If he only knew…
13
Driving from the bar, I called Simon to brief him on Kelly. When he answered, he told me to wait. In the background, there was a jumble of voices. A woman said excitedly, “The camera’s in the air-conditioning vent, Lieutenant. I can see the lens.”
“Don’t disturb it, Cherie,” Simon said. “Larry, get Billy Cromartie.”
“On the way, Lieutenant,” a man said.
Simon returned to me, his tone clipped and anxious. “Things are progressing rapidly. We discovered another surveillance camera that wasn’t tied into the central system. We also found several videotapes which are illuminating.”
I said, “By illuminating—”
“There’s not time to discuss them now. Can you pick up Amanda and return here? It would be better if you saw the tapes for yourselves.”
If Simon wanted us to see the tapes this badly, he must have a good reason. “All right, I’ll call her.”
“Good. Now quickly, your impressions of Colonel Kelly.”
“On paper, he’s a prime suspect. He’s a big guy and a former Army Ranger. He could have controlled Talbot and stomached torturing him. He also blames Talbot for getting him passed over for general and doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the killing.” I paused, then added, “But the message he left bothers me. Why make a threatening call to Talbot the day before murdering him? It doesn’t figure.”
“I agree.” Simon said. “Frankly, I’d be surprised if he was the killer.”
A conclusion he’d reached separate from my input. It had to be because of the videotapes. I was tempted to ask him what they revealed, but just then, Enrique called out, “Simon, the natives are getting restless. If you want to talk to them, you’d better do it now, before Congressman Harris arrives.”
“All right.” To me: “Get here as soon as you can. I need your assistance on establishing motive.”
“You do? Why?”
But Simon had turned away from the phone, issuing orders. “Enrique, don’t let those tapes out of your sight. If anyone asks, they do not exist. Cherie, when Billy arrives, tell him to check the camera—”
A click. Simon had finally remembered to disconnect the call.
I was frowning as I lowered the phone. While I had a good idea whom Simon was going to talk to, I was puzzled by his comment to me. Why would he need my help establishing motive?
One possibility came to mind and as I stopped at a red light, I speed-dialed Amanda’s number, hoping Simon hadn’t told her to search a third office.
As I pulled up to the Pentagon’s Corridor Two pedestrian bridge, I spotted Amanda’s familiar silhouette coming down the steps. In her left hand, she carried a folder—Talbot’s RIP that she’d received from Chief Tisdale. When she emerged into the glow of nearby streetlights, two Army officers turned to look at her as she went by. A natural reaction for heterosexual males. After all, this was the new, repackaged Amanda, the kind of woman who could make men walk into walls.
Including me.
As she came toward me, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Her tailored suit clung to her curves, accenting the swell of her breasts and the thinness of her waist. As I watched her, I felt a stirring. I knew what I was feeling was wrong and waited for the guilt to come. For the first time since I could remember, it never did.
When Amanda crawled into the seat beside me, I caught the scent of her perfume. It was almost too much and I wanted to tell her not to marry Bob. To give me one more chance.
But the emotion of the moment gave way to reality. If I surrendered to my impulse, I would come across as needy and desperate. She’d made her decision and I had to accept it.
Jesus, it was difficult.
Tossing the folder in the back, she frowned at me. “You okay?”
I realized I was still staring at her. Trying to keep my voice casual, I said, “Sure. Why?”
Something in my voice must have given me away. Her sudden pitying expression suggested she knew what I was thinking. She abruptly turned and gazed out the window.
I felt embarrassed. Several cars were approaching behind us, so we had to sit in an uncomfortable silence, waiting for them to pass. I decided I had two choices. Either I could pretend nothing happened, or—
“Look, Amanda, I’d like to explain—”
“It’s not necessary.” She turned toward me, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
“No…”
“I never intended to hurt you. I want you to know that.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
She gave me a smile. It was a nice smile. “If it helps, this is also hard on me. I still sometimes wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”
My heart thumped hard. Could she be giving me an opening? It almost sounded as if she wanted me to ask her not to—
“Coast is clear, Marty.”
Amanda was looking back at the last car as it went by. When she faced front, her expression was all business and I realized the opportunity was gone.
If it had ever existed in the first place.
As we zigzagged our way around to the north side of the Pentagon, Amanda summed up the results of her search of the offices of Colonel Kelly and Major Talbot.
“Nothing,” she said. “Chief Tisdale and I went through their file cabinets and desks and didn’t find anything that came close to giving us a motive. The chief’s waiting for the SAs, so he can access their computers.”
Each Pentagon office had a security administrator who troubleshot computer problems, and handled the passwords. Sometimes the SAs were contract civilians but more often than not, they were junior officers who got stuck with the job as an additional duty.
I said, “Colonel Kelly’s computer shouldn’t take long. He can’t have much on it. He’s only been in town for a month.”
She shrugged. “Either way, it’ll be a waste of time. If Colonel Kelly is the killer, he’s too smart to keep an incriminating email. Same thing with Talbot. Why would the killer send a threatening email that could be traced?”
I reminded her of Kelly’s phone message.
“I’m still trying to figure that one out.” She glanced over. “It seems to me there are three possible answers. One, Kelly is innocent like you and Simon seem to think, but has terrible timing…”
I was nodding. When I’d phoned, I’d told her about my interview with Colonel Kelly and my conversation with Simon.
“Or two, Kelly was so drunk, he completely forgot about making the call until after the killing.”
I gave her a look.
“Easy, Tiger. I’m not buying that one either. The third possibility is that when Kelly made the call, he never intended to kill Talbot. But something happened and he changed his mind.”
“And left the message on the machine for us to find?”
“Kelly would have to assume that Talbot would tell someone about the threatening call. He couldn’t delete the message without appearing more guilty.”
Thin, but Amanda realized this. She was only brainstorming, considering all possibilities, no matter how unlikely.
“So,” she said, watching me, “you going to tell me how you figured out Kelly was going to be at Quigley’s?”
“Brilliant detective work and insightful mind.”
“Brother. It’s getting deep.” But there were the beginnings of another smile.
As we worked our way around the edge of the parking area, she brought up the tapes that Simon wanted us to see.
“Let me get this straight,” she said. “These are from a new surveillance camera….”
“Yes.”
“And Simon never said what was on them, but you’re pretty sure that whatever it is, it clears Colonel Kelly?”
“Apparently.”
She tapped her tooth with a nail, digesting this. At a four-way stop, I hung a right toward Glebe Road. She said, “You do realize what this means, Marty. If Colonel Kelly isn’t on those
tapes, that leaves open another troubling possibility…”
She trailed off, letting me fill in the blanks. I dismissed her inference with a head shake. “General Baldwin won’t be on those tapes.”
“The general told you that?”
“Yes.”
“He specifically said that he never visited Talbot’s home.”
“Yes.”
“And you believe him?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth opened and closed. She wasn’t going to let this go. The best defense is an offense and I reminded her how she’d responded to the question I’d asked over the phone.
“You told me you weren’t searching General Baldwin’s office,” I said.
“I couldn’t without probable cause.” Her tone wary, wondering where I was going with this.
“Before we left Talbot’s,” I continued, “you checked out General Baldwin, right? That’s how you knew his address?” At her nod, I went on. “Simon also probably asked you to download his photograph from the Pentagon database. He would have wanted a picture for comparison in case Billy Cromartie found someone on those surveillance tapes—”
“Shit,” she said.
I nodded.
“Okay, okay,” she said grudgingly, “you’re right. If Simon had seen Baldwin on a tape, he would have asked me to search Baldwin’s office. Since he never did…”
“It’s not Baldwin on the tape.”
We rode without speaking for a while. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Amanda shooting me glances and I realized she was gearing up for another attempt.
“Forget it,” I said. “I’m not going to tell you anything about General Baldwin.”
“Why not? If he’s not on the surveillance tapes, what does it matter?”
“No.”
“You know they were both stationed together five years ago?”
My head snapped around.
“Oops. Guess not.” She grinned, nodding to the folder in the back seat. “I had General Hinkle fax out the RIPs on Colonel Kelly and Baldwin, so I could compare it to Talbot’s. General Baldwin and Major Talbot were both stationed at San Antonio in ninety-nine. And now Talbot is…was…working for Baldwin. Interesting, huh?”
“Is it?”
“Sure. They’ve got a history together.”
“Not necessarily. San Antonio’s a big base.”
“Enough’s enough, Marty. I know why you’re doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Have it your way.” She clicked on the map light, then reached around and plucked up the folder from the rear seat. Casually flipping it open, she said, “Amazing what you can pick up from a RIP. Take where someone went to school. General Baldwin, for instance. Imagine my surprise when I saw where he went to college.” She looked at me expectantly.
I was silent.
“Small world. First you and Talbot. Now General Baldwin. You all went to Virginia Tech.”
I still didn’t reply. There was nothing I could say.
“Out with it, Marty. Admit you knew General Baldwin from college. That’s why you initially suspected him, isn’t it? You know something about him that made you—
I flipped on the radio and cranked up the volume.
She immediately clicked it off. “Dammit, we’re supposed to work together. You said so yourself.”
“Not on this.”
“Why the hell not?”
I concentrated on my driving.
“Jesus, you’re impossible.” She sat back in a huff.
Another silence followed, which was fine with me. We made a left at a light. In the distance, I could make out the hill where Talbot resided.
Amanda began drumming the dash. I risked a look. The drumming stopped and she shot me a glare. “You think you’re smart, but you’re not fooling anyone. You really aren’t.”
I didn’t take the bait. With Amanda, it was easier to let her have the last word.
The only problem was, this wasn’t it.
“You had us going,” she went on. “Simon and I couldn’t figure out what you were hiding from us. He came up with this theory. I thought he was crazy, but now—”
“He’s wrong.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“He’s still wrong.”
“What’s the matter with you? We have a man who was butchered. Butchered. I understand Baldwin is a friend—what?”
I was pointing her attention to a large vehicle with a familiar logo, sitting at a stop sign ahead of us. Amanda bent forward, squinting. “Isn’t that a Channel Five news van?”
14
Azoo.
That’s the only way to describe the scene outside Talbot’s home. As we followed the antennaed press van with the WTTG logo toward the front gate, I counted over a dozen media vehicles and five satellite trucks camped along the road. Most were local, but a number represented national and international news services. A large semicircle of reporters, photographers, and TV cameramen were crowded by the gate, their backs to us. To their left, more TV crews were setting up and a Farrah Fawcett clone was peering into a television camera, engaged in a somber play-by-play.
“Great,” Amanda said. “What the hell do we do now?”
“Drive through. They’ll move out of the way.”
She glanced over dubiously.
Thirty yards from the gate, the van pulled over to the side. I slowly cruised past it, riding the horn. The crowd parted to look back at us, and as they did, Amanda and I spotted a familiar figure standing before them, framed in a portable spotlight.
“You called it,” Amanda said. “Simon’s giving a press conference. Looks like he wants us to stop.”
Simon was holding up a hand toward us. I responded by flashing my lights, then parked at the edge of the driveway.
As the crowd re-formed around him, Amanda and I lowered our windows to listen. From Simon’s cryptic account, it was clear he was summarizing what he’d told them earlier. In a slow, measured voice, he confirmed that Major Talbot had been murdered at his home in the late afternoon and that there were no suspects. He reminded everyone that this was a joint investigation between the Air Force—he plugged me as the senior OSI agent—and the Arlington PD, and emphasized that both organizations would not rest until Major Talbot’s killer or killers were apprehended. After expressing his condolences to Congressman Harris and his wife, Simon wrapped up his summation by holding up a framed photograph of Talbot and requesting that anyone with knowledge of the crime to notify the Arlington PD.
The moment he stopped talking, Simon pushed through the crowd toward the Saab. His movement generated instant chaos. Reporters and TV news people scurried after him, fighting to shove microphones up to his face as they hollered out questions.
“Lieutenant, if you’ll just give us a minute…”
“Lieutenant Santos, what was the cause of death?”
“Is this a hate crime, Lieutenant? Was Major Talbot gay?”
I had to admire Simon’s self-control. Even though it had to be driving him nuts to be constantly touched and jostled, he gave no outward sign. His expression remained completely calm, almost serene, as he walked toward the—
And then it happened.
Five yards from the car, Simon suddenly spun toward a female reporter who was holding a cassette recorder. In a loud, harsh voice, he said, “What did you say?”
The reporter was a matronly woman in her fifties. She recoiled, flustered by his sudden anger. “I…uh…well…I was wondering…”
Simon turned away in disgust and continued toward the Saab. For an instant, the reporters were too stunned to react. Then, as if one, they banked after him like a swarm of bees in flight, shouting more questions. One man ran up to Simon and jammed a mike into his face. He knocked it angrily away.
“He’s really ticked,” Amanda said. “I’ve never seen him lose his cool like this.”
“You hear what the woman asked him?”
“Something about torture.
Here they come. Better get our windows up.”
Simon yanked open a rear door, clambered inside, and slammed it shut. I thumbed the automatic locks, looking at him. I had to shake my head at his appearance. His tie was askew and his hair mussed. This for a guy who freaked out from too much human contact.
Simon laid Talbot’s photo on the seat. “Drive, Martin,” he growled.
Easier said than done.
We were surrounded. Photographers continued to press their cameras against the windows, blinding us with flashes. I honked the horn and motioned people out of the way. No one moved. I cracked my window and shouted angrily. All I got was the bright light from a TV camera in my eyes.
“News at eleven,” Amanda said sarcastically.
I was down to my last option. With car in park, I floored the gas. At the sudden roar of the engine, the bodies literally flew out of the way.
We slowly continued toward the gate. It was already beginning to open.
Once we passed through, Amanda said to Simon, “You going to tell us why that reporter’s question about torture upset you?”
He still looked upset. He’d straightened his tie and was combing his hair. With a last swipe, he said, “There’s only one way she could have known Talbot was tortured.”
Amanda’s brow furrowed. “One way? Simon, a lot of people knew Talbot was tortured. Half your department—no?”
In the rearview mirror, I caught Simon’s head shake. He said, “I explained to Martin that Chief Novak and I were very careful whom we told of the murder. We were even more discriminating on the aspect of the torture. We wanted to prevent people from leaping to the conclusion that this was a hate crime. Only the immediate investigating team was aware he’d been tortured. No one else knew. Not even the mayor. Even you weren’t aware of the torture before you arrived.”
A statement we couldn’t argue. I said, “You still believe no one on your team could have—”
“Absolutely not.”
This was a question I had to ask because of his comment to Amanda. As we circled around the house toward the back, I went with the followup.
“Simon, you said there was only one way the reporter could have known about the leak…”
A Slow Walk to Hell Page 9