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Authors: Patrick A. Davis

Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #General, #Suspense, #War & Military

A Slow Walk to Hell (2 page)

BOOK: A Slow Walk to Hell
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“Why would Colonel Kelly fabricate the charge?” a reporter asked.

“You’ll have to ask Colonel Kelly.”

When the reporters did, Colonel Kelly had no comment. To the OSI and his superiors, Kelly stuck to his original statement. Without corroborating witnesses, it came down to a case of “he said, he said.” After a week, the Air Force conveniently dropped the investigation, citing lack of evidence. Shortly thereafter, in an effort to escape the limelight, Colonel Kelly requested a transfer to Germany.

This story should never have generated much press play. Other than briefly rekindling the continual debate about whether gays should serve in the military, it held little news value. In truth, the media’s interest in Talbot can be summed up in two words: “celebrity” and “power.”

Not Major Talbot’s celebrity and power, but that of his uncle by marriage, the man who raised him after Talbot’s parents were killed in a car accident and who sat to his right at the news conference.

The Honorable Garrison Harris, the charismatic congressman who chaired the powerful House Appropriations Committee and was everybody’s odds-on favorite to become the next president of the United States.

2

A
fter refreshing my memory about Major Talbot, Charlie filled me in on his murder. Since Talbot’s body had only been discovered within the hour, Charlie didn’t have much other than the how and where. Talbot’s body had been found in his home by his housekeeper, a Mrs. Chang, who had called 911. From statements provided by the police who’d initially responded, there seemed little doubt as to the cause of death. “Someone really did a number on Talbot,” Charlie said. “Multiple stab wounds and blood all over the place. And here’s the kicker; the killer cut Talbot’s dick off and jammed it in his mouth.”

I winced. “Jesus…”

“Yeah. The press is going to
love
that angle. The SECDEF is concerned this could turn into a hate crime, with a military perp. If that happens, every pro-gay outfit and liberal politician will be screaming that the military promotes a climate of hate against gays.”

“A hate crime?” I said. “I thought your investigation never uncovered evidence that Talbot was gay.”

He snorted. “What investigation? We were ordered to go slow, so we did. Captain Hilley was the lead investigator, but he only got as far as interviewing Major Talbot and Colonel Kelly before the case was shut down. Word was the SECDEF had no choice; Congressman Harris had him by the balls when he threatened to stall a couple of key defense bills.”

Not exactly surprising news. Congressman Harris was an acknowledged master of political hardball. I pointed out to Charlie that by definition, a hate crime meant someone had killed Talbot specifically because he was gay. I added, “If his homosexuality was never proven—”

“The key is whether people
believed
he was gay. A lot of them did. When the story broke, Talbot received close to a hundred letters. Sick stuff. A dozen or so threatened his life if he didn’t resign his commission. We managed to track down a few of the senders. Most were former military. One guy was a white supremacist from Alabama. Look, Marty, I want Talbot to be straight. I want the killer to be some pissed-off husband who found out Talbot was screwing his wife. But we both know someone stuck his dick in his mouth for a reason.”

While I understood the symbolism of the act, I didn’t consider it a slam dunk. I almost reminded Charlie about a similar killing where a colonel had lopped off the penis of his wife’s lover. But instead of placing the appendage in the dead man’s mouth, the colonel wrapped it in a box with a pretty bow and had it delivered to his wife.

I said, “Relax, Charlie. It shouldn’t take long to determine if Talbot was straight. His housekeeper or friends will probably know. Hell, he might even have a subscription to
Playboy
or
Pent—”

“Call as soon as you know.” He rustled papers, getting impatient. “A couple of quick items. Congressman Harris is the reason we’re keeping a lid on the story until twenty-two hundred. He was campaigning in Pennsylvania when they told him about his nephew. He’s catching a charter flight back and doesn’t want to be swarmed by reporters when he lands. He’s scheduled into Reagan National at twenty-one thirty, give or take. He’ll have questions, so get your ass over to Talbot’s and find some answers. I got the address here someplace…” More papers rustling; Charlie wasn’t what you would call organized. “What was that, Marty?”

“You order up a RIP?” I repeated. RIPs were computerized personnel printouts and would provide us Talbot’s complete assignment histories.

“Chief Tisdale has a copy. He’s en route to the Pentagon, to secure Talbot’s office. You can swing by and pick it up from him. Anything else?”

Charlie had already briefed me that Talbot had worked in Air Force manpower, the directorate responsible for tracking the personnel authorizations mandated by congress. It was essentially a high-tech bean counting job. I said, “Those people you identified who wrote threatening letters—”

“Forget about them. There were only five and none live within five hundred miles of here. Captain Hilley’s trying to contact them now. So far, he’s spoken to three. A fourth is hospitalized and the fifth is working the night shift at a plant in Dallas. You got a pen handy?”

As I jotted down Talbot’s address on the back of a business card, I was relieved to see that he lived in Arlington, Virginia.

Location of a crime determined jurisdiction. Since an Air Force member had been killed off a military reservation, the appropriate civilian authority—the Arlington County PD—would take the lead and I, as the OSI representative, would assist.

Don’t misunderstand me; I had no qualms about running a high-visibility investigation. I’m a solid homicide investigator and was confident I could solve the crime. My concern was whether I could do so quickly enough to satisfy the media talking heads and various military and political heavyweights.

With luck, possibly.

But a man had to know his limitations and I knew mine. If anyone could solve this case in a rapid fashion, it would be the man who almost certainly would handle this investigation for the Arlington County PD.

Lieutenant Simon Santos was the department’s homicide chief and a brilliant, instinctual investigator. Over the past decade, his successes had elevated him into a local law enforcement legend. Simon rarely took more than a few days to wrap up a murder. Often, he’d make an arrest within hours. How he did this, no one knew. After working with him on numerous cases over the years, I concluded there was one reason for his success: The guy was a genius, an investigative savant.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that Simon was also worth a few hundred million dollars and could afford to keep an army of informants on his payroll.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, when I asked, “Santos is going to be in charge. I spoke to Chief Novak; he’s trying to hunt Santos down to break the news.” His voice became apologetic. “You won’t like this, but it comes straight from the SECDEF. Congressman Harris wants a daily update on the investigation—let me finish.” He talked over me as I tried to cut in. “Anything Harris wants, you play along. He tells you to kiss his ass, you plant a wet one and smile. The SECDEF doesn’t want to give Harris any reason to think the military is engaged in a coverup. You understand what I’m saying, Marty.”

He was using his I’m-a-general-and-you’re-not voice. I said calmly, “This is bullshit, Charlie.”

“It’s called
politics.
You seen the latest poll numbers? Harris is a lock to become the Democrats’ presidential nominee. He’s also holding a six-point lead over the president. Like it or not, the man’s got a better than even chance to be sitting in the White House next January.”

I bit my tongue to keep from saying something I might regret. “That it?”

“No.” He waited a beat. “What’s with you and Amanda?”

I tried not to sound surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I also assigned her to the case. She’s at home, waiting for your call…”

“Okay—”

“When I told her that she’d be teaming with you, she said something mighty curious. She asked if I could find someone to take her place. What the hell is going on? Since when doesn’t she want to work with you?”

“I don’t know, Charlie.”

“Don’t give me that crap. If my two best homicide investigators can’t work together, I’ve got a right to know.”

“I don’t know, Charlie,” I said again.

“Fine. Play it cute. But there’s a lot riding on this thing. You and Amanda have issues, it’d better not affect your goddamn job. Now call her and get down to Talbot’s.”

After he hung up, I stood there, staring at the phone.
She’s at home, waiting for your call…

But only because it was her job.

I punched in her number anyway.

 

Of course, Major Amanda Gardner was the woman I had strong feelings for. We’d met three years earlier, when she was assigned to assist me on a triple homicide. While I found her bright, competent, and attractive, I was initially put off by her Joan Wayne, supercop attitude. Whether we were crawling over the grisly crime scene or grilling an uncooperative suspect, she felt compelled to prove that she was as tough as any male. If you acknowledged her femininity, made allowances for it in any way, she became angry.

I didn’t get it. She wasn’t only a cop, she was a woman. A beautiful woman. Why deny it?

During our second case, I got the nerve to ask her this question, over a few beers. Instead of the telling me to mind my own business, she said, “You sure you want to know?”

When I nodded, she slipped back to her days as an Air Force Academy cadet and moved forward to the present, explaining what it’s like to be an attractive woman in a man’s world. In a quietly reflective voice, she described a pattern of whispered sexual inferences and unwelcome amorous advances. The harassment had been constant and wearing, and Amanda grew to hate her appearance, hate the way men were attracted to her. When she became an officer, she considered bringing charges against some of the more blatant offenders, but knew that if she did, she would end her military career. In desperation, she decided to alter her image, create a persona that men would find intimidating and less appealing.

“So I cut my hair, quit wearing makeup, placed chips on both shoulders, and dared anyone to knock them off. I made it clear that I wasn’t someone you messed with.”

“And the men quit hitting on you?”

She nodded. “But there was a downside.”

“They thought you were a dyke?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I’m not, you know.”

When her eyes lingered on mine, I had my first inkling that she might have feelings for me. In the ensuing years, I tried not to reciprocate them. Looking back, I realized I’d made a mistake. But that’s how it is with emotions; you don’t control them, they control you. Now, when I’d finally reached a place where I could put Nicole’s death behind me, it was too late.

I’m not naive; I never expected Amanda to wait forever.

I’d only hoped she’d wait a few more months.

The phone was ringing in my ear. I pictured Amanda staring at the caller ID, trying to decide whether to answer. For the first time in months, she picked up. “Hello, Marty.”

She didn’t sound happy.

 

We conversed less than thirty seconds. Amanda kept her voice clipped and professional and never mentioned her aversion to working with me. Since the school was en route to Arlington, Amanda said she’d swing by and pick me up.

I asked her to stop by my place and retrieve my weapon, OSI credentials, latex gloves, and a notepad. “Mrs. Anuncio knows where they are.” Mrs. Anuncio was my live-in housekeeper.

“Fifteen minutes.”

After Amanda clicked off, I made two quick phone calls. The first was to Sara Winters, whose daughter was also at the dance. “Sure, Marty,” Sara said, “I’ll be glad to give Emily a ride home.” Next, I phoned Mark Haney, my senior deputy, and told him that he’d be running the office, while I moonlighted with the OSI.

Clipping my phone to my belt, I swung over to Coach English and Mrs. Roche, and informed them that I had to bail out on chaperone duties. When I broke the news to Emily that I’d been called out on a case, she couldn’t stop smiling. Walking away from her, it occurred to me that the two most important women in my life didn’t want me around.

A guy could get a complex.

 

It was a cool spring night and I’d only been waiting on the sidewalk for a few minutes when I spotted the gold Saab turn into the parking lot. I walked toward it, waving my arms. As it rolled to a stop, I went over and got inside.

AC/DC played on the radio. Anything softer than heavy metal Amanda considered easy listening. I gave her a smile. She watched me for a moment and seemed about to say something. Instead, she bit her lip and nodded tersely toward the back seat. “Your stuff’s in my briefcase.”

“Thanks.” Popping the latches to retrieve the items, I decided not to force the conversation. It was clear that my presence wasn’t easy for her.

Five minutes later, we merged onto State Highway 26 for the hour drive to Arlington. Amanda never said a word and I could feel the tension between us. Easing back in my seat, I risked a glance and saw her fixated straight ahead. Under the flickering streetlights, I studied her profile and thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Over the past several months, she’d shifted away from the butch image that she’d crafted for herself. She was allowing her red hair to grow out and it now framed the perfect oval of her face. Her skin was tight, her complexion flawless, and she wore more makeup than usual. I also became aware of the scent of perfume, another recent concession to femininity.

My eyes drifted down to her suit. Another sign of the new Amanda. As long as I’ve known her, she’s favored loose fitting and neutral colored clothing; this suit was an eye-catching red, stylishly cut, with a flared gold collar. In the OSI, we wore civilian clothing because we’re more effective when no one knows our rank. Officers can be a pain in the ass when they’re questioned by someone they outrank and enlisted personnel feel intimidated when grilled by someone they know is an officer.

I slowly faced front, troubled by a sudden realization.

When I’d first noticed Amanda’s increasingly feminine makeover, I had enough ego to assume she’d made the changes for me. But thinking back, that conclusion didn’t make sense. She’d been avoiding me for months. She made it clear that she didn’t want me to see her.

BOOK: A Slow Walk to Hell
11.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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