A Slow Walk to Hell (26 page)

T
hat son of a bitch.

I could believe what I was hearing. Simon had no desire to convict Colonel Kelly in the public’s eyes. I knew he didn’t.

Yet, rather than simply tell the press what they already knew, that Colonel Kelly had been arrested for the murders of five people, Simon methodically laid out the case against him.

He told them about the threatening phone call and Kelly’s anger about being passed over.

He told them Kelly didn’t have an alibi for any of the killings.

He told them about the pistol found in Kelly’s room.

He told them Kelly was a former Army Ranger and a marksman.

He told them everything. He spoke for over twenty minutes. Afterward, he answered questions for another ten.

By the time he’d finished, I was steaming. When he drifted back from the podium, I growled under my breath, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Simon continued to smile into the cameras. To me, he whispered, “Tell them you agree.”

“Like hell.”

“Martin—”

“No.”

“They must believe we’re no threat.”

“Huh?”

“Do it.”

He stared straight ahead, the plastic smile stuck to his face. Beneath it, I saw his teeth were clenched.

I muttered, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Moving up to the podium, I gazed out into the sea of lenses. As I introduced myself, I noticed several reporters sprout big grins. They were reacting to my seventies disco look and the bandage on my ear didn’t help. One guy asked loudly if I was working undercover. A second wanted to know if I cut myself shaving. They both got laughs and I could picture Charlie turning about five shades of red as he watched this.

To keep him from throwing something at his television, I began my spiel by mentioning the cover-your-ass items he’d wanted me to emphasize. I reminded everyone that this was a joint military and civilian operation, with credit for the arrest to be shared between the two agencies. I explained that Kelly’s arrest would never have been possible without the full cooperation of the military in general and the Air Force in particular. Next, I made the equivalent of a public service announcement, saying the military has a standing policy to vigorously pursue any alleged hate crime, whether it be based on gender, race, or sexual orientation. In light of the military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, the last item could be construed as hypocritical, which was why I blew past it without bothering to elaborate.

This was not the time to get into a debate over gays serving in the military.

Since Simon had covered the particulars of Colonel Kelly’s arrest, I wrapped up my remarks by stating that I, as the military’s lead investigator, fully supported the conclusions of my counterpart from the Arlington PD, Lieutenant Santos. My entire account took less than five minutes, which was two longer than I’d intended. When I finished, the questions began. I smiled politely and shook my head. “Sorry, I’m not taking questions.”

“Agent Collins,” a nasal-voiced woman sang out. “Do you believe the military’s antigay policy bears any responsibility—”

I couldn’t get away from the podium fast enough. Simon and I hustled up the stairs into the hotel, the questions following us.

The lobby doors closed behind us. It was quiet.

Enrique and Amanda were waiting where we’d left them. She handed me my phone. “General Hinkle called again. He’s hot. He wants you to call him ASAP.” She sounded absolutely thrilled at the prospect of me getting my ass chewed.

I promptly stuck the phone on my belt.

“Hey,” she said. “Did you hear me? You’re supposed to call him.”

Ignoring her, I gripped Simon hard by the elbow to show him I meant business and guided him to the far end of the lobby. Lowering my voice, I said, “Start talking.”

He sighed. “I made a mistake. Harris might know about our interest in the club—”

He clammed up at the sound of clicking heels. I turned, saw Amanda coming over, her eyes stubbornly defiant.

“What club?” she asked Simon.

He didn’t reply.

Her face darkened. Her eyes went to me, then back to him. “I asked you a question.”

He still said nothing.

She began a slow burn and Simon and I braced ourselves for ignition. But rather than torching off, Amanda twirled and walked quickly toward the hallway leading to side exit.

Aw, hell—

I said, “Where are you going?”

She picked up the pace. She was almost to the hallway.

“Amanda, you don’t understand—”

She spun to me, her face flushed more with hurt than anger. “I understand that I’m
tired
. I’m tired of the bullshit. I’m tired of dealing with this boys’ club you got going. As far as I’m concerned, you two can go to hell.”

The woman at the reception desk stared at her in shock. When she glanced my way, I jerked my head. She took the hint and disappeared into the back.

No one spoke. Amanda shook her head disgustedly at us and turned away.

I grunted, “Simon.”

He said, “Wait, Amanda.”

As she swung back around, he said, “Enrique?”

All eyes went to Enrique. He gazed back with a pained expression. What he feared was about to happen.

While I felt sympathy for his inner turmoil, I thought his expectations were unrealistic. Did he really believe the club’s existence could remain a secret?

“It’s okay,” Simon said to him. “We can trust her.”

Enrique glanced at Amanda. “It’s not you. It has nothing to do with you.”

“What the hell is it then?” she shot back.

“It’s okay, Enrique,” Simon said again. “If we’re discreet, no one else besides Amanda will know.”

Enrique sounded tired. “Save it, Simon. Five people are dead. We both know you can’t guarantee—”

“I promise I will try.”

Enrique gazed at Simon, weighing his sincerity. “You called the state police about a search warrant.” His tone made it sound like a crime.

“So rather than compromise the club’s members, you would prefer the killers go free?”

Enrique stiffened at the insinuation. “Of course not. It’s just that I think a warrant should be a last resort. Something used only if—what?” He was puzzled by Simon’s sudden smile.

“We have no disagreement, Enrique.”

“No?”

“A warrant
is
my last option. I’m hoping to enter the club without one.”

Instead of appearing pleased at this concession, Enrique’s handsome face knotted in a grimace. “That’s just it, Simon. I’ve been knocking myself out, trying to figure out a way inside. The security is damned tight. Even if we got cooperation from a member, I don’t see—”

Simon said, “There might be a way.”

“How?”

Simon went over and put an arm around Enrique’s shoulder. The two conversed in Spanish. Amanda scowled at this.

More secrets.

Enrique appeared startled by something Simon said. He stared at Simon as if he didn’t believe him. Simon nodded and Enrique actually smiled.

After another exchange of Spanish, Enrique hurried out the double doors. Most of the media were still hanging around. A number of the correspondents had dispersed and were talking into cameras, filing their reports.

“Amanda. Martin.”

Simon was motioning us over. As Amanda and I strolled up to him, she said, “You will tell me everything.” More command than question.

“What I can.”

She bristled at the condition. “Not good enough. I want to know—”

Simon shut her up by talking about the club. Her eyes widened in amazement, once she grasped its connection to the case.

“You’re sure about this?” she said. “There’s no possibility you could be mistaken?”

“None,” Simon said. “The videotapes and camera were planted. Major Talbot never videotaped his lovers.”

A phone suddenly rang shrilly at the front desk. Amanda didn’t react. We could almost see the gears spinning in her head as she tried to think through the implication of what Simon had revealed. Precisely what it meant.

Simon and I didn’t say anything. Amanda didn’t like to be spoon-fed, so we watched her and waited.

I looked outside, searching for Enrique. He was talking to an elderly gentleman with a distinctive mane of thick white hair. I recognized the man, having seen him on a number of cable news shows. He was a prominent investigative reporter for
The Washington Times
. I found it more than a little curious that Simon had sent Enrique out to talk to him.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so curious after all.

Would Simon go this far? In a heart beat. But Enrique was a different story. I couldn’t see him signing on to what Simon intended.

Yet, for some reason, he appeared to be doing just that.

The reporter handed Enrique a business card and they shook hands warmly. Seeing this, I realized the reporter had to be one of Simon’s regular contacts, someone who quietly did him favors for a price.

This favor was going to cost Simon big time.

Leaving the reporter, Enrique glanced around, as if hunting for someone. He threw up a hand and appeared to call out. I frowned, noticing the person who’d responded wasn’t another press type, but a cop.

As Enrique walked over to Officer Hannity, I shifted my attention inside to hear Simon’s response to a question Amanda had just posed.

She said, “It can’t only be because of Talbot’s white sheets, right?”

“It wasn’t,” Simon said.

He proceeded to explain how he’d concluded the videotapes and camera had been planted.

“I
t bothered me,” Simon said, “that the videos showed Talbot sleeping with lovers on colored sheets, when we knew he’d been using white bedding for the past six months. I entertained the notion that Major Talbot had abstained from sex during that period, at least in his home. But if that was true, then why throw out his bedding on two occasions?”

“Sex,” Amanda said, voicing the response he wanted. “He had sex.”

Simon nodded. “I asked myself why
hadn’t
Talbot videotaped those trysts? He’d taped others; why not these two? Was he in the habit of asking his partners for their permission? Unlikely. The camera was hidden; it’s
purpose
was to secretly tape—Yes, Amanda?”

She was squinting at him. “Couldn’t those acts have been taped and the videos taken by the killers?”

“I considered that. Still, it troubled me that the remaining videos only revealed colored sheets. It could have been a coincidence, but I also realized it was possible that the videos weren’t recorded in Talbot’s bedroom. He was deeply religious. He’d painted his room the color of Hell to remind himself of the consequence of sin. It seemed incompatible that someone like him, someone so devout that he disposed of his sheets in order to symbolically cleanse himself of his sin, would be in a habit of recording those same sinful acts. I decided he wouldn’t.

“But how to prove it? The tapes didn’t show when they’d been recorded, a fact I found rather convenient. When I asked Billy whether there was any chance of retrieving that information—”

Amanda said, “You believe those tapes
did
contain a date and time?”

“The originals probably did, since they were recorded for the purpose of blackmail. According to Billy, it’s a relatively simple matter to digitally edit out the time and date.”

“Can’t that information be retrieved?”

“Not from a copy. And I’m sure that’s what we found, copies made from the original, once the date and time were removed.” He shrugged. “So that left us with only the video camera. I had to know if it had been installed after Talbot had begun using the white sheets. I didn’t have much hope that Billy could give me an answer. How can one know how long a camera has been in place?”

He smiled at Amanda. “This is where we were fortunate. It took Billy less than twenty minutes to come up with a time period. Ironically, it was Major Talbot’s own surveillance company which provided the answer. They recognized the model number as a video camera which had come on the market only recently. Since March, some four months
after
Talbot began using white sheets. The camera is a wireless model known for its ease of installation. I’m sure that’s why it was chosen by the killers. Because they could install it quickly.”

Simon’s eyes hardened. “And
that
was their mistake. If they hadn’t chosen that camera, that specific model, we never would have known the tapes were planted. But they did choose the camera and now we know. We were fortunate.”

He fell silent, looking at Amanda, anticipating more questions.

I knew of at least two she must have on her plate, both biggies. She alluded to one of them, saying, “You mentioned the tapes and camera were planted to confuse the motive—”

“They were.”

“But the purpose of the tapes was to implicate one of Talbot’s gay lovers and
not
Colonel Kelly. Yet, he’s the one they’re framing. It makes no sense.”

“Ah, but it does,” Simon said. “Talbot’s murder was a well orchestrated operation. It must have been planned over an extended period of time. Several days or perhaps even weeks—You see it now, Martin?”

I was nodding. “I’m beginning to. You’re saying they had a plan in place
before
Coller told them about Kelly’s threatening call…”

“Well before.”

“A plan which included framing one of Talbot’s lovers for the murder. That’s where the videos came in. They had to give the police somewhere to look…” Amanda’s eyebrows shot up; she’d caught on. I continued, “What I still don’t understand is why they didn’t shelve this part of the plan, once they decided to target Colonel Kelly.”

Simon shrugged. “Insurance. There was no guarantee Kelly would arrive at the appointed time at Talbot’s home. Even if he did, they couldn’t know whether Kelly would allow Coller into his room, to plant the gun. So they had a backup in place, should it be needed.”

“The missing tape,” Amanda said. “Or rather, the one they made us
believe
was missing. That’s their backup. They intend to release that tape if Kelly doesn’t work out.”

“Yes,” Simon said.

And we all knew who starred with Talbot in that tape.

Simon and Amanda looked to me, a mixture of understanding and empathy creeping into their eyes. Like me, they realized this must be the primary reason Sam hadn’t come forward.

A rock and a hard place.

Hell, we hadn’t known the half of it.

I recalled my conversations with Sam and all the guilt I dumped on him.
Nice going, Marty.

“Do you know where General Baldwin might be?” Simon asked me.

“No.” I shrugged. “He might have returned to his apartment.”

“He hasn’t. I contacted the security guard. I also left messages on General Baldwin’s voice mail.”

It didn’t surprise me that Simon had bypassed me to contact Sam. Even with what we knew, we had to have Sam’s help in breaking the case.

I said, “I’ll track him down in the morning. I’ll contact his family and his exec. A two-star can’t hide. Someone will know where he is.”

Simon didn’t look happy about the delay, but what did he expect from me? It was almost 4
A.M
. on a Saturday morning.

Amanda gave a suggestive cough to get our attention. Once she had it, her eyes fixated on Simon, her expression a mask. It was her game face. She was about to ask Simon the second key question and anticipated a nonanswer.

“All right,” she said to him, “now tell us who you believe committed the priests’ murders.”

Simon hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Her beautiful jaw tightened, but when she spoke, her voice remained calm. “You sure as hell suspect someone.”

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

This time there was no slow burn. Once again, Simon was withholding information. In light of what she had just gone through, it was too much. She exploded angrily, “God damn you, Simon. I’m tired of—”

The words died in her throat.

Her anger was replaced by a perplexed look. She was confused by what she was seeing. She stared at Simon, to be sure it was there.

The expression of deep sadness.

He said quietly, “I want to be wrong, Amanda. I want so much to be wrong. Can you understand that?”

Amanda didn’t seem to know quite how to respond. She nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t.

Moving away from him, she glanced at me as if to say,
What the hell?

I shook my head. “Simon?”

When he turned to me, I asked him a question I knew he would answer, because he had already partially done so.

I wanted to know about the the mistake he’d made.

Simon had phoned a friend from the state police, a lieutenant who supervised the night shift, to inquire about the possibility of obtaining a warrant for the club.

“What I wanted,” Simon said, “was for him to make a few discrete inquiries, see if there would be any difficulty with obtaining a warrant, should it come to that.”

Amanda said, “Political difficulties?”

“Yes. With Congressman Harris’s involvement, I assumed there would be problems. My concerns proved valid; my friend didn’t even have to check. He was familiar with the club because of an incident last year. Two teenage boys had stumbled onto the resort and were roughly treated by the security guards. One of the parents filed a complaint, which was immediately shelved. The state police were ordered by someone in the governors’ office to drop the matter.”

This didn’t come as any surprise. Harris’s political influence was well documented.

Amanda said, “Did your friend know the purpose of the club?”

“The police were told it’s an exclusive spa, which caters to celebrities who covet their privacy.”

This wasn’t far from the truth. I said to Simon, “I still don’t understand why the call was a mistake.”

“By itself, it wasn’t. It was more the timing and sloppiness on my part. I’d been speaking to my state police contact when Chief Novak called about the CNN video. In my haste to talk to the chief, I switched over before I could caution my friend not to mention my interest in the club.”

I said, “And he did?”

“To several detectives. One who spent several years on the governor’s security detail. This woman became concerned over my interest. She repeatedly asked my friend why I would want to search the club.”

“Oh, hell,” Amanda said. “We’re screwed.”

I asked Simon, “Has this detective passed on your interest—no?”

He shook his head. “Once she began asking questions, my friend realized he’d made an error. He ordered her not to contact anyone in the governor’s office. She agreed, but only because he was pressuring her. Once she gets off shift, he’s convinced she’ll contact someone in the governor’s office.”

Now I understood his Kelly-bashing press conference. “That’s why you went after Colonel Kelly. You’re hedging. Should the detective contact someone in the governor’s office, you’re hoping that person might not relay the information, if they believe you’re convinced of Kelly’s guilt.”

He nodded.

Amanda asked, “When does the detective get off shift?”

“Seven
A.M
.”

She checked her watch. “Less than three hours from now.”

“Yes.”

Simon’s gaze shifted between her and me. He didn’t bother to voice what he was thinking because he didn’t have to.

Amanda turned to me with tired eyes. We’d been up close to twenty hours and were running on fumes. Could we keep going?

It wasn’t really a question; we had no other option. We couldn’t take a chance on evidence being destroyed.

Amanda said to Simon, “The detective might have already made the call. It could already be too late.”

“Does it matter?”

She shook her head.

“The sooner we get going, the better,” I said.

“Not so fast, Marty,” Amanda said. “First, I want to know how we’re going to get inside without a warrant?”

She folded her arms and looked right at Simon in a particularly determined way.

Simon detailed his plan. The big pieces I’d guessed. When he fell silent, I saw Amanda nod her approval, indicating she believed it might work. I was also cautiously optimistic.

It depended on the club manager, whether he could be intimidated.

“We’d better leave separately,” Simon said to us, “to preclude anyone following.”

The press didn’t miss much. They’d seen Amanda and me arrive in her car and would wonder why we were leaving it behind, to go off with Simon in his limo at four in the morning.

Since the Pentagon was nearby, Amanda told Simon we’d wait for him in south parking, near the Corridor Two bridge. As we started to leave, Enrique reentered the lobby and handed Simon a business card. He was smiling cheerfully. “Eric Olson says it’s a go.”

The reporter.

Simon pocketed the card. “Officer Hannity?”

“He said the driver of the M5 definitely wasn’t short. Far from it.”

“Hannity is certain?”

“Yeah. The driver sat up pretty high in the seat. Hannity remembered because the guy had to hunch over to watch him through the windshield.”

Our tall friend.

“So,” Enrique said to Simon, “we going to do this now?” He was smiling again, his tone eager.

Nodding to Amanda and me, he said, “We’ll wait a few minutes, then meet them at—”

As he explained the plan, Amanda and I resumed our trek toward the hallway at the rear of the lobby. Before we turned the corner, she said, “He looks pretty happy, doesn’t he?”

She was looking at Enrique, who couldn’t seem to stop smiling as he conversed with Simon.

We continued toward the side exit. Amanda appeared troubled. She asked, “You think he believes Simon is only bluffing?”

“Probably.”

“To get into the club, Simon might have to act on his bluff. Actually go through with it.”

“And he will.”

“Enrique has to know that, right?”

“I’m sure he’s considered it.”

“Then I don’t get it. Why the hell is he so happy? His worse nightmare could come true.”

We came to the door and I faced Amanda. “Whatever the reason, I wouldn’t worry about it. Only Enrique knows where the club is located. To ensure his cooperation, Simon probably told him a lot of things. The thing to remember is that Simon wants these killers even more than we do.” I pushed open the door for her. “After you.”