Heart of War

by Lucian K. Truscott

  Major Frank Hollaway and Major Howard Sanders were waiting for her in the conference room. She walked in and put her briefcase down and shook hands. Sanders had a confident grin on his face.

  “So we go to war again, Kara. I’m going to get you this time. I’ve learned your little tricks.”

  “Different case, Howard. New client. New little tricks.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “So we will. Let’s get down to business, gentlemen. What have you got?”

  Hollaway pushed a single sheet of paper across the table. Kara scanned it and looked up.

  “You must be kidding.”

  “We’ve got him, Kara. He’s going away.”

  “Look, Frank, I was there in his apartment with you when we found the knives and the gold insignia. Where in the hell did these photos come from?”

  “We went back and took another pass at his apartment. They were in the pocket in one of his jackets in the closet.”

  “I need to see them.”

  Hollaway pushed a manila envelope across the table. Kara removed a small packet of photos from the envelope and studied them.

  “Frank, this thing is a frame that fits my guy to a T. I can’t believe you don’t see how he’s being set up.”

  “Really? By whom? And when? And for what reason?”

  “Jesus, Frank. This is pathetic.”

  “We’ve got motive. We’ve got means. We’ve got opportunity. We’ve got him.”

  “You’re getting led down a path here, boys. I’m very surprised. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “How about your witness list? Have you got it?”

  She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here you go.”

  They read the list. Sanders looked up. “What’s this? What is General Beckwith doing here?”

  “Character witness, Howard. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

  Sanders gave a little chuckle. “No way the General’s going to appear as a character witness for a murderer. No way in hell.”

  “Then I’ll have you subpoena him, Howard, if that’s what it takes.”

  Sanders leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “You think you’re going to get me to issue a subpoena to General Beckwith? Never happen.”

  “Then I’ll go over your head, Howard. Rule 703 of the UCMJ provides that both sides in a court-martial will have equal opportunity to obtain witnesses. I’ll go to Forces Command, if I have to, and get the commanding general to order Beckwith to appear.”

  “Why are you so insistent on calling Beckwith?”

  “Beckwith wrote Randy’s OER, Howard. Have you seen it? Reads like a recommendation for canonization from the Vatican. He gave him a hundred. Twice.”

  “So? That was before Taylor was charged with two murders.”

  “You haven’t proven my client is a murderer, gentlemen. All you’ve got is an allegation and a skinny little packet of evidence. Until such a time as your case is proven beyond a reasonable doubt, and judgment is rendered by seven officers on a court-martial that Captain Taylor is guilty as charged, he is entitled to be considered innocent, and he will be if I have anything to say about it. As his defense counsel, I do have something to say about it. General Beckwith will appear as a defense character witness, if I have to go all the way to the Court of Military Appeals to see to it that he does.” She stood up. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  Randy was eating his supper when they unlocked his isolation cell and let her in. The evening meal consisted of a fried hamburger patty, a slice of rye bread, and an orange, each sitting in a separate compartment on a plastic mess tray. They had given him a plastic spoon, but it broke when he tried to cut the tough hamburger patty, so he was eating with his fingers.

  “I’ll bring you something from home, next time I come,” said Kara.

  “Please do. The food’s pretty terrible.”

  “I’m sorry you have to go through this, Randy. I know it’s hard on you.”

  “Like you can’t even believe.”

  “Randy, I went to the discovery meeting today. They gave me their witness list and their evidence summary.” She handed it to him. He looked up, wide-eyed.

  “I can’t believe this! They’re saying one of my gold U.S. insignia is missing? It’s not! I’ve got both of them! I can prove it!”

  “I know.”

  “And these photos! I never had any photos of Sheila or Lannie in my house! I don’t even have a picture of Ed! And the knives? Where did they come from? The only knives I own are in my kitchen drawer!”

  “Randy, I know that. Somebody planted the photos and knives. And somebody removed one of your gold U.S. insignia. We’ve got to figure out who could have done it.”

  “I don’t believe this, Kara. Who set me up?”

  “Beckwith. He killed Sheila, and he killed Lannie. He must have gotten someone to break into your apartment and plant the evidence. I want you to think hard about this. At any time over the past several weeks, do you recall coming home and finding anything out of place? Or noticing any signs of a break-in?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe I should get somebody to go over there and dust the windows for prints. They could have jimmied open a window and climbed in.”

  “I’d know if anyone broke in my place, and no one has. I’m positive.”

  “Maybe it was someone else. Who’s been in your apartment lately?”

  “Well, for starters, you have. Ed came down a few weeks ago on Army business in Atlanta and stayed over. And Mrs. Beckwith. We were at my apartment doing invitations for the party together. I’ve got a maid who comes every Wednesday at seven. I let her in, but she lets herself out when she’s through. I’d trust her with my life. I’m sure she didn’t do it.”

  “Any delivery people or repairmen?”

  “No.” He thought for a moment. “Wait. My fax. A guy had to come from the phone company to put in a new line for my fax. That was, like, a week ago or so.”

  She made a note. “Anybody else? Think, Randy. This is important.”

  “No. Nobody else.”

  “One other thing. When I questioned you before, you said you were at home the night Sheila was killed.”

  “After the O-Club thing, yes.”

  “I’m going to see if I can’t establish an alibi, see if someone in your complex didn’t see you coming home. We’ve got time-of-death span to play with, and if we can put you in your apartment during that period, we can beat the charge on Sheila right there.”

  “Do you know what the charge is yet? I mean, the formal charge?”

  “Yes “

  “So tell me. What is it?”

  She took a deep breath. “On Lannie, they’re going for the big one. Violation of Article 118, sub-1. Premeditated murder. In civilian law they’d call it murder in the first degree. It carries the death penalty, Randy. I feel like I’ve got to tell you what you’re facing.”

  “Where are they holding the court-martial?”

  “In that little building over by the football stadium.”

  “That’s where they tried Lieutenant Calley.”

  “Yeah. It’s all set up for media. They’re expecting big coverage. It was all over the Atlanta papers, on the national network news, the whole nine yards. Beckwith wants all the coverage he can get. He’s going to play this like he’s defending the lives of women in the Army by taking you off the streets. He’s going to turn you into the Rusty Calley of the nineties.”

  “I saw Calley downtown one day, coming out of a diner. He looks like Audie Murphy gone to seed.”

  She chuckled. “That baby face of his is half of what saved him. The other half was Nixon, of course. He wasn’t going to let any red-blooded American boy who just went out there and followed orders and killed those gooks do any hard time. They gave him house arrest, remember? I don’t think that guy ever spent an hour behind bars. Nixon saved him.”

  “Who’s going to save me, Kara?”

>   She clicked her briefcase shut.

  “Me. I’m going to save you.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Major Sanders had just raised his right hand in salute when General Beckwith boiled out of his chair and thrust his face into Sanders’ ear, screaming: “What in hell do you think you’re trying to do to me, Sanders? Stop my fucking career in its tracks right here, right now, with this shit?”

  Sanders’ eyes were straight to the front. He could feel the General’s breath on his neck, but he couldn’t see him. “No, sir.”

  Beckwith waved a piece of paper. “Then what in the fuck is this?”

  “Sir, it is a request that you appear as a witness for the defense in the trial of Captain Randolph Taylor.”

  “I can read the fucking thing, goddammit! I want to know what the fuck it’s doing on my desk!”

  “Sir, when a defense counsel makes a witness request through the prosecutor, under the UCMJ, I am bound by the law to forward the request to the witness.”

  “You know what this is, Sanders? This is a fucking outrage, is what it is!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take this fucking piece of paper and shove it up Guidry’s ass! Do you hear me?”

  Sanders hesitated. “Sir, we can’t do that.”

  “What in the hell do you mean? You’ll do any goddamned thing I tell you to do.”

  “Sir, Rule 703 stipulates that the defense and the prosecution will have equal access to witnesses.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about any Rule 703, goddammit!”

  Sanders half turned to face the General. “Sir, if you ignore or refuse this request for your appearance, defense counsel can apply through me for a subpoena, compelling your testimony. Major Guidry has already made clear to me that she will demand such a subpoena if you refuse to testify.”

  “You mean to tell me that bitch can force me to appear before this court-martial?”

  Sanders cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. It’s the law, sir.”

  Beckwith walked slowly around his desk and sat down. “Do you have any idea how incredible this is?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The President is making his selection for chief of staff in two weeks. I expect to be selected. But if I’m dragged into that court-martial and made a fool of by Guidry, my stock’s going to go down precipitously in Washington. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What is this crap about character witness, anyway?”

  “She made reference to the OER’s you wrote on Captain Taylor, sir. I’m sure she’s going to present them as evidence and make you go over every praiseworthy thing you had to say about Captain Taylor.”

  “I wrote the last one of those OER’s months ago. How was I supposed to know my aide was a murderer?”

  “I pointed that out to her, sir.”

  “What do you think she’s up to, Sanders?”

  “I believe she thinks if she can force your testimony as to Taylor’s good character on the OER’s, she can draw attention away from the case we’re presenting, sir.”

  “You’ve got Taylor cold on these murders, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. We have more than enough evidence to convict.”

  “Then her motive is to embarrass me. It’s plain as the goddamn nose on your face.”

  “If she thinks calling you as a witness will embarrass you, sir, she has made a big mistake. The jury will take that strategy as an insult to this command and to the United States Army, and they will act accordingly.”

  “All the more reason I shouldn’t testify. If you’ve got enough evidence to hang the sorry son of a bitch, why should I be put through this wringer?”

  “I agree completely, sir. I wish there was something we could do.”

  “Well, goddammit, Sanders, I want you to figure a way out of this.”

  “That’s going to be pretty difficult, sir. She’s got the law on her side.”

  “Well, come up with some roadblocks you can throw in her way. Do something!”

  “Sir, I, uh . . . there’s something we might do right now. You could delay your response to this request, and we’ll wait and see how Guidry reacts. There’s a possibility she’ll get busy and lose track of the fact that you haven’t responded. That will put her in the position of getting a subpoena issued during the trial.”

  “What does that do for me?”

  “The military judge will have heard our case against Taylor by then, and he would very likely listen to a motion to quash the subpoena if he thinks your testimony won’t add much to the trial.”

  “Who’s the military judge on this thing, anyway?”

  “Colonel Freeman, sir.”

  “Christ. Freeman. You think we can count on him to go along?”

  “I don’t know, sir. All we can do is try.”

  “I want you to do more than try, Sanders. I want you to keep me off that witness stand, I don’t care what the fuck you have to do. Do you understand where I’m coming from on this?”

  “Yes, sir. Completely.”

  “You’re dismissed, Sanders. On your way out, send my chief of staff, Colonel Roberts, in here.”

  Sanders saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Beckwith swiveled his chair, looking out over the parade field. Colonel Roberts walked up to the desk and cleared his throat.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  The General turned around. “Guidry is up to something, Harry, I can smell it. I want you to put a tail on her. I want to know the identity of every person she talks to. I want to know where she goes, and who she sees, and what she does. I want you to wake her up in the morning and put her to bed at night.”

  “You want me to use that military intelligence team we used before, sir?”

  “Yes. We can’t have Sanders or Hollaway mixed up in this. They’d be under an obligation to report it to the military judge. And you know who drew the court-martial? Freeman. He’d throw the whole damn case out if he found out about it.”

  “Yes, sir, he would.”

  “Get on it, Harry. I want this done, and I want it done right, and I want a report from the field on my desk by close of business every day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  There was a message on her machine from the president of CD Shak when Kara got home. Jeffrey Klein had called the home office. He was in Mississippi and would be at Stackpole Records in Clarksdale that night at eight. She checked her watch and dug through her notes in her briefcase and came up with the number and dialed. The man who answered sounded like he was speaking to her from another planet.

  “Record shop. How can I help y’all?”

  “Is this Walter?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is?”

  “My name is Kara Guidry—”

  “Y’all’s the lawyer down in Georgia, huh?”

  “Yes, that’s me—”

  “How’s the weather down there in Georgia?”

  “It’s pretty cold.”

  “They got a wind blowin’ across this delta like to curl your eyebrows it’s so damn cold, I’ll tell ya that much. Now, what is it you wanted?”

  “I’d like to speak with Jeff Klein, if he’s there.”

  “Gimme a minute. He’s right here.”

  When Klein came on the phone, he sounded nervous.

  “Jeff, I’m Major Kara Guidry, and I’ve been looking for you for days.”

  “I told the people at the home office I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  “I'm looking for one of your employees, Patti O’Brien, Jeff, that’s all. I need to talk to her.”

  “How do I know you’re not just some bill collector, or lawyer trying to serve her with papers?”

  “Look, Jeff, Patti isn’t in any trouble. I just need to ask her a few questions. If I don’t talk to her, the man I represent might be sentenced to death for something he didn’t do.”

  “The death penalty?”

  “Yes. My client has been charged with
murder. He’s innocent, and Patti O’Brien may know something that will help our case. But we’ll never know unless we can talk to her. You have got to help me, Jeff. A young man’s life is at stake.”

  “Patti has done her best to put the Army and everything it represents behind her. All she has from those years are bad memories.”

  “I am sure that’s true. Listen, Jeff, Patti may be a key link in my case. Something happened when she was stationed at Fort Polk, and I need to ask her about it.”

  “If I give you her address, you won’t tell her where you got it, will you? I know she’s going to be really pissed when you show up.”

  “I’ll tell her I used a private detective.”

  “I don’t have a phone number. She doesn’t give it out to anybody. But I’ve got her address.”

  “That would be a great help, Jeff.”

  “Okay. She lives in Evanston.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  She rented a car from Avis at the Chicago airport. The counter man told her if she took Oakton Street, it would take her straight east into Evanston, and she would avoid the rush-hour mess on the freeways. She drove around for a while before she found Oakton, but a half hour later she was on Birch Tree Avenue in Evanston.

  The address Klein had given her was an attractive 1920s three-story apartment building, one large apartment per floor, typical of the Chicago area. Up and down the tree-lined street were kids’ bikes and wagons in the yards in front of the neat houses and apartments and well-maintained apartment buildings. She pressed the buzzer for O’Brien, and an older woman’s voice came over the speaker.