Heart of War

by Lucian K. Truscott

  Then he saw the blood. He ran into the room.

  Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. There was a knife embedded in her neck, and blood had formed a pool on the bed. Randy grabbed the knife and pulled it out. He threw it on the bed and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her.

  “Lannie! Lannie! Can you hear me?”

  There was no response. He climbed on top of her and started pressing on her chest, administering CPR. He listened again for a heartbeat. He was reaching for the phone when he heard a loud click behind him. He turned his head and stared straight into the barrel of a Glock 9mm.

  “Don’t move. Don’t even think about moving. Hands behind your back.”

  The man with the gun snapped a pair of cuffs around Randy’s wrists and pulled him roughly off the dead woman.

  “I was going to call the operator . . .”

  “Sure you were, fella. Turn around.”

  “This has been a big mistake . . .”

  “You’re the one made a mistake, mister. Turn around. What’s your name?”

  “Captain Randy Taylor.” As he turned, he caught a look at himself in the mirror across the room over the dresser. His face was spattered with her blood. The front of his dress blues jacket was covered with it. He turned sideways and saw that his hands too were bloody.

  “Oh, my God . . .”

  The detective held the gun with one hand and a radio in the other. “Base, this is Reilly. I’ve got one down in Room 824. Suspect in custody.”

  The radio crackled with static. “Roger. Don’t touch anything. We’ll have DCPD there in a few minutes.”

  “Roger. Out.” He shoved the radio in his pocket and motioned with the muzzle of his weapon for Randy to move. “In the hall. We’ve got a crime scene to protect here.”

  “But I didn’t kill her!”

  “We know that, mister. I just cuffed you for practice.”

  He pushed Randy toward the door with the barrel of his weapon. Outside the open glass doors to the balcony, he could hear sirens echoing in the night.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  It was still dark when the bedside phone rang, waking her from a deep sleep.

  She rubbed her eyes, trying to think of who would be calling her in a Washington, D.C., hotel in the middle of the night.

  She picked up.

  “Kara, wake up. It’s Frank Hollaway.”

  She noticed a hollow, echoing noise in the background. “Frank, jeez, what time is it?”

  “Just after five. I’m down at D.C. central lockup. There’s been another murder, Kara.” He paused for a second. “You awake yet?”

  “Who is it?”

  There was a long pause before he answered: “You’d better get down here, Kara.”

  She felt the words catch in her throat before they croaked out: “Who is it, Frank?”

  “D.C. Police made an arrest. We’ve got him downtown. I need you down here. They’re going to let us in to question him in a half an hour.”

  She took a couple of deep breaths. Her nightmare had come true. “It’s Lannie, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry, Kara.”

  She felt herself starting to sob, but cleared her throat, trying to pull herself together. “Who’d they arrest?”

  “Captain Randy Taylor.”

  “I’m getting dressed right now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She hung up the phone and switched on the light. She stepped into her uniform skirt and shoved her feet into her shoes. She hit the door at a run.

  Randy was standing at the bars of the holding cell wearing an orange prison jumpsuit. Behind him unfolded a sea of human detitrus. There was a guy with both eyes bleeding, lying on his back on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs: “I’m a Catholic in a Jewish jail! Help me! Help me! I confess my sins!” Another prisoner, an elderly black man, was dancing a slow soft-shoe by himself in the corner, singing “Mr. Bojangles.” The smell of urine and vomit was overwhelming. A young cop approached and proceeded to unlock the door. Inside, Randy recognized Kara and Frank Hollaway.

  “Taylor! Randolph Taylor!”

  Randy stepped to the door.

  “Assume the position.” Randy turned around and held his hands behind him. The cop cuffed him and grabbed him by the collar. “This way.”

  Kara and Hollaway fell in behind the guard as he led them down a long row of holding cells and unlocked a green metal door. A pair of D.C. detectives were waiting inside.

  “We’ll give you ten minutes with him,” said the tall one.

  “That doesn’t seem like much time,” said Kara.

  “You’re out of your jurisdiction, miss. We’re doing you a favor as it is.”

  The detectives walked out, and the door closed behind them with a loud clank. There was a gray metal table and two chairs, all screwed to the floor. Randy sat down uncomfortably. Kara took a notebook from her purse and sat across from him. Hollaway stood behind her.

  “We haven’t got much time, Randy. We need to know what happened.”

  “Kara, this is so unbelievable.”

  “I know it is. I’m going to read you your rights, Randy. You have a right to an attorney. You don’t have to make a statement to us, but if you do, it could be used against you.”

  “I didn’t do it! I swear to you! I didn’t do it!”

  Hollaway stepped around to one side of the table. “Do you understand your rights?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One of the detectives told me you waived your right to an attorney when they questioned you.”

  “I didn’t do it! I don’t have anything to hide!”

  “All right, then. Start at the beginning. Be precise.”

  Randy leaned forward, looking anxiously into Kara’s eyes. “You have got to believe me.”

  “We’re here to listen, Randy. I’m sure your cooperation at this point will be helpful to you later.”

  “Okay. I worked late at the party, and got back to my room about three a.m. The message light was on, so I called the desk, and Lannie had left a message to come down to her room.”

  “You were on what floor?”

  “Nine.”

  “So you went down to . . .”

  “Eight. I was going for ice anyway, so I grabbed my ice bucket, and I went down the stairs, and I walked up to her door, and there she was on her bed, covered with blood. It was awful. There was a knife sticking out of her neck! I ran into the room, and I listened to see if she was breathing, and I thought I heard something, so I got up on top of her, and I was pressing on her chest, you know, doing CPR, trying to massage her heart, and that was when they walked in.”

  “You said ‘they.’ Who is ‘they’?”

  “I guess he was a house detective. I heard him talking on his radio. His name is Reilly.”

  “You said you saw the knife sticking out of her neck. What kind of knife?”

  “A knife. I don’t know.”

  “Did you touch the knife?”

  “I pulled it out the minute I got to her. I thought she was still alive.”

  Kara glanced over at Hollaway.

  “Did anyone see you in the hallway?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Kara and Hollaway stepped away from the table. “You heard enough, Frank?”

  “Let me take a stab at a confession.”

  “You’re not going to get one.”

  “Let me try,” said Hollaway.

  They walked back to the table. Both of them remained standing.

  Randy looked up at Hollaway plaintively. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Captain Taylor, it’s going to be in your interest if you tell us what really happened in that room. We’ll take it to the D.C. prosecutor, and they’ll take it into consideration during sentencing.”

  “But I didn’t do it!”

  “You killed her, Captain. The D.C. detectives told me you were covered in her blood, and there was a cut on your right hand, showing signs of a struggle.”

&n
bsp; “That must have happened when I pulled the knife out of her neck! I swear! I didn’t do it!”

  Kara touched Hollaway on the arm. “I’ve heard enough.”

  They walked over and tapped on the door. A key turned, and the door swung open. Behind them, Randy beseeched: “Please, you’ve got to believe me! I was trying to save her life!”

  The door closed behind them. “Frank, have you seen the crime scene?”

  “Yeah, briefly.”

  “I’m going to go back to the hotel and have a look.”

  The tall detective walked up. “You get anything out of him?”

  “The same stuff he told you,” said Hollaway.

  “He ain’t going to come clean. We’ll lock him down till the arraignment.”

  “Detective, do you think you could arrange it so I could go over the crime scene?” asked Kara.

  “Sure. Just tell the uniformed officer that Detective Howard authorized you. They got questions, tell ‘em to call me.”

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  “What time will the arraignment be?” asked Hollaway.

  “About ten. You know where the General Courts Building is?”

  “We’ll find it,” said Kara.

  “First floor. Ask for Part One.” The detectives walked away.

  “How do we get out of here?” asked Kara.

  “This way,” said Hollaway. They started walking down the row of holding cells. “I’m heading over to the courthouse. The DA said I could use their office. I’ve got to call Lieutenant Colonel Lambert.”

  “I’ll meet you at the arraignment, then,” said Kara.

  They reached a barred door, and a buzzer sounded and the door slid slowly open. They passed through another door and were outside. It was starting to get light as Kara hailed a cab and headed across town.

  Lannie’s room was guarded by two uniformed C.D. police officers. Kara showed them her military ID and dropped the name of Detective Howard, and they lifted the yellow crime tape and let her inside.

  The blood on the bed had started to dry. Fingerprinting dust still covered the phone and the bedside table. Lannie’s uniform was hung neatly on a hook on the open closet door. Her shoes were on the other side of the bed, and the pair of hose she must have worn were in the waste basket next to the bed. A single black high-heeled mule was at the foot of the bed. The other was on top of the bed, partially hidden by the bloody sheet.

  For several long moments Kara stood at the foot of the bed and stared at the blood her friend had shed. Then she went into the bathroom and sifted through Lannie’s makeup bag and toiletry kit: all the regular stuff, lipstick, compact, foundation, hairbrush. There was not one but two toothbrushes.

  She walked back into the room. There was something she was missing. She tried to recall the details of what Randy had told them.

  That was it! He had been carrying an ice bucket!

  She looked around the room and found an ice bucket on the desk. It was strange. Usually in hotel rooms you found the ice bucket on a little tray with three or four glasses in wax paper covers. This one was just sitting there, alone.

  She walked back into the bathroom. Another ice bucket was on the counter, sitting on a tray with the requisite paper-clad glasses.

  There were two of them! Randy wasn't lying! Not about carrying the ice bucket with him, anyway.

  Her mind raced as she stooped under the yellow crime tape and headed down the hall. Beckwith had set him up. He had framed his own aide for murder.

  Part One was a courtroom with peeling paint and battered benches and an American flag hanging behind the bench that looked like it had been put up when there were still forty-eight states. Kara found Hollaway sitting behind the prosecution table. She slipped into the chair next to him, and he introduced her to the assistant DA, a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. The DA excused herself and turned around and started going through her pile of cases. Hollaway leaned close to whisper:

  “Lambert wants us to try to get him extradited to our jurisdiction.”

  “What?”

  “Beckwith ordered it. He’s taking the position that Captain Love was a soldier in his command, and so was Captain Taylor, and he wants the Army to court-martial Taylor for murder.”

  “That son of a bitch is grandstanding for the D.C. press. This isn’t about jurisdiction. It’s about his campaign for chief of staff!”

  “Whatever it is, Lambert told me to act on Beckwith’s order. She wants you to make a motion to extradite Taylor to Fort Benning. You are to file the necessary brief if the judge requires it. Lambert said D.C. is a federal jurisdiction and so is Fort Benning, so we stand a good chance of getting the case transferred and charging him down there. The District of Columbia DA has agreed to let him go. Apparently anything we can do to reduce their caseload is acceptable to the DA. The District is broke and getting broker.”

  “I can’t believe Beckwith is trying this, Frank.”

  “Look, Kara, would you rather see Taylor be put through this godawful system here in D.C.? He’ll get a fair trial at Benning. If he stays here, he’ll spend two years behind bars with no parole just waiting to come to trial.”

  “You’ve got a point there.”

  “Just play along and follow orders, Kara. Beckwith’s going to be watching every move we make. If we don’t follow his orders down the line on this thing, he’s going to chop heads when we get back.”

  “Do you know what I found in Lannie’s hotel room?”

  Just then the bailiff called loudly, “All rise!” and everyone stood as the judge walked in and took the bench. The bailiff called the case, and they brought Randy in through a side door. His hands were cuffed in front, he was in leg irons, and he looked frightened. They removed the cuffs and irons, and he sat down next to a Legal Aid lawyer who had been assigned to his case.

  The judge was a short man with thinning hair that had been sprayed and combed so it brushed his ears. He read from the charge sheet without looking up.

  “The District of Columbia against Captain Randolph Taylor. Gentlemen?”

  “Felicia Dobber for the District, Your Honor. The District has agreed to let counsel for the Army take part in these proceedings.”

  Kara stood. “Major Kara Guidry, United States Army Judge Advocate General, Your Honor.”

  The Legal Aid lawyer stood. “Vincent Eastman for the defense, Your Honor.”

  The assistant DA spoke up. “Your Honor, normally the district attorney would present evidence and testimony at this time, asking for an indictment, but this case is out of the ordinary. We have been asked to defer jurisdiction in this matter to the Army. If the court agrees, Captain Taylor will be transferred under military police guard to the stockade at Fort Benning, where he will be tried for the murder of Captain Lannie Fulton Love. Because Fort Benning is a federal jurisdiction, the district attorney has agreed to this arrangement, and we seek an order by this court releasing Captain Taylor from District of Columbia custody and transferring him to military custody at this time.”

  “This is a very unusual request, Ms. Dobber.”

  “Your Honor, yes, it is. But it’s one the DA has agreed to because of the burgeoning caseload we face here, of which I am sure Your Honor is more than aware.”

  “Indeed.” He turned to the defense lawyer. “Does the defense have a response?”

  “We do, Your Honor. The defense will contest this request. We would request that this defendant be afforded the normal procedures any other accused person is entitled to in the District of Columbia. We ask that a grand jury be empaneled, that evidence is presented to the grand jury, and that the defendant have an opportunity to testify before the grand jury before charges are brought.”

  The judge turned to the prosecution table. “Ms. Dobber?”

  The assistant DA shuffled through her papers. “There is a Supreme Court decision—I am not certain of the title . . .”

  “Solorio versus United States, Your Honor, is the case M
s. Dobber is referring to.” Kara stood and took the podium. “The Supreme Court held in Solorio that military courts have jurisdiction over crimes committed by active-duty service members, no matter whether those crimes were committed during duty hours, on post or off post, because military courts are in fact just another form of federal court, Your Honor. In other words, both the District and the Army have jurisdiction in this matter. This request may not be a typical one, Your Honor, but according to the law, it is a legal one and up to the discretion of this court.”

  “And the defense objects? Is that what I am to understand?”

  The Legal Aid lawyer stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Submit briefs to this court no later than forty-eight hours from now, and the court will take the matter under advisement. Defendant will be remanded to the custody of the district attorney in the meantime.” He struck his gavel. “Next case!”

  Two burly uniformed policemen came to take Randy away. They put the cuffs on him, and his lawyer whispered something in his ear. With policemen on both sides, Randy was escorted through the side door. Hollaway lingered behind the prosecution table as Kara consulted with the assistant DA. Finally she joined him and they walked out of the courtroom.

  Outside, they stopped at the curb, waiting for a cab.

  “Pretty impressive in there, counselor.”

  “Just doing my job, Frank.”

  “Are you going back today?”

  “I think I’ll stick around and use the Georgetown Law Library and file my brief before I go back to Benning.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. I’m going to see my sister in Maryland this afternoon, then I’ll head back tomorrow. We can link up and search Taylor’s apartment day after tomorrow.”

  “Good enough.” A cab pulled up. She paused, wondering whether she should tell him about the second ice bucket in Lannie’s room. Then she thought better of it and got in the cab.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  They got a key from the complex manager and let themselves into Randy’s apartment. The place was stuffy, and all the shades had been pulled. Kara went around turning on lights and opening the shades. They had a brief look around the living room, finding nothing out of the ordinary.