A Slow Walk to Hell Page 5

  “She’s right,” Amanda said to Simon. “Harris would save fifteen minutes if he drove straight to the morgue. Why is he really coming here?”

  He gave her a long look. “Don’t you know?”

  She started to shake her head, then stopped. “He’s afraid we’ll find something?”

  “I don’t think there’s much doubt.”

  No one said what that something was; we all knew. After all, with a politician, image was everything.

  Checking his watch, Simon said, “We don’t have time. I want to determine the truth before Harris arrives. Let’s see how the search is going upstairs.”

  As we retraced our steps down the hallway, Amanda and I tucked in on either side of Simon. I said to him, “You realize this might still be a hate crime.”

  He shook his head. “Talbot was killed for information.”

  “Unless the killer tortured Talbot to confuse the motive. Make us think it was a hate crime when it wasn’t.” My terminology sounded a little ridiculous in light of the horrific nature of the killing, but I was going by the legal definition of a hate crime, where the motive would have solely been based upon Talbot’s sexuality.

  “Why would he, Martin?”

  “Try this. According to General Hinkle, Talbot received a lot of hate mail when he was accused of being gay, most from people with a military connection. It could be the killer was someone who wrote one of the letters. Hell, he could even be one of Talbot’s co-workers. We know Talbot knew his killer, right?”

  A skeptical look; he wasn’t buying the hate crime angle. I wasn’t either, but you never knew.

  “Uh, guys,” Amanda said. “Aren’t you jumping the gun a little? For all we know, Talbot was straight.”

  I kept quiet, waiting for Simon to point out why this couldn’t be true, but he never did. He just gave her a little smile. It was as if he didn’t want to disagree with her and I tried not to dwell on the reason why.

  As we entered the foyer and continued toward the staircase, I asked Amanda why Congressman Harris was coming here if not to suppress information that his nephew was gay.

  “It could be something else he’s worried about us finding.”

  “Such as…”

  “How would I know?” She stopped at the staircase and circled a hand around the room. “Take a good look, Marty. This guy wasn’t a Sunday Catholic; he was a believer.” She glanced at Simon. “Your people have been searching for what? An hour? How come they haven’t found anything suggesting Talbot might be gay?”

  “The obvious reason,” Simon said, finally speaking up, “was that Talbot was careful not to leave anything incriminating that his housekeepers might find. He was under investigation once before and knew he couldn’t risk—”

  “Simon!”

  We looked up the stairs and saw Enrique standing on the railed balcony. “Simon, you better hear this!”

  6

  Talbot’s office was the first door on the left. As with the family room, the furnishings were heavy and dark and included the requisite religious paintings on the walls. A formidable desk topped by a computer and a phone sat against a curtained window at the very back. A file cabinet with a couple of open drawers was tucked in the far right corner, a stack of files sitting on top. A pretty Asian woman and a short, muscular guy stood in the middle of the room, watching us as we entered. The guy was talking on a cell phone, asking someone to check a phone number.

  “Yes, yes, I’ll hold.” He cupped the mouthpiece and announced, “It’ll take a couple of minutes.”

  Nodding to the woman, Enrique said, “Teriko found the message on the answering machine and—”

  “I thought you checked the messages, Enrique,” Simon said.

  “On the machine downstairs. This is the one for Talbot’s second line.”

  He indicated the phone, which had a built-in answering machine, then appraised Teriko expectantly.

  “It’s the fourth message, Lieutenant,” she said to Simon.

  Without being asked, Teriko stepped around the desk to the phone and pressed play with a gloved finger. A metallic voice said, “Thursday, seven-twenty P.M….”

  She skipped it and the next two calls, then stood back.

  “Thursday, nine-sixteen P.M.” A pause, then a man with an extremely deep voice came on. His words were slurred, as if he’d been drinking. “Talbot? You there, Talbot? You fucking faggot. What the hell did you do? Go crying to your uncle? Jesus, you’re one gutless son of a bitch, you know that. You’d better remember one thing, asshole; your uncle won’t always be around to fight your fucking battles. Watch your back ’cause someday you’ll turn around and I’ll be there. You hear me, Talbot? You hear me? Goddamn fag.”

  A click.

  The speaker hissed. Teriko punched it off and we all gave Enrique a sideways glance. If the vitriolic outburst bothered him, he gave no sign.

  Simon said to Teriko, “Caller ID?”

  “Only the number, Lieutenant. Richard’s trying to get us a name.”

  Richard said, “Shouldn’t be much longer. The phone company will fax out a printout of Major Talbot’s calls—” He spoke into the phone, “Could you repeat that, Ma’am? Thanks.”

  He pocketed the phone, looking at Simon. “A pay phone at a bar in Crystal City, Lieutenant. Quigley’s.”

  The bar’s location was suggestive. A number of military lived in Crystal City because of its close proximity to the Pentagon. Enrique said, “That cinches it. The guy’s got to be in the military. It’s pretty clear that Talbot reserved this line for his work.”

  I said, “You listened to all the messages?”

  “I did,” Teriko said.

  “And you’re sure all the calls came from military personnel?”

  “Pretty sure. Here. You can listen for yourself.” She pressed the play button.

  After the day and time, a woman said, “Major Talbot, Sergeant Crowley. You have a fifteen hundred meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Sanders on—”

  I said, “Move on.”

  She went to the next message. “Hey, hey, Major Talbot, it’s Captain Bingle. I won’t be able to gin up numbers on the force structure allocations. I just got the word I’m being sent TDY to Barksdale—”

  At my nod, Teriko skipped to the third message. “Franklin, Lowell Tenpas. Bad news. We’ll need your talking paper on the POM by Tuesday morning. Sorry for the short notice. I’ve scheduled you to brief…”

  Terkiko looked up at me. “There are eleven messages. All similar. Everyone who called made a reference to military rank or—did I say something?”

  I didn’t reply. The message had just ended and I was staring at the machine.

  “My God,” I murmured.

  The words just came out. The instant I said them, I knew I’d made a mistake. Looking around the room, I saw everyone staring at me.

  “What is it, Martin?” Simon asked. “What did you hear?”

  My mind was spinning as I tried to figure out my next move. I asked Teriko to play the message again. After she did, I knew there’d been no mistake; I’d heard the name correctly.

  “All right,” Simon said, eyeing me. “What’s so significant about the message?”

  I shrugged. “Major Talbot was supposed to brief Major General Baldwin on Tuesday.”

  “No kidding,” Amanda said dryly.

  Simon said, “I assume you know this General Baldwin.”

  I hesitated. “I know him.”

  He waited for me to expand. I didn’t.

  He went on, “I recall a General Baldwin who ran the Air Force during the Gulf War?”

  “An older brother. The Baldwins are a prominent military family.”

  Amanda nodded. Everyone in the military was familiar with the Baldwins, whose service to the country dated back to the Civil War.

  Simon again contemplated me, expecting me to say more. He bluntly asked me how General Baldwin could be connected to the murder.

  “I don’t know that he is.”
<
br />   “I see.” He seemed increasingly puzzled by my reluctant manner. “Could he have made the call threatening Talbot?”

  “It wasn’t his voice.”

  “But you still think the general could somehow be involved?”

  “I have no reason to believe that.” It was more of a quibble than an outright lie.

  Simon’s jaw tightened in exasperation. “Martin, please. If you know something pertinent—”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “Oh, stop it, Marty,” Amanda said. “You practically laid an egg on the floor. You think General Baldwin might be connected to the killing. Why?”

  I felt her eyes cut through me. “I’m not allowed to say.”

  She was incredulous. “Not allowed? This is a homicide investigation.”

  Simon’s face darkened. “Enough of this nonsense, Martin. I want you to tell us. What are you doing?”

  The only thing I could.

  I was walking out the door.

  7

  “Marty!”

  As I hustled onto the balcony, I glanced behind and saw Amanda pop out from the office. “Dammit, Marty! Get back here.”

  I took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the curious stares from the fingerprint technicians.

  “Marty, I swear to God I’ll call General Hinkle. He’ll order you to tell us.”

  I reached the foyer and looked back. Amanda was standing at the top of the stairs, her face tight with anger. “I’ll do it. I’ll call him. Don’t think I won’t.”

  I shrugged. “So call him. It won’t change anything.”

  “Meaning you still won’t tell us?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You’re such an ass.” She spun on her heel and stormed back to the office.

  By now the technicians were regarding me with crooked smiles. Berber hair grinned. “I’d say that’s one pissed-off lady.”

  “What was your first clue?” I said dryly.

  He laughed. “Kinda makes you feel sorry for the guy.”

  “Which guy?”

  “The one who gave her that rock she’s wearing. Poor bastard probably has no idea what’s coming.”

  I was curious how he knew this. As big as Amanda’s diamond was, he would still have to be damned observant to notice the protrusion through her gloved hand.

  “I noticed it a couple days ago,” he said, when I asked. “Musta been Wednesday. She dropped by the precinct to have lunch with Lieutenant Santos—say, you don’t look so good. You okay, buddy?”

  I wasn’t, but managed a smile anyway. “I’m fine. How do I get to the basement?”

  “Through the kitchen. Going to hide out there until she cools off, huh? I do the same thing with my old lady. Nine years we’ve been married and the only peace I get is when…”

  I was walking away.

  Simon and Amanda.

  All I could think about was the possibility, just the possibility that it could be true. I kept telling myself Simon wouldn’t move in on someone I cared about. He wouldn’t.

  By the time I reached the kitchen, I almost believed it.

  I found the staircase at the rear, near a butler’s pantry. Before heading down, I confirmed I was alone, freed my cell phone from my belt and punched in a number.

  “General Baldwin’s residence,” a male with an Hispanic accent said.

  I identified myself and ask to speak to the general. As I waited, I heard the faint sounds of conversation.

  Major General Samuel T. Baldwin IV came on the line thirty seconds later. As usual, he sounded thrilled to hear from me. After exchanging pleasantries, I asked him if he had a recent change of assignment and he said he did.

  “For the last two months,” he said, “I’ve been the chief of Air Force Manpower.”

  As intimated in the message I’d heard. Consulting my watch, I calculated the time for what I needed to do. “Mind if I drop by in say…half an hour?”

  A pause.

  When he spoke, I sensed his suspicion. Despite our history, he knew I wouldn’t pop by on such short notice without a good reason. “This a personal or professional visit?”

  “Something’s happened. We need to talk.”

  “I see.” Another pause. Longer. “Tonight’s not a good time. I’ve got a dinner party—”

  “Thirty minutes.” I ended the call before he could argue.

  While I didn’t seriously think he could be involved in the murder, there were too many connections for me to ignore. Not only was he Talbot’s boss, but I knew he could be capable of extreme violence. Then there was his attitude toward gays and his link to the threatening call.

  I hadn’t lied to Simon; it hadn’t been General Baldwin’s voice on the message. But his Crystal City high-rise apartment was just down the street from the bar where the call had been made.

  Another coincidence?

  I went down the steps into the basement, worried about what I might see on the surveillance tapes.

  The concrete box Enrique had described was wedged into a corner of the unfinished basement, not more than ten paces from the stairs. As I walked toward it, I realized Talbot could have locked himself in it, if he’d realized he was in danger.

  Again, this reinforced the theory that Talbot knew his killer.

  The steel door was open a sliver. I rapped once, got no response. As I pushed through, a familiar voice said, “No, shit? That recent, huh?”

  I eased into a cramped space not more than ten feet by six, packed with video equipment. Racks of video recorders lined much of two walls. Over to the right was a small control console with a desktop computer and a phone, two television monitors mounted above it. The monitor on the left was displaying a grid of images from various surveillance cameras. In the upper left rectangle, I saw the front gate; toward the bottom, cops walking up the hill toward the pool.

  My eyes shifted to a graying, bespectacled black man in a dapper tweed blazer, who was seated at the console, talking into the phone, an unlit pipe clenched in his teeth. He held up a finger to me. “Just a sec, Marty.”

  Appearances can be deceiving, but not in Billy Cromaritie’s case. He dressed like a professor at an Ivy League school and was easily as intelligent as one. While Billy analyzed evidence for a living, his passion was technology. Computers, digital cameras, flat-screen TVs, you name it, Billy always had to have the latest and greatest.

  Which explained why Simon sent him down here.

  Ending his call, Billy cocked an eyebrow. “Now that was interesting.”

  “What?”

  He removed his pipe from his mouth and waved it around the cubicle. “Notice anything?”

  “A boatload of VCRs.”

  “Look at the concrete between the cinder blocks.”

  I studied a portion of the wall, visible between the two TVs. “Concrete’s dark. It’s not close to being dry.”

  “That’s because it was poured a little over a week ago.”

  I stared at him.

  “Yeah. That was the security company on the line. I checked out two tapes and was wondering why they only had a couple days’ worth of images on them. Ron, the guy I was talking to, told me that’s because this thing was slapped together in four days. Talbot paid them double for a rush job. Double.”

  His meaning was clear. Whatever was the source of Talbot’s fear, it hadn’t manifested itself until last week.

  Two VHS tapes were stacked on the console. I asked if those were the ones he’d checked out.

  “Right. Both from cameras at the back of the house.”

  “And?”

  He looked longingly at his pipe before reluctantly sliding it into his blazer. “Saw the maid, Mrs. Chang. Also a gardener. Oh, and another lady. Kind of looked like my grandmother. She was here quite a bit over the last couple days. Probably Mrs. Johnson, the other housekeeper.”

  It made sense that the images on the tapes went back several days. Because the video recorders were motion activated, a single tape
could last a week or longer before being recycled. “No one else?”

  “Not yet. We won’t find anything. You heard that the tapes from the front of the house and the gate are missing?”

  “Yeah…” I was frowning quizzically at the television monitors.

  “Let me guess,” Billy said. “You’re thinking it’d be a pain in the ass if Talbot had to come down here, whenever someone came to the gate.”

  I nodded. “I’m also wondering how Talbot would even know if a camera had been activated by a motion sensor. He sure wouldn’t be sitting here, watching the whole time.”

  “Damn right he wouldn’t. A tone sounds whenever a camera comes on. Like a doorbell. When it goes off, Talbot can call up the cameras from any TV in the house. Sweet, huh?”

  “I didn’t hear the tone when I came up.”

  “Simon had me kill it. It was driving everyone nuts. It only took me a couple minutes to figure out how.” He tapped the computer, pleased with himself.

  I asked him how Talbot knew which camera picked up motion.

  “A menu pops up on the TV. It shows which cameras are active. It’s similar to this.”

  He clicked the mouse and swung the computer screen toward me. I saw a listing of the cameras, each with a corresponding number and a cryptic description of its location.

  “See the numbered boxes?” Billy said. “Notice how some are red but most are green?”

  “Green means active.”

  “Right. Most of the cameras are operating because of the people we got crawling around. Normally, they’d be red. With his fence, Talbot wouldn’t even have animals setting off the motion detectors.”

  I’d seen enough. With the missing tapes and the newness of the system, the odds were General Baldwin was in the clear. “You going to be around for a while, Billy?”

  “Most of the damned night. Once I wrap up in here, I’ve got to get my ass upstairs. The chief wants the house completely processed before we leave.” He shook his head gloomily. “Jesus, I hate celebrity killings. Everyone jumping through their ass. Give me a dead gangbanger anytime. You’re in and out, and home in time for Leno.”