Steve Melanfield of Kodiak Oil. He’s a lobbyist.” He frowned at his new guest. “I didn’t think they allowed lobbyists in here.”
Melanfield grinned. “Just a matter of greasing the right palms.”
Glancy turned back to Ben. “You have to understand that in DC, there’s a certain hierarchy. The president is at the top, of course. Then the Senate majority leader, the Speaker of the House, et cetera, et cetera. And lobbyists fit in… well, somewhere beneath the carnival geeks. You know, the guys who bite the heads off live chickens. There’s no one lower. Except the NRA lobbyists.”
Melanfield was unfazed. “Come on, Todd, let’s be friends. I’d think you could use a pal right now. Especially one who could put a lot of loot into your campaign coffers.” He paused. “Or your defense fund.”
“And you’re willing to give that to me?”
“Damn straight.”
“And all you ask in return?”
“Is that you reconsider your position on the Alaska wilderness bill. It’s your opposition that’s keeping the bill from getting out of committee.”
“You know what that bill would do.”
“Yeah, I do. It would allow us to stop being dependent on foreign oil. Which would allow the U.S. to stop meddling in the Middle East in a never-ending series of conflicts that only increase anti-American sentiment and kill thousands of U.S. troops.”
“By turning what is quite literally the last untouched wilderness preserve in the fifty states into a noisome oil refinery.”
“We’ve spent billions in the Middle East -”
“Inveighing against foreign policy I don’t support won’t persuade me to change my vote, Steve. I won’t do it. Not for your money or anyone else’s.”
“You know it’s going to happen, Todd. Eventually. Just a matter of time. When the people want oil bad enough, they’ll demand that their politicians find it, quick. And that’ll mean bye-bye, Alaskan preserve.”
Glancy sighed. “The sad thing is, you’re probably right. But it’s not going to happen on my watch. Now push off, will you?”
Melanfield rose to his feet, no longer smiling. “You’re making a big mistake, Todd. Mark my words-you’ll regret this.” He left the room.
“I think you just made an enemy,” Ben said.
“You can’t be a senator without making enemies. But a man has to draw the line somewhere, even in this day and age, when politics are dominated by big money. Can you imagine-letting the last untouched American wilderness be destroyed by oil companies? This is the country that invented conservation, the whole idea of preserving land from development. We had the first national park system in the world. And slowly but surely we’ve let that American ideal be eroded. Logging in the national forests. Commercial sponsors in the national parks. And now this. Well, I’m drawing a line in the sand. Whatever it costs me.”
“At least he’s a lobbyist, not a senator.”
“Right. Which means he has a lot more clout.”
“What?”
“Sorry to disillusion you, Ben, but lobbyists run this town. There are more than fifteen thousand of them running around any given time of the year. And they have enormous influence.”
“Because of their campaign contributions?”
“Money is good, no doubt about it. But what these guys really have that makes them indispensable is information. They can determine whether a senator comes off as an out-of-touch dodo or a sapient policy analyst.”
“But your staff-”
“Is overworked and underpaid. You have any idea how many thousand of bills we have to consider every year? No one could possibly be knowledgeable about all of them. But if the media catch you with your pants down, even once, they’ll crucify you. So we call on lobbyists to give us the quick and accurate info we need to seem informed. That’s the true source of their power. Pissing one off, any of them, can have serious repercussions.”
“Nonetheless,” Ben noted, “you just did it.”
He looked out the corner of his eye and smiled. “Like the distinguished representative from Arkansas said. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”
S handy hadn’t intended to invade anyone’s privacy. She just needed a few moments to herself. Sure, she wanted this job-had fought for it, in fact. Had done everything imaginable to get it. But what a day to start work! There had been almost no orientation, not even instructions on how to work the coffee machine. The moment she returned from the senator’s committee meeting and the keenly disturbing aftermath, that rhymes-with-witch Amanda (Shandy didn’t like to use sexist terms, even to herself) had shoved a pile of phone messages into her hand and told her to return the calls-without telling anyone anything. Good luck with that.
“But what position is the senator going to take?” “Will he consider resignation?” “What’s the reaction from his wife?” All Shandy could do was repeat over and over again, “I’m sorry, but we have no comment on that at this time.” A machine could have performed the job. And a machine wouldn’t have minded the hostility she met in almost every instance.
After that, Amanda had her reviewing and revising the press releases she’d drafted, a pointless exercise since Amanda was obviously the type of person who couldn’t take criticism from anyone. Then she had to make copies on that pathetic copying machine. Then she had to conference with a delegation from each party. Ironically, Senator Glancy’s party turned out to be far more hostile. She could tell the Republicans were enjoying this, savoring the opportunity to bring down someone who had been mentioned as a possible national ticket player. The Democrats, on the other hand, felt disgusted and betrayed. Why would Amanda send her on these no-win missions? Two explanations leapt to mind. First: she figured Shandy couldn’t tell them anything because she didn’t know anything, and second: Amanda didn’t want to face them herself. If Amanda had any hint of what Shandy had seen after the committee meeting, she’d have kept her under lock and key, but Shandy didn’t know what to think about all that yet, so she kept her mouth shut.
Shandy knew that as soon as Amanda spotted her again she would give her another unpleasant assignment-something as bad as or worse than what she’d been doing all morning-so she told Hazel she was stepping out to get some fresh air, just so she could have a minute or two to collect her thoughts and slow the onset of insanity. She didn’t think anyone (other than Amanda, if she found out) would mind. After all, they had told her where the senator’s hideaway was during the interview, and she had been there before. She knew it was quite nice-it had a sofa with a foldout bed, a television, a fridge stocked with soft drinks, even a faux fireplace. So she quietly wound her way down the stairs and into the basement, through the circuitous maze of passageways that led to the private hideaway.
Unlike the wide-open passages aboveground, down below the corridors were narrow and claustrophobic, made all the worse by the discarded furniture and equipment that lined the way, some of it junk so old she didn’t even know what it was originally designed to do. Stacks of yellowed paper, dented file cabinets, exposed wiring and rusted pipes: this was The Land That Time Forgot. She winced at the incessant clatter made by the electrical units, plumbing, and bizarre ancient subterranean air-conditioning tunnels. Finally she arrived at the hideaway, desperate to rest her feet, close her eyes, and just relax for one precious moment. She opened the door and stepped inside.
Her scream was so loud it could be heard all the way down the winding corridors and even upstairs, despite the rattling of the pipes, the humming of the exposed electrical wiring, and the sucking of the ancient air-conditioning tunnels. She screamed and screamed and when she finally stopped, it was not because she was no longer terrified, but because she was unconscious.
The first time Ben and Christina visited Senator Glancy’s office, the scene had been chaotic. When they returned after lunch, it was empty. They were baffled-until the police officer posted inside escorted them downstairs.
“Where is this they’re taking us?” Ben asked.
“My hideaway,” Glancy explained, his lips pursed. “In the basement. The best of all possible Senate perks-and one of our most closely guarded secrets. A private haven far from the madding crowd, but close enough to the action that you can still make it upstairs in time for a roll call vote. Just a little place you can use to avoid lobbyists or tourists or anyone else. No one is supposed to know about them-they don’t show up on the maps. Not even the Senate floor plan. But all the top senators have one. Dianne Feinstein used hers as a temporary office during the anthrax scare of ’01 and the ricin scare of ’04. Hell, in his prime, Tom Daschle had six of them.”
When they finally arrived, the narrow hallway was congested by so many people it was difficult to pass through. The door to the hideaway had already been restricted with yellow crime scene tape. Hazel was there but not much help; her hands covered her face, which was streaked with tears. Most of the other staffers were equally distraught. Only Amanda appeared to have kept her head. She was facing down a mildly overweight man in a tan suit and white shirt, arguing with him about some topic they couldn’t discern.
“What the hell happened?” Glancy muttered, soaking it all in. “Did the White House send cops out to look for a semen-stained dress?”
“There must be more to it than that,” Ben said quietly. “A lot more.”
“Why?”
“That man Amanda is talking to? He’s a police detective.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because I’ve spent a lot of time around detectives-and they didn’t put this crime scene tape up for decoration. Something happened, and judging by the flurry of coveralled crime tech personnel in there, it happened in your hideaway.”
“How could anything happen here? I’ve been in the cafeteria for hours.”
“I don’t know. Let’s see if we can find out. Christina, try to get to one of the uniforms. I’ll work on the detective.”
They split up. Ben moved beside Amanda and the detective and waited for a pause in the conversation, which given the speed at which Amanda bellowed, was a fairly long wait.
“Who else had access to this location?” the detective asked.
“Only members of the staff. No one else would even know it existed.”
“And I’ve met all the staffers here. Is there another office?”
“We have a secondary office a few blocks from here. At the Democratic headquarters.”
“Why so far away?”
“They’re full-time fund-raisers. They make cold calls, stay in touch with major donors, that sort of thing.”
“You keep a separate office just for that?”
“No choice. Federal law prohibits fund-raising calls from a government office or on a government phone. Just ask Al Gore.”
“Excuse me,” Ben said, cutting in. “May I ask what happened here?”
The man looked at Amanda, not at Ben. “Who the hell is he? Is he on my list?”
“He’s…” She waved her hand in the air. “Actually, I don’t remember his name. He’s the senator’s lawyer.”
“My name is Ben Kincaid. Why are the police here? What’s happened?”
The detective scowled. “Like Glancy doesn’t already know?”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Then what a coincidence that he just happens to show up with a lawyer in tow.” He snorted.
Ben did his best to control his temper. “Would someone please tell me what happened?”
The man reached past his bulging belly into his jacket and removed a black wallet, then flashed his badge. “I’m Lieutenant Albertson, DCPD. Homicide.”
Ben felt his pulse quicken.
“We found the senator’s missing girlfriend doing a headstand in the senator’s hideaway. On the sofa, with her face wedged between the cushions. And her legs sprawled backward over the edge. And a nine-inch gash in her neck. Huge blood loss. Does that answer your question?”
“Is she dead?”
“You betcha. That’s why we call it a homicide.”
“May I see the crime scene?”
“No.”
“May I speak to whoever found the body?”
“No.”
“I’d like to receive copies of all your preliminary reports.”
“Hell, no.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?”
Ben knew he was staring at a brick wall, and nothing less than a cannonball was going to get him through it. He realized how spoiled he had been, working in Tulsa, where his best friend and former brother-in-law was a homicide detective. Mike usually kept him involved and shared pertinent information, even when it infuriated the prosecutors. Obviously he was not going to get the same courtesy from this detective.
He retreated to the doorway, where he found Glancy with Christina. “They found a corpse.”
“We know,” Christina said. No surprise there. Christina was infinitely better at working people than he was. “I got the skivvy from the hunk posted outside the door. It’s Veronica Cooper. The young woman in the video.” Both Ben and Christina slowly turned toward Glancy.
“What are you looking at me for? I didn’t have anything to do with it! I’ve been in the cafeteria with you, remember?”
“And before that?”
“I’ve been in and out of my office. At a committee meeting. In case you didn’t notice, we’ve had a fairly busy morning. I haven’t had time to come down here. But anyone could’ve gotten in.”
“Anyone could have, maybe, but why would they?” Ben surveyed the scene. The videographers were making their visual records, the hair and fiber teams were crawling on their hands and knees searching for trace evidence, and a chemical ID team was coating the floor with luminol. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Todd, but that serious problem you had? It just got a hell of a lot worse.”
The police officers wouldn’t cooperate with Ben at all, but they couldn’t evict him, at least not beyond the perimeter of the crime scene tape. Ben suspected they really didn’t want to; they knew that if he left, Glancy would go with him, and they wanted the senator on tap. So far there had been no questioning. Albertson was probably waiting until he knew as much as possible before he started interrogating their most likely suspect.
Christina continued to schmooze the officer at the gate and anyone else whose ear she could bend. She was amazing. Never once did she do anything that could be called flirting, but at the same time she had an instinctive knack for making people like her, for figuring out the best way to loosen someone’s tongue. At the end of the day, she would have more insight on the situation than Ben could get in a week.
Ben was still standing outside the door when the coroner’s team took the body out of the office. They seemed nervous, and Ben could understand why; it was a fair bet they’d never been asked to haul a corpse out of the U.S. Senate before. At one point an assistant stumbled and the top sheet slipped. Glancy averted his eyes. Ben didn’t.
Her face was ashen and gray, but there was no doubt that it was the woman in the video. She was wearing more clothing now, but not that much more. Her white blouse was open three buttons down, exposing her neck and a significant amount of cleavage. She was wearing a short but professional-looking skirt, red and blue plaid, and red pumps.
Once the sheet was replaced and the corpse removed, Glancy turned back around. “My God,” he whispered. “Who would’ve done this to her?”
Ben had no answer for him. But he suspected that every law enforcement officer in the room did, and that it was an answer Glancy was not going to like.
Christina pulled a chair beside Hazel, the receptionist, and tried to comfort her. She was still sobbing, blowing her nose, wailing about “that sweet girl who never wanted to hurt anyone,” a dolorous expression engraved on her face.
It was really no business of hers, but Christina noticed that no one else in the office was paying Hazel any attention. Certainly not Amanda, who still bore a stony expression and periodically thrust herself into the police officers’ paths for no apparent purpose other than being an irritant. She overheard a conversation between Lieutenant Albertson and his sergeant in the corridor. They didn’t know she was with Ben; neither even looked her way as they talked.
“What do you make of it?” the sergeant asked in hushed tones.
“Got no idea,” Albertson answered. “It’s too crazy. But the evidence all points in one direction.”
“Think he did her in there?”
“The CSIs haven’t found blood anywhere else.”
“I guess you noticed she wasn’t wearing panties.”
“Be hard to miss.”
“Think Glancy decided to go back for seconds? Maybe she didn’t like it, and-pow.”
Albertson grunted. “Hard to know. A man who would do what he did in that video is capable of anything, far as I’m concerned. Think we’ve got enough?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Me, too. Let’s do it.”
Christina raised her arms, not dramatically, just enough to get Ben’s attention. While he was watching, she locked her fingers around each wrist, pantomiming handcuffs. Which probably wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. But they’d been working together for a long time. He’d get the message.
“Senator Glancy,” Lieutenant Albertson said, as he strolled casually toward the senator and Ben, a friendly expression on his face. “I think I’m ready to ask you those questions now. Shouldn’t take too long.”
“Of course,” Glancy said. “Anything I can do to help.” He glanced at the still-blood-soaked sofa, his eyes filled with regret. “I tried to warn that girl.”
Ben’s eyes widened.
“Warn her?” Albertson asked. “About what?”
“Don’t answer,” Ben interjected.
The lieutenant and Glancy both stared at him. “Beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Don’t answer.”
“Well, then let me ask this,” the lieutenant said. “How long have you been in this building today?”
“Don’t answer,” Ben insisted. “I’m cutting this off now. No more questions.”
Glancy protested. “But, Ben-”
“You heard me. Don’t say a word.”
Albertson frowned. “May I ask on what authority you’re impeding this investigation?”
“I’m Senator Glancy’s attorney. And he has the right to remain silent, as you very well know, even though you seem to have forgotten to read him his Miranda rights.”
“It was my understanding you were representing the senator with regard to a civil matter, not a criminal one. As for the Miranda rights, this is not a custodial interrogation. We just want to ask the senator a few questions.”
“What do you take me for?” Ben shot back. “I’m his attorney in all regards until you hear otherwise. He’s not talking and that’s-”
“Excuse me, may I be of service?” It was Marshall Bressler, suddenly wheeling up beside them.
“Where did you come from?” Ben asked.
Bressler smiled. “The entire building is wheelchair-accessible, Ben. Including the basement. Federal law.” He looked up at the police lieutenant. “I’m the senator’s top aide. His administrative assistant.”
“All we want is to ask the senator a few questions.”
Ben jumped in. “And I absolutely forbid it.”
Bressler gave Ben a stern look. “Failure to cooperate with a criminal investigation is a serious matter. We could get all kinds of bad press.”
“I agree,” Glancy said. “I don’t see any reason not to assist the police, Ben. If I can help them find the man that did this-”
“Don’t kid yourself, Todd. They think they already have.”
“What? Are you suggesting-”
“No, but they will.”
Lieutenant Albertson tried again. “It would be very helpful if we could just get clarification on a few points about the senator’s whereabouts and-”
“He’s not talking.”
“Is that right?” Albertson said, exasperated, addressing the senator.
“You heard what I said,” Ben said forcefully.
“You’re just a counselor, Mr. Kincaid. An adviser. He can take your advice-or not. It’s his call.” He paused. “You know, my uniforms tell me there are about, oh, two billion reporters outside waiting to see what happens next.”
“What is that supposed to be?” Ben bellowed. “A threat? Blackmail? Any attempt to deny my client his Fifth Amendment rights is impermissible under Miranda v. Arizona and sanctionable by-”
“Yadda, yadda, yadda.” The lieutenant ignored him. “So what’s it going to be, Senator? Do you come clean, or do we go outside and inform the world that you’re not talking?”
Glancy paused, pursed his lips, exhaled heavily. It was obviously a difficult decision for him. “It goes against my every instinct not to cooperate with a legal inquiry.” He sighed. “But I suppose I have to respect my attorney’s experience in these matters and do as he says.”
“Have it your way.” He waved to his sergeant. “Senator Glancy, you are now under arrest on a charge of murder in the first degree. Sergeant Reasor, handcuff the man.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Glancy said.
“I’m afraid I insist.”
“Why?” Ben said. “Just to humiliate him on the six o’clock news?”
“Standard operating procedure.” He leaned into Ben’s face. “I gave you a chance to save face, wiseass. Now your man pays the price.”
“You’d already decided to arrest him. You were just trying to get a few pre-Miranda freebies and we both know it.”
The sergeant handcuffed Glancy, then pushed him toward the door and down the corridor.
“I can run interference for you,” Ben said, as they approached the swarm of reporters waiting at the top of the stairs. “Hold up a newspaper. Keep them from getting TV footage.”
“Please don’t,” Glancy said, and a moment later he had his television face on while a hundred bright lights shone down on him and a thousand questions were shouted at once. “This is all a terrible mistake,” Glancy said. “I intend to cooperate with the investigation fully, so we can find out who really committed this atrocity. And then I’ll be back to work, serving the best interests of my constituents, in no time at all.”
But even as he watched the man perform like the pro he was, Ben knew he was wrong. This wasn’t going away anytime soon. If it went away at all.