A Long Day for Dying

by Patrick A. Davis

  Simon said, “Amanda, please. If you’ll just—”

  But she was talking a mile a minute. She turned and gestured angrily toward the bar. “What about Andy? Weknow he had Stefanski kill Andy.”

  “Amanda, we need evidence. All we have is innuendo and—”

  “We’ve got evidence. We’ve got the tape. It proves Markelordered the cover-up.”

  “Amanda, calm down.”

  “I am calm.” She placed her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

  Simon hesitated, anticipating another tirade. Finally, he said, “The tape proves nothing. It’s Carter’s word against Markel’s.”

  “Gentry will talk,” she said stubbornly. “That will make it two against one.”

  “Three against two,” Simon corrected. “General Johnson and General Sessler will support General Markel.”

  “What about Dr. Bowman? He’ll testify that Garber was already dead before he ever left England.”

  “I’m talking aboutproving murder. We need evidence pointing to the killer. Definitive evidence. Something to convince the president that Markel is responsible. Without it, the investigation is finished.”

  I said to Simon, “You’ll stay on the case. You won’t quit. You gave your word.”

  He sighed. “But it will be difficult, Martin. You know what will happen. Anything pointing to Markel’s culpability will conveniently disappear. I will have no access to the evidence or the witnesses. The reality is no one wants this case solved. Not the president or the military. So in the end, it won’t be.”

  I said, “But Senator Garber—”

  “Is a politician,” Simon said firmly. “He understands the reality of the situation he’s facing. The article tomorrow will destroy his son’s reputation. The outraged families of the men Garber killed will be all over the media, demanding to know why they were never told the truth. The senator will be vilified because of the strings he pulled to ensure that the incident in Vietnam remained classified. If he continues to insist his son was murdered—without evidence supporting the charge—he will be regarded as a vengeful and bitter man. Will that stop him from pursuing his son’s killer? Of course not; he’s a father. But it will greatly curtail his influence.”

  No one said anything for a while. Twice Amanda attempted a response. She desperately wanted to counter Simon’s logic, but she couldn’t. The anger in her eyes was replaced by a frustrated acceptance—the realization that we were facing a wall that we couldn’t get over.

  She threw up her hands. “So we let the son of a bitch go?” She meant Markel.

  “For General Garber’s murder, the likely answer is yes. Our only hope now is Stefanski. If we locate him, and he cooperates, we might implicate Markel in Andy’s killing.”

  “Fat chance,” I said. “He’s extremely loyal to General Markel. Hell, he just killed for him.”

  “What about Mrs. Garber?” Amanda asked. “She knows something. Stefanski wouldn’t have tried to kill her unless she had something on Markel.”

  “Actually,” Simon said, “General Markel told me Stefanski wasn’t trying to harm Mrs. Garber. He insisted Stefanski only intended to frighten her, prevent her from talking to us.” He shook his head. “I’ve no doubt he achieved his objective.”

  “You got the name of the hospital she’s at?”

  “Yes, but it won’t do any good to talk to her now. If she wouldn’t confide in us before, I doubt she’ll—”

  “Simon,” she growled, “just give me the name of the fucking hospital.”

  He blinked, taken aback. “Of course. It’s Walter Reed.”

  I watched through the window as Amanda got in the cab and drove away. Simon was beside me, talking to the Alexandria police about Andy’s murder. After he relayed a description of Stefanski’s car, he ended the call and eyed me accusingly. “You told Amanda how you felt.”

  He’d obviously figured it out from the awkward scene between me and Amanda. “Yeah, I told her.”

  He shook his head. “Martin…Martin…”

  “What?” I said, with a trace of annoyance.

  “You were premature. You should have waited.”

  I stared at him.“But you told me to tell her.”

  “You said you would tell her tonight. You should have waited until tonight.”

  “Why?” I said. “Nothing was going to change the way I felt. What the hell difference would it have made?”

  “More than you know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He grimaced unhappily. “Never mind. It’s not important any longer. Get Enrique. Tell him to take Doris over to the flower shop across the street and have her wait there until the police arrive.” He turned for the door.

  I said, “We’re leaving? Shouldn’t we at least wait to give our statements?”

  “There’s no time. We need to ensure that everything is in place if Stefanski arrives.” He opened the door, looking back at me. “I wish you would have waited, Martin.”

  This time I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking why. Not that it mattered.

  Simon had already walked out.

  41

  EVENING

  During the ride to the Pentagon, Simon spent much of the time on the phone, coordinating Stefanski’s possible apprehension with Captain James Roche of the Pentagon’s Defense Protective Service. Simon decided it was safer to arrest Stefanski after he passed through the metal detector, since we could be certain he wouldn’t be armed. As far as I could tell, the only tricky part of the operation was trying to determine which entrance Stefanski would use. The closest one to Markel’s office was the river entrance, which was usually reserved for the Pentagon’s heavy hitters, so Roche had to check whether Stefanski, in his capacity as an executive assistant to the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs, was on the access list. He was.

  While Roche’s men would cover all the entrances, Simon and I would stake out the river entrance. We wanted to be there if and when Stefanski was taken into custody. Afterward, we’d obtain a warrant to search his car and home, and pray like hell he hadn’t ditched the guns he’d used to kill Andy and take the potshot at Mrs. Garber. Without the weapons and a subsequent positive ballistics match of the bullets, we’d have to let the son of a bitch go. That was the law.

  Sometimes, I thought, the law sucked.

  Simon was still on the car phone, working out the details with Roche, when he received a call on his cellular. He removed it from his jacket and promptly passed it to me.

  The familiar gruff voice on the other end caught me by complete surprise—but not as much as the statement that followed.

  I sat there, my mind racing, trying to think. It was a trick. It had to be a trick. He couldn’t possibly—

  “You heard what I said, Collins?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Santos there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Put him on.”

  “I’m in charge of the investigation, sir.”

  “Isaid, put Santos on.”

  I got the message; I didn’t count. I pocketed my ego and tapped Simon on the shoulder.

  “It’s General Markel,” I said. “He wants to work out a deal.”

  Simon held the phone out so I could listen in. He said, “What kind of deal, General?”

  “I’ll confess to killing General Garber.”

  As easy as that. My heart thumped against my chest. When I looked at Simon, his face was completely composed.

  “In exchange for what, General?” he said.

  “I understand you’re in the process of surrounding the Pentagon. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stupid move. I thought we had an understanding.”

  Simon’s smooth face hardened. “Colonel Stefanski killed Agent Hobbs.”

  “If we do it your way, he’ll kill a lot more. In ’Nam he didn’t miss. Ever. That’s why I know he never intended to kill Mrs. Garber. If he had, she’d be dead. Now thin
k: Why the hell do you think I asked him to come to my office? Because I can control him.”

  “General, I can’t risk—”

  “Let me finish. What I’m trying to tell you is that Stefanski is a hunter. He hunts men. I taught him everything he knows. I can tell you that he’ll smell the trap you’re setting from the moment he drives up. When he does, it’s over. You might get him, but it will cost you. You want that?”

  Simon hesitated. “You want me to pull back the Pentagon police?”

  “You better pull them back.”

  “If I do, you’ll hand over Stefanski, give me a signed confession—”

  “Yes.”

  “—and detail how and why you killed General Garber?”

  “Yes. Everything.”

  Enrique kept glancing back at Simon and me. I mouthed,Confession. The cop in him reacted with a disbelieving head shake.

  Simon said to Markel, “Mind telling me why you’re doing this?”

  “The price of command. Stefanski exceeded my orders. He wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone. Now that he has, I have to accept responsibility for his actions.”

  “So you’re doing this out of a sense of honor?” Simon said.

  “You could call it that.” He paused, then added with feeling, “That was the difference between General Garber and me. I have honor.”

  “You really expect me to believe you, General?”

  Markel sounded angry. “I’m a professional soldier. I live by a code. I don’t kill men I’ve served with, and I sure as hell don’t shoot at women—”

  Simon interrupted him. “What did Mrs. Garber know, General? What was it you were trying to prevent her from telling us?”

  A pause. “She heard me.”

  “Heard you?”

  “On the phone. When I entered General Garber’s suite, he was on the phone with her. I’d leaked the story to the press that he was responsible for a friendly-fire incident—”

  “I’ve read the article, General.”

  “Oh? It’s not supposed to be published until—”

  “Tomorrow morning. Please continue.”

  He sighed audibly. “The article. That’s the reason I’d gone to Garber’s room. I wanted the son of a bitch to know that what he did in Vietnam was finally going to come out. I wanted to see him sweat, knowing his career was over and he was finished. Anyway, after I told him, we got into an argument. He was drunk. One thing led to another. He threw a punch, and I just reacted. I picked up the bottle, and that was it.”

  “Mrs. Garber heard you kill him?”

  “No. General Markel had hung up by then. But she could put me in his room that night. Look, there’s no time to get into this now. If you don’t call off the police—”

  “I’ll require more than your word, General. I need your confession now, on tape. I also need to read you your rights.”

  “Dammit, there’s no time.”

  “Call me back, sir.”

  “What the hell for? Jesus, man, don’t you understand I’m trying to confess?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s why I need you to call me back.” Simon gave him the number of the car phone and disconnected.

  Once Simon read Markel his rights, the actual confession, including Simon’s questions, took less than five minutes. It was short and sweet, and included only the essential elements. The details we’d get from Markel’s formal statement. I was struck by the chilling calmness in Markel’s voice as he described Garber’s killing. How he held him down as he gasped for air. Markel said, “It took almost three minutes before he passed out. Another minute to stop breathing. I could have finished him off quick, but I knew my only chance was to make it look like an accident.”

  He fell silent, signaling he was finished. Simon asked, “Where was Andy?”

  “He’s the one who’d answered the door. I’d sent him out, told him to get a cup of coffee.”

  “So he didn’t know what you intended?”

  “Don’t play it cute, Lieutenant. I said I didn’t go to Garber’s suite to kill him.”

  “Tell me who was involved in the cover-up.”

  The phone hissed.

  “General—”

  Markel answered mechanically, overpronouncing the words so there would be no misunderstanding. “I alone gave the orders for the cover-up. I am completely and solely responsible. No one else.”

  Simon didn’t argue this point; he had no desire to go after Churchfield or the other generals, and neither did I.

  Still, Simon couldn’t resist tying up a few questions that troubled us. He started with: “What about Colonel Weller? Why did she stage the scene to appear as if General Garber had tried to rape her?”

  “Leave her out of this. She had nothing to do with any of it.”

  “General, we know she—”

  “I said, leave her alone.”

  “At least tell me why she left you to work for General Garber.”

  “I guess I’m not getting through to you, Lieutenant. I’m not saying a damn thing about Colonel Weller or anyone else. You have any other questions about the killing, save them for later. We had a deal, and I expect you to call off the cops. And if you’ve got an APB out on Stefanski, cancel it. Either that, or you better make damned sure the morgue’s got a fresh supply of body bags. My office. 1900 hours. Stefanski will be here.” He hung up.

  Simon turned off the speaker, frowning. “This doesn’t make any sense. There is no reason for him to do this. He knows we don’t have the evidence for an arrest. He knows the investigation will be terminated within hours. Yet he willingly confesses. Why?”

  He was looking at me for a response. I came up with the only one I could think of: Markel might have been telling us the truth. Perhaps he did feel responsible for what happened to Andy and Mrs. Garber, and was confessing to make amends.

  “So you believe he’s an honorable man?”

  “I think hebelieves he is.”

  “Try this,” Enrique tossed out. “What if the general confessed because it was the only way to get something he wanted?”

  His handsome face was watching us in the rearview mirror. I said. “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “He sure seemed anxious for you to pull off the cops around the Pentagon.”

  I caught the implication and countered with the obvious: Why would Markel confess and then try and make a run for it?

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Enrique said with a reluctant shrug. “I guess it’s a crazy idea.”

  But when I glanced at Simon, I saw his eyes were riveted on the back of Enrique’s head. I knew at once what that expression meant.

  Unlike me, he thought Enrique was on to something.

  I hated rush hour.

  Two miles from the Pentagon exit, I-395 suddenly turned into a parking lot. Enrique tuned in to the traffic report, and we learned there was a three-car pileup just ahead. A Care-Flight helicopter came in and removed the injured. A Channel Five news helicopter flew over, reporting on the scene. After twenty minutes, traffic began moving again. I checked my watch. We’d still make the meeting with a few minutes to spare.

  To describe Simon’s second conversation with Captain Roche of the Pentagon police as unpleasant would have been charitable. Roche was understandably furious. I could hear him yelling at Simon over the phone. Roche had called in men on their days off; he’d mobilized SWAT. Next time, Lieutenant Santos better have his shit together before he cried fucking wolf.

  As Simon cradled the receiver, I said to him, “Aren’t you carrying things a little far?”

  His face went blank. “Sorry?”

  “Don’t give me that. I heard you tell Roche that Stefanski was no longer a suspect.And you canceled the APB.”

  Simon nodded. “I think it’s better that way. I don’t want Stefanski stopped prior to reaching Markel’s office.”

  “I hope to hell you know what you’re doing. If he escapes, it’s going to be hard to explain.”

  He shrugged. “At this point, I
think we should let the situation play out. Do this the way General Markel wants.”

  “At least call Roche back. Have a few men available in case—”

  “No. I think I’m right about this.” He yawned, reclined against the headrest, and closed his eyes. I wasn’t fooled. He was trying to avoid discussing this.

  I pressed, “Right about what? Trusting Markel?”

  Simon didn’t reply. His eyes remained closed.

  “Simon—”

  The only response was the hum of tires over the road.

  I sighed in annoyance. Enrique asked, “He’s not really asleep, is he?”

  I leaned close and spoke into Simon’s ear. “Not a chance.”

  Simon never flinched. Moments later, we heard faint snoring.

  “I’ll be damned,” Enrique said.

  I still didn’t believe it.

  42

  Isaid, “We’re here, Simon.”

  He blinked sleepily and saw that we were rolling to a stop near the Corridor Two pedestrian bridge. He checked his watch, realized we had almost ten minutes, then popped the tape of Markel’s confession from the limo’s recorder and pocketed it. He rummaged around a side compartment, dug out a fresh tape, and inserted it into his handheld recorder. Flipping down a mirror over the door, he scowled disapprovingly at his appearance, then began combing his hair. I reminded him that he wasn’t authorized to take his gun into the building. He nodded and reached down to remove it.

  I got out and waited for him on the curb. The early evening air was cool, thickening clouds hinting at rain. Before joining me, Simon spoke to Enrique in Spanish. I caught the name Christopher. As the limo drove off, I said to him, “Who’s Christopher?”

  “The man who drove the Jaguar. I had him retrieve a package and hold it in the rental office.” He smiled. “A gift from a woman.”

  This was news, since Simon had only one serious girlfriend in his life, a reporter who’d been shot during one of our earlier cases. It seemed like a new chauffeur wasn’t the only change Simon was making in his life.