But he was.
I didn’t want to finish this over the phone. I didn’t want to push him completely over the edge when there was no one to catch him. I didn’t.
But he’d given me an opening. One I had to take.
What to do about the cop. Since the mention of Talbot’s name, he’d been following my conversation with interest. I covered the mouthpiece and growled, “You repeat any of this, I’ll deny it.”
His face went blank. “Repeat what?” he said coolly.
This guy was going to make chief. Gathering myself with a deep breath, I bluntly asked Sam who killed Major Talbot.
“How the fuck should I know?”
“Because I think he told you…” I paused for effect. “And I know you were at his place shortly before the murder.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“You were seen, Sam. Two witnesses saw you outside his gate.”
“They’re mistaken. I was nowhere near—”
I went for it then. Played my last kicker. “I’ll do it if I have to, Sam.”
“Do what?”
“Turn you in.”
A long pause. I heard him slowly exhale. “I don’t believe you.”
“Try me.”
“It’ll be your word against mine.”
“Don’t forget Randy’s police report, where he swore he saw you in that gay bar. And once we keep digging, I’m sure we’ll uncover other instances where you visited—”
“You fucking son of a bitch.”
“The truth. All I want is the truth.”
“Why?” he exploded. “What the hell would you do with it?”
Bingo.
I said softly, “Son of a bitch. You do know who killed Talbot.”
Silence.
“Sam,” I said, “I’m sorry you’re gay. I’m sorry your secret may get out and your career may be over. I’m sorry your family may find out and I’m sorry you’re mixed up in a murder. But we’ve got two dead people and you have information that will help us find the killer.”
Still nothing from Sam. I didn’t press him any more. I’d played the guilt card and it was up to his conscience to do the rest.
When he finally responded, his voice was resigned, accepting. “You’re right about…all of it. I know who…who must have killed Franklin. But even if I told you, you’d never be able to arrest them. They’re too powerful. I tried to tell that to Franklin. I told him what he was doing was dangerous. I said to let it go. Just let it go. But he couldn’t. He was like that. Always tried to do what’s right. That’s what I admired most about him. His integrity. Part of it…most of it was his faith. He always had that as a barometer, to judge himself. I’m religious, but nothing like him. If I was, this wouldn’t be so damned hard. There’s a certain freedom in believing in something bigger than you. But for people like us…Franklin and me…there was a problem. It was always there, hanging over us…reminding us that we were different…unworthy. That scared Franklin…terrified him. He tried so hard to make himself worthy, deserving. But in the end, he knew…he had to know…” He trailed off without completing the thought.
I was squirming with anticipation. I said, “You’re telling me Congressman Harris had him killed, right? Shit, of course you are.” The cop’s head snapped around. I gave him a hard look and he turned away. I said to Sam, “Who else? Who else was involved?”
Sam resumed speaking as if he hadn’t heard me. His tone contained an affectionate, reflective quality. “I was the senior officer. I should be the one who guided him, but it was the other way around. He taught me about courage and grace and…well, the specifics don’t matter. What does matter is that I’m not afraid to come forward. Not any longer. Not when I think about how they killed Franklin. Like some animal. Fuck those assholes. Fuck them.”
The phone hissed. I said, “I need the names, Sam.”
He sighed. “I’m so damned tired and I need a drink. When you get here, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll even show you the tape they sent. They counted on it to keep me quiet.”
I realized what tape he must be referring to. Now it was clear why his decision to cooperate had been so excruciating. “The names. Just give me the names.”
“Marty, please…”
He was teetering emotionally. If I pushed him now, I could lose him.
I backed off.
“All right, Sam.” I expected him to hang up.
But he still wanted to talk. He asked me if I had known that Franklin was a fellow alum from Virginia Tech. I told him I had.
“I suppose that’s the main reason we hit it off. We had so much in common. The corps, the Air Force, the pressure of being different. He was the one person who understood what I went through because he’d experienced the same thing. I never had that before. Someone to confide in. Christ, I’m going to miss him.”
His voice trembled with emotion. I didn’t say anything. Sam was looking for a response; he just wanted someone to listen.
“You know he also liked to ski. It’s true. At school, he used to go to Clayter Lake every chance he had. Camp out just like we did. How’s that grab you? Two gay guys from the corps who liked to ski and we end up getting together. What are the odds?”
A direct question. “Pretty small.”
“We should do that soon, Marty. You and me. Go there and spend a weekend. Franklin would like it if we did. He and I talked about going all the time.”
“That’d be nice, Sam.”
“How about when this is over? It’d be like old times. We could forget about all this. Forget about everything.”
“Anytime you say.”
When Sam quietly clicked off, I could almost see his smile. For the briefest moment, I too felt excitement at the prospect of rekindling our friendship. Then reality set in and I realized we were fooling ourselves. I was about to create a chasm between us that could never be bridged. From now on, whenever he saw me, he would be reminded that I was the person who had destroyed his life and career. Could he ever forgive me? I doubted it.
That’s why we’d never go skiing together.
31
After we turned into Sam’s apartment building, I made the cop cruise the lot to check out the cars. We didn’t spot anyone watching nor did we see a black BMW M5. By the time we circled back, Enrique was parking the limo against the concrete island across from the entrance. The cop pulled in beside him and as I got out, I almost choked at the shirt Enrique was holding.
Charitably, the color could be described as green. More accurately, it was luminescent aquamarine.
The cop was laughing as he drove off.
I glared at Enrique as I took the shirt. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Hey, don’t blame me. Right after I talked to you, Amanda called. She suggested the shirt. She also has a message she wanted me to pass on. How’s the ear? I meant to ask before. Jesus, that was close, huh?”
“For me. Coller wasn’t so lucky.”
“I heard. I wish I would have been there. Maybe I could have done something to stop the guy.” This wasn’t bravado. As a former SEAL, he had a supreme confidence in his abilities.
“You couldn’t,” I said. “The shooter was too good. He couldn’t have had more than a six-inch opening to hit Coller. Yet, he got him on the first shot from at least three hundred yards.”
“So we’re talking a professional trigger man.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or someone like me. With military training.”
I nodded. Along with a possible cop connection, the latter was something I’d been tossing around.
Following up on the obvious, Enrique asked if either General Baldwin or Colonel Kelly had sniper or marksmanship training.
“Possibly Kelly. He was Army Ranger. Sam…General Baldwin’s out. He’s an Air Force pilot and never trained as—” A memory floated back, one that had nothing to do with Sam’s gun collection. “Correction. Sam does have marksmanship training. All the Baldwin boys were trained to shoot expert,
in case they joined the Army.”
Interest flashed in Enrique’s eyes. He knew Sam had been spotted outside of Major Talbot’s home prior to the murder. Now if he could also be placed in the vicinity of Coller’s at the time of—
“Forget it,” I said. “Sam didn’t shoot Coller. Why would he?”
He shrugged. “Just covering all the options. It’s what, ten, twelve minutes from here to Coller’s. Baldwin could have taken him out and beat us here easy.”
I was about to tell him that wasn’t possible because of my call to Sam. Then I remembered I’d phoned him a good twenty minutes after the shooting. Mentioning Sam’s dinner guests as his alibi was also out; I didn’t know what time they left.
I settled on option number three.
“Sam knows who the killer is and has agreed to tell me.”
End of discussion. Enrique looked dumbfounded. “No shit.”
“No shit.”
“So we’ll soon know—”
“Everything.”
I stepped over to the back of the limo to change. As I opened a door, I reminded him of Amanda’s message.
“Oh, right.” He dug out his notepad and began flipping pages.
“Must be some message,” I said dryly.
“She told me to write it down, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding.” Tilting the pad toward the limo’s interior light, he read, “Tell Marty he’s petty, childish, and vindictive. Tell him my actions were completely justified and that he is wrong about everything.”
He glanced up, making no attempt to hide his amusement. “She also mentioned that you should rent the video Sleepless in Seattle.”
I just looked at him.
He shrugged. “Hey, I’m only the messenger. That’s the Tom Hanks movie, right? About a guy who was widowed and ends up falling for Meg Ryan.”
I was nodding. I remembered the story because it had come on HBO only last month. Obviously Amanda was making some comparison between me and—
And then I realized what it was. Amanda was telling me to be more like Tom Hanks’s character. Accept Nicole’s death and move on emotionally.
Cute. Like I said, Amanda always had to get in the last word.
“I understand you and Amanda had a little disagreement about her engagement to Bob,” Enrique said.
“She told you that?” This surprised me. I didn’t think she knew Enrique that well.
“Simon mentioned it.” He said this with an odd smile.
I read it, saying, “I take it you know Bob.”
“We’ve met.” Still smiling.
“Cut the shit. Who is he?”
“Simon said not to tell you.”
“Oh, for—”
“He met Amanda through Simon. That’s all I can say.”
“At least tell me if I know the guy.”
His only response was that silly smile. I sighed, realizing that was the only answer I was likely to get. But as I stripped off my jacket and laid it on the back seat, his head dipped once.
I knew Bob.
I finished buttoning up the green shirt. I was wearing it untucked not as any kind of fashion statement, but because I wanted to hide the gun holstered to my waist. I’d opted not to don my jacket because it gave me the willies, walking around in clothing stained with a dead man’s blood.
I began emptying my jacket pockets. As I removed my credentials and the faxes of Talbot’s phone calls, I asked Enrique if he had the folder with the names and addresses of Talbot’s acquaintances.
“Simon stuck it in one of the storage compartments.” He ducked inside the limo, fumbled around in the area near the swing-out desk, then reappeared with the folder. I handed him the phone list to file inside it.
As he did, he frowned at something in the folder. Glancing down, I glimpsed the picture of General Baldwin.
He shut the folder and handed it to me. “Mind waiting until I talk to Simon?”
“Why?”
“We have a problem. It’ll just take a minute.”
“What kind of problem?”
He hurried away and took out his cell phone. He kept walking until he was well out of earshot. As if that wasn’t enough, he spoke to Simon in low tones. Watching him, I realized there could only be one explanation for his reaction; he’d recognized Sam. But why all the secrecy and what was this comment about a problem?
Enrique’s conversation with Simon crept into the third minute. He seemed to be arguing with him. To hell with it. I had to question Sam.
Enrique stood between me and the entrance and as I walked toward it, he shook me off and drifted back. I ignored him and kept going. When he backed into the steps, he angrily cupped the phone and ordered me to stay the fuck back.
So I pulled up, not because of what he said, but the way he said it. Enrique rarely displayed anger. He consider it uncool and unprofessional. Yet just now, he’d almost bit my head off to prevent me from hearing what he said.
Once his conversation ended, I hurried forward to find out why.
“Simon said I should tell you,” Enrique said.
He spoke with the enthusiasm of a man with a gun pressed against his head. I said, “And you don’t want to because…”
“It’s nothing personal, Marty. A lot of lives will be ruined if the word gets out.”
“What word?”
He hesitated.
“I’ll promise not to kiss and tell. Scouts honor.”
His eyes dissected me. “I’m fucking serious about this. You can’t tell Amanda or anyone in the OSI. No one.”
“Fine. Anything.”
He drew in a breath, let it out. Still undecided.
I prompted, “You recognized Sam, right?”
A slow, painful nod. “It…it was almost a year ago, in a gay club.”
Big surprise. “And the significance is…”
“Remember when I said Major Talbot looked familiar? That I might have seen him…”
“Right.”
“I’ve been knocking myself out, trying to remember. When I saw General Baldwin’s picture, it hit me. It was in that club. They were both there that night. Talbot and your friend Baldwin. I briefly spoke with Baldwin. I only saw Talbot when he walked up to Baldwin and they went off to dance. You could tell they were a couple.”
This revelation didn’t come anywhere close to explaining his reluctance to confide in me. I said, “You mentioned lives could be destroyed…”
“If the word ever got out about the club. That it even exists.”
I still didn’t get it. I said, “There are a lot of gay clubs around—”
“Not like this one, Marty. It’s exclusive as hell and very private. It’s more like a resort. It caters to wealthy and powerful gays and lesbians. Gives them a place where they can go without fear of being outed.” He saw my eyebrows creep up. “You’re catching on. My guess is the club is where Talbot met Benny Rider and Ross Pelman. A lot of celebrities are members. Politicians too. Occasionally guests like me get invited, but only after we’ve been vouched for by a member and only after we sign documents promising never to reveal anything about the club. Even then, we’re restricted to certain sections.”
“Where’s this club located?”
“In the country. About thirty miles northwest of Manassas. The place isn’t all that large, but it sits on a lot of acreage and is surrounded by trees. You could drive right by it and never know it was there.”
“Who owns it?”
“No clue. A guy in a white dinner jacket seemed to be in charge. I think someone mentioned he was the manager.”
“The name of the club?”
“Doesn’t have one. People refer to it in whatever ways works for them. The club, the farm, the ranch. Not having a name is part of the security angle. It’s hard to talk about a place that doesn’t have a name. And that’s what the members are paying for. Absolute security. Some couples come there and don’t want to mingle, so they don’t. They’re escorted in through a separate entrance and sta
y in isolated bungalows, guaranteeing their anonymity. Everyone coming in is searched for cameras and recorders. It’s also fenced to keep visitors out. So far, all the security has worked like a charm. Place has existed for years and no one in the straight world knows about it. Hell, most gays don’t either. But this investigation could change all that. If you and Simon aren’t careful, a lot of people could get hurt. It’s not right.”
He shook his head, staring at the folder in my hand. I’d already figured out the connection he was making and held it up, saying, “The problem you mentioned earlier. If Talbot met two of his lovers at the club, he might have met others whose names are listed in here. One of them might be the killer.”
He nodded gloomily.
I smiled. “Relax. I don’t think we’ll have to investigate the members of the club. Sam as much as told me that Congressman Harris was behind the murders.”
Enrique’s reaction puzzled me. Instead of relief, his brow furrowed in confusion. “That doesn’t jive with what Simon told me.”
“Which was…”
“He got excited when I described the club. He said it could hold the answer to the killings.”
Now it was my turn to be confused. I asked him if Simon explained why he’d concluded this. Of course, he hadn’t.
“Wait here,” I said. “Sam will tell me if a club member is involved.”
The same entry drill into the apartment building as before.
Peering through the glass door, I spoke my name into the intercom. At the buzz, I pushed through into the lobby. Since midnight had come and gone, a shift change had occurred and a different guard sat behind the security desk. He was an elderly gentleman with a pleasant face. At the moment, that face was trained on me as I approached.
“General Baldwin left this for you, Mr. Collins.” He held up a white envelope.
I took it from him, sickened.
“Do what you have to do.”
And below: “I’m sorry.”
Those were the only words scrawled on the page inside. It wasn’t even signed.
The guard said that Sam had left not more than ten minutes ago. That told me two things: He’d rushed out the moment he’d hung up and never had any intention of meeting with me.
A Slow Walk to Hell Page 19