A Slow Walk to Hell (19 page)

I said, “I assume Hannity was one of the cops conducting surveillance—”

“Right. Major Coller. He just came home.” He grinned. “Officer Hannity says our boy is toasted. Took him forever to get his key in the door. But, hey, if the man was sober enough to drive, he can talk.”

I found myself getting caught up in his excitement and forced myself to calm down. Even if Coller knew who orchestrated the killing, that was still a long way from proving murder.

“And Simon’s idea?” Amanda said.

Enrique explained in under a minute. By then, Simon had joined us. “We’ll be there in ten minutes, Hannity,” he said into his phone.

As he ended the call, he said to Amanda and me. “Hannity will advise Coller we’re on our way. You understand what to do?”

We nodded.

Eyeing the pillow, she said, “You sure you’ll be comfy enough?”

“I think so. The ride shouldn’t take long and—” Simon stopped; he realized she was teasing him. His face frosted over and he stiffly turned away, walking through the gate toward the cars.

“Not smart, Amanda,” I said. “You know how sensitive he is.”

She grinned. “Oh, come off it, Marty. He’s taking a pillow. Who does that?”

Only Simon.

Amanda pulled her Saab up to the northwest edge of the house, just far enough to provide us with a view of the front gate. I sat beside her in the passenger seat, and as she braked to a stop, we both hunched forward, watching the limo continue down the drive ahead of us. Approaching the gate, it slowed, tucking in behind a phalanx of uniformed officers who began clearing a path through the crowd of media.

“The fish are biting,” Amanda said.

Through the fence, we could see a number of press types bolting for their vehicles. As the limo turned onto the road, cars and vans began pulling in behind it. Several almost collided. Horns blared.

I checked the dashboard clock: 11:23.

Precisely three minutes later, I said, “Okay.”

Amanda tapped the gas and we rolled down the driveway. Ahead, the gate which had closed, was beginning to open. The cops were again positioned in a wedge, ready for battle.

“What do you think?” Amanda said. “Got rid of about a third?”

A reference to the press. “Maybe a little less.”

“Show time,” she said, seconds later.

We crept through the gate and the flashes began to pop. Because of the cops, no suicidal cameramen threw themselves at the car. Once we cleared the crowd, I looked back. No one bothered to tail us. A given. Simon was the lead investigator and we were his helper bees. We didn’t count.

As the car picked up speed, I settled back for the short ride and wondered what Major Coller could tell us.

T
he drive to Major Coller’s should have taken around eight minutes. Amanda kept the pedal to the metal and turned into the townhouse complex in a shade under six. To call it a complex was an exaggeration. Actually, it was an Lshaped pattern of no more than two dozen town homes located on a quiet street, across from a wooded park.

Coller’s residence was easy to find. All we had to do was look for the police cruiser and glance to the right. Number sixteen was the fourth residence from the end, the one with an American flag hanging out front.

Amanda swung in beside the cop who was leaning against his car, waiting for us. He pushed upright as we emerged. He was a baby-faced black man with forearms the size of my thighs. His nametag confirmed he was Hannity.

Amanda and I flashed him our flip-top IDs. I said, “I understand you spoke to Major Coller…”

“Right. Passed the message about you coming.” Officer Hannity squinted as if puzzled by something.

I said, “How drunk is he?”

“Drunk enough. He’s damn lucky he managed to drive here in one piece. Look, I thought Lieutenant Santos was coming.”

“He’s here,” Amanda said.

“Oh?” Hannity’s eyes shifted to the back seat of the Saab. It was obviously empty. He returned to us, appearing even more confused.

Just then, we heard a tapping sound. It was followed by a muffled and angry voice. As we focused on the trunk, a flicker of comprehension crept across Hannity’s broad face. “Ah, hell. You’re not telling me—”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

The tapping and shouting continued. We stood there, listening to it.

“He’s getting pissed,” Amanda said. “Guess we better let him out.” She sounded disappointed.

“And me without my camera,” Hannity said, grinning. “Shit, I come back with a picture of the lieutenant crawling out of a trunk, I’d be a hero. I wouldn’t work nights for a month.”

I looked at Amanda. She always brought a camera on an investigation.

She hesitated, tempted. But she ultimately shook her head. A sensible decision. Hell hath no fury like a Simon scorned.

As we stepped around to the trunk, Amanda thumbed the release on her key chain. The lid popped open and Simon sat up, looking like a furious, albeit immaculately dressed, jack-in-the-box. For an instant, I thought he might be angry enough to swear.

“This,”
he seethed, “was not amusing.”

I said, “It was your idea.”

He glowered and thrust up the pillow. This generated another grin from Hannity. Bad move. Simon cut him a look and the grin vanished.

After Amanda and I helped Simon out, I tossed the pillow in the trunk and shut the lid. We watched as Simon went through his primping routine. Appearance, of course, was everything.

Pocketing his comb, he held Hannity in a menacing stare. “Not a word. You understand. Not a word.”

Hannity didn’t quite snap to attention, but he came close. “No sir,” he barked.

Simon pivoted and headed across the parking area toward Coller’s residence. As Amanda and I swung in behind him, we heard Hannity say, “Uh, Lieutenant—”

Three heads turned.

Hannity nervously appraised Simon. Gun-shy.

“Go on,” Simon said impatiently.

Hannity began, “It’s…it’s about what you said. If I saw anything suspicious…”

“Yes, yes…”

“It’s probably nothing, but…when I was walking over to talk to Major Coller, I saw this BMW. A black M5. It slowed like it was going to turn in, then sped up and continued on by.”

Simon said, “And you think it was because he saw you?”

“Not only that, sir. You see, one of the reasons I noticed it was because I’d seen a black M5 parked over there, when I first arrived.” He pointed to spaces at the far end of the asphalt, perhaps thirty yards away. “When I showed up, it sat there for maybe a minute, then pulled out.”

“Did you have a description of the driver?”

“Windows were tinted dark. I could tell there was one person in the car. I think it was a man.”

“Think?”

“It had to be a man. See that light—” He pointed to a lamp pole, behind where he’d indicated the car had parked.

“I saw the guy’s outline. After I parked, I noticed him sitting there, looking at me. Kinda made me wonder, so I kept my eye on him. I was thinking about checking him out, when he drove off. Anyway, he was a pretty big guy. That much I could tell.”

“A license number?”

“I tried to get it, the second time. The problem was I had to run out to the street to see it. By then, the car was almost a block away. It had temp tags, though. Like from a dealer.”

Simon asked if that’s how he’d concluded it was the same car he’d seen earlier, because of the temp tags.

“Actually, Lieutenant,” Hannity said, sounding a little embarrassed, “I never paid attention to the tags the first time. But can’t be too many people afford an M5 who live here. Those go for seventy, eighty grand, easy.”

Simon gazed out across the rows of moderately priced vehicles and nodded as if he agreed. He didn’t; he was pondering the same thing Amanda and I were.

What if the driver
didn’t
live here?

“How long ago did you speak to Major Coller, exactly?” Simon asked suddenly.

Hannity fingered the radio mike clipped to his lapel. “Maybe two minutes after we spoke. Not more.” He checked his watch. “Call it eleven twenty-five.”

“It’s eleven forty-one,” Amanda said, her eyes rising from her wrist.

Sixteen minutes.

And Coller’s townhome had a back door.

I took out my pistol, eyeing Simon. “Better safe than sorry.”

He issued instructions. Because Simon had gone to Kennedy Center, he didn’t have his weapon so Hannitypassed him the shotgun from the patrol car. He and I continued to Coller’s front door, while Amanda and Hannity ran around to the rear.

“I’ll cover you,” he said, chambering a round.

I nodded and rang the bell.

Footsteps.

When I was sure, I stepped away from the door. “Someone’s coming.”

Simon was partially turned, scanning the parking area. I kept my gun trained on the door.

The sound of a lock clicking open. The door opened a crack and a handsome blond man tentatively peered out, swaying slightly. It was him, the man from the video. His eyes popped wide at the sight of my pistol. “Jesus.”

By then I was lowering the barrel and reaching into my jacket. “It’s okay, Major Coller. Sorry for the scare. I’m Agent Collins of the OSI. This is Lieutenant Santos.”

He relaxed. “Right. You got some questions for me. Man, you guys don’t screw around.” For someone who was pickled, his voice was surprisingly steady.

After an attempt to focus on my credentials, he gave up with a shrug. “Looks good to me. What’s this about, fellas?”

He opened the door and stood there smiling. I started to ask him if we could come inside when I felt a stinging sensation on my ear. It wasn’t particularly painful. It felt like a bee sting or the prick from a pin, but I knew it wasn’t either.

Because an instant later, Major Coller’s throat exploded in a sea of red.

Time slowed and mist touched my face.

I saw Coller’s startled expression as he pitched violently back. I saw him collapse to the floor and clutch for his throat. I saw the blood spurt between his fingers as he frantically tried to stop the bleeding. I heard his wheezing gurgles as he struggled to breathe. I saw and heard it all.

Right up until I felt Simon shove me in the back, screaming at me to get inside.

I
sprawled through the doorway, stumbled over Coller and fell onto the hallway floor. From behind, I heard the sound of splintering wood. I rolled over against a staircase railing, just as Simon dove in beside me. His shotgun banged off my head and I swore. An instant later, something thumped into the carpet, inches from Coller, who was rolling around, clutching his throat. Another thump. Coller’s shoe jerked and blood spurted from it. He tried to scream and gurgled instead. Simon yelled at me to pull him back, out the way. I hollered back that I was fucking trying.

I’d jammed my pistol in my holster and was reaching for Coller. He squirmed and thrashed wildly. I finally managed to grip him under the armpits. His shirt and chest were soaked with blood. I pulled as hard as I could and we began sliding back. Another bullet struck the carpet where he’d been lying. Simon joined in by pulling on my arms and we dragged Coller into a small living room, bullets thumping behind us.

We lay there panting, ears straining. But it was silent. There were no more thumps.

From the rear of the house, someone began banging on a door. Simon and I sprang to our feet, raised our weapons—

“Simon, Marty!” Amanda called out. “What’s going on in there? What’s wrong?”

That’s when I realized we’d never heard the shots.

“Stay with him,” Simon said. “Try and question him.”

I looked at Coller. He’d stopped thrashing and his gurgles were weakening, becoming almost inaudible. I said to Simon, “He’s hit in the carotid artery. There’s no way he can—”

Simon crawled into the hallway. He turned right, heading toward the front door. I shook my head, thinking he was crazy to risk it. Seconds later, I heard the door slam shut confirming he’d made it. From the back of the house came more insistent pounding. Amanda: “Dammit, Marty, what the hell is going on?”

“Shooter. Sniper with a silenced rifle. He got Coller—”

“Jesus!”

“Hannity, radio for an ambulance and back up!” I stared down at Coller. His eyes were closed and frothy red bubbles oozed through his fingers. “Can you hear me, Major?”

Nothing.

More pounding. Amanda: “Marty, open the fucking door.”

“Go around to the front. See if you can locate the shooter.”

The pounding stopped.

To Coller, I said gently, “I know you can’t talk so don’t even try. Just listen. Someone killed Major Talbot tonight and has also shot you. Do you know who might want you both dead?”

His eyes fluttered open. I saw the fear in them. He seemed to nod, but it could have been my imagination.

“Is it Congressman Harris?”

He stared at me.

“General Baldwin?”

Again, nothing. He was still staring. After a few seconds, I realized he was never going to respond to me or anyone else again.

He’d just died.

I shook my head pityingly. In the ensuing stillness, I became aware of a dull pain in my ear lobe. My hands were matted with Coller’s blood, so I gingerly touched the tip with my wrist. Torn flesh. It dawned on me how close I’d come and I began to tremble. It was all I could do to force myself into the hallway and search for Simon.

“Up here, Martin!”

Even though the front door was closed, I wasn’t taking any chances. I hugged the right wall and at the last moment, dove onto the stairs. I scurried up half a flight and entered a dining room. Simon was on his knees, peeking through shades, talking into his cell phone. He was telling someone—dispatch—that the shooter must be in the park.

He glanced back with a questioning look. I interpreted it and shook my head. “Coller,” I added, “seemed to know who might be behind the murders, but died before he could identify him.”

Simon’s face darkened with a smoldering anger. As he relayed the news of Coller’s death, I skirted around the dining table and cautiously peered out the edge of the window.

The park was located directly across the street. It was quiet and dark. My eyes scanned the silhouettes of trees; nothing moved. I shifted to the parking area, which was visible about a hundred yards to the right. No cars, but it didn’t mean much. The park occupied a city block and there were several access points.

How long since the last shot? Three or four minutes. Plenty of time for the killer to be long gone.

In the distance, I heard sirens. Easing from the window, I contemplated the pistol I was holding. As with my hands, it was sticky with blood. I glanced at my shirt and jacket. More blood. I checked out Simon. He was completely unblemished, since he’d never actually touched Coller.

That wasn’t by accident.

My ear began to throb and I told him I was going to find a bathroom and clean up. He nodded absently and kept talking into the phone. I also had a call to make. As I swung around to leave, I unclipped my cellular, then paused at a question Simon asked the dispatcher.

He’d inquired about the officer who had been sent to the rectory—whether he’d turned up anything on Father Carlacci. There was a brief delay as the dispatcher contacted the officer and received his answer.

From Simon’s disapproving hiss, it wasn’t the response he was looking for.

“Send three more units to secure the church perimeter,” he ordered. “I’ll be leaving here soon. Has anyone advised Sergeant Tasker—transfer me. Henry? Simon. You heard? Fine. We need to locate Father Carlacci. Contact the archdiocese—The church secretary should know where he is. If that’s the case, we’ll need keys to the rectory. No, don’t mention our suspicions. I don’t want to alarm anyone unnecessarily.”

Simon punched off and slumped wearily against the wall. “The rectory is locked and no one answers the door.”

“It’s Friday night. Father Carlacci didn’t sound like a wallflower. He could have gone out for a drink.”

“And the other two priests who reside there?”

I tried desperately to come up with a plausible response. It was denial. I didn’t want the killer to win again. Not tonight.

Not ever.

I knew then what I had to do. I suppose I’d known it all along.

I checked my watch. Almost midnight. Sam’s party would be wrapping up.

As I voiced my intention to Simon, he began shaking me off. “Amanda goes. You’re too close to General Baldwin.”

“It’s better if I see him alone. I can make him talk to me if I’m alone.”

“He didn’t tell you anything before.”

“This time he will. I’ll make him tell me.”

He continued to argue with me—until I explained how I could force Baldwin to talk to me.

He regarded me with surprise. “You’d be willing to go that far?”

“We got two bodies and no telling how many more could turn, up. Yeah, I’d go that far.”

He grudgingly nodded for the simple reason that he really didn’t have a choice. Sam was Air Force and I was the chief military investigator. I could question him any damn time I wanted.

He glanced at the cell phone in my hand. “General Hinkle?”

“I need to report Coller’s shooting.”

“Perhaps I should do it.”

The control freak in Simon talking. He was worried I might let something slip about our suspicions concerning Congressman Harris. I told him, fine. He could make the call. I didn’t care.

Simon added, “I’ll have Enrique swing by General Baldwin’s and drop off Major Talbot’s address list.”

We’d discussed this. Our hope was that Sam could identify likely candidates with whom Talbot might have shared his secret. By likely, we were talking about fellow gays and more specifically, potential lovers.

The sirens were almost on top of us. We heard a squeal of brakes and the slamming of car doors. Anxious voices shouted out Simon’s name. He hollered back that he was okay and would meet them around the back.

“Give me five minutes,” I said to him. “And ask Enrique to bring me a clean shirt.”

His expression became concerned. “Have the EMTs treat your injury first.”

“I will.” I smiled faintly. “Thanks for the shove, huh. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be dead.”

“Not necessarily.”

I stared at him as if I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“The shots, Martin. If you’ll recall, the shooter only fired one that was close to us—”

“Close?
He hit me.”

He shrugged. “He had no choice. You were in the line of fire. We both were. But there were no more shots until we were clear of the door. And those were well away from us.”

“Sure. We weren’t the target. He was trying to kill Coller.”

“Precisely. If he wanted to insure Coller was dead, why keep aiming low, toward his legs. Why not go for his chest or head? To me, there is only one explanation, he was trying to keep from hitting us.”

I tried to dispel his argument, but couldn’t. From what I could recall, it certainly did appear as if the killer had aimed low.

“A cop,” I said. “I guess he didn’t want to kill a cop.”

“A curious standard for a ruthless killer, don’t you think?”

It was. But the shooter could have a connection to cops. Maybe he’d even been one.

My ear was pulsing again and I wanted to leave.

“Ah, Martin, there’s something we need…we
must
discuss.”

I frowned at his insistent tone. “Oh? What?”

He sat there, looking up at me. Twice he seemed on the verge of speaking, but never did. With a deep sigh, his eyes dropped to the floor and he shook his head regretfully.

A suspicion began to form. “Is this about Amanda?”

No response. He continued to fixate on the floor. I didn’t say anything. I just waited for him to gather up the nerve.

Finally his eyes crawled up to mine. “Please understand, I never believed you would act upon your feelings. That’s why when Amanda asked my opinion, I told her she should move on. Frankly, I believed it was in her best interest emotionally. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life waiting for you to decide. It wasn’t fair to her or you.” He paused, looking at me. “Martin, this isn’t easy—”

“Tell me.”

His mouth opened as if to do so. But he still couldn’t bring himself to admit what we both now knew. Again his eyes retreated to the safety of the floor.

I suppose I should have left then. But I wanted him to tell me to my face how he’d screwed me over. I said, “There really isn’t a Bob, is there?”

He glanced up with mild surprise. “No, no. He does exist. Amanda is very much in love with him and he with her.”

“I see.” I swallowed hard. “Go on.”

“You should hear the rest from Amanda. She should be the one to tell you.”

“I want you to tell me.”

Another pause. Longer than the first. I thought he’d chickened out and wasn’t going to admit that he was really—

“The truth is,” he said, speaking up suddenly, “I’ve developed a great affection for Amanda. I believed she had a right to happiness. I’ve asked her to tell you of her engagement for weeks, but she wanted me to do it because it was ultimately my responsibility. Their getting together. If you should be angry with anyone, be angry with me.”

He abruptly rose and stood before me.

I don’t know what he expected me to do. Maybe take a swing at him or cuss him out. Any other time, I might have reacted that way.

But the man had just saved my life.

“Are you really Bob?” I heard myself ask him.

Another surprised reaction. “You’re actually serious?”

“You better believe it.”

He began to laugh. “Bob,
me?”

“Simon this isn’t funny—”

“But it is. The irony is exceptionally funny. You of all people should know I’m not Bob.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Ask Amanda. You’ll have to ask Amanda or perhaps Emily.”

“My daughter?
What does Emily have to do with this?”

He shook his head and continued to laugh.

I walked out.