A Slow Walk to Hell (32 page)

“All right. Let’s do it. Coming, Garrison?”

“In a minute.”

As Teresa Harris and Slater walked past us to the door, she said, “Where the hell is Abigail? Those stage lights can be brutal. I’ll need my makeup retouched.”

“She went to find somewhere quiet to make calls,” Slater said. “I’ll have Donna run her down. Have you decided what to cut from the speech?”

“Social Security and universal health care—”

“Perfect. These kids don’t care about medical coverage. They think they’ll live forever. Go after the president’s economic policies hard. Particulary the rising unemployment. That’s the one thing these kids understand. Jobs. A lot of them will be graduating and if we frighten them…”

“I know what I’m doing, Rollie.”

“Hey, hey. Relax. I’m only
reminding
you….”

They continued into the outer office. Amanda was frowning, as I was. We wondered why Simon hadn’t said anything. We watched Slater and Teresa Harris disappear into the hallway, Agent Coleman in tow.

Still, Simon said nothing. He seemed content to stand quietly, looking at Congressman Harris.

“I understand,” Harris said to him, “that you’re here to brief me on the case against Colonel Kelly.”

“Yes, Mr. Congressman.”

“By the way, nice work, Lieutenant. I knew he was responsible. Sorry, I had to pull strings, but it all came out in the end. No hard feelings, huh?”

“None, Mr. Congressman.”

Simon was smiling. It was a pleasant smile and seemed distinctly out of place. I saw Amanda stiffen slightly. Like me, she sensed this meant Simon was getting ready to drop the bomb.

I folded my arms and prepared for the explosion.

Except the explosion never materialized. Rather than going nuclear, Simon tossed out what amounted to little more than a stun grenade. He said, “Tell me about the club, Mr. Congressman.”

“Club?” Harris frowned. “What club?”

“The one northwest of Manassas. It’s in the country about thirty miles away. You don’t know of it?”

“Should I?”

“It’s where the videotapes were made, sir.”

“Videotapes? The ones Franklin had?”

“Don’t you know, sir?”

“No, I don’t.” Harris was getting irritated. He seemed to have no idea what Simon was talking about. “What the hell is this, Lieutenant? I thought you were here to
brief
me on the evidence against Colonel Kelly.”

“I’m getting to that, sir.”

A woman stuck her head in the door. “Congressman, we need to leave now if you want to be on stage before the introductions.”

“Christ.” To Simon, he said, “Well, you better do it damn quick, Lieutenant. I’m a busy man. When I return, I expect answers, not questions. You understand me?”

“I understand, sir.”

“Let’s go Tanya.” Harris hurried from the room, gathering several aides as he went. The Secret Service agent I hadn’t recognized followed the group, talking on a radio.

Amanda murmured, “He really didn’t know, did he?”

“No,” Simon said.

This was why he’d danced around the club and the videotapes: to judge Harris’s reaction and determine whether Sam’s assessment of his innocence was correct. From what we saw, it was. I wondered why Simon wanted to clear this up now. It didn’t really prove anything. Harris’s guilt or innocence would come out later, once a more comprehensive investigation was completed.

Before I could ask Simon about this, he said, “Excuse me for a moment.”

“Where are you going?” Amanda asked.

Simon slipped out of the conference room. He looked suddenly anxious about something. Pausing in the outer office, he took out his cell phone and contemplated it. Shaking his head, he returned it to his jacket, stepped over to a desk, snatched up a receiver.

Amanda said, “What was that all about? He didn’t want to use his own phone.”

“I wish I knew.”

Reacting to something in my voice, she said, “Spill it. What’s bugging you?”

After I told her about the man I saw leaving the restroom, she said, “Maybe it was a television reporter Simon gave the tape to. When you think about it, that makes more sense anyway.”

“The guy didn’t strike me as a reporter. He looked more like a businessman or an accountant. He had a briefcase.”

“Sure. He needed the case to hide the tape. Besides, who else could he be, if he wasn’t a reporter?”

Which was precisely the problem. He couldn’t be anyone but a reporter.

Could he?

Simon was still talking on the phone. Glancing at the television, I saw various dignitaries beginning to take their seats on the stage. General Murdock was sitting on the very end, opposite the podium. A burly man with red hair appeared and eased down beside him.

I realized I recognized him. It was Senator Tobias Hansen. Like General Murdock, he’d also been blackmailed by Slater. Hansen’s presence here puzzled me because he was the conservative senator who had previously endorsed Congressman Harris. Was he here to ratchet up the pressure on General Murdock, ensure he went through with his—

Another man appeared. He strode rapidly across the stage toward Senator Hansen. He leaned over and spoke to him. Only I was mistaken. He was speaking to
both
men.

Senator Hansen
and
General Murdock.

My mind kicked into overdrive. I tried to decipher what I was seeing, but couldn’t even come close. One thing I did know for certain was that Amanda was wrong. This man sure as hell wasn’t—

“Marty…”

Amanda was reading my face. She sighed. “What’s the problem now?”

“Simon.”

“Simon?”

“Something doesn’t smell right. Take a look at the man who is—” I stopped. Simon was reentering the office. His expression was relaxed, his earlier anxiety gone.

“Who is the man with the glasses?” I asked him.

His face went blank. “Man with glasses?”

I pointed to the television. “The guy talking to Senator Hansen and General Murdock.” As I said this, the man with the glasses turned and hurried from the stage.

Simon said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him—”

“You passed him the tape in the restroom.”

Amanda said,
“That’s
the guy?”

Simon went still, staring at me. Most people who get caught in a lie go on the defensive. Not Simon. His face darkened and he became angry. He snapped, “This doesn’t concern you, Martin.”

“The hell it doesn’t. Something’s going on here. Something between you and Senator Hansen and General Murdock—”

“Forget about this. It’s for your own good.”

There was an ominous quality in his voice. Amanda picked up on it too. “My God, Simon. What have you done? What
is
going on?”

A long silence. I would have bet a month’s pay he would never answer her, but he surprised me.

“I did what was necessary,” he said.

The blood drained from Amanda’s face. She knew Simon and knew the significance of these words.
I did what was necessary.

An instant later, we heard what sounded like a scream.

T
he scream was faint, muffled. It sounded as if it came from a room some distance away. The scream was followed by sounds of hysterical crying. We looked out the door into the main office. The remaining aides were rising to their feet, their faces quizzical. Then we saw expressions of growing alarm as they hurried into the hallway. Amanda ran after them, with me on her heels. Racing out the door, I looked back at Simon.

He was walking.

I swore. It was starting.

Amanda and I sprinted down the hall. We were running away from the stage, toward the entrance to the auditorium. We could still hear the crying. Ahead, I saw the aides duck into an office. One that should have been empty.

That’s when I knew who it was. Who it had to be.

She went to find someplace quiet to make calls.

As we ran, I kept looking for Secret Service, but didn’t see any. Harris wasn’t the president yet and would have a reduced security complement. Not more than eight or ten agents. And they would be manning the building’s entrances, or on the stage or inside the auditorium.

They wouldn’t be here.

Amanda and I darted inside the office. The cries abruptly quieted. We found ourselves in another large reception area, private offices toward the back. In the far corner, we saw an open door, the aides we’d been following cluttered around it. They parted to reveal a young man clutching a sobbing woman.

“Get back,” Amanda ordered, running up. “Police.”

The aides drifted aside. All wore expressions of horror. The man and the woman walked past us. She was young, no more than twenty-one or -two. Amanda and I went into the office and saw the victim immediately.

It was Abigail Gillette.

The big, muscular woman was lying on the floor in front of the desk, her chest matted with blood from several deep stab wounds. It only took a glance to see she was dead. Looking at her, I felt a complete absence of emotion. No regret, no sympathy, no pity.

Nothing.

Amanda rose after checking her carotid artery. “Still warm. Couldn’t have happened long ago.”

I nodded.

She looked to me. “What do we do?”

She was asking whether we should follow Simon’s advice, let this play out. For a moment, I was tempted to say yes. Just say yes and do nothing. It was more than because I felt Abigail Gillette deserved to die. Much more.

I knew who was responsible for her death.

When I revealed his name to Amanda, she said, “That’s impossible. He wouldn’t have time. We just got here ourselves.”

“It’s him. It has to be him because of the door. The one that was breached. Only he would know.”

“Huh?”

When I explained, I saw her nod her acceptance. “Coller,” she said. “He’s the one who killed Coller.”

“Yes.”

“Simon lied to us. He knew all along.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “But the rest of it. It’s crazy. You really think there’s a chance he will—”

“He broke the door for a reason.”

Her eyes held mine. “So what are you going to do?” she asked again.

I was still conflicted. I wasn’t aware I’d responded until I heard myself say the words.

“We’re police officers,” I said quietly.

Reluctance and disappointment registered on her face. Not the answer she’d been hoping for.

But as I hurried from the room, she was right behind me.

Simon was entering the outer office as we ran up. He said, “Abigail Gillette?”

I looked right at him. “Like you didn’t fucking know.”

His jaw knotted. Grabbing me hard by the elbow, he leaned close and whispered harshly. “You’re being foolish. Your interference will only cause trouble. It’s all arranged.”

“What’s all arranged?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. It’s not my decision.”

“Not your decision?
Whose the hell is it?”

He said nothing.

“God
dammit,
Simon—”

“People of influence. Do not interfere.”

“You talking about Senator Hansen, right? Who else? General Murdock?”

Another silence. I saw his frustration. This was a reflection of our divergent moral outlooks. He believed the end justified the means; I didn’t.

He abruptly stepped away from me and said stiffly, “I’ll notify the Secret Service.”

He went down the hallway, toward the stage. Still walking.

It was the long way. At Simon’s pace, it would take him over a minute to raise the alarm, which was his intention. That suggested that whatever was about to happen was going to happen soon.

“This way is quicker,” I said to Amanda. “There will be Secret Service guarding the auditorium entrance.”

I broke into a jog. After about five yards, I realized I was alone. Turning, I saw Amanda standing in the middle of the hall, shaking her head.

“Damn you,” she said.
“Damn
you.”

She began to run after me.

I sprinted up to the auditorium. The doors were closed, indicating the presentation had started. As I gripped a handle, I heard Amanda’s footsteps behind me. I yanked open a door and we ducked inside, pausing to let our eyes adjust to the darkness.

On stage, Dr. Peters, the university president, was at the podium, introducing Mrs. Harris. She remained off to his side, taking in his glowing words with apparent modesty. On the chairs behind the podium, we saw her husband sitting in the center, Slater in his customary position to Harris’s right.

“There,” Amanda whispered.

She gestured to the left. An agent was standing on the other side of the projection booth. It was Coleman. I gave him an urgent wave. He disappeared behind the booth, making his way toward us. Two more agents stood alongside the right wall of the auditorium—one about midway, one near the bottom—monitoring the audience.

“And now without further ado,” Dr. Peters said, “I’d like to introduce the next first lady of the United States of America, Teresa Harris.”

The auditorium erupted in enthusiastic applause. Teresa Harris stepped up to the podium. Behind me, a voice whispered, “What’s the problem?”

People seated nearby watched us curiously. Their faces were all young. Taking Coleman by an arm, I drew him back a few steps. “Something’s going to happen, but I don’t know what. We just found Abigail Gillette—”

“What the hell?”

This came from Amanda. At the same instant, a rumble of surprise rose from the audience. A man in the back row said loudly, “My God, is that who I think it is?”

Then a woman squealed: “It’s
her.
It’s really her.”

Turning, I saw Teresa Harris standing at the podium, beginning her speech. Behind her, images danced across the curtains at the rear of the stage. Because of the creases in the curtains, the images had a wavy, almost ghostly quality. It could have been a movie that had been inadvertently started, but we realized it wasn’t.

Someone was playing the video of Teresa Harris and Abigail Gillette having sex with Major Talbot.

Teresa Harris continued her speech, oblivious to what was going on behind her. Finally, she heard the gasps and titters and broke off, frowning. Hundreds of hands rose up, pointing.

“Oh,
fuck—”

Coleman rushed past me and tried to open the door to the projection booth. He began to pound on it. “Terry, what’s going on in there? Terry, open up. Dammit—”

At that instant, it happened. Like everyone else, I’d been watching Teresa Harris, waiting to see her reaction to the video. She was slowly pivoting, eyes crawling up the curtains. That’s when I noticed a sudden movement over to her right. On one of the chairs where the dignitaries were sitting.

Shifting my gaze, I saw Slater buck violently and clutch at his chest. He had a confused expression.

Then he slowly toppled forward, his hands falling away, and we saw the blood.