Sadowski answered, “The Army put us up at the guest house here. We got in last night. But your lawyer told us to make it a surprise.”
Beltran added, “I want to take you all to a Cuban restaurant in the city, called Victor’s. Then we go to another place for something else.” He turned to Tyson, but Tyson winked at him first and Beltran laughed. “Yeah! You coming, okay?”
Tyson said, “I’m under house arrest. But I can take you to dinner here at the club tonight.”
Kalane smiled. “They don’t let pfc’s in here, Lieutenant.”
Tyson said, “They do if pfc means private fucking civilian.”
Everyone laughed. They made small talk for a while. The door opened and Corva entered. He looked around the table, and his eyes rested on Tyson’s.
Sadowski called out, “Another fucking officer. Right, Vince?”
Corva smiled. “Right, Ski. First Lieutenant, infantry. The Twenty-fifth Division—Jungle Lightning. Best outfit in the fucking Nam.”
There were groans and jeers from the five men. Beltran said, “The Cav was the number-one ass kickers, and you know that if you were really in the Nam.”
Kalane added, “Charlie shit when he saw the Cav coming.”
Corva pointed at Tyson’s First Cavalry shoulder patch, a shield-shaped emblem with a black horse’s head above a diagonal black stripe against a color known as cavalry yellow. “See this?” He tapped the horse’s head. “This is the horse that you never rode . . .” He ran his finger along the diagonal stripe. “. . . this is the line you couldn’t hold. And the yellow speaks for itself.”
“Oh, bullshit!” snapped Sadowski.
“Fuck you!” said Kalane.
“Eat shit,” suggested Walker.
Corva held up his hand. “Just joking, men. Old Army joke. Everybody was jealous of the Cav.”
“Fucking-ay-right,” said Kalane.
Corva glanced at his watch. “Well, time to go.” He said to the five men, “I’d appreciate it if you’d hang out here, though I don’t think I’ll be calling on you.”
Tyson stood, and the other men rose also. Beltran produced a fifth of rum from his attaché case and emptied it into seven fresh coffee cups. “A little toast, gentlemen.” He raised the delicate cup in his beefy hand with the style of a man who is used to presenting toasts. He said, “A toast to the dead—God forgive me, but I can’t remember all their names, but He knows who they are.”
They all drank. Walker said, “And good luck to you, Lieutenant.”
Corva put down his cup and picked up his briefcase. “Well, into the valley of death rode the First Cavalry.”
Tyson shook hands with each man and left with Corva.
Out in the corridor Corva said, “Good to see unit pride.”
“It’s remarkable after nearly two decades.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” He added, “It can’t hurt us at the court-martial either.” Corva asked, “Were you happily surprised?”
“I wanted to beat the shit out of you.”
“But you looked like you were having a good time.”
“Well . . . I was glad to see them again after the initial awkwardness.”
“They seem like a fine bunch of men.”
Tyson walked in silence awhile, then said, “They are all murderers.”
“Yes, but they are our murderers.”
They climbed the stairs and stopped at the door of the reception room marked “Stonewall Jackson.”
Corva said, “Look everyone in the eye when you enter. It’s not necessary to salute Colonel Gilmer. Our table is on the right as you walk in. Any questions?”
“How did I get here?”
“You took the long way.” Corva opened the door, and they entered.
CHAPTER
40
It was a large handsome room with a highly polished wood floor, used for informal receptions and stag smokers. The front wall was brick with a fieldstone fireplace. The other walls were paneled in dark wood. Flanking the fireplace toward the ends of the brick wall were French windows with fanlights. Above the fireplace, appropriately enough, was an oil portrait of Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, who once served at Fort Hamilton before heading south.
In front of the fireplace was a podium, and behind the podium stood Colonel Farnley Gilmer. To Gilmer’s right was a bridge table at which sat Major Karen Harper.
Tyson and Corva took their places at a long banquet table along the right-hand wall. Directly across from them along the left wall was another banquet table at which sat Colonel Pierce, Major Weinroth, and Captain Longo. To the prosecution’s left front, Tyson noticed, was a court reporter, a pretty young pfc with blonde hair, freckles, and a sexy overbite, sitting at a portable olive-drab field desk of the type Tyson remembered from Vietnam. Other than the uniforms, that desk, and perhaps the oil painting of Jackson, there was nothing in the room to suggest a martial event was taking place.
The banquet tables were covered with floor-length white linen tablecloths. Tyson detected the faint odor of beer and stale smoke in the air.
In the far rear of the room were stacked about a hundred folding chairs. One of them had been opened and placed between the defense and prosecution tables, facing the podium. This, Tyson assumed, was the witness chair. An American flag on a stand had been positioned behind Karen Harper’s table.
Between the flag and the door, standing at a modified position of parade rest, was a young black sergeant in dress greens. Tyson assumed he was the sergeant at arms, though he was not armed and wore no helmet as he’d seen at courts-martial he’d witnessed.
Tyson noticed that the defense, prosecution, and investigating team were spaced far enough apart so that private talk carried on in a low voice could not be heard by the other parties.
Colonel Gilmer looked at his watch.
Tyson looked at Karen Harper, but she was reading something in her lap.
Pierce, Weinroth, and Longo had their heads together and were conferring.
The court reporter hit a few keys on her stenotype.
Vincent Corva was making notes on some typed papers. He put his pencil down, leaned toward Tyson, and whispered, “Ziti instead of shells. Why don’t you get that?”
Colonel Gilmer said, “Good morning. We are here to conduct a formal investigation into certain charges against Lieutenant Benjamin J. Tyson, ordered pursuant to Article 32b of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”
Colonel Gilmer looked at Tyson. “Lieutenant, you were informed of your right to be represented by civilian counsel at no expense to the United States or by military counsel of your own selection if reasonably available or by military counsel detailed by the Staff Judge Advocate at Fort Dix. You stated that you desire to be represented by Mr. Vincent Corva of New York City.”
Tyson regarded Gilmer a moment. He was about sixty, with short gray hair, a pleasant square face but a vacuous expression.
Gilmer continued, “Let the record show that Mr. Corva is present here with you.” Gilmer looked toward Corva. “Mr. Corva, I will ask you to step forward and enter your appearance by filling out item three on the official Investigating Officer’s Report.”
Corva stood and walked to Harper’s table. They exchanged a few words that Tyson couldn’t hear, and Harper slid a form toward Corva.
Tyson looked across the room and saw that Colonel Pierce was looking at him pensively. Tyson continued to stare at Pierce. He was not more than fifty years old, a young colonel. He had dark red hair and wore it longer than the Army would have liked. He affected a pair of reading glasses, but Tyson had seen him reading with and without them at the same distance. His complexion was strikingly red, and Tyson couldn’t tell if he’d been out in the sun too long or had dangerously high blood pressure.
Corva returned to the table and took his seat.
Colonel Gilmer referred to a procedural guide and began reading, glancing at Tyson from time to time. “Lieutenant, I want to remind you that my sole function as the Articl
e 32 investigating officer in this case is to determine thoroughly and impartially all of the relevant facts of this case, to weigh and evaluate those facts, and determine the truth of the matters stated in the charges. I shall also consider the form of the charges and make a recommendation concerning the disposition of the charges which have been preferred against you. I will now read to you the charges which I have been directed to investigate. They are as follows: Violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Article 118, murder. Specification One.” Gilmer began reading the long, convoluted sentence of the first specification. Tyson tuned out and focused instead on Major Judith Weinroth.
She was about forty, he guessed, and he saw no wedding ring, though that meant nothing anymore. The uniform looked awful on her, and Corva was right about recommending her to the post beauty parlor. Her expression was serious, all businesslike, the expression of the professional woman. But as he looked at her, Pierce whispered something in her ear, and she smiled one of the brightest, prettiest little-girl smiles Tyson had ever seen, and her whole face radiated beauty. But then the smile faded, and the face looked forbidding again.
Gilmer finished reading the second specification and said, “Lieutenant Tyson, I will now show you the charge and specifications.”
Karen Harper stood and walked across the polished floor. She stopped in front of Tyson and presented him with the charge sheet. Tyson took it with his outstretched hand as he turned to Corva and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t we have one of these?”
Corva said, “You can always use an extra one.”
The court reporter giggled, and Gilmer looked annoyed. Harper, too, seemed annoyed and gave Tyson a look to show it before she turned and went back to her chair.
Gilmer let a full minute pass, during which time Tyson was supposed to read the charge sheet to himself. Instead, he looked at Captain Salvatore Longo. He was young, perhaps in his late twenties, and probably not too long out of law school. His uniform seemed perfectly tailored, and his curly blue-black hair was perfectly styled. His skin was deeply tanned in the way that Tyson had seen only on people who did a lot of boating. Tyson didn’t think he was handsome, but he had no doubt Captain Longo had no trouble with women.
Colonel Gilmer again referred to something hidden behind the podium and said, “Lieutenant Tyson, I advise you that you do not have to make any statement regarding the offense of which you are accused and that any statement you do make may be used as evidence against you in a trial by court-martial. You have the right to remain silent concerning the offenses with which you are charged. You may, however, make a statement either sworn or unsworn and present anything you may desire, either in defense, extenuation, or mitigation. If you do make a statement, whatever you say will be considered and weighed as evidence by me just as is the testimony of other witnesses.” Colonel Gilmer poured himself a glass of water.
Corva said into Tyson’s ear, “What are the first five words a black guy hears after he puts on a three-piece suit?”
“What?”
“Will the defendant please rise?”
Tyson put his hand over his mouth. “Cut it out.”
Gilmer was looking at the defense table with impatience. He said, “Lieutenant Tyson, do I have your attention?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Your defense attorney, Mr. Corva, and the government attorneys, Colonel Pierce, Major Weinroth, and Captain Longo, have previously been given a copy of the investigation file which has thus far been compiled in your case. It contains the sworn statements of Dr. Steven Brandt—”
Corva stood. “Objection, sir.”
Colonel Gilmer’s eyebrows rose quizzically. “What is your objection, Mr. Corva?”
“My objection is to the use of the title ‘Doctor’ in regard to Steven Brandt.”
“Isn’t . . . Steven Brandt a medical doctor?”
“He may well be, Colonel. That has no bearing on this case. At the time of the alleged incident, nearly twenty years ago, Steven Brandt was a specialist four. If we have frozen my client’s rank as lieutenant, then we can freeze Brandt’s rank as well. Or we may call him ‘Mister’ in these and any subsequent proceedings. I think you see my point.”
Colonel Gilmer seemed to be trying to see the point.
Colonel Pierce rose. “Mr. Corva . . . is that all right? Mister Corva? Or would you prefer Signore?”
Weinroth and Longo laughed.
Corva replied, “You can call me Vince, Graham.”
The court stenographer giggled again.
Gilmer looked as though he wanted to bang a gavel, but he had no gavel. He said, “There is a certain informality at an Article 32 hearing, but let’s not overdo it, gentlemen. Colonel Pierce? Your point?”
“My point, Colonel, is that Mr. Corva’s point is pointless and petty. If he’s suggesting that the use of Steven Brandt’s title is somehow prejudicial to his client, then I suggest he’s too infatuated with medical doctors. I, for instance, might think medical doctors are arrogant, insensitive, and avaricious.”
Gilmer turned to Corva.
Corva said, “I wonder if Colonel Pierce would repeat that in the presence of his star witness?”
This time Gilmer smiled. Karen Harper stood and came up beside him. They conferred in low tones. Colonel Gilmer said, “Major Harper informs me that Lieutenant Tyson made this point to her before he was represented by Mr. Corva. So we’ll assume the accused has a real objection to the use of Steven Brandt’s title in these proceedings, and I can appreciate his point. Therefore, from here on we will all use the term ‘Mister’ in referring to Steven Brandt. The issue is closed.”
Colonel Gilmer began again. “The investigation file contains the sworn statements of Mr. Steven Brandt, Mr. Richard Farley, Mr. Paul Sadowski, Mr. Anthony Scorello, Mr. Hernando Beltran, Mr. Lee Walker, and Mr. Louis Kalane. The file also contains the unsworn statement of Mr. Andrew Picard. There is also in the file relevant documents, letters, and other incidental materials too numerous to identify individually.” Gilmer looked at Corva. “Do you agree?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gilmer continued, “I do not intend to call as witnesses Mr. Brandt or Mr. Farley, but intend rather to consider their sworn statements as contained in the file, in reaching my recommendation.” Gilmer addressed Tyson and Corva. “Even though I do not intend to call Mr. Brandt or Mr. Farley, whose sworn statements I intend to consider in arriving at my recommendation, it is your right to have an opportunity to cross-examine the witnesses on matters limited to their written statements, if those witnesses are available. If you wish, I will arrange an appearance of those witnesses for that purpose. Do you want me to call Mr. Brandt and/or Mr. Farley as witnesses?”
Corva conferred with Tyson. “We could ask for them to be present, but that might take a week.”
Tyson said, “I thought the prosecution was supposed to call prosecution witnesses.”
“No, Gilmer slipped on his DA hat. Didn’t you see that? He calls prosecution witnesses or doesn’t call them. Of course he confers privately with the prosecution first.”
Tyson said, “I keep looking at that American flag there just to be sure.”
Corva smiled. “I thought I’d let you see a little of this so you can reconsider our strategy if you want. A few minutes ago Gilmer told you that you could present evidence in extenuation or mitigation. Did you catch that?”
“Yes. That’s like assuming I’m already guilty, and would I like to make excuses for what I did.”
“That’s about the size of it. I’m glad you’re paying attention. Also, if I call Brandt or Farley I can only cross-examine them based on what is contained in their written statements. At a court-martial I can get into the real issues.”
Tyson nodded. “I don’t want to delay this a week. Let’s get on with it.”
Corva stood. “Sir, for the record we do not accept the sworn statements of Mr. Brandt or Mr. Farley in lieu of their presence. However, we will waive our
right to cross-examine them for the purposes of this hearing.”
Colonel Gilmer addressed Karen Harper. “Mark Mr. Corva’s statement as an exhibit under item 6A.” He turned to Corva. “I may consider your statement in arriving at my recommendation.”
“I hope, Colonel, you will also consider that the nature and seriousness of these charges is such that one would have expected you to call the government witnesses or have them present for cross-examination. It is most unusual to consider written statements alone in a case such as this.”
Gilmer’s face reddened slightly. “Well, then, do you want to call them for cross-examination or not?”
“No, sir. I think you should have called them so you could have examined them here in the presence of the accused. But if the written statements are cogent enough for you to consider how to proceed with an indictment for murder, then so be it. I only wish to register my utter amazement for the record.”
Gilmer glared at Corva.
Pierce stood. “If it please the Colonel, I would like to register my own amazement that the counsel for the defense is questioning you on matters that are no concern of his.”
Corva smiled at Pierce. “And no concern of yours. The colonel can take care of himself.”
Tyson sat back in his chair. He was actually enjoying himself even if no one else was. He glanced at the court reporter and saw she was having fun too. She looked up from her machine and caught his eye. She smiled.
Colonel Gilmer tapped his fingers on the podium. “Will you both please take your seats?” He looked at Corva and said bluntly, “Do you want Brandt and Farley here? Yes or no?”
“No, sir.”
Tyson leaned toward Corva. “Why are you busting everyone’s balls?”
Corva was staring across the room at Pierce, and he replied without taking his eyes off Pierce, “I want to let Pierce know Vinnie Corva is back in town. As for busting Gilmer’s balls, I want him to know we are not sitting still for any of this; that if there is to be a general court-martial, the counsel for the defense is going to attack the very form and substance of Army justice. That may give the people upstairs some second thoughts about a public trial.”
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