A Slow Walk to Hell (15 page)

Simon never intended to exclude the agents, but Flattop blew it by his arrogant manner. Simon would not allow himself to be bullied.

“No,” he said.

Flattop looked as if he’d been slapped. “We’re federal agents. You can’t prevent us from—”

Simon said, “Congressman.”

Harris appeared amused as he addressed Flattop. “Wait out here, Agent Hassall.”

“But, sir—”

“Wait.
You people have already screwed up enough for one day. Right, Coleman?” Harris glanced pointedly at the younger agent.

Agent Coleman immediately looked to the ground, embarrassed. Resentment flashed in Hassall’s eyes, but he wasn’t stupid enough to reply.

Both men drifted back.

“Lieutenant,” Mrs. Harris said. “If I could see Franklin now.”

After Simon passed them each a pair of latex gloves, he led them up the walkway. Amanda and I brought up the rear, watching Mrs. Harris with concern. As she approached the house, her cadence slowed and she clutched her husband’s arm even harder.

“She doesn’t look like Superwoman now,” Amanda said softly.

This was a name some political pundits had taken to calling her. I’d seen editorial cartoons, where she’d been pictured wearing a cape with a big S.

“Simon’s right,” I said. “She shouldn’t have come.”

D
r. Cantrell’s assistant Maggie and two white-jacketed EMTs were waiting in the hallway with Enrique. They watched with a mixture of respect and awe as Simon escorted Congressman Harris and his wife into the media room. Talbot’s body had been prepped for transport and was lying on a gurney, encased inside a neoprene body bag. Simon pulled the zipper down only far enough to reveal Talbot’s face. His penis had been removed from his mouth, but you could still see the mass of coagulated blood crusted to his lips and chin. Mrs. Harris fell upon his body and began to cry. Loud, shrieking sobs. She wailed, “My boy…my boy…” Her husband tried to comfort her, but she kept pushing him away. Even though we witnessed her devastation, it didn’t mesh with our mental image of her. In public, she was always so supremely confident and in control. Yet here she was, reacting not as some distant aunt or a detached political superstar, but as a very human mother who had lost a child. I knew only too well this kind of emotional pain. When Nicole had passed away, I’d wanted to die too.

“Explains about the trust fund,” Amanda whispered.

“And something else.”

Her eyes followed mine to Harris. Simon was watching him, too. Even now, as the congressman gazed upon his distraught wife hugging the corpse of his nephew, his expression remained blank and unresponsive.

“Cold,” Amanda said.

After a minute, Congressman Harris pulled his wife off Talbot’s corpse. She struggled briefly; she didn’t want to go. In the hallway, she collapsed again and I came forward to assist Harris. Simon caught my eye and shook me off. It was the correct call; it wasn’t my place. Harris guided his wife down the tiled corridor and out the front door, where his entourage was waiting. The personal assistant, Abigail Gillette, immediately rushed forward.

“Wait, Abbie,” the press secretary Slater said sharply.

Gillette froze, her expression quizzical.

“You,” he said to Simon, Amanda, and me. “Over there.” He jabbed a thumb at the edge of the porch.

We looked at him as if he was certifiable.

He clapped his hands impatiently.
“Now,
people. We haven’t got all night.”

Simon bristled; he wasn’t going to comply. I wasn’t either. Who the hell did this pompous jerk think he was. This was a crime scene and—

“Do it, Lieutenant.”

We glanced over to the steps, where Harris stood with his wife. He was glowering at us. “Move.”

Simon’s jaw muscles flexed, but he eased over. Amanda and I followed.

“Thank you,”
Roland Slater said.

He turned his stocky frame and fixated on the front gate. Flashes continued to pop off at a dizzying rate. Slaterspun back to the Harrises, contemplating them from several angles. Harris had an arm around his wife’s waist, hugging her close. Slater made a twisting motion with his hand. On cue, the congressman turned his body, until he and his wife were lined up the with gate. “Perfect, Garrison,” Slater said, grinning. “Absolutely frigging perfect. Now give me sad.”

Harris’s facial muscles relaxed.

Slater paced before him, chattering instructions. “Not too much. We talked about this. I’m looking for an
impression
. You’re trying to be strong in the face of adversity. Better, better. Hand higher on her a back. Pillar of strength. That’s it. Jesus, this is going to be good. We’re talking another ten million votes easy.” He stepped off to the side, beaming.

“I think,” Amanda said, “I’m going to puke.”

Simon and I nodded, similarly sickened.

This was hardball politics taken to the nth degree. By tomorrow, the image of Harris comforting his grief stricken wife would be plastered across the front page of every paper in the country. Something told me that the congressman’s poll numbers were about to rocket out of sight.

For a full minute, the congressman and his wife remained on the steps, so every photographer with a telephoto lens could shoot off a roll. The entire time, Mrs. Harris remained pressed up against her husband. She seemed completely out of it. I don’t think she was even aware of this impromptu photo shoot.

“Okay,” Slater announced, rubbing his hands. “That’s a wrap.” He winked at Harris. “We got a winner, boss, believe me. Start practicing your inauguration speech, Mr. President. What are you waiting for, Abbie? Take Mrs. Harris to the helicopter. Chop, chop.”

Gillette hurried forward, tenderly took Mrs. Harris from her husband, and led her away. After a few steps, Mrs. Harris shook off her hand and turned to look back toward Simon. Her grief had disappeared, replaced by a look of quiet anger.

“Find the bastard who did this, Lieutenant,” she said.

“We will, Mrs. Harris,” Simon said.

She nodded and seemed to will herself upright. Without another word, she continued down the walkway under her own power.

“Curious,” Simon said.

Amanda and I frowned at him, then realized he was watching the two Secret Service agents. Both were looking at Mrs. Harris’s retreating figure, shaking their heads. Finally, the younger agent Coleman reluctantly detached and walked after her, while Hassall remained.

“Curious,” Simon said again.

Simon, Amanda, and I remained on the porch while Congressman Harris and Slater ducked into a shadowed area near some bushes, to avoid the photographers and began to converse. We noticed them glance in our direction.

“You called it,” I breathed to Simon. “Harris had to be the one who leaked the killing to the press.”

A pensive nod. “But I never suspected he intended to capitalize on his nephew’s death. That’s what disgusts me the most. That this was so patently…ruthless.”

Amanda’s wrinkled brow mirrored mine. Simon wasn’t given to hyperbole. She said, “Ruthless?”

“I’m convinced that’s why Harris insisted that we not move Talbot’s body. He wanted his wife to view it for the purpose of generating the anguished reaction we saw. So when she was photographed, she would be completely sympathetic.”

“The fucking slimeball.” She glowered in the direction of Harris and Slater.

“Two slimeballs,” I corrected.

“Slater,” Simon agreed, “orchestrated this. He’s one of the most successful campaign managers in the country for the simple reason that he’s mastered the art of dirty politics. In the past, he’s been accused of slander and bribery, but nothing could ever be proved. Still, his underhanded tactics have made him something of a pariah among the political elite. Most ethical candidates wouldn’t dream of hiring him for fear he’d create a scandal. I’m surprised that Harris is willing to take this chance.”

I dimly recalled the criticism of Harris’s choice of Slater. At the time it didn’t get much press play because Harris had little chance of winning.

“Obviously,” I said to Simon, “Congressman Harris is willing to do almost anything to win. So far, it’s working. They’ve run a helluva campaign. What?”

Simon appeared deeply troubled. “It’s probably nothing. But in Congress, Harris was known for two things: his supreme ego and his integrity. The latter quality is what set him apart. He often cast votes out of conviction rather than blindly following the orders of his leadership. It cost him significant political capital early in his career, even led to his removal from several key committees. Yet he never wavered in his practice. That took courage. Then there’s the interview he gave last year, when he said he would never consider Slater as his campaign manager. Only a month later, he reversed himself and hired Slater.”

Amanda and I shared a look. Simon was off on another tangent. She said, “And this relates to the murder because…”

“It’s an inconsistency that bothers me. I’m curious why someone who spent a lifetime adhering to certain standards of behavior would suddenly change. There must be a catalyst. Some reason.”

“You bet there is,” I chimed in. “The guy wants to be president so bad he can taste it.”

“Perhaps,” Simon said. “But character is an innate quality not easily altered. If power drove Harris, why spend a career alienating much of his own party? It certainly cost him the House Speaker’s position.” With a shrug, he added, “At any rate, this explains why Harris changed his mind about the press coverage.”

Simon was suggesting that Harris hadn’t originally intended to use Talbot’s death for publicity, but had been convinced to do so by Slater. Was that a point in Harris’s favor? Hardly. He’d still agreed to go along.

Truthfully, I didn’t think Simon should be all that surprised that Harris had sold out his ethics. After all, this was what modern-day politics had become. Character and substance didn’t matter. It was all deception and illusion, and the candidate with the most money and the best PR campaign invariably won. “Hell of a system,” I muttered.

“What was that, Martin?” Simon asked.

“Looks like his highness wants to talk,” Amanda said.

Harris was beckoning to us in a majestic manner. Egotistical slimeball or not, you don’t blow off a potential president unless you’re crazy.

“Martin—”

Simon stepped close and lowered his voice. “Do you really believe General Baldwin is innocent?”

“He’s not capable of murder.”

“But he was here.”

“I’ll talk to him again. He’ll have an explanation.”

He hesitated.

“Simon, if he is innocent, you will destroy him.”

Silence. He was weighing the consequences of what I was asking. “Let me do the talking.”

As Amanda and I trailed him down the steps, I felt a spark of hope.

He hadn’t said no.

H
arris was smiling as we approached him. It was a politician’s smile—big and wide and insincere as hell.

He wanted something from us.

We stopped at the edge of the shadowed area, where he and Slater had taken refuge from the cameras. Hassall was planted several yards away, engaged in his mannequin routine.

Still smiling, Harris said, “Just wanted to say how much Teresa and I appreciate your cooperation. She needed to see Franklin. Prove to herself that he was really dead. She loved that kid.”

“And you didn’t?” Simon asked.

Christ
—Amanda and I stared at him. We couldn’t believe he’d dare to say this.

Harris had a puzzled look. He peered at Simon as if uncertain that he’d heard him right. I braced myself for the inevitable confrontation. No way would Harris stand for insolence from a—

Harris shrugged dismissively. “Hell,” he said, “I guess it’s no secret the kid and I had our problems over the years. But recently we’ve grown closer. Was our relationship perfect? No. But he was the closest thing I had to a son.” His eyes narrowed. “And that’s why I’m here, talking to you, Lieutenant. You heard Teresa. We want the bastard…the animal…who butchered our son. That’s the only way we’ll have peace. You understand me?”

Though his words came across as sincere, we knew he was going through the motions. His reaction to Talbot’s corpse had already proven that he didn’t give a damn about his nephew.

But for some reason, he wanted to make us think he did.

Simon said, “We’re doing everything we can, Mr. Congressman.”

“You know I was a DA? Prosecuted a lot of murder cases?”

Vague nods. We’d seen his TV ads, portraying his legal heroics.

“What about suspects?” Harris asked. “Anything yet?”

I held my breath, watching Simon.

He hesitated fractionally. “No, Mr. Congressman.”

I exhaled. Amanda immediately fired me a worried glance. She was praying I was right about General Baldwin’s innocence.

“No
suspects?” Harris said. “What about Colonel Kelly? He’s got motive. He hated Franklin ever since that incident when he accused him of…” He grimaced, unwilling to say the word. “Anyway, I told you he threatened Franklin on several occasions.”

“We require proof of those threats. Until then, we—”

“You
have
proof. You have the message from last night. That’s direct evidence of motive.” His diction was clipped, exasperated.

Simon responded with a slow blink, as if surprised at something Harris had just said. He answered, “We’ve interviewed Colonel Kelly. He asserts he was drunk and only intended to frighten—”

“And you
believed
him? Come on, Lieutenant. Does the man have an alibi? Have you even
checked?”

“We have, Mr. Congressman.”

“And?”

“He doesn’t appear to have one.”

“Let me get this straight. Kelly had motive, opportunity, and no alibi and you
don’t
consider him a suspect. What the hell kind of investigation are you running anyway?” He glanced at Slater who responded with a smirk.

Simon kept his cool. As a homicide cop who worked near the nation’s capitol, he was used to working with self-important assholes. In a polite voice, he said, “We think there’s another motive for the killing, Congressman Harris. We found some tapes that are suggestive…” He tapered off with a meaningful look.

Harris ignored the hint. “What kind of tapes?”

“We should discuss the matter in private, Mr. Congressman.”

“Just fucking tell me, Lieutenant.”

So Simon reluctantly did. Hassall reacted with surprise, but neither Harris nor Slater so much as raised an eyebrow. They’d both obviously known Talbot was gay and I wondered if this was why Harris had resented his nephew and never adopted him. Recalling Simon’s comment about a homosexual relative being a detriment to a politician, I was pretty certain I knew the answer.

“Franklin was gay,” Harris said, when Simon finished his description of the videos. “He taped his lovers. So what? Is that a crime?”

“If it was the motive behind the murder.”

Harris snorted. “Be serious. Franklin was in the Air Force, remember? Why would he out anybody?”

Simon was silent.

“And didn’t you tell me,” Harris went on, “that Colonel Kelly believed Franklin was responsible for him not getting a star? You ask me, that’s what probably set Kelly off. Pushed him over the edge.”

Simon still said nothing.

“Lieutenant…Lieutenant…” Harris shook his head in a disdainful manner. “I know your reputation, but frankly I’m having some serious doubts here. Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but if I were you, I’d concentrate on Colonel Kelly. He hated my nephew and that’s what we’re talking about here. Hate.” His eyes bored into Simon’s.

“Colonel Kelly,” Simon said quietly, “is still of interest, Mr. Congressman.”

“He’d better be. Hassall, give the lieutenant my card. Santos, I expect you to brief me daily on your progress. When you decide to arrest Kelly, contact me immediately.”

Harris stepped back, signaling he was finished. Looking toward the gate, he said, “Rolly, let’s hold off on giving a press statement until the morning. I’m beat and we need to get Teresa home. I want her rested for her speech at Virginia Tech tomorrow. Any word on the network coverage?”

“The networks will show tape on the evening news. CNN will cover it live if General Murdock comes through with his endorsement.”

“If? The bastard gave me his word.”

“Murdock’s catching grief from the military community. You haven’t exactly been a big defense supporter over the years.”

“Goddammit, I want his endorsement.”

“I’ll talk to him. He’ll come around.”

“He damned well better.”

Harris and Slater walked by us down the walkway.

Amanda murmured to me, “Another connection to your alma mater.”

It did seem curious that Virginia Tech kept popping up. Still, it wasn’t unusual that the Harrises would go there. Notwithstanding the endorsement they were seeking, it was the largest university in the state, with an enrollment of more than twenty-five thousand. Toss in the parents of the student body and you were talking a lot of potential votes.

Agent Hassall came toward us, producing a card from a pocket. He passed it to Simon, accompanied by a “fuck you” look.

The man didn’t learn.

Smiling pleasantly, Simon said to him, “I know Director McChesney.”

Hassall stiffened at the name of the Secret Service chief.

“He’s a personal friend,” Simon said. “I wonder if he’s aware of your rudeness or that you’d screwed up today?” He still had a pleasant smile.

A silence. Hassall squinted at Simon, trying to decided if he was telling the truth about his relationship to McChesney. A tongue flickered nervously across his lips; the answer was yes.

“There was no screwup,” Hassall said. “It was a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Hassall said again. He hurried away.

Amanda said to Simon, “You really know McChesney?”

“We worked on several task forces before he became director.”

“Oh, Lieutenant…” Harris had stopped at the end of the walkway and was looking at us. “It occurred to me that you might be reluctant to release information about my nephew’s homosexuality. Not a problem. I believe it’s crucial toward finding his killer. I
did
make it clear that I believe this is a hate crime?”

“Quite clear, Mr. Congressman.”

“Good. Good. Just so there’s no confusion.” He continued across the lawn with Slater and a worried looking Agent Hassall.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Marty?” Amanda said uneasily.

“Yeah. The military’s in trouble if he pushes the hate crime angle.”

She shook her head. “I actually considered voting for that asshole.”

A surprising revelation because of Harris’s liberal politics. Still, Amanda wasn’t the first conservative to consider supporting him. Several prominent Republicans had raised eyebrows by endorsing Harris. This trend was apparently going to continue with the endorsement of General Murdock, whom Harris and Slater had been discussing. Murdock, who’d retired from the Army to become the commandant of cadets at Virginia Tech, was arguably the country’s most popular military figure thanks to his spectacular orchestration of the second Iraq War. As to why a hawk like him would side with Harris, I couldn’t even guess. Amanda’s case, however, was a different story.

“Sure,” she said, when I asked her. “I was really going to vote for Teresa Harris. You can’t help but admire a woman like her.”

Proving that for some, gender was more important than party affiliation.

“Congressman Harris,” Simon called out suddenly. “A final question.” He waved an arm over his head and ran across the grass toward him. And Simon never ran.

It didn’t take Simon long to get an answer.

He spoke with the congressman for only a few seconds before Harris followed Slater into the helicopter. Hassall crawled in behind them and pulled the door closed.

Simon stepped away as the engine roared to life. He watched the helicopter lift off, then began retracing his steps.

“Okay, Marty,” Amanda said, “any guesses why Harris wants this to be a hate crime perpetrated by Colonel Kelly? Because that’s damn sure what he seems to want.”

“Harris must believe he can use the hate crime angle to gain a political advantage.”

“How? By indicting the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy? Suggest it influenced Colonel Kelly to commit the murder?”

“That’s the scenario the SECDEF was worried about.”

The helicopter noisily chattered past us, heading east toward the Potomac River and the congressman’s Maryland estate. As it disappear into the night, Amanda appraised me with skepticism. “I dunno, Marty. All that will do is put the military on the defensive and he’s trying to
gain
their support.”

I shrugged. “Even with Murdock’s endorsement, Harris knows most of the military won’t vote for him. Maybe he figures he’s got nothing to lose by attacking Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”

“I still don’t see how that translates into a political advantage for Harris. It’s not like the president is going to be tainted by this.”

“He’s the commander in chief. Chances are, he’ll feel obligated to defend the military’s position.”

“But most of the public doesn’t support gays serving openly in the armed forces. Look what happened to Clinton. He got his ass handed to him over the issue.”

I wasn’t sure if her assessment held true any longer. Over the years, the American public had grown more tolerant and it was possible that—

“Uh-oh,” Amanda said. “Bad news.”

Simon was less than twenty yards away, striding rapidly, his lips pressed into a tight line. Obviously, Harris’s response had displeased him. As he walked up, I asked him what the problem was.

“Time,
Martin.” He made an angry, stabbing motion in the direction of the departed helicopter. “I don’t understand how Congressman Harris knew the time.”

“Of?”

“Colonel Kelly’s message. How could Harris have known when it was made?”

Amanda said, “I thought you told him—”

“I didn’t. I only told him Kelly had left a threatening message. I never said anything about the time of the call.
So how did he know?”

She was unsettled by the intensity of his gaze. “I…well, I suppose it could be because—”

She visibly started. I caught on a split second later and we both regarded Simon in shock.

“Simon, this is
crazy,”
Amanda said. “You’re suggesting that Congressman Harris would—”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m
telling
you that there are only two ways Congressman Harris could have known about the time of Colonel Kelly’s message. The first is if Major Talbot had mentioned it to him or his wife. But the congressman informed me that he hadn’t spoken with his nephew in several weeks and his wife hasn’t mentioned any recent conversation. Now whether Harris was involved in the murder, I don’t know. What I
do
know is that someone listened to Colonel Kelly’s message and relayed its contents to him. It’s highly unlikely that this person would be one of the maids, and since we know Talbot lived alone, that leaves only—”