“Right.”
Corva slid a wrapped sandwich across the coffee table and unwrapped his own.
Tyson opened his wrapper and lifted the long piece of Italian bread. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s eggplant, capers, olives, tomatoes, and some other good stuff. Beneath that is provolone. Then Genoa salami, prosciutto, capocollo, mortadella—”
“This will put a hole in my stomach. I could taste that fucking strega when I woke up.”
Corva bit into his sandwich. He spoke between mouthfuls. “Anyway, the hearing convenes at nine A.M. in the Jackson room. It has some of the features of a grand jury except there is no jury—only the Article 32 investigating officer, this fellow who took over from Harper, Colonel Farnley Gilmer.” He peered at Tyson. “Where do WASPs get these names?”
“Family names. Had a friend at school named Manville Griffith Kenly.”
“Christ. What did you call him?”
“Shithead.” Tyson picked up his sandwich and bit into it. He chewed cautiously, then nodded. “Not bad. . . .”
Corva glanced at his notes. “Anyway, Colonel Gilmer is supposed to be impartial, like Harper. He is not supposed to be perfecting a case for the government. But he knows who pays him every month. Also, he is conducting a different sort of investigation than Harper did. Mostly he’s reading her report, coordinating the efforts of the army CID and the FBI in locating witnesses, using government resources to try to turn up any documentary evidence in the Army records bureau, and writing letters abroad regarding Sister Teresa. In addition, he’s speaking to the newly appointed Army prosecution team and calling me when the mood strikes him. On the phone he sounds like an all-right guy, but you can tell he’s nervous about fucking up. He’s so cautious that when I say, ‘How are you?’ he says, ‘Allegedly fine.’”
Tyson smiled for the first time that day.
Corva continued, “In the hearing itself, Gilmer is sort of a judge, jury, and moderator. However, there are instances when he performs some of the functions that are performed by a district attorney in a civilian grand jury. He does not have to literally change hats for this, but I always thought it would be good comic relief if that were required.”
“Christ, Vince, no wonder they won’t let the press in.” Tyson sprawled out on the couch. “I’m practicing my military bearing for the hearing. Continue.”
“Right. There will also be a court reporter present. We will be present, and most importantly, the prosecuting team will be present. We will have an opportunity to see the face of the enemy. There are three of them.”
“There is one of you.”
“I could ask for one or two Army-appointed lawyers, if you’d like.”
“Do you want them?” asked Tyson.
“I prefer to work alone.”
Tyson considered a moment. He said, “Wouldn’t it be better from the standpoint of appearances and psychology if we had JAG lawyers in uniform present?”
Corva picked a piece of cheese out of his sandwich and chewed on it. “Well, it would look good to Colonel Gilmer and to any court-martial board that is convened to hear your case. However, the presence of Army defense lawyers in uniform will give the subtle appearance that we concur with this whole travesty of justice. You have to be in uniform, of course, but I want you to somehow look and act like a civilian, with a civilian lawyer, who is being tried by a military tribunal. That is very un-American looking, and that’s the way I want it.”
Tyson rubbed his jaw in thought. “Okay, just you and me, Vince. Do you know anything about the prosecution team?”
“Yes, I know they are a very tough bunch. Their names are Colonel Graham Pierce, Major Judith Weinroth, and Captain Salvatore Longo.”
Tyson put his head back on the couch’s armrest and stared up at the ceiling. He observed, “The Army is an equal opportunity employer.”
“So it seems,” Corva said. “The real problem is Colonel Pierce.”
Tyson lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings into the air. He flipped his ash on the floor. “What do you know about him?”
Corva thought a moment. “You want it straight?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. . . . First, he does mostly murder cases. He, like Van Arken, was on the prosecution staff in the Calley case. Before that he was an Army prosecutor at Long Binh. He tried capital cases there too. Sent a good many GIs home early. To Leavenworth. He is a protégé of Van Arken and, therefore, a prick. He may one day be the next Judge Advocate General.”
Tyson sat up on the couch. He looked closely at Corva. “Tell me more.”
“All right . . . he is an accomplished trial performer but no buffoon, and the jury will never sense what a performer or a prick he really is. Only another lawyer can spot those sterling qualities. Also, he is a genius in the true sense of the word. I’ve seen him introduce pages of documentary evidence, then without looking at it, quote long sections verbatim. He could be a stage actor.”
Tyson leaned forward, his eyes on Corva.
Corva went on, “When he approaches the bench over some point of law, he can quote from the Manual for Courts-Martial, the UCMJ, and case law, chapter and verse, the way a Holy Roller can quote from the Bible. But he’s not pedantic. He’s quick-witted and has an analytical mind. He can switch tactics when he senses something isn’t working, like a good battlefield tactician. Thinks on his feet.”
Corva went on in a quickening voice. “He smells the weak points in the defense and attacks those weak points until he breaks through. Then when he’s behind your lines, he blows up your ammo dump, pisses in your water wells, and eats your food. Then if you try to retreat, he blocks you, turns you around, and pushes you into the arms of an ambush. If you attack, he makes a strategic withdrawal, then outflanks you and surrounds you. And he doesn’t let up until you raise the white flag. Then he’s magnanimous, like it was all just a jousting tournament, and he comes over to you wanting to shake hands and buy you a drink.”
Tyson said, “Sounds like he might be a bit of a problem.”
Corva drew a deep breath. “Well, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Not at all.”
“I mean,” continued Corva, “he is not invincible. He can be beaten.”
“Has he been?”
“No. He’s never lost one.”
“Then you both have perfect records.”
“Right. But I’m due for a miracle.”
“That’s right.” Tyson stood, went into the kitchen, and came back with a bottle of Sambuca. He poured a few ounces into his and Corva’s coffee mugs. “This is the first and last drink you’re getting here.”
Corva lifted his mug. “Salute.”
“Cheers.” Tyson drank and put down his mug. “That’s not bad. Like drinking a licorice stick.”
“This is good for digestion.”
“I think two fingers down my throat is what I need.” He sat on the arm of the couch. “So, have you ever faced Colonel Pierce?”
Corva nodded. “Once. At Fort Bragg. Eighty-second Airborne major. Violation of Article 114. Dueling.”
“Doing what?”
“Dueling. You know—ten paces, turn, and fire. That’s been outlawed in the Army for over a hundred years. Takes a lot of fun out of garrison life. Anyway, I tried to show the jury that my client was defending his honor as an officer and a gentleman. It was a very unusual case.”
“But with the usual outcome.”
“Be fair, Ben. They had this major dead to rights. He slapped a young captain who he suspected was diddling his fiancée, then invited the captain to a clearing in the woods for a duel—forty-five automatics, no seconds to be present.”
Tyson waited. “Well?”
Corva was picking up stray pieces of the sandwich from the wrapper and putting them in his mouth. “Oh . . . well, the captain showed up with six seconds—all MPs—and they dragged this major off. The captain was no fool. Anyway, Colonel Pierce decided he wanted to prosecute this one even though dueling is
not a capital offense. Even if someone gets killed. That’s quaint. Anyway, you don’t get many Article 114s.”
“What’s the Army coming to? I was thinking of committing an Article 114 with Captain Hodges.”
“You are not allowed to bear arms. That’s quaint, too. Lots of quaint customs in military life.”
“Right. So, what did this chivalrous major get?”
“Well, the rounds in the forty-five were short-loaded. Not enough powder to kill anyone according to my expert witness. The major was no fool either. Anyway, the jury loved this guy. I got him off with one year suspended and not even a separation from the service. Colonel Pierce was very upset. That was the one and only time he failed to get jail time awarded.”
“He’s after you, Vince.”
“No, Ben, he is after you.”
Tyson smiled grimly.
Corva said, “But I’m ready for the son of a bitch.” Corva seemed lost in thought for some time. He said, “So that is how the hearing will stack up Friday. Colonel Gilmer officiates, Colonel Pierce and his two cohorts listen and watch.” Corva leaned forward. “Your demeanor should be one of cool detachment.”
“Like the bloodless upper-middle-class WASP that I am?”
“Yes, that’s right. Stay in character.” Corva reached for the Sambuca bottle, but Tyson moved it away. Tyson said, “I need this to unplug the sink.”
Corva continued, “Well, anyway, there are two theories regarding how the defense ought to proceed at a hearing. One: We can go into that hearing room prepared to fight every inch of the way to get the case dropped. Or two: We can assume that they mean to indict you even if we bring in six Carmelite nuns and the Archbishop of Hue, who swear you were taking communion with them in Da Nang that day.”
“Where are the six nuns and the archbishop?”
“Doesn’t matter. Point is, I believe they are going to indict you based on Brandt’s statement, which, by the way, Colonel Gilmer had Brandt swear to in writing. Farley’s statement is also a sworn statement now. I have a copy of both. Do you want to see them?”
“No. But what makes you certain they are going to indict me?”
“I guess you’re not following this case much.”
Tyson shrugged. “If they’re going to indict me anyway, do I have to show up?”
“Only in body,” replied Corva. “You see, Ben, I could drag in Sadowski, Scorello, Beltran, Walker, and Kalane. And they might just make one hell of a case for you. But this guy Colonel Gilmer will say to himself, ‘Why are these guys saying one thing, and Brandt and Farley are saying another?’ And he’ll answer himself, ‘Let’s have a court-martial to find out. Let’s have a seven-person jury decide.’ Or words to that effect. You see, Ben, unlike a civilian grand jury where a lot of people vote in secret, Gilmer has the only vote. And if that vote is cast to not indict, everyone will guess that was his vote because he’s the only one voting. Capice?”
Tyson nodded.
“And,” continued Corva, “this obscure colonel will be suddenly well known to his superiors. So let’s suppose Gilmer reads all the testimony, examines the facts, and we let him talk to our witnesses, and he does recommend that no indictment be forwarded. His decision, unlike a civilian grand jury’s decision, is not binding.”
“Then why bother with this farce?”
“Because some years ago the Army was forced to institute a grand jury system in order to protect the rights of the accused who were subject to too many discretionary command decisions. So the Army came up with this watered-down Article 32 hearing that still lets higher commanders reverse any decision of the make-believe grand jury type of hearing. The President at that time bought the goods and signed it into law. And so far the Supreme Court has been reluctant to hear any challenges to it. You see, the federal courts try to avoid this land mine of military justice. The premier of France, after the Dreyfus case, commented, ‘Military law is to law as military music is to music.’ If the federal courts had legal jurisdiction over you, you would still be a civilian. I would have raised three hundred legal questions by now, and eventually I would have plea-bargained this down to a fifty-dollar fine. But that’s not the case. You are going to sit in a room with some scared colonel who wants you out of that room as quickly as possible. If Colonel Gilmer goes home that night and prays for guidance from above, he will not be praying to God, but to General Van Arken. And even if Colonel Gilmer for some reason does not vote to indict you, then General Peters, post commander at Dix, will. And if Peters doesn’t vote to indict you, it can go right up to the Secretary of the Army, then Defense, then the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces, who happens to be a politician. But the government does not want those people to have to stick their necks out and make an unpopular decision. And I strongly suspect poor Colonel Gilmer senses that and would not want to cause anyone above him such anguish. So he will forward the indictment to General Peters, who, on the advice of his Staff Judge Advocate, will concur. General Peters will then issue orders convening a general court-martial.”
Tyson stood and walked to the window. He watched the rain awhile. “The script is already written.”
“No, never written. Just understood by everyone who plays.”
“I used to respect military justice.”
“I still do. I told you I’d beat this in a federal court. But I’m having a hell of a time beating military justice. Point is, you are guilty. So you had better still respect it.”
Tyson continued to stare out the window. “I don’t like not putting up a fight, even if it’s a losing fight.”
“If we put the defense witnesses on the stand, they will be subject to cross-examination. We will have prematurely revealed to Colonel Pierce our positions, our strengths and weaknesses.” Corva added, “But the decision is yours.”
Tyson regarded the gloomy, rain-sodden landscape. “Okay, we’ll hold the witnesses for a court-martial. Will Brandt and Farley testify for the prosecution?”
“Colonel Pierce will not call them for the same reasons I won’t call our troops. Colonel Gilmer will consider their sworn statements. I do have a lot of questions for Brandt and Farley, but I’ll have to ask them in front of a court-martial board.”
“What sort of questions?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked. Maybe you can answer a few of them ahead of time.”
Tyson turned from the window.
“You see, Ben, there is one way of convincing Colonel Gilmer that he doesn’t have to forward an indictment. And if his reasons are sound, the chain of command will concur, and you will be free.”
Tyson said nothing.
Corva fixed his eyes on Tyson’s and asked, “Is there something you can prove, either through Army records or through witnesses, that would show Colonel Gilmer and everyone that you and Brandt were enemies?”
Tyson stayed silent a moment, then replied, “No.”
Corva continued staring at him. “Why does Brandt hate you?”
“I didn’t say he did.”
“Do you hate him? I don’t mean because of this. I mean because of something that happened over there?”
Tyson considered the question. He replied, “No, I don’t hate him. I personally despise him. He was morally corrupt.”
“Will the accused expand on that?”
“Not at this time.”
“Can I tell you what Sadowski said to me? What he hinted to Harper and what she mentioned in her report?”
“What did Sadowski say?”
“He said you once beat the shit out of Brandt in front of the whole platoon. You kicked him and punched him repeatedly in the face. Then you threw him into a flooded rice paddy and wouldn’t let him out until he was covered with leeches.” Corva stared at Tyson. “He was half hysterical from the leeches, crying and begging you to let him come onto the dike.”
Tyson lit a cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “I seem to remember something like that.”
“What in the name of God would prompt
an American Army officer to beat and humiliate one of his own men? A medic, of all people.”
“I guess I was having a bad day.”
“Don’t be facetious, Ben.”
“Oh, look, Vince, you don’t want to hear it. It’s a war story.”
“I’ll listen to this war story.”
“Some other time. It’s not pertinent.”
“Not pertinent? It’s very pertinent to why Brandt has come forward and told this story.”
“It doesn’t change the story. Or the facts.”
“I’m not interested in facts! I’m only interested in showing that Brandt, in his hate for you and his desire for revenge, is not a credible witness.”
Tyson replied evenly, “Brandt is a respected doctor. And he has a corroborating witness.”
“What does Farley have against you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why did Brandt know to tell Andrew Picard that Farley was the one who would back up his story? He didn’t give Picard any other names. Only Farley.”
Tyson shook his head. “Maybe Farley was the only one whose whereabouts he knew. Maybe they kept up their wartime acquaintance.”
“A medical doctor and a strung-out paraplegic junkie? I doubt that. Were they good friends over there?”
“Not that I recall.”
Corva sat. “This is like pulling teeth. You are not going to tell me what motivates Brandt and Farley, though I think you know.”
“Maybe later, Vince, if it gets down to that.”
Corva snapped his briefcase shut. “Okay. So Friday it will be you and I and Colonel Gilmer and the prosecution team, a court reporter, and no witnesses for the defense or prosecution. Also, there will be two other people present.”
“Who?”
“Karen Harper, for one. She is in an advisory capacity to Colonel Gilmer.”
Tyson didn’t respond.
“Also, Colonel Gilmer has subpoenaed Andrew Picard.”
“Picard?”
“Yes. Not for the defense or prosecution, but as Gilmer’s own witness.”
“What does Gilmer want Picard to testify about?”
“Well, apparently Mr. Picard told Karen Harper a few things that didn’t appear in his book or in subsequent interviews, and Gilmer feels that oral testimony is the best way to discover more about those things.” Corva added, “You had a chat with Picard yourself.”
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