Capitol Murder (48 page)

“Yeah.” Marshall took a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered; Ben could see he was barely able
to keep them open. “You about ready to go, Ben?”

“I’d appreciate it. Those FBI guys outside must be going nuts. And—I’d really like to see how
Christina is doing. And I wouldn’t mind putting my clothes back on, either.”

Marshall nodded. “I heard what you said, when you carried Christina out of here. Reminded me
of Delia. How we were. While it lasted.” His eyes filled with tears. He laid down the gun. “I
loved her so much, Ben. So much. Did you ever love someone like that? Love them so much—and then
lose them?”

“Yes. I mean, she didn’t die, but—it hurt just the same.”

“You’re too young.”

“No one’s too young,” Ben replied. “And my father died, several years ago. That hurt, too. And
we didn’t even get along. He thought I was wasting my life, that I’d been a traitor to him. But
when he died—I couldn’t handle it. Probably should’ve gone into therapy. Instead I ran off to
Tulsa and tried to leave my family, my past, far behind.” He paused. “It didn’t work. Running
isn’t the answer.”

“No.” Marshall looked up at him, almost smiling. “And I suppose taking hostages isn’t,
either.”

Ben tilted his head to one side but said nothing.

“You go check on your girl, Ben,” Marshall said, still weeping. “And you take good care of
her, understand? Remember—every day the two of you have together is a gift. A rare and precious
gift. Every single day.”

“I won’t forget.” Ben took the gun and motioned to the FBI officers he knew were watching
through the fiber-optic cable. “Thank you, Marshall.”

“Thank you for listening. If—if my Delia were still around, I think she’d take a shine to you,
Ben.”

“She is still around,” Ben said. He laid his hand softly on the side of Marshall’s face,
wiping away the tears. “And thanks to you, she always will be.”

“Well, I gotta hand it to you, Chrissy,” Loving said. “You’ve worn some crazy getups in the
past. But this one takes the cake.”

“Ha, ha,” she said, with simulated acerbity. She was wearing a hospital gown, a thin pale blue
linen number. “I think the floral pattern goes well with my eyes.”

They were all standing around her hospital bed—Ben, Jones, Loving, and Lucille. The small
private room was festooned with flowers, gifts, and a host of greeting cards dangling from a
banner stretched across the head of the bed.

“Wanted you to meet my new, umm, friend,” Loving said, gesturing to Lucille. He winked. “I
thought the two redheads in my life should meet. She was a big help to the investigation.”

“Aw, he did all the hard stuff,” Lucille said, blushing. “All I did was dress up like a floozy
and play the tease.”

“Sounds like hard work to me,” Christina said. She turned to Ben. “Has there been any word
about Marshall? And Marie?”

“She’s going to pull through,” Ben replied. “It’ll take a while, but the docs say she’ll make
a full recovery. I’m amazed—but I guess I shouldn’t be. She’s a tough woman. And Marshall is
being treated by some of the best mental health specialists in the country. Todd is paying the
bills.”

“No criminal charges?”

“Not at this time. I doubt he could be found competent to stand trial. I just hope he gets the
help he needs to recover the man he once was.”

The phone rang. “Would you get that for me?” Christina asked.

“What?” Ben said. “Just because you got a little bullet wound to the leg, you can’t answer
your own phone?”

“I could. But I’m currently wearing a gown that exposes my rear end.”

“Well, we don’t want that,” Loving said, rushing to the phone.

There weren’t many times in his life when Ben saw his strapping investigator at a loss for
words or action, but on this occasion he seemed to be lacking both.

“Loving?” Christina said. She jabbed him gently on the side. “Is it for me?”

Slowly he shrugged off his stupor and found some small measure of animation. “No. It’s for
Ben.”

“Really?” Ben frowned. “Who is it?”

He swallowed. “The governor.”

“The governor? Of what?”

“Of Oklahoma,” Loving said, eyes bulging. “And he wants to talk to you!”

Ben took the phone. Loving and Lucille excused themselves, saying they wanted to check on
Beatrice.

“Congratulations on a job well done, son.” Ben immediately recognized the voice of his state’s
top politician. “Glad it all worked out and your assistant is going to be all right.”

“Partner,” Ben said, still dumbfounded. “She’s my partner.”

“Right, right. Listen, I don’t want you to feel like you’re getting the bum’s rush, but I have
exactly three minutes until my next meeting, and this has to be dealt with, and I wanted to feel
you out before I made any public announcements.”

“Public announcements? About—me?”

“Are you kidding, pilgrim? I guess you’ve been in DC. Back here—you’re the local hero.”

“I am?”

“Even
The Oklahoman
has had some nice things to say about you and, given your
political leanings, that’s nothing short of a miracle.”

“I didn’t know I had political leanings.”

“You handled this case with class, and that closing argument you gave was brilliant. Moved me
to tears when I read it in the paper. And then when it turned out you were actually right and
Glancy wasn’t guilty—of murder, anyway—that was even better.”

“I still—don’t—”

“And then that heroic rescue of your girlfriend. Marvelous stuff. Marvelous. Ballsiest thing
I’ve heard of in my life.”

“It was really no big deal.”

“Well, the papers are talking about it like you were James Bond. Your approval ratings are
sky-high. And not just with women. Wish to God I had ratings like that. Your fame may be
fleeting, but I still wouldn’t mind leaching a little positive spin off it. Which leads to the
reason for my call.”

Ben was baffled. The governor was talking fast—much too fast for Ben to process what he was
saying, much less anticipate what was coming next.

“There are some preliminary questions I’m required to ask,” the governor continued. “Did you
vote for me in the last election?”

“Well . . .”

“Didn’t think so. Are you even a member of my party?”

“Well . . .”

“My staff was right. And you have no political experience at all, correct?”

“I was briefly at the DA’s office but . . . no, not really.”

“What the hell. Part of my stump speech has been that blather about overcoming petty partisan
concerns and seeking out excellence. And it’s only for a year.” He paused. “You seem like a hell
of a good guy, Kincaid, and the public loves you. Want to be our next senator?”

Ben’s jaw dropped with such alacrity he was surprised there was no thudding sound. “Can—can
you do that?”

“Can I? I have no choice. Constitution requires it. Glancy has resigned; I have to appoint a
substitute to fill his remaining term. So what about it, Ben? Are you my man?”

A thousand thoughts ran through Ben’s brain at once. “Can—can I think about it a little
while?” He glanced at Christina, who was sitting in the bed staring at him with an extremely
puzzled expression. “Talk to some friends and . . . associates?”

“Of course you can. Well, you’ve got till six o’clock. Then we have to either announce or move
on to someone else.”

“I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” He took the governor’s number and hung up.

“What was that all about?” Christina asked.

“Tell you in a minute. There’s something else I want to discuss first.”

“Ben! Don’t be such a tease! Was it really the governor?”

“Yup. But—” He paused, shifting awkwardly from one leg to the next. “You know, Christina . . .
back at Glancy’s office, when you were hurt . . .”

She leaned forward a bit. “Yes?”

“I know you were half out of your head and probably weren’t aware—”

“I heard every word you said.”

Ben swallowed. “You did?”

“Damn straight. And I haven’t forgotten, either.”

He looked down at her, the billowing red hair he had become so fond of, the deep blue eyes,
the adorable freckles. He couldn’t imagine getting through a day without her. And didn’t want to
try. “I know I’ve—I’ve—never really said—”

She reached out and took his hand. “You don’t have to, Ben. I already know.”

“Really? Really?” He laughed with relief, and she laughed, and then they were both laughing,
and then all at once he crouched beside her, picked up a pair of scissors, and snipped off her
hospital ID bracelet.

“What on earth are you doing?” she said. “You’re going to get thrown out of here.”

“A woman like you deserves jewelry of a higher order,” he replied. He reached into his coat
pocket and withdrew a two-inch-square felt-covered box. And opened it.

Under the bright fluorescent lighting, the diamond sparkled with a thousand colors.