A Slow Walk to Hell

by Patrick A. Davis

  The remote dropped.

  The commercial ended and another came on. Simon’s cell rang and he listened, grimaced in displeasure, then advised someone he’d be at the Days Inn in thirty minutes. Disconnecting, he said to Amanda and me, “The warrants will be waiting for us.”

  He was referring to the ones we needed to arrest Kelly and search his room and vehicle. The speed with which they’d been processed indicated the Arlington PD wasn’t wasting any time.

  Simon grimaced again and started telling us about a tip that had been called in. Before he could reveal specifics, Enrique grunted, “About time.”

  On the TV, we saw a rolling banner that said breaking news.

  Charlotte Steiner, the CNN late night anchor, appeared at her desk, her pretty face appropriately subdued. She provided a recap of Major Talbot’s murder and reminded the audience that a year earlier, he had been accused of homosexuality.

  “The man who accused him,” Charlotte went on, “is Air Force Colonel Brian Kelly. While the police haven’t named Colonel Kelly as a suspect, CNN received an exclusive videotape that places him at Major Talbot’s home on the afternoon of the murder. In the video you are about to see, please note the time and date in the lower right corner…”

  As Charlotte droned on, an image appeared over her left shoulder. We saw a shot of the Talbot’s driveway and front gate. A wide-angle view, taken from above.

  “One of the missing surveillance tapes,” Amanda concluded.

  “Anyone make out the time?” I asked, squinting. The screen was only eight inches high and a foot wide; the video less than a quarter of that.

  “Four-forty-two,” Simon said.

  I said, “Sam was there about twenty minutes before, right?”

  “It doesn’t necessarily clear General Baldwin, Martin. He might be in the house.”

  “If he was, he’d never let them kill Talbot.”

  Simon smiled; he had only been yanking my chain—I think.

  “A car,” Enrique said. “An SUV.”

  The surveillance image filled the screen and Charlotte continued to talk in a voice-over: “Colonel Kelly will soon emerge. CNN independently confirmed his identity, though some viewers might recognize him from the extensive coverage of the homosexuality charge he brought against…”

  I tuned her out, watching the SUV roll to a stop in the driveway. It was a tan or gold Ford Explorer, that matched the description of the vehicle that Kelly said he owned. The driver’s door opened and a stocky man in civilian clothes emerged. Even though the angle was taken from above, there was no doubt it was Colonel Kelly.

  He strode in a determined fashion toward the call box, pressed the button, and spoke into it. The camera followed, keeping him centered in the screen.

  Kelly waited and spoke again. We had a view of his face from an oblique profile. He frowned, as if puzzled. He pressed the button again and we could see him talking. He shook his head and seemed increasingly agitated. He abruptly turned away and we caught a frontal shot of his face.

  “Uh-oh,” Enrique said. “The man is pissed.”

  An understatement. Kelly’s face had been coldly furious. He stalked toward his Explorer, the camera following.

  “It’s almost as if he expected Talbot to let him in,” Amanda said.

  Kelly opened the driver’s door and leaned across the seat. When he stepped back, he appeared to be holding something in his right hand.

  “Anyone see what it is?”

  “Not yet.”

  Kelly walked back toward the gate. We glimpsed the object then, sunlight glinting off the shiny—

  “There,” Charlotte announced over the TV. “You can see it now. It’s a knife.”

  Kelly stopped several feet from the gate and waved the knife into the camera. It was enormous. The blade had to be eight inches long and three inches wide. It resembled a Bowie knife, except with a slight curve.

  A cop grunted, “This guy must think he’s Crocodile Dundee.”

  Enrique said, “It’s too big to be the one used on Talbot. That blade couldn’t be more than an inch wide.”

  Colonel Kelly continued to wave the knife at the camera. As he did, his mouth spread into a crazed half smile.

  “He’s saying something,” Amanda said.

  I immediately deciphered the words he was forming. It wasn’t hard; they were easily recognizable.

  Fuck you, fag.

  Message delivered, Kelly again smiled menacingly.

  “Hey,” another cop said, “he’s not moving, is he?”

  Kelly’s image had indeed frozen. For several seconds, he continued to stare out at us, the knife extended, the crazed smile fixed to his lips.

  “Jesus,” Amanda said, “they’re really playing this thing up. No wonder everyone’s screaming for his arrest.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Simon shake his head. He didn’t want to arrest Kelly any more than I did, but realized that decision was out of our hands.

  The bastard Harris had outsmarted us.

  The monitor changed to reveal Charlotte Steiner at her anchor desk. In a conspiratorial voice, she said, “That’s the extent of the video we received. CNN has learned from an unnamed source that the authorities will soon be acting upon—”

  “Turn it off,” Simon said.

  For several moments no one spoke. We were all wondering the same thing, a possibility we were forced to consider.

  Could we be mistaken? Could Colonel Kelly have murdered Major Talbot?

  But that notion was ludicrous. Kelly wouldn’t have taken the surveillance tapes only to incriminate himself by releasing one to CNN.

  Amanda said, “Ten bucks says Colonel Kelly never entered the grounds. If he had, the killers would have released video of him going inside.”

  Tacit nods all around.

  Expanding on this theme, she continued, “They must have called Kelly. Used some ruse to get him there.”

  I pointed out that since no call to Kelly had been made from the house, the killers must have contacted him before they’d arrived. I said, “We can check Kelly’s phone records, but chances are—”

  “A pay phone,” Simon said. “They would have used a pay phone.”

  Another given. These people were too smart not to have covered their tracks.

  “The knife,” Amanda said. “They couldn’t have known Kelly would have a knife. Pull it.”

  Simon shook his head. “They only wanted him there, so he’d be recorded on tape. The rest was all Kelly’s doing.”

  Another long silence fell upon us. It was as if we were stalling, unwilling to take the next step. Simon checked his watch and signaled Enrique with a look.

  It was time.

  As Enrique crawled out to get behind the wheel, I waited for Amanda to slide out the opposite door. We’d follow in her Saab.

  With a gloomy sigh, I said to Simon, “You’ve got to hand it to them. They covered all the bases. Even if we can’t tie Kelly to the other murders, they made sure we can connect him to Talbot’s.”

  “They have tied him to the other murders, Martin.”

  I frowned at the remark. From behind, Amanda said, “They can? How?”

  “The phone tip,” Simon said.

  He looked angry as he explained.

  It was over.

  After Simon related the details of the tip, that was the one thought that gripped me. The case was over and we’d lost. The only thing that could help Kelly now was an alibi. If someone would swear they had seen him at the time of the priests’ murders.

  But I remembered what the bartender Joseph had told me: The guy shows up almost every night at nine and never stays more ’n an hour. Like clockwork.”

  Maybe the killers knew that somehow. Knew his routine. If Coller was involved, he would have known Kelly lived alone and realized there was a better than even chance that the colonel wouldn’t have an alibi for 8 P.M., when the priests were killed.

  Or maybe the killers realized it didn’t ma
tter. Alibi or not, it would be almost impossible for Kelly to explain away evidence this damning. Even if he couldn’t have physically committed the murders, he would be judged responsible.

  I was overwhelmed with a numbing frustration. I felt as if I was running a race where someone kept moving back the finish line. I wanted to call General Charlie Hinkle and tell him he could take my job and shove it. I wasn’t going to be a part of this.

  Exiting the limo, that was the decision I’d made. I even got as far as to reach for my cell phone.

  “Martin…”

  Amanda and I turned around. Simon had rolled a window down and was staring at us…or rather me.

  “Don’t be discouraged,” he said. “They haven’t won yet.”

  “The hell they haven’t,” I flung back. “Harris is going to be the president. He’ll have the biggest bully pulpit in the world. With him twisting arms, Colonel Kelly doesn’t have a chance. The poor bastard will be lucky if he doesn’t get the death penalty.”

  Simon was silent, looking at me.

  Smiling.

  Slowly it dawned on me what he was really saying and I felt a stirring of hope. I had to be certain and was going to ask him straight out. This time I was going to demand an answer.

  Before I could question him, the limo’s engine roared to life and Simon began whirring up the window. As he did, he continued to look at me with that same curious smile.

  “Well, I’ll be…” Amanda said. “He knows, doesn’t he?”

  “He knows something.”

  38

  What did Simon know and how did he know it?

  Those were the two questions I felt compelled to answer during the ride to the Days Inn. To gain insight into what Simon was thinking, I compiled a list of additional questions in my notepad, based on comments he’d made that I hadn’t understood.

  With Amanda’s input, it took me five minutes to complete the list, which included remarks and possible explanations.

  Why was Simon interested in the color of Talbot’s sheets?Timing?

  If so, did it really matter how long Talbot had been using white sheets?

  Why did Simon want Billy to tell him how long the video camera had been installed in Talbot’s bedroom? Again timing?

  If so, why was it important to know how long Talbot had been videotaping his lovers?

  Why did Simon say the videotapes were meant to confuse the motive? He said tapes, not tape.

  Was he referring only to the tapes that were left behind and not the one taken to blackmail Talbot and Sam?

  Makes no sense. The missing tape was the one that suggested the blackmail angle.

  If true, why didn’t Simon say so?

  Why did Simon tell Enrique the gay club was crucial to the case? Did he believe a gay member was the murderer?

  Possibly. Two of Talbot’s lovers were celebrities.

  Who was the third marksman? Congressman Harris?

  Roland Slater?

  A member of Harris’s staff?

  A club member? (A celebrity?)

  Except for question number four, Amanda and I discussed each entry. We knew there had to be a pattern, but we couldn’t see it.

  It was frustrating.

  We felt foolish.

  We wanted to give up.

  But instead of doing so, she hunched over the wheel, her brow knitted in thought. Following her lead, I fixated on the page, forcing my tired mind to wander over each line.

  Nothing on the first pass. Or the second. But during the third I finally saw it.

  A connection.

  I began to tremble. My eyes shifted between the words “timing” and “sheets.”

  They darted to the second entry: “Why did Simon want Billy to tell him how long the video camera had been installed in Talbot’s bedroom?”

  I looked at the fourth question. The one about the club. I focused on a single word.

  “Celebrities.”

  Then back to the third question: “Why did Simon say the videos were meant to confuse the motive?”

  And he said “tapes.”

  All of them.

  That’s when I knew. I murmured, “Oh, God—”

  Amanda’s head swung around. “You got something?”

  My mouth felt like sand. “Yes. I think…yes.”

  “Well?”

  I glanced over to tell her. More than anything, I wanted to tell her. Share this revelation.

  But I’d made a promise.

  “I can’t say.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t say,” I repeated.

  She stared at me in disbelief. That reaction instantly gave way to anger. “What the hell is this, Marty? You pulling a goddamn Simon on me?”

  “No. I just can’t—”

  “Son of a bitch. I can’t believe you. I really can’t. We’re supposed to be cooperating together—”

  She was completely incensed, looking at me more than the road. I said, “Amanda, take it easy—”

  “Screw you. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull—”

  “Watch out!”

  Her head snapped around to the front. Simon’s limo had stopped at a light and we were about to plow into the back. She jammed on the breaks and we were thrown against our shoulder harnesses. We squealed to a stop, a foot from impact.

  The car was quiet. No one said anything.

  The light changed and she stepped on the gas.

  “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Press Wars II.

  That’s what we were confronted with when we drove into the Days Inn parking lot.

  The east end was packed with press vans and satellite trucks, the occupants held at bay by two cops. One was Officer Hannity, the guy who’d been with us at Coller’s place.

  An armada of police vehicles were parked by the hotel entrance, a knot of officers visible on the steps. Two men in civilian clothes—probably hotel employees—were setting up a wooden podium on the sidewalk out front.

  They’re looking for political cover and Kelly is it.

  Here’s how the arrest is going down…

  I shook my head. Arresting Kelly was one thing. That I could stomach. But to make a public spectacle of it, parade him in front of the—

  I stared at the TV cameras and glanced at my shirt. While I’d lost the war over this thing, I was at least going to win a minor battle. When Charlie and the SECDEF saw me on TV, they would be a couple of very pissed-off campers. They would consider my attire unprofessional and embarrassing to the good name of the military. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t much of a victory.

  But it made me feel a little better.

  Amanda followed the limo to the west side of the building, where two more police cruisers sat, noses angled toward a tan Explorer. A couple patrolmen and a plainclothes detective waited between the vehicles, eyeing us expectantly.

  The limo’s brake lights came on and we stopped behind it. By the time Amanda and I got out, Simon and Enrique were strolling over to the detective, a pint-sized guy with a goatee. The guy held up something to show them. We couldn’t tell what it was because Enrique blocked our view. Two steps later, he angled to one side of the detective and we got a good look at the item.

  A large knife in a leather sheath.

  Amanda slammed the door of the Saab, to remove any doubt that she was still thoroughly ticked off. I trailed her at a safe distance.

  “It was in the glove compartment, Lieutenant,” the detective said to Simon, as I sauntered up. “It’s clean. No blood.” He offered the knife to Simon who declined with a head shake.

  “You find the gun, Hal?” Simon asked him.

  “Yeah,” the detective grunted. “Under the couch where the caller said it would be. It’s a forty-five, recently fired. Show the man, Paul.”

  One patrolman stepped over to a cruiser, reached into a cardboard box sitting on the passenger seat, and produced a large
automatic.

  He brought the gun over to Simon, who slid on latex gloves. Hal trained a penlight on the weapon, so Simon could inspect it.

  After sniffing the barrel, Simon popped out the clip and thumbed out the remaining rounds. “At least six are missing.”

  Which matched the number of shots fired at the rectory.

  After reinserting the clip, Simon returned the pistol and rounds to the cop. “Have you finished searching Kelly’s room, Hal?”

  “Just about.”

  “Did Kelly resist?”

  “He was asleep. Had no clue about the CNN video or what we were doing there. Practically keeled over, when we found the gun. Swore he didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Did he have an explanation for how it got under the couch?”

  “You better believe it. Said it had to be the guy who showed up in his room a little after ten tonight. Here’s a grabber, Lieutenant: He said it was that Air Force major who was killed by the sniper—”

  “Major Coller,” Simon said.

  “Colonel Kelly went off on Coller big-time. He said he was the bastard who suckered him into going over to Talbot’s place this afternoon.”

  Amanda cut me an I-told-you-so look. One punctuated by a withering glare.

  I sighed.

  Simon eyed Hal, “So Kelly had expected to meet with Talbot at his home?”

  Hal nodded. “Some crap about a promotion. According to Kelly, Talbot was going to put in a good word for him with his uncle, the congressman. Convince him to help Kelly get promoted to general. Kelly said he thought it was all bullshit, but figured he had nothing to lose by showing up.”

  “Who answered when he called on the intercom?”

  “Nobody. That’s what pissed Kelly off. He figured Talbot was fucking with him, so he decided to fuck with him back. That’s why he pulled the knife.”

  “He always carry the knife in the car?”

  “For the last couple weeks. Since we had those car jackings in Old Town.”

  “No rifle has turned up?”

  Hal shook his head. “I checked out the obvious places in the room, Lieutenant. I got a guy crawling through the Dumpsters. We get through here, I’ll have my men sweep the area, see if we can find a likely place where Kelly might have dumped it.”