That’s when I realized we’d never heard the shots.
“Stay with him,” Simon said. “Try and question him.”
I looked at Coller. He’d stopped thrashing and his gurgles were weakening, becoming almost inaudible. I said to Simon, “He’s hit in the carotid artery. There’s no way he can—”
Simon crawled into the hallway. He turned right, heading toward the front door. I shook my head, thinking he was crazy to risk it. Seconds later, I heard the door slam shut confirming he’d made it. From the back of the house came more insistent pounding. Amanda: “Dammit, Marty, what the hell is going on?”
“Shooter. Sniper with a silenced rifle. He got Coller—”
“Jesus!”
“Hannity, radio for an ambulance and back up!” I stared down at Coller. His eyes were closed and frothy red bubbles oozed through his fingers. “Can you hear me, Major?”
Nothing.
More pounding. Amanda: “Marty, open the fucking door.”
“Go around to the front. See if you can locate the shooter.”
The pounding stopped.
To Coller, I said gently, “I know you can’t talk so don’t even try. Just listen. Someone killed Major Talbot tonight and has also shot you. Do you know who might want you both dead?”
His eyes fluttered open. I saw the fear in them. He seemed to nod, but it could have been my imagination.
“Is it Congressman Harris?”
He stared at me.
“General Baldwin?”
Again, nothing. He was still staring. After a few seconds, I realized he was never going to respond to me or anyone else again.
He’d just died.
I shook my head pityingly. In the ensuing stillness, I became aware of a dull pain in my ear lobe. My hands were matted with Coller’s blood, so I gingerly touched the tip with my wrist. Torn flesh. It dawned on me how close I’d come and I began to tremble. It was all I could do to force myself into the hallway and search for Simon.
“Up here, Martin!”
Even though the front door was closed, I wasn’t taking any chances. I hugged the right wall and at the last moment, dove onto the stairs. I scurried up half a flight and entered a dining room. Simon was on his knees, peeking through shades, talking into his cell phone. He was telling someone—dispatch—that the shooter must be in the park.
He glanced back with a questioning look. I interpreted it and shook my head. “Coller,” I added, “seemed to know who might be behind the murders, but died before he could identify him.”
Simon’s face darkened with a smoldering anger. As he relayed the news of Coller’s death, I skirted around the dining table and cautiously peered out the edge of the window.
The park was located directly across the street. It was quiet and dark. My eyes scanned the silhouettes of trees; nothing moved. I shifted to the parking area, which was visible about a hundred yards to the right. No cars, but it didn’t mean much. The park occupied a city block and there were several access points.
How long since the last shot? Three or four minutes. Plenty of time for the killer to be long gone.
In the distance, I heard sirens. Easing from the window, I contemplated the pistol I was holding. As with my hands, it was sticky with blood. I glanced at my shirt and jacket. More blood. I checked out Simon. He was completely unblemished, since he’d never actually touched Coller.
That wasn’t by accident.
My ear began to throb and I told him I was going to find a bathroom and clean up. He nodded absently and kept talking into the phone. I also had a call to make. As I swung around to leave, I unclipped my cellular, then paused at a question Simon asked the dispatcher.
He’d inquired about the officer who had been sent to the rectory—whether he’d turned up anything on Father Carlacci. There was a brief delay as the dispatcher contacted the officer and received his answer.
From Simon’s disapproving hiss, it wasn’t the response he was looking for.
“Send three more units to secure the church perimeter,” he ordered. “I’ll be leaving here soon. Has anyone advised Sergeant Tasker—transfer me. Henry? Simon. You heard? Fine. We need to locate Father Carlacci. Contact the archdiocese—The church secretary should know where he is. If that’s the case, we’ll need keys to the rectory. No, don’t mention our suspicions. I don’t want to alarm anyone unnecessarily.”
Simon punched off and slumped wearily against the wall. “The rectory is locked and no one answers the door.”
“It’s Friday night. Father Carlacci didn’t sound like a wallflower. He could have gone out for a drink.”
“And the other two priests who reside there?”
I tried desperately to come up with a plausible response. It was denial. I didn’t want the killer to win again. Not tonight.
Not ever.
I knew then what I had to do. I suppose I’d known it all along.
I checked my watch. Almost midnight. Sam’s party would be wrapping up.
As I voiced my intention to Simon, he began shaking me off. “Amanda goes. You’re too close to General Baldwin.”
“It’s better if I see him alone. I can make him talk to me if I’m alone.”
“He didn’t tell you anything before.”
“This time he will. I’ll make him tell me.”
He continued to argue with me—until I explained how I could force Baldwin to talk to me.
He regarded me with surprise. “You’d be willing to go that far?”
“We got two bodies and no telling how many more could turn, up. Yeah, I’d go that far.”
He grudgingly nodded for the simple reason that he really didn’t have a choice. Sam was Air Force and I was the chief military investigator. I could question him any damn time I wanted.
He glanced at the cell phone in my hand. “General Hinkle?”
“I need to report Coller’s shooting.”
“Perhaps I should do it.”
The control freak in Simon talking. He was worried I might let something slip about our suspicions concerning Congressman Harris. I told him, fine. He could make the call. I didn’t care.
Simon added, “I’ll have Enrique swing by General Baldwin’s and drop off Major Talbot’s address list.”
We’d discussed this. Our hope was that Sam could identify likely candidates with whom Talbot might have shared his secret. By likely, we were talking about fellow gays and more specifically, potential lovers.
The sirens were almost on top of us. We heard a squeal of brakes and the slamming of car doors. Anxious voices shouted out Simon’s name. He hollered back that he was okay and would meet them around the back.
“Give me five minutes,” I said to him. “And ask Enrique to bring me a clean shirt.”
His expression became concerned. “Have the EMTs treat your injury first.”
“I will.” I smiled faintly. “Thanks for the shove, huh. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be dead.”
“Not necessarily.”
I stared at him as if I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“The shots, Martin. If you’ll recall, the shooter only fired one that was close to us—”
“Close? He hit me.”
He shrugged. “He had no choice. You were in the line of fire. We both were. But there were no more shots until we were clear of the door. And those were well away from us.”
“Sure. We weren’t the target. He was trying to kill Coller.”
“Precisely. If he wanted to insure Coller was dead, why keep aiming low, toward his legs. Why not go for his chest or head? To me, there is only one explanation, he was trying to keep from hitting us.”
I tried to dispel his argument, but couldn’t. From what I could recall, it certainly did appear as if the killer had aimed low.
“A cop,” I said. “I guess he didn’t want to kill a cop.”
“A curious standard for a ruthless killer, don’t you think?”
It was. But the shooter could have a connection to c
ops. Maybe he’d even been one.
My ear was pulsing again and I wanted to leave.
“Ah, Martin, there’s something we need…we must discuss.”
I frowned at his insistent tone. “Oh? What?”
He sat there, looking up at me. Twice he seemed on the verge of speaking, but never did. With a deep sigh, his eyes dropped to the floor and he shook his head regretfully.
A suspicion began to form. “Is this about Amanda?”
No response. He continued to fixate on the floor. I didn’t say anything. I just waited for him to gather up the nerve.
Finally his eyes crawled up to mine. “Please understand, I never believed you would act upon your feelings. That’s why when Amanda asked my opinion, I told her she should move on. Frankly, I believed it was in her best interest emotionally. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life waiting for you to decide. It wasn’t fair to her or you.” He paused, looking at me. “Martin, this isn’t easy—”
“Tell me.”
His mouth opened as if to do so. But he still couldn’t bring himself to admit what we both now knew. Again his eyes retreated to the safety of the floor.
I suppose I should have left then. But I wanted him to tell me to my face how he’d screwed me over. I said, “There really isn’t a Bob, is there?”
He glanced up with mild surprise. “No, no. He does exist. Amanda is very much in love with him and he with her.”
“I see.” I swallowed hard. “Go on.”
“You should hear the rest from Amanda. She should be the one to tell you.”
“I want you to tell me.”
Another pause. Longer than the first. I thought he’d chickened out and wasn’t going to admit that he was really—
“The truth is,” he said, speaking up suddenly, “I’ve developed a great affection for Amanda. I believed she had a right to happiness. I’ve asked her to tell you of her engagement for weeks, but she wanted me to do it because it was ultimately my responsibility. Their getting together. If you should be angry with anyone, be angry with me.”
He abruptly rose and stood before me.
I don’t know what he expected me to do. Maybe take a swing at him or cuss him out. Any other time, I might have reacted that way.
But the man had just saved my life.
“Are you really Bob?” I heard myself ask him.
Another surprised reaction. “You’re actually serious?”
“You better believe it.”
He began to laugh. “Bob, me?”
“Simon this isn’t funny—”
“But it is. The irony is exceptionally funny. You of all people should know I’m not Bob.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Ask Amanda. You’ll have to ask Amanda or perhaps Emily.”
“My daughter? What does Emily have to do with this?”
He shook his head and continued to laugh.
I walked out.
30
In a guest bathroom on the second floor, I began to clean myself off. I was a mess. In addition to the blood on my clothes, the bottom tip of my ear lobe was missing and more of Coller’s blood dotted my face.
I sighed. When it rains, it floods.
In my head, I still heard Simon’s laughter. No way he’d faked that reaction to throw me off. Curiously, the fact that he wasn’t the mysterious Bob made me feel even worse. If Amanda fell for Simon, I could understand it. The guy was brilliant and a zillionaire.
But Bob also apparently had bucks. And maybe he was brilliant too.
You of all people should know I’m not Bob.
That remark ate at me. Did Simon believe I knew Bob? Obviously, he must. And what about his comment concerning Emily? Had Amanda told Emily about Bob? Again the answer seemed obvious.
So I was the only one left out of the loop.
I searched my memory for everyone I knew named Bob. There were six. Two were married and one was an uncle on my mother’s side. None were rich.
Fuck.
I’d almost finished washing up, when I heard a knock on the door. “EMT,” a male voice said.
I opened the door, still stripped to the waist. A burly medical technician stood there, carrying a doctor’s bag. A woman tentatively peered out from behind him.
Amanda.
“Go away,” I said.
The man blinked. “Whatever you say, buddy. I was told to treat your ear.”
Amanda said, “Marty, I know you’re upset, but we need to talk. Please.”
I said to the technician, “I was talking to the woman.”
His head swiveled between Amanda and me. “Look,” he said, reading the situation, “maybe I should come back when you two—”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Amanda said.
More head swiveling. He made his decision and started to leave. I said, “Get back here.”
He froze.
I said to Amanda, “I’ve got nothing to say to you. You’ve had your fun.”
“If you’ll let me explain. It’s not what you think—”
“Simon says you’re in love with Bob.”
She hesitated.
I said, “Well?”
“Yes, I am, but I want you to know—”
“You thought it was funny as hell to play me along. Make me think I had a chance when I didn’t. Don’t deny it. You know damn well that’s what you were doing.”
“Look, I can explain about that—”
“Not to me. Tell someone who cares.” To the med tech, I said, “Get in here.”
As he reluctantly stepped inside, I started to close the door. I paused when I saw Amanda’s eyes mist. “Marty, you could have been killed. If that had happened, I’d have never forgiven myself. We have to stop these juvenile games and—”
I shut the door on her…hard.
“Man,” the tech said. “You always this big a jerk or you just having a good day?”
“Just bandage the ear, huh?”
As he attended to me, I didn’t expect to feel much pain, but I did.
“Asshole,” he said, when he left.
I emerged from the bathroom carrying my white dress shirt. I was looking very Miami Vice, wearing my jacket buttoned up over my bare chest. I went down to the first floor, continued past the living room where Coller was lying dead, and entered a tiny kitchen. Simon and Amanda were there, talking with a couple of uniformed officers. Simon was telling them to put out an APB for the black BMW with dealer tags. Noticing me, he pointed to the back door and said my ride was waiting. I nodded to him, but my attention was on Amanda who was looking at me as if I was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
Where did she get off being upset with me? I was the wronged party, not her.
Stepping past her, I shot her a withering glare.
Kiss my ass, she mouthed.
I puckered up.
“Stop it,” Simon ordered. “Both of you.” I glanced back. The two cops had wiseass grins. So much for being subtle.
I continued out the door. The cop was waiting on the dime-sized lawn. He escorted me down a concrete pathway toward the far end of the complex, where his cruiser was parked. Several residents called out to us, asking what was going on. We told them to go back inside, lock their doors, and someone would be around shortly to explain the situation to them. The “shortly” part was, of course, a lie.
As we drove away, I glanced toward the park and saw it fronted by an armada of flashing police vehicles, officers shielded behind them, their weapons pointed. That’s how they would remain until SWAT arrived and cleared the park for the killer.
I made two calls, listening with my good ear. The first was to Enrique who informed me he was going through his wardrobe, picking out a shirt for me. And yes, he’d dumped the press who were tailing him.
“I drove straight to my apartment. You should have seen their faces when I told them Simon wasn’t in the limo. I even let them take a look inside. Man, were they pissed.
Especially Chrissy Sweeney over at Channel Five. Jeez, that lady can swear. So what color shirt you want?”
“What are my choices?”
When he told me, I said, “The blue.”
“It’s actually more of a purple.”
“Fine. The red.”
“It’s actually more of a pink.”
We went through three more colors. Everything was actually something else. I think he was saying this to yank my chain.
“Just bring me a fucking shirt,” I said.
I clicked off. The cop was grinning. I pointedly ignored him and called Sam. When he answered instead of the waiter, I knew the dinner party was over. That was a good thing. His response to my request was not.
“Marty, I’m tired,” he said. “I’m not answering any more questions. To you or anybody. I told you I don’t know anything.”
I anticipated this response and was ready. I hit him with my first kicker, saying, “Someone blew away Major Coller tonight—”
“Aw, Christ—”
Then the second: “And I believe you could be next.”
The phone hissed.
I expected some kind of shocked reaction and a demand from Sam why I would conclude he might be in danger, but the silence continued.
Which meant he already knew.
“Sam…”
“Don’t do this, Marty. Don’t fucking come here. Leave me out of it.”
“You lied to me from the start. I know you and Talbot had a relationship.”
“You’re reaching. You can’t prove a damned—”
“I’ve got Major Talbot’s phone records. I’ll also bet if we show your picture to the maids, they’ll remember you. Or maybe I should show a picture of Talbot to the guard in your building. How many times did he come by, Sam?” This wasn’t a guess; they had to liaise somewhere.
“Why are you doing this, Marty? So I was friendly with Talbot? So what? I’m telling…I’m asking you to leave me out of this. Please.”
“Say it. You were lovers. Say it.”
“We weren’t.”
“Say it, Sam.”
“We weren’t. We weren’t.”
I heard the panic in his voice then. This was unexpected. Sam had spent a lifetime developing a hard-nosed military persona and I didn’t think he would began to crack so soon.
A Slow Walk to Hell Page 18