Free A Slow Walk to Hell by Patrick A. Davis

he eased down behind his desk. I settled into an armchair across from him. After contemplating me for a beat, he said, “I wish I could say I’m glad you’re here, Marty.”
    “So do I, Sam.”
    “I assume there’s been a murder…”
    I nodded. He knew I worked homicides for the OSI.
    “With some connection to me?”
    “The victim worked in Manpower.”
    He waited for me to say the name. When I didn’t, he said irritably, “You going to tell me who it is?”
    I intended to, but at the moment I was reminding myself I had to ignore our friendship. I was a cop with a job to do.
    I said, “The name won’t be released for another hour, so I’ll need you to keep it under your hat…”
    “Give me the fucking name, Marty.”
    “Major Talbot.”
    “My God.” He popped upright. “When? How?”
    As I recounted the details, Sam progressed from a series of disbelieving head shakes to open-mouthed shock, finally settling on tight-lipped anger at the suggestion that someone who worked with Talbot might be responsible. By the time I finished my account, I concluded that his reactions communicated the appropriate levels of surprise and disgust.
    Still, something about them bothered me.
    “Who?” he demanded. “Who do you think is responsible?”
    “Don’t know. There was a threatening call on Talbot’s answering machine. It came from a male. We’re trying to ID him.”
    “Hell,” he grunted. “That could be anybody. You must have a reason to believe the caller worked in Manpower.”
    “Major Talbot had two phone lines in his house. The message was on the one that he reserved for his work.”
    Sam shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe this. I really can’t. I suppose you want to know if I’m aware of anyone who might have hated Talbot enough to kill him.”
    “Yes.”
    “The answer is no. If Talbot had problems with someone, I wasn’t aware of it. Nobody reported anything to me.”
    “So you’re not aware of anyone who might have threatened Talbot?”
    He blinked at me. “Of course not.”
    It wasn’t unusual that Sam would be in the dark about personal conflicts among the people in his directorate. As a general, he wouldn’t be privy to worker-bee gossip.
    I asked him if Talbot might have been working on a classified project. Something which could have led to his killing.
    Baldwin snorted even before I finished. “Get real, Marty. We’re not talking about the National Security Agency here. Manpower is full of bean counters.”
    Essentially what I’d told Simon.
    Now came the hard part and I braced myself for his response. I’d run across people with a shorter fuse than Sam, but not many. Keeping my voice casual, I said, “How well did you know Major Talbot?”
    “Not very. I got over two hundred people in the directorate. Most I still don’t know. Like I said, I’ve only been the chief for a couple months. I’m familiar with Talbot because he’s briefed me several times.” He shrugged.
    “I need you to be more specific on your contacts with him, Sam.”
    He frowned. “More specific?”
    There didn’t seem any way to sugarcoat the question, so I asked him straight out. “Have you ever had a personal conversation with Major Talbot?”
    “A personal conversation? Why would you care—”
    He stopped. It dawned on him what I was really asking. In an instant, his jaw muscles knotted and his nostrils flared. I knew what was coming and tried to head it off by saying, “Easy, Sam. I had to ask because—”
    Too late.
    At that instant, he erupted in a dramatic fashion. He shot forward in his chair, his face twisted in rage. “You fucking son of bitch. You’re disgusting, Marty. You really are. You think you can walk in here and accuse me without cause. Just because of something that happened twenty-five years ago. Well, fuck you. Of all people, I can’t believe that you…”
    His voice rose with every word. He wasn’t shouting, but he was close. I said, “Sam, take it easy. Your