Murder at the Pentagon

by Margaret Truman

  Cobol, who’d been staring down at his shoetops, slowly raised his head. “If there’s one thing I know, Major Falk, it’s that.”

  “Do you accept me as your defense counsel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know anything about me, about my legal background and experience?”

  “No, ma’am, I do not.”

  “I am relatively new to the legal profession. I have defended people who’ve been accused of breach of regulations, but I have never defended an accused murderer. How do you feel about that?”

  “I … no offense, Major Falk, but I have a feeling it really doesn’t matter who defends me. I’m sure you’ll do the best you can, which is all I can ask.”

  “You have a number of options, Captain. You can ask for other counsel, you can request a civilian attorney, or you can decide that you want a civilian co-counsel.”

  “Do I have to decide this now?”

  “No, but I suggest you make a decision as quickly as possible. Assuming I am your counsel, let’s proceed with this initial meeting.” She glanced down at her handwriting on the yellow page. “Did you kill Dr. Richard Joycelen?”

  “No.”

  “I want you to understand that if I question you as though I’m skeptical, it’s not because I doubt you. It’s important that you be totally honest with me, and that I satisfy myself that I fully understand the circumstances of this charge.”

  “I understand. Ask whatever you wish.”

  “You say you did not kill Dr. Joycelen, yet your weapon was found at the scene, and the bullet that killed Joycelen came from that weapon. How do you explain that?”

  “I can’t.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “How can I? Should I make up a story? I used that weapon on the firing range three days before Joycelen was killed. I don’t routinely carry it. I put in my firing-range time, cleaned the weapon, and put it in a dresser drawer in my bedroom. I checked that drawer just before leaving for duty at the Pentagon Friday night, and it was there. At least I thought it was. They say it wasn’t. They say mine was used to kill Joycelen, and that the one in the drawer didn’t belong to me. Someone swapped them is all I can figure out.”

  “Who might have done it?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. I wish I did.”

  “Who had access to it?”

  “Very few people. My roommate did, but I know he didn’t take it.”

  “Your roommate? You live on the economy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Most single officers live on area military installations.”

  “I like the military, Major Falk, but it’s nice to get away from it at night.”

  Margit smiled to herself. He was right; she sometimes wished she’d opted to live in an apartment rather than at Bolling.

  She wondered, of course, whether his decision not to live in military surroundings had anything to do with allegations that he was homosexual. She would get into that subject, of course, but decided to leave it until the end of their meeting. “Is your roommate in the military?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You were on duty in the Pentagon at the time of Dr. Joycelen’s death?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Were you in the basement area where his body was found?”

  “No. I was in the security office on the floor above.”

  “Directly above where he was found?”

  Cobol narrowed his eyes. “No, not directly above, but on that side of the building.”

  “You saw or heard nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What about the surveillance monitors? There’s a camera right where the shooting took place.”

  “That camera was down that weekend. At least that’s what they told me.”

  “I see,” Margit said, referring again to her notes. “Did you know Dr. Joycelen?”

  Cobol shook his head. “I’d been at a few briefings he gave at the Company. I was introduced to him once, along with the others at the briefing. We shook hands. That’s all.”

  “That was the extent of your connection with him?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Time to get into it. “Have you heard the rumors that you killed Dr. Joycelen because you’d been lovers?”

  She expected an emotional response. Instead, she got his answer in tones that mirrored the flat expression on his face. “Yes, I’ve heard them.”

  “Any truth to them?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Are you homosexual?”

  “Yes.”

  Margit wasn’t sure where to go next with her questions. Once she’d become aware that Cobol was rumored to be gay, she’d researched military law where homosexuality was the issue.

  Until 1981, regulations governing the subject had been ambiguous. Unstated. Then, in 1981, DOD passed regulation 1332.14, which stated flat-out that “homosexuality is incompatible with military service.” Anyone in uniform discovered to be homosexual was to be given a dishonorable discharge, that prerogative upheld by the Supreme Court in 1990. The regulation could be bent, however. In wartime homosexuals facing a dishonorable could have it “deferred” if they were willing to fight for their country. Hostilities cease—dishonorable discharge goes through.

  Army captain Robert Cobol had openly acknowledged that he was homosexual. She asked was this the first time he’d made such an admission to another officer?

  “No, it isn’t,” he said.

  “You’re aware of Reg 1332.”

  He smiled. “Of course I am. Every gay in the service is aware of that reg.”

  “Who have you shared this with before me?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say ‘share’ is accurate. I know what you’re getting at. Naturally, I was more comfortable admitting it to others like me.” He raised his chin defiantly. “There are more of us in the military than you probably imagine.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t interest me. You’ve been in the army for nine years. I gather that you’ve lived a homosexual life for those years. It must have taken a great deal of discretion to keep it from your superiors.”

  “I’ve been in my share of closets.”

  “And no one—no superior—ever became aware of it?”

  “Not true.”

  “Then why …?”

  He’d been sitting on the edge of the chair and leaning forward. Now, he sat back and appeared to relax. “I’m a good officer,” he said, “and there are others—maybe not many, but at least some, who are willing to ignore the regs in order to keep a good officer.”

  “That happened to you?”

  “Yes, about six months ago. It was when I met my roommate, the one I’ve been living with recently. Someone—and I have no idea who it was—became aware that I’d entered into this relationship and reported it to my superior at the CIA, Major Reich. Reich called me into his office and dressed me down, not so much because I was gay but because I’d not been discreet enough. He told me that because my record was outstanding, he was going to forget he ever heard about it. Of course, he also warned me that if my sexual life was reported again, he couldn’t continue to protect me.”

  “An enlightened major,” Margit said.

  Cobol smiled warmly. “Very.”

  And pragmatic, thought Margit. Like Eisenhower when he was in command of our troops in post-World War II, according to a lesbian officer with whom Margit had been friendly during her tour at Lowry. The future president had a large WAC division working directly for him, performing primarily clerical and support duties. One day, he was told that the unit included a number of lesbians. He directed one of his closest aides, a woman, to investigate the rumor and to prepare a list of them for him. His aide said that she would, but also told him that her name would be first on the list. She named others whose names would join hers, and pointed out that their military service had been outstanding, and that they played a critical role in helping him discharge his awesome respon
sibilities.

  “Cancel that order,” Eisenhower is reported to have said. “Forget I ever mentioned it.”

  Margit wrote Reich’s name on her pad, then asked Cobol to capsulize his military career for her.

  He responded slowly, thoughtfully. When he was finished, Margit asked how he ended up assigned to the CIA.

  “Beats me,” he replied. “I have to admit I was excited about it. Little Bobby Cobol working for the spooks, cloak-and-dagger, the spy who came in from the cold.” He shrugged.

  “What about your family and friends?”

  “My father is dead,” he said. “My mother is alive and lives in the house where I was brought up on Long Island.”

  “Have you had any contact with her since you were arrested?”

  “No. I understand she’s telephoned a number of times, but I haven’t been allowed to speak with her.”

  “Would you like to speak with her?”

  “Very much.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He gave her his mother’s phone number. “Is there anyone you can suggest I talk to who might be helpful in your defense?”

  “You mean somebody who can provide an alibi? No. I was alone in the security office when he was murdered.”

  “That aside, I’ll need character witnesses.”

  “I can give you some. Characters. I mean, some of them are.”

  “Captain Cobol, the evidence against you, as I understand it at this point, is circumstantial but substantial. The atmosphere, the environment, of this case doesn’t help. A leading member of the scientific and government community has been murdered in cold blood. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know how successful I’ll be in defending you.”

  “I understand that, Major Falk, and I’ll appreciate every effort you make. I guess the only thing I can say to you is that I did not kill Dr. Joycelen. I have never killed anyone in my life.”

  Margit stood. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but knew she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. She said, “I don’t know whether I’ll speak with you again before the arraignment on Thursday, but I’ll be there. We’ll enter a plea at that time, which, I assume, is Not Guilty.”

  He stood. “That’s right. Not guilty.”

  “How did it go?” Max Lanning asked when they were on their way to Bolling.

  “Fine, Max.” She knew he wanted to hear more but was not about to feed his penchant for gossip. He made small talk during the ride, to which she responded to the extent of not being considered impolite. When he pulled up in front of her BOQ, he said he would stand by.

  “No need,” she said.

  “Shall I pick you up in the morning?”

  “Are you assigned to me for the duration?”

  “I don’t know, but they told me to drive you wherever you wanted to go tomorrow.”

  “No, you don’t have to pick me up in the morning. If I need you during the day, I’ll let you know. Have a nice evening, Max.”

  Once inside, she changed into a pink sweat suit and went to the kitchen, where she did something unusual for her when alone—made a drink. Someone had given her a bottle of pepper vodka as a gift, which she mixed with spicy V-8 juice.

  She sat by her window and watched the comings and goings of men and women assigned to the base. There were many people she considered calling: Jeff, Mac Smith, friends around the world she’d made during her air-force career. But the phone stayed in its cradle. Talking about the Joycelen murder, about Cobol, about any of it, would only further depress her. She needed to forget, at least for this night, about the whole affair, and so she turned to what she usually did to clear her mind. She worked out at the gym to the point of exhaustion, returned to the BOQ, and fell into a deep sleep that she wished could last for a month.

  11

  “Mrs. Cobol, this is Major Margit Falk. I’ve been assigned as your son’s defense counsel.”

  “Yes, I know who you are. He pleaded Not Guilty this morning. I heard it on the radio.”

  “That’s right. I know you’ve been trying to speak with him. I apologize that you haven’t been able to, and I arranged after the arraignment for you to do that.”

  There was silence. Not total. A hushed sob?

  “Mrs. Cobol, I understand that this is painful for you, but I want you to know that I am committed to presenting the best possible defense for Robert. I would like to meet you. Could we combine that with a visit to him?”

  Flo Cobol pulled herself together. “I’ll meet with you at any time. Robert is not guilty. I know he didn’t kill this Dr. Joycelen.”

  Margit didn’t commit herself to that view. She simply asked, “When do you think you can come to Washington?”

  “I could come this afternoon.”

  “I think it would be better to wait until tomorrow. That will give me time to make sure there’s no hitch in your visit. If I can arrange a meeting at one o’clock, would that be all right with you?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “If you could arrive in Washington at noon tomorrow, I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go together to visit him.”

  Flo Cobol agreed to that, and they established a place to meet at the airport.

  Margit sat back in her chair. Jay Kraft was at his desk, and Margit made an immediate decision. She could not effectively conduct Cobol’s defense while sharing an office with Kraft—or anyone else, for that matter. She needed privacy, and decided to seek it through Colonel Bellis, whom she was to debrief at noon about the arraignment.

  The arraignment had been a simple legal procedure. Trial counsel assigned to prosecute Cobol by the chief of criminal law, under the command’s staff judge advocate, was an army captain, William Higgins. He introduced himself to Margit. “A pleasure to meet you, Major.”

  “Thank you,” she said, surprised at his open pleasantness.

  “Looks like we’ll see quite a bit of each other.”

  “Looks like it, Captain.”

  The charges were read to Cobol, and he was asked to enter a plea. “Not Guilty,” he said in a strong voice. He was immediately led from the spartan room.

  “Sir,” Margit said to the trial judge, air-force lieutenant colonel J. K. Washington, a tall, lean, balding black man whose expression was one of almost constant bemusement, “Captain Cobol has been denied the right to receive visits from family members, including his mother. I understand the sensitive nature of this case, as well as its grave seriousness, but I respectfully request that Captain Cobol be given the same visitation rights as any other accused military prisoner.”

  Washington looked to Captain Higgins, who said, “I have no objection, sir.”

  “And I see no reason for such visitation to be denied. So ordered.”

  At noon Margit sat across the desk from Bellis.

  “Do you believe Cobol?” Bellis asked.

  “That he didn’t do it? To be perfectly honest with you, sir, I don’t know. I do know, however, that if I am to be a successful advocate, I have to put a certain amount of faith in him.”

  “Right,” Bellis muttered.

  “Colonel, I’ve made a list of needs.”

  “Your needs?”

  “Yes, sir.” She referred to a note on which she’d listed them. “First, I need a private office. It’s inappropriate, I think, for me to be sharing office space during the course of this procedure.”

  “Office space is tight.”

  “Not so tight that the defense counsel to an accused murderer should be hampered by it. Surely, there must be some spare office I could use.”

  “I’ll check. What else?”

  “I need an assistant, and an investigator.”

  “What kind of assistant?”

  “He or she doesn’t have to be an attorney, but should have some knowledge of military law. A noncommissioned paralegal will do nicely.”

  Bellis wrote something on a pad. “Go on.”

  “I would like to have an investigator assigned to me.”

&
nbsp; “For what purpose?”

  “To interview people that I obviously will not have time to interview.”

  “I’ll see if Investigative Services can assign someone on a temporary basis.”

  “I appreciate that, Colonel. I also would like to be able to bring in civilian co-counsel.”

  “Has Cobol requested that?”

  “No, sir, he hasn’t but …”

  “You know that the accused has to arrange for outside legal counsel.”

  “Yes, sir, I do, and I intend to suggest it to Captain Cobol when I see him tomorrow.”

  “I’d hold up on that, Major.”

  “May I ask why, sir?”

  “Because of the sensitive nature of this whole affair. SecDef wants to keep it in the family, so to speak.”

  “In the family? Family as in military?”

  “Yes. Remember, Cobol was CIA-assigned. He’s enjoyed a top-security clearance until now, and has been exposed to a hell of a lot of sensitive material.”

  “But military law clearly states that the accused has the right to bring in civilian counsel.”

  “I know what the law says, Major Falk, and what I am suggesting to you is that you not push the idea on Captain Cobol. Why are you meeting with him tomorrow?”

  “His mother is flying in from New York. I’ve arranged for her to see him and intend to spend some time with her myself.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, sir.” Margit glanced up at the ceiling, then back at Bellis. “You said you were suggesting that I not push the idea of civilian co-counsel on Captain Cobol. Did you mean that? Are you suggesting it, or was that an order?” She knew, of course, that when a superior suggested something, wise and prudent subordinates took it as an order. In this case, however, she wanted clarification.

  “No, it’s not an order because I haven’t been given any orders in that regard. May I suggest to you, however, that it is the prevailing thinking upstairs that this should be kept within military channels as much as possible. If you’d like, I’ll check with SecDef to clarify whether what they told me should be considered an order. I’d rather not do that. I’d rather make you aware of the thinking around here and have you exercise your obvious good judgment.”