A Slow Walk to Hell

by Patrick A. Davis

  But the farther he moved away from us, we saw his head bend and his shoulders droop. No doubt about it; Simon was deeply troubled.

  Amanda said, “You realize what this means, what it has to mean.”

  “He believes it’s Congressman Harris.”

  “How? It has to be more than Hector’s description of the killers. There wasn’t much there.”

  “Obviously there was enough.”

  For the next several minutes, we tried to come up with likely candidates who might fit Hector’s vague description of the killers. The problem was that we had to rule out everyone in Harris’s entourage. During the killings of Talbot and the priests, they were either in Pennsylvania or on an airplane. With regard to Coller’s murder, they wouldn’t have had time to drive to Arlington from the congressman’s Maryland home, after being dropped off by the helicopter.

  “The Harris estate is near Fort Washington, right?” Amanda said.

  “Yeah. Take at least forty-five minutes to drive to Coller’s.”

  She watched Simon disappear into the church. “It’s impossible. You can’t be two places at once. Too bad. I was hoping to nail that dirtbag campaign manager Slater. He’s what? Five-eight or-nine? He could have been the shorter perp.”

  “Guys like him don’t soil their hands on something as dirty as murder.”

  “A girl can always hope.” She said it without a smile.

  I said, “Colonel Kelly and General Baldwin are also out. Kelly’s too stocky to be either killer and we know Simon wouldn’t have any qualms about arresting either of them.”

  She faced me. “So we’re back to square one. It’s people we haven’t met. Either pros or some other staff members.”

  I told her I was leaning toward the latter because of the risky manner with which the priests’ murders had been carried out. I added, “Assuming they were staff members or acquaintances of Harris, I’m wondering how Simon recognized them. Chances are he wouldn’t have met them either.”

  “Simon’s connected politically, right? Goes to fundraising dinners and cocktail parties. He might have run across them somewhere.”

  “What about Enrique? He seemed to know them too.”

  “He’s Simon’s shadow. He could have been present when Simon met them.”

  Perhaps but—

  I shook my head. “Simon still must have a reason for suspecting them. Something beyond their appearance. Something that told him these people might be capable of murdering—”

  And then it came to me. I felt a step slow. I should have made this connection sooner. “Shit, shit.”

  “What?”

  I relayed what Enrique told me. That Simon mentioned a third person in addition to Colonel Kelly and Sam who possessed marksmanship skills. “Simon didn’t consider them a suspect, probably because he believed the person had an alibi.”

  She digested this with a slow intake of breath. “So that’s why Simon thinks it’s Harris, because this person is connected to him. Someone who could shoot…”

  “Yes.”

  “But Simon can’t get around the alibi. Until he does, he won’t tell us anything. He’s afraid of being wrong.”

  “You know Simon.”

  “Yeah.” She scowled. “Mr. Insecurity. He say anything else I should know?”

  I gave her a rundown of my conversation with Simon, including his suspicions of Sam, my conclusion that Sam loved Talbot, and Simon’s grudging acknowledgment that Major Coller might be the person who betrayed Talbot. Because of my promise to Enrique, I withheld Simon’s comment that the gay club might hold the answer to the killings.

  “Coller sold out Talbot, huh?” Amanda said. “That’s a twist.” Her tone suggested she was having trouble with this.

  “It was either him or Sam, and I know it wasn’t Sam.”

  “Any chance that General Baldwin only pretended to be affectionate toward Talbot, in order to throw off your suspicions?”

  I hesitated. “Of course there’s a chance—”

  “But you don’t believe it.”

  I didn’t reply. She knew damn well I didn’t. She still appeared skeptical, but before she could pursue the topic, I asked her if Simon had mentioned anything I should know.

  “A couple items. Doc Cantrell called him with the time of death. Since we don’t know when Talbot had lunch, all she could tell us was that it was five hours after he ate, give or take thirty minutes.”

  Assuming Talbot ate around noon, that still put his murder around five in the afternoon. “And the second item?”

  She gave me a knowing look. “The black BMW. We think it belonged to Major Talbot. Teriko found the purchase agreement in Talbot’s files. He bought a black M5 last week.”

  I stared at her.

  “Go figure. The killers must have taken it, but why? Did they get some kind of perverse jollies using Talbot’s own car when they took out Coller? If so, why didn’t they use that car when they came after the priests?”

  “They probably realized the car was spotted by Officer Hannity.”

  “Maybe.” Her brow crinkled. “Another thing I don’t get is why there was only one person in the car when Hannity spotted it? It wouldn’t make sense for the second guy to be hiding in the park. How would he know he’d need to take out Coller with a sniper shot?”

  This break in the killers’ MO did seem odd. We now realized they must have teamed up to kill Talbot—one of them must have driven off in his BMW—and they also both attacked the priests. Yet, when going after Coller, they didn’t pair up. Was this a matter worth concerning ourselves over? It might be.

  If the second killer had targeted another victim whose body we still had to discover.

  I rubbed my face hard at the possibility.

  “You think Simon will talk to us when he comes out?” Amanda was again looking at the church.

  “Not unless he can get around the alibis.”

  She gave me a sideways glance. “So you could be wrong about Slater dirtying his hands? Or maybe Harris was the third marksman? If we want to get really crazy, we could even throw Coller’s name into the ring—”

  She stopped when something occurred to her. “Jesus,” she said.

  “What?”

  She focused on me, her voice excited. “That’s the answer. That’s why there was only one killer in the car. You don’t see it, Marty? What if Coller was the smaller killer? He fits the description. Slender, average height. He also must have been in on the Talbot killing. We knew Talbot wouldn’t let strangers into his house. Once Coller did his part, he became a loose end to be disposed of. Hell, it makes sense. You know it does.”

  I had to nod my agreement. She stood there, grinning as if this was a breakthrough in the case. It wasn’t. Even if her theory proved true, it still shed no light on the second killer’s identity or who was behind the murders.

  When I mentioned this, her grin faded and she turned to gaze toward the church.

  “Screw it,” she said wearily.

  36

  There was no reason for us to remain. The Arlington PD had responsibility for processing the crime scenes and we’d only be in the way. In the morning, Amanda and I would attempt to crack the case by interviewing Sam. This time I was confident he’d cooperate.

  In hindsight, my threat to formally charge him with homosexuality had been a mistake. It came down to credibility…mine. Sam hadn’t believed I’d go through with it. His attitude would change once I informed him that I still intended to expose his homosexuality, only not to the Air Force.

  I was going to tell his father.

  Would he fear being shamed in the eyes of his family as much as public humiliation? My hunch is that he’d fear it even more.

  Still, I clung to the hope that I wouldn’t have to follow through on this threat. It depended on Sam. Twenty-five years ago, he’d been a good man and I hoped he still was.

  As we walked toward the spillover parking area where Amanda had parked, I thumbed Sam’s number into my cellula
r. When his answering machine came on, I said, “They killed three more people, Sam. Two priests and a woman. How many more have to die?”

  Short and sweet and laden with guilt.

  As I clicked off, Amanda said, “I almost feel sorry for him.”

  I tried to hide my surprise and failed.

  She sighed. “Guess I’m mellowing with age, but I’ve been wondering what I’d do if I were him. Talk about getting caught between a rock and a hard place. You think about that? What you’d do if you were in his shoes?”

  “All the time.”

  “And?”

  “I’d like to believe I’d come forward…”

  “But you don’t know.”

  “I don’t think anyone can know. You can’t, unless you’re a Baldwin.”

  She nodded; she understood what I was trying to say.

  “That’s why I feel sorry for him,” she said.

  We strolled past the limo. Enrique was slumped against the rear seat, eyes closed. I called out we were leaving. He cracked open his eyes, nodded, closed them again. Amanda asked me where General Baldwin might have gone tonight, after he ditched me.

  I shrugged. “He might have driven around for a while, then returned to his apartment. Or maybe he got a hotel room or is staying with family.”

  “Parents?”

  “Unlikely. That’s a four-hour drive. They live in Blacksburg.”

  “Virginia Tech again. Curious how everything seems to connect to there. You, Talbot, General Baldwin, his folks, the Harrises speaking there tomorrow.”

  I passed on a response. We realized it was only coincidence.

  We arrived at her car. As I swung around to the passenger side, I saw her smile at me over the roof. “It is hideous. I almost feel guilty.”

  A reference to my shirt. “Almost?”

  Her smile faded. “You don’t want to get into this, Marty. Believe me.”

  She didn’t have to tell me twice.

  Climbing into the Saab, I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was after two and I felt physically and emotionally exhausted, with an emphasis on the latter. And I still had one last ride to take on my emotional roller coaster.

  Settling into my seat, I looked at Amanda and wondered when to buy the ticket.

  She started the car. “You get my message?” Her tone was curiously up-beat and I wasn’t sure why.

  “Yes,” I said cautiously.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t recall the specifics, but essentially I’m an asshole.”

  “Not that. What about Sleepless in Seattle?” She was staring at me now.

  “I understand the anology.”

  “Really?” She seemed surprised.

  She backed up the car and turned onto the asphalt road. “Good,” she said. “That makes everything easier. If you know how all this came about, you also understand our intentions. Why Emily did what she did and why Simon and I agreed to—”

  I was tired; that one almost got by me. “Hold it. What does Emily have to do with—”

  My cell phone rang. I’d been spring-loaded for a call and snared it free from my belt, focusing on the caller ID.

  Only it wasn’t Sam; it was General Hinkle, calling from home.

  In a disappointed voice, Amanda said, “If you have to ask about Emily, you don’t understand. You can’t. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to—”

  She broke off, so I could speak into the phone.

  I said into it, “It’s your dime, Charlie—”

  General Charlie Hinkle exploded in a verbal barrage, loud enough to hurt my ears. His words spilled out so fast, I barely understood him. Something about a conference call he’d completed with Chief Novak of the Arlington PD and the secretary of defense—

  I swore and ordered Amanda to stop the car.

  “Huh?”

  “Stop the car. We have to arrest Colonel Kelly.”

  After Amanda drove back to the parking area, she killed the engine, watching me. In my ear, Charlie was still talking, his voice having receded below the pain threshold. My mind raced as I tried to take everything in. From his conversation with Chief Novak, Charlie knew about the murders at the rectory, but they had little bearing on the decision to arrest Colonel Kelly. He said, “Call me ASAP the moment Kelly’s in custody. The SECDEF has a press release waiting. The military wants to appear as if we’re cooperating completely.”

  Amanda edged closer to me, trying to listen. As I held out the phone between us, I said, “He didn’t do it, Charlie. Colonel Kelly didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Prove it later. After he’s in custody.”

  “We have descriptions of the men who killed the priests. It couldn’t have been Kelly.”

  “So he had help. Or maybe those killings aren’t related to Talbot’s.”

  I made a derisive, sucking sound.

  “Look,” he said irritably, “this isn’t a fucking debate, Marty. Congressman Harris has us by the gonads and is squeezing hard. He called the SECDEF and as much as promised he’d publicly accuse the military of a coverup if he didn’t get results and fast. By results, he made it clear he wanted Kelly arrested. When I spoke with Santos after the Coller killing, he told me he didn’t think Kelly was involved, so that’s what I passed on to the SECDEF. Now I look like a fucking jackass—”

  “Kelly is being framed. Only the killer could have provided the—”

  “God dammit, you listening? We’re talking five murders and everyone in the world knows who the prime suspect is now. We don’t make the arrest and every talking head in the country will be screaming coverup. Hell, I’d be screaming coverup. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Kelly’s not guilty. Right now no one gives a damn. No one can afford to give a damn. They’re looking for political cover and Colonel Kelly is it.”

  He was breathing hard.

  I said, “I’m not sure I can do this. Arrest an innocent man.”

  “You’re assisting in the arrest. The Arlington PD has the lead.”

  “I can’t do it, Charlie.”

  Amanda nodded approvingly.

  “I see.” Charlie’s voice was like ice. “You don’t want to participate, that’s your call. But you’ll be disobeying a direct order, which means you’ll be through with the OSI. You understand what I’m telling you, Marty? Finished. I mean it.”

  I was silent.

  “Marty?”

  “I understand.”

  “What’s it going to be?”

  The phone hissed. Amanda gave a resigned sigh and whispered, “Better say yes.”

  I said nothing.

  She watched me in growing alarm. Her hand snaked over the mouthpiece. “You’re not actually thinking of quitting?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Marty, this is crazy It’s not worth destroying your career over.”

  “It is to me.”

  “You’ll regret quitting. You know you will. Say yes.”

  Charlie said, “Marty, I’m waiting.”

  Amanda was still talking, trying to convince me to say yes. Her tone contained an insistent quality that hinted at desperation. She really wants me to stay. This from the woman who didn’t want to have anything to do with me only hours earlier.

  If I said this didn’t influence my decision, I’d be lying. Still, there was another consideration that was equally compelling.

  How could I prove Kelly’s innocence if I quit?

  I nudged Amanda’s hand from the phone. She resisted me until I told her I was going to say yes. Her face flooded with relief. She saw me watching her and dropped her eyes, as if embarrassed by her reaction.

  “You win,” I said to Charlie. “I’ll arrest Kelly.”

  “Fine,” Charlie said, his tone relaxing. “Now listen up. Here’s the way it will work. The SECDEF wants credit spread out equally between the military and the Arlington PD. Chief Novak agreed and…”

  As Charlie explained how the arrest would go down, I began regretting my decision. Even Amanda had to sit back from the phone, t
oo disgusted to listen.

  “Remember,” Charlie said, “I want a call the moment he’s in custody.”

  I said mechanically, “Yes, sir, General Hinkle.”

  “You trying to be a wiseass?”

  “No, sir, General Hinkle, sir.”

  “Screw you, Marty.”

  “Anything you say, General—”

  He hung up with a bang.

  I smiled at Amanda. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Sure.” She returned an awkward smile of her own, then reached for the door. She still seemed embarrassed and it was apparent why. In an unguarded moment, she’d let her defenses down, made it known she still cared for me. The question I had was, at what level? Had she merely reacted out of concern for a friend or was it something more?

  Don’t read too much into this, Marty.

  I’m only human.

  She opened the door, then frowned. “Who are you calling?”

  “Simon. Make sure he knows.”

  “He knows.”

  She pointed in the direction of the church. We could see a figure striding rapidly along the asphalt road toward the rectory. It angled toward the limo, waving both arms.

  “Enrique!” Simon shouted. “Turn on the TV to CNN!”

  37

  No hot tub.

  But Simon’s limo had practically everything else a millionaire homicide cop could want.

  In addition to the previously mentioned swing-out desk with the built-in laptop computer and the satellite phone, fax, and Internet system, there was a stocked bar, a fridge packed with goodies, a sound system that could power a rock concert, and a plasma screen TV mounted to the roof in a fashion similar to those on aircraft.

  Simon, Enrique, Amanda, and I were seated along the rearmost seats, watching the screen. We were joined by several cops, who were kneeling on the ground, peering through the open rear doors. A commercial was playing. A man dove on a satin-sheeted bed and slid right out a second floor window, landing in bushes. It was funny, but no one laughed.

  I said, “Try Fox or CNBC.”

  Enrique raised the remote.

  Simon said, “It’s only playing on CNN.”