“I might be wrong,” he replied, “but I suspect he was in the dark. It was something we discussed earlier. According to Franklin, his uncle was a straight arrow—”
“We?” I said.
“Oh, the lieutenant and me.” He glanced at Simon. “Over the phone, we discussed the congressman. I told him Franklin never implicated him. That’s damned suggestive, since there was certainly no love lost between him and his uncle. If Congressman Harris was involved, Franklin would have said something.”
Simon was nodding. I said to him, “Come off it. Harris had to know. Maybe not about the murder, but about the blackmail.”
“How?” he said.
“What do mean how?”
“How? If Mrs. Harris didn’t tell him, how would he know?”
“Talbot,” I said. “What if Talbot told him?”
“He didn’t.”
The conviction in his voice irritated me. I said sarcastically, “And you know this because…”
“Would Congressman Harris have continued to give Talbot a million dollars a year, if he knew his nephew had slept with his wife? Would you?”
“I…well…” As I hunted for a response, Amanda and Enrique shook their heads. They knew this was an argument I was going to lose.
“Fine,” I said, surrendering. “So maybe it wasn’t Talbot.”
Simon tried not to smile…and failed.
“Anyway,” Sam said. “The lieutenant said he’d check.”
I was curious how Simon intended to pull this off. But I was still annoyed with him and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of me having to ask.
Focusing on Sam, Amanda asked, “What about Major Coller, sir? We know he’s the one who betrayed Major Talbot—”
“He what?”
She seemed puzzled by Sam’s surprise. “Betrayed Major Talbot, General. He also planted a gun on Colonel Kelly to incriminate him for the priests’ murders. You didn’t know, sir?”
“Why would he?” Simon said. “I never told him.”
“Jesus,” Sam said. “I knew he was an ambitious little prick, but—” He broke off with an angry head shake.
Amanda said, “So you wouldn’t have an idea who might have killed him, sir?”
Sam seem to tense at the question. Before he could respond, Simon said, “We still can’t rule out Mrs. Harris or the possibility that Ms. Gillette is also a marksman.”
Amanda eyed him dubiously, mirroring my sentiment. Since we couldn’t completely discount either scenario, neither of us pursued the matter. Once we ran a background check on Gillette and interviewed Secret Service agent Hassall, we’d be able to narrow down the shooter’s identity. If neither Harris nor Gillette had the opportunity to kill Coller—and in Gillette’s case, the marksmanship expertise—then we were looking for a fourth person.
“Anything more, Amanda?” Simon asked.
She shook her head. When Simon looked to me, I told him I had no questions.
Smiling at Sam, Simon clicked off the tape recorder. “Thank you, General. You’ve been most cooperative.”
“Glad to help, Lieutenant.” Sam’s tone indicated anything but.
Simon and Amanda rose. Sam watched them, but chose to remain seated. He seemed in no hurry to leave. As everyone edged toward the door, he reluctantly stood. With a sigh, he said to me, “Now comes the hard part.”
“The hard part?” I said.
“I’m going to Blacksburg to tell my parents.”
48
Enrique, Simon, and Amanda quickly left the room, sensing Sam wanted to talk to me privately. As we trailed them into the corridor, Sam remained quiet, preoccupied by his thoughts. Walking beside him, I could almost feel his dread over what he was about to do.
“Will your father understand?” I asked.
“No one in my family will.”
“Once they get over the shock, they’ll come around. Just give them time.”
“They’re Baldwins, Marty.” As if that summed everything up.
It didn’t for me. I pointed out that he was still his father’s son.
“That’s the problem. I am his son. That’s precisely why he won’t understand.” Seeing my frown, he said, “You still don’t get it, Marty? How about telling me how you would react.”
“Excuse me.”
“If you were in their position. If Emily came to you and said she was…different.”
“She’s my daughter,” I said. “I’d try and be supportive and—”
“Would it bother you?”
I hesitated.
He abruptly swung around and faced me. “Exactly. It’s not something you’d want. Sure, you’d try and accept it, but it would eat at you. You’d feel embarrassed; you wouldn’t know what to tell friends and family. It would feel like the death of all the things you’d hope and want for her. You’d drive yourself crazy, trying to figure out what made her that way. Was it your fault? Were you responsible? At some point, you’d start blaming her, that this was somehow a choice she was making. Don’t shake your head, Marty. I’ve seen this play out too many times.”
“She’s my daughter,” I insisted. “No matter what, I’m always going to love her—”
“And my parents might still love me. But the point I’m trying to make is that they’ll never understand or accept me. They’d always consider my lifestyle a perversity, a violation of a fundamental law of nature. Men aren’t supposed to be attracted to men. Period.”
His eyes were riveted on me, challenging me to respond. I didn’t even try. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I realized what he was saying was true. It would be hard for me to truly accept having a gay child.
Perhaps even impossible.
But that still wouldn’t change the fact that I would always love my daughter. That’s another inviolate law of nature.
When I told him this, Sam said, “Then Emily is lucky. That’s something I can’t count on. That’s why I said my parents might still love me. The thing is, I don’t know. You probably think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I have a cousin who’s an alcoholic. The family got him into rehab a number of times, but he could never shake it. Five years ago, he killed a couple kids in a DWI. When he got out of prison, he was ostracized by the family. Emily is a lucky girl and not only because you’re her father. She’s damned lucky she wasn’t born a Baldwin.”
And with that pronouncement, he turned and continued down the hallway.
Entering the lobby, we detected signs of life. Two older men in jogging clothes were talking to the woman at the reception desk. One of the men appraised us with a look that lasted a couple beats too long. Ignoring him, I glanced out the glass doors and saw Simon, Amanda, and Enrique waiting beside the limo.
I said to Sam, “I could go with you, if you like.”
His face softened even as he shook off the offer. “Thanks, Marty, but I’ve got to do this alone.”
“It’s a long drive. You might need company.”
We’d arrived at the doors and as Sam opened one, he said, “How about I call you when I get back? We could get together for a beer.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Stepping into the brightness of the morning sun, we both knew he wasn’t going to call anytime soon. But he would eventually. I’d made the offer and he realized I’d be there for him, when he needed me.
I suppose that’s the reason Sam became emotional when we shook hands at his car. Despite our recent difficulties, we managed to mend our friendship before it was irretrievably broken. In the scheme of things, that might not seem like a big deal, but it was to us. For a four-year period, we’d been the closest persons in each other’s lives. You don’t sever a connection like that without a fight.
And we were fighting hard.
As he drove away, Sam kept waving until he disappeared behind the trees. When I was sure he couldn’t see me any longer, I lowered my hand. To be honest, I was relieved I didn’t have to accompany him on the drive. I was dead on my feet. I just wanted
to go home, have a heart-to-heart with my daughter about her escapade last night and go to bed. That was my game plan when I went over to the limo. Just go home and get some sleep.
I never counted on Simon.
“We’re going to Blacksburg now?” I said.
This was the announcement Amanda had blindsided me with, the moment I’d strolled up. She was scowling as she said it. She had no desire to make this trip and I damn sure didn’t either. She jerked a thumb at Simon. “Talk to him. It’s not my idea.”
It dawned on me why Simon wanted to do this. But I thought he was crazy to think we could pull it off. I said to him, “You can’t just walk up and throw the cuffs on Mrs. Harris. You’re going to have to present your evidence to the DA. Have him lay out a case and obtain a warrant. Without one, you’ll never get past the Secret Service. Even then, you’re probably going to need their approval—”
“Time, Martin,” he said. “That will take time.”
“So what? The DA has enough evidence to indict. So it takes a month or two or three? What’s the hurry?”
His smooth face contemplated me. “Think about it, Martin. Think about what happens if we wait.”
I frowned, my eyes going to Amanda and Enrique. Both had blank expressions. Neither had a clue what Simon was intimating. I said to him, “What? You worried about Colonel Kelly sitting in jail? You know the DA will order his release once he sees the evidence—”
And then I saw the problem. Enrique and Amanda began nodding; they’d figured it too. “Oh, shit,” I said. “The primaries.”
“Yes,” Simon said. “Within weeks, Congressman Harris will have enough votes to win his party’s nomination. If we wait, the entire process will be in turmoil. It’s better to do this now. Get it out in the open.”
Amanda gave me a knowing look. It wasn’t necessary. My tired brain was still working well enough for me to grasp the significance of what Simon had just said.
“Hell,” I said to him, “you’re not planning to arrest Mrs. Harris, are you?”
He shrugged. “If the opportunity presents itself—”
“You’re going there because of the press. You’re going to make an announcement, publicly accuse Teresa Harris of murder. Once that happens, it doesn’t matter how long a formal murder charge takes. The Harrises’ poll numbers will plummet. In a week, they won’t even be able to get elected dogcatcher.”
Simon was silent, looking at me. We noticed a hint of a smile.
“Your reporter friend,” Amanda said, following up with a possibility I hadn’t considered. “He going to be there? You going to maybe give him the tape with Harris and Talbot?”
Simon’s smile disappeared. He signaled the discussion was over by opening the right limo passenger door. “Mrs. Harris’s speech is at eleven. I don’t want to be late.”
That was close enough to a yes. We also understood that Simon’s actions had little to do with his professed desire to prevent chaos in the upcoming election. What really motivated him was a much more human instinct. He hated Teresa Harris and wanted to destroy her.
Couldn’t fault him for that.
As Amanda and I settled into the back of the limo, Simon watched me take out my cell phone. He asked me if I intended to call General Hinkle.
“Yeah. Let him know that we cracked the case.”
“Call him later.”
“Why?”
“It could cause problems. It’s better if you wait.”
“What kind of problems?”
Simon wouldn’t say anything more.
“ ’Night, Marty.”
Amanda smiled sleepily. She and I were lying across from each other on the seats alongside the limo. The drive to Blacksburg would take four hours and unlike our trip to the club, we had no illusions about remaining awake.
I smiled back. “Night.”
She closed her eyes and within seconds, I heard a steady breathing. My eyes went to her big engagement ring and I shook my head.
“You’ll never know unless you ask,” Simon said softly.
Looking to the rear, I saw him watching me. “What if she says no?”
“Then you will know.”
I nodded and closed my eyes. We were several miles from the compound, winding though the countryside. As I waited for sleep, my thoughts turned from Amanda to my daughter. I reminded myself to call her later. I also thought about Sam and the torment he was going through. If he didn’t contact me in a few days, I would phone him. Despite his bleak assessment of his family’s reaction, I was convinced they would accept him eventually. Until they did, he would need someone to confide in and by default, that responsibility fell to me.
As I drifted off, a question floated up to me. If Simon had intended to go to Blacksburg, why hadn’t he mentioned it sooner, so I could have ridden over with Sam?
The limo accelerated as it merged onto the highway. From somewhere in the darkness, I heard a voice call to me. I was irritated. I wanted to sleep.
A hand shook me. “Marty, wake up. Marty…”
“Go away. Leave me alone.”
More shaking. Insistent. “We’re almost there, Marty.”
I opened my eyes, wincing at the bright sunlight. Amanda was leaning over me. I sat up and saw a sign affixed to a stone wall.
WELCOME TO VIRGINIA POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE AND STATE UNIVERSITY it said.
49
There can’t be many universities larger than Virginia Tech. Set on twenty-six hundred sprawling acres, the school included something like a hundred buildings, a sixty-five-thousand-seat football stadium, and its own airport. We were cruising along South Main, toward the academic center of the campus. About a half mile ahead, I could make out the green of the mall and the quadrangle of buildings that housed the corp of cadets—my home for four years.
“When did you graduate?” Amanda asked.
She and I were wiping our faces with Perrier-moistened napkins. A waste of designer water, but it wasn’t like we had a choice unless we wanted to go alcoholic. Other than Perrier, the limo’s fridge was stocked with beer and wine.
“Geez, you’re that old, huh?” Amanda said, when I told her.
As if she didn’t know.
Enrique asked, “Anybody know where we’re going?”
Simon was on the phone, checking with someone. I said, “Probably Burruss Hall. When you come up to the mall, make a left and head toward the drill field.” Burruss was the central administration building and had a large auditorium, where most of the speakers made their presentations.
“It’s Burruss,” Simon announced, cupping the mouthpiece. “How long until we arrive?”
“Five minutes,” I said.
He relayed the information into the phone and punched off.
“Was that Agent Hassall?” Amanda asked him. She was reapplying her makeup. This was a first. In the past, I’d never known her to carry makeup, much less use it.
“I spoke to Hassall earlier,” Simon replied.
She looked at him.
“When you were asleep,” he added.
Not the answer she wanted, so she kept staring at him.
He sighed. “I was speaking to a friend of mine.”
“He got a name?”
He avoided answering her by looking out the window.
Of course Amanda and I realized the person on the phone had to be the reporter, Eric Olson. Simon didn’t want to reveal his name because of the reason I’d alluded to earlier. Since leaking information to a reporter broke about a hundred department regulations and was borderline illegal, he was protecting us and himself. What we didn’t know, we couldn’t testify to.
The flap for the trash was tucked under a seat. After shoving the napkin through it, I checked my watch. A shade past eleven. Mrs. Harris would be starting her speech. “The next left,” I told Enrique.
We cruised past the mall. A smattering of students were lounging on the grass, studying or bagging rays. Rolling under the war memorial archway, we continued right a
round the parade field loop. Most of the buildings were formidable, turn-of-century structures constructed of Hokie stone, mined from nearby quarries. I pointed Enrique to a massive brownish gray building, fronted by two flagpoles and a circular drive. “That’s Burruss.”
“No kidding.”
Reporters were by the building’s entrance. About a hundred yards ahead, we saw the telltale fleet of press vehicles.
“What are the reporters doing outside?” Amanda asked. “Congressman Harris said yesterday he wanted the speech to be covered.”
“The murder,” I said. “He probably reconsidered and doesn’t want to deal with questions about the murder.”
Enrique pulled in front of Burruss Hall. The moment we stopped, the press descended the stairs and surrounded us. This rock-star treatment was getting old.
“Wait, Martin.”
I’d been about to open a door. Glancing back, I saw Simon reach into a compartment and remove a videotape.
Amanda said, “Is that smart? Giving Olson your only copy?”
“It can be reproduced within minutes.” Simon was referring to the highspeed dubbing machines that were standard equipment in television vans.
Nodding to the reporters, I said, “Not going to be easy to slip Olson the tape with them hanging around.”
Simon shrugged, unconcerned. After he wedged the tape in his waistband, he covered it with his jacket, then stepped outside. Immediately, he was bombarded with questions. Amanda and I followed Simon out the same door and we forced our way through the crowd and up the stairs toward the building entrance. As we walked, I looked for Olson, didn’t see him.
As we approached the double doors, one opened and a large black man in a suit appeared, ordering the reporters back. To us, he said, “Lieutenant Santos?”
At Simon’s nod, the man stepped aside to let us inside.
We were in the large foyer with two curved marble staircases rising to the second floor. The man had a spy-guy earpiece—Secret Service. A second agent stood at a table with two metal-detecting wands.
“IDs?” the black agent said.
After studying each one, he handed them back. Since we were members of the law enforcement brotherhood, we didn’t get the wand treatment.
A Slow Walk to Hell Page 29