Rose wrote back, "Thanks! The story will hit the wire tonight."
I closed my computer and grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge. It had been a long day, and I needed a break. Four beers and four Seinfeld episodes later, my Blackberry vibrated. It was a message from Judge Rake: "We will reconvene tonight at 2100 hours to litigate the defense motion to recuse. Defense: It's your motion, you have the burden of proof. Be prepared to present witnesses and evidence."
It was a 20-minute drive to Fort Custer, and while I was not hammered, I wasn't ready for a dress parade either. I immediately called Rose. "The judge is pissed," I said. "He wants to litigate the motion tonight, in less than an hour. Can you hold off on the article?"
"Sorry. It's going live soon."
"Can you give me a lift to court?" I said. "I'll explain later."
"Sure. I'll be there in 15 minutes."
"Got it."
I brushed my teeth, scrambled into the shower, and dressed. Outside, Rose was waiting. I jumped into her car, and we sped off. On the way to Fort Custer, I called Luken. "Lieutenant, there's been a slight change of plans," I said. "I need you in the courtroom. Now."
"I'm in bed."
"Then get out of bed. You need to appear in court. We start in 20 minutes."
"Sir, I told you I did not want to testify."
"You don't have a choice."
The call went dead. I tried back twice. Luken did not answer. At a stoplight, Rose checked her phone and handed it to me. A nervous smile spread across her face. "The article is live." It was titled, "Army Lawyer Accuses Military Judge of Misconduct in Detainee Abuse Case."
I read the article on her phone, confident that recusing Rake was the right thing to do. It wasn't until we pulled into the courtroom's parking lot that my confidence faded. The JAG Office, which took up the first two floors of the building, was lit up. From the outside, it seemed like the entire office was at work. The parking lot had two dozen cars. A few civilians, probably reporters, huddled on the concrete steps that led to the entrance.
"Drop me off on the corner," I said. "I don't want us to be seen together."
Rose made a hard U-turn and stopped a block away. "See you inside, and good luck."
I hopped out of her car, and she drove off. I took a deep breath and walked toward the courtroom. A holler came from my right as I approached the building. "Captain O'Donnell." I glanced over to see a shadowy figure clutching a note pad. I reached for the door handle. "Captain O'Donnell! Wes Steuben, from the Times," the man said, wedging himself between my body and the door.
"Excuse me," I said.
He did not move. "Did your client torture detainees?"
"No."
When I pulled the handle, the man jammed his foot into the bottom of the door, stopping it from opening. No doubt a Grateful Dead groupie, his breath reeked of cigarettes and turpentine, closer to dead than alive. "Did the judge conspire to frame your client?" he said.
I jerked the door open, knocking the reporter to the side.
"Jesus Christ, man," he said.
"Get out of my way," I said as I pushed past him and entered the building. Inside, I ran up the stairs to the third-story courtroom. I entered, and all eyes were on me. It was 8:58 p.m., and the room was full. Jefferson sat at the defense table with his usual accompaniment of guards. The prosecution's brood lingered in the front row, notebooks in hand.
Paine sat in the middle of the prosecution table, flanked by Nelson and Weiss. The remainder of the gallery was packed with Army lawyers, members of the command, reporters, and a bunch of busybodies looking to fill their daily quota of gossip. Even Paine's wife was there, eager to watch the carnage.
I walked over to Jefferson. He appeared as nervous as I felt. "Sir, what's this about?" he asked me.
"You know that motion to recuse the judge that we discussed?"
He nodded.
"I filed it and gave it to the press."
"Maybe you shouldn't have done that. I think we fucked up."
"What was your first clue?"
As I scanned the audience's faces, I noticed Rose had slipped in after me. Aside from her, the crowd was hostile. Across the room, Paine made no effort to hide his contempt. "O'Donnell, you're in a world of hurt," he shouted. Some of the voyeurs in the room cackled. "I'm talking to you, O'Donnell." Paine stood and pointed at me. "I can't wait to cross-examine your ass." I ignored him.
"What's he talking about?" Jefferson asked.
"He's trying to mess with me. Don't worry about it."
"I hate to say it, but you look a little frazzled."
"I'm fine." I lied. I picked up my Blackberry and called Luken. Again, it went to voicemail. I knew he wasn't coming.
Paine jumped to his feet as Judge Rake entered the courtroom and hollered, "All rise."
The rest of the audience stood as Judge Rake entered and took his seat. He was out of breath. "This hearing is called to order," Rake said. "I apologize for disrupting everyone's lives, but I saw no other option. It was brought to my attention this evening that the defense filed a motion to recuse me from this case-" Rake's voice cracked. "-for allegedly colluding and conspiring with the prosecution in an attempt to deprive Sergeant Jefferson, of his right to a fair trial." Rake's eyes locked on me. "Also, it appears these allegations have been leaked to the media, presumably by the defense." The air in the room felt like it was going to tear. Nobody spoke, nor coughed, nor breathed, for what felt like minutes. "Defense counsel, you filed this motion. Call your first witness."
I stood. "Your Honor, in support of our motion, we submit a sworn affidavit from First Lieutenant Luken, an Army lawyer. We also submit the golf rost-"
"I said, 'call your first witness.'" Rake's voice boomed.
"I don't have a live witness. Lieutenant Luken stands by his affidavit, and for this hearing, an affidavit is an acceptable form of evidence."
Rake slammed his gavel. "I don't think so." His right eye twitched like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I remained standing but said nothing. "This is unacceptable. We're all here at 2100 hours, ready to litigate this matter, and you have no evidence. Explain yourself."
"First off, Your Honor, you're the one who scheduled this hearing at 2100 hours, not me. Second, I have evidence."
Rake's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Sit down, now." My heart pounded as I sat. Rake continued, "I'm ready to state under oath that I never conspired with Colonel Paine. I never interacted with him in any personal manner, on or off duty." He turned to Paine and said, "Is there anything you want to add to the record?"
Paine stood and adjusted his tie. "Your Honor, I have never discussed this case with you outside of the courtroom and have never interacted with you in a personal manner."
I sprang to my feet. "Do you both deny golfing together this afternoon?"
"I golf every now and then, time permitting," Paine said. "Considering I've been working 18-hour days, I think I'm entitled to a quick game once a week." Some of the audience murmured in agreement.
"That does not answer my question," I said.
Rake hammered his gavel. "Sit down, O'Donnell."
I sat, and Paine said, "I had a tee time this afternoon with a colleague, Colonel Ryan Beaver. I couldn't make it, so I mentioned the opening to Colonel Rake. He took my spot. I stayed behind at the office. I had a lot of work to do."
"That is accurate," Rake said. "Colonel Paine mentioned the golf opening in the hallway following the hearing, and I agreed to fill in for him."
"Sir," I said, somehow astounded by the blatant untruths. "Your names are listed on the golf roster. You both signed in to play. You even rented pushcarts. That document is in evidence."
"That proves nothing," Rake said.
Paine stood and pointed at me. "O'Donnell's motion is frivolous," he said. "It was filed with malicious intent. I'm taking this up with his bar association. He should be sanctioned."
"Agreed. For my part, I will make this misconduct known to Captain
O'Donnell's commanding officer, as well as to the Army Trial Judiciary," Rake added. "Now, I want to discuss the news article that appeared an hour ago, in which large portions of your recusal motion are printed. This article is slanderous to me, Colonel Paine, and the Army." Rake scanned the audience and pointed at Rose. "Ms. Sanchez, who gave you this motion?" he said.
All eyes were on Rose as she stood. "Your Honor," she said, without an ounce of fear. "I am a journalist. I cannot reveal my sources."
"I'm ordering you to tell me where this information came from."
"No, I won't do that."
"I can lock you up for contempt."
"Then do it."
Judge Rake had overplayed his hand. Jailing a reporter for contempt was technically legal, but it was a public relations nightmare. It made the entire process look corrupt, and it made Judge Rake look bad. Rose remained standing as Judge Rake fumbled through the Manual for Courts-Martial. He was buying time as he figured out how to undo the mess he created. After a few minutes, he stopped searching and closed the book.
"Ms. Sanchez, you may sit down. At this point, I am going to admonish all parties to follow the military rules for media contact. Moving on," Rake continued. "This Court finds that the allegations made in the defense motion are false and unsupported by the facts. There is no credible evidence, whatsoever, to support the defense's claims. The motion is denied. Furthermore, it appears that the defense is using the media in an attempt to influence this court-martial. Therefore, I am issuing a gag order on all parties. No one will leak, or cause to be leaked, any matters related to this case, to any member of the press or any news agency. That includes." Rake cleared his throat for emphasis, "Bloggers. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Honor," I said.
"This court-martial is adjourned until 12 December when we will commence jury selection." Rake smacked his gavel.
Jefferson turned to me and whispered, "The judge is fired up."
"Don't worry about him," I said. "He's mad at me, not you."
"Nah, he hates both of us."
I laughed and slapped Jefferson on the back. "You're right, he hates us both. Now get some rest. I'll be in touch."
I left the courtroom, expecting to find Rose waiting for me outside. She wasn't. It was nearly midnight, and I didn't have a ride. I reached inside my bag and pulled out my phone. It wouldn't turn on. The battery was dead.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and walked along the unlit sidewalk toward the main gate, where I could hail a cab. A few blocks later, an SUV approached me from behind and flashed its headlights. I never thought I'd be happy to see Reggie.
"I heard we got a problem judge," he said.
I nodded.
"Get in."
Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" pulsed through the sound system as we cruised past strip malls lined with liquor stores and Asian nail salons. "You hungry?" Reggie asked me, keeping his eye on the road.
"Yeah."
"Wings?"
"Sure."
Somehow, I knew the only place that served wings this time of night was the Kitty Kat. Oddly, I felt like it was a safe place, away from Army rules and lying prosecutors. Inside the club, degenerates congregated around the stage, sucking on cancer sticks. Warrant's "Cherry Pie" blared as a redhead in a thong, and six-inch platform heels fired up the crowd. She was already topless, which meant she was mid-performance. Desperate, attention-starved men waved crisply folded dollar bills, hoping to lure her in their direction.
"Over there," Reggie said, motioning to an empty booth. We sat, and Reggie ordered a bucket of wings with blue cheese and a pitcher of Modelo Extra. "What happened tonight?" Reggie said. He folded his hands in front of him, making a giant fist. His eyes were intense. Different than before. More focused.
"The judge refused to step down," I said, after giving him the abbreviated story. "Now, we're stuck with him, and he's going to screw us."
"How's that any different from what's been going on the whole time?" I thought for a moment. Reggie was right. We'd been getting jerked around from the start, and Judge Rake was just a different guy singing the same tune. "Son, when you gonna learn?" Reggie shook his head like I let him down. "You never beat a bully at his own game - especially in his own backyard."
The pitcher of beer arrived, and the waitress poured two tall glasses. Reggie drained his in three gulps. "You got to go after their weak points," he continued. "Make them fight where it's not expected. You don't beat Goliath with a sword, you beat him with a well-aimed stone."
I nodded in agreement, although I wasn't exactly sure if we even had a stone to throw.
"For starters. This judge has got to go," he said. "We knock him out, then we start going after other weak points, like the snitches."
"Reggie, I tried to get rid of the judge, and it backfired."
"It backfired because you played their game. Boy, you think an Army judge is going to admit to misconduct, and recuse himself in front of the national media? Did your momma know you were stupid when she raised you?"
"Yeah, you're right." I actually laughed. "That was pretty stupid."
"We hit them where they been hitting my boy all along - below the belt."
I pulled out my notepad. "Where do we start?"
"Put that shit away, counselor. I got this." Reggie pulled a cell phone from his pocket and stepped away from the table. "I'll be back," he said and walked out the door.
When he did not return after 15 minutes, I looked for him in the parking lot. He was gone, and so was his Escalade. I walked back into the Kitty Kat, finished the wings, and took a cab to my motel.
Chapter 61
I got back to my room at half-past midnight and charged my phone. I had 14 new voicemails. The first 12 were from Sterling. All about the same. "Max, Sterling Hillyard here (yes, he introduced himself the same way a dozen consecutive times). Annabelle started labor about nine o'clock (yes, he mentioned that every time, too). You should call."
Lucky number 13 was different. "Max, Sterling Hillyard here. Annabelle had a little problem, and they had to take her in for an emergency C-section. You are the proud papa of a six-pound, two-ounce boy - mother and child are doing fine."
The fourteenth call was like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Well, congratulations, Daddy," came the consonant-dropping syrup of Martha's voice, magnolia blossoms falling from her accent. "So sorry you were too busy to be here for the birth of your child, but number three must be old hat to you. Anyway, my Sterling and I held the fort, and our brave Annabelle was a champ. Whenever you do decide to come home, I know you will be proud of your new son." She paused for a few seconds. Martha obviously wanted to ensure I was paying attention. "A beautiful little fellow. Lovely, peach-colored skin, and a strong, proud name - Sterling Hillyard O'Donnell."
I flinched so hard, I hit my head on the headboard. The "lovely, peach-colored skin," didn't bother me - classic Martha. She always referred to Ethan, our slightly tan child, as her "little chestnut." She conspicuously favored Eva, our blonde, blue-eyed offspring. I'd come to an uneasy peace about Martha's barely concealed bigotry, but how did Maximillian Alejandro, Jr. - the name Annabelle and I had selected - transform into Sterling Hillyard?
I knew what time it was, but I didn't care. I dialed Annabelle. Three rings . . . four . . . five . . . then the voicemail recording. A new one, not Annabelle's voice. "This is Martha. Annabelle and little Sterling are well. Thank y'all so much for your call. Please leave a message, and we'll get back to y'all in two shakes of a lil' lamb's tail. God bless." I could hear fumbling, and the telltale tri-tones while someone hit buttons by mistake. Then, Martha's voice, "How do I turn this off, Hon?" Then, "beep."
I laid there, thinking about my newborn son. I couldn't wait to see him. One thing was for sure, we would change his name when I returned - to anything, but "Sterling." Soon, I was fast asleep.
My phone woke me as the morning sun peeked through the curtains. Reggie's voice was calm. "Counselor, thought you'd be int
erested in the latest news."
"What are you talking about?"
"Our problem judge is a thing of the past," he said.
I could hear myself speaking, but the words sounded like they originated elsewhere. "Reggie. What the hell have you done?"
I put my fingers to my carotid and checked my pulse. I didn't know what a stroke felt like, but I thought I might be a candidate. I remembered reading somewhere that stroke victims smell burnt toast right before the event. I sniffed the air. Only the reassuring aroma of stale coffee.
"I ain't done nothin', Captain. I'm just reporting what I heard a little bit ago. Seems a young girl staggered into the hospital this morning 'bout 4 a.m. Said she'd been assaulted. She got swabbed and scraped and talked to two very concerned Special Victims Unit detectives." I struggled to control my breathing, while Reggie continued like he was telling a story about a recent fishing trip, "Once she mentioned a U.S. Army Colonel, the local police officers rushed to the nearest phone to call Fort Custer. Last I heard, a couple of MPs had him all handcuffed and shit."
"Reggie, they'll break that girl's story."
"Don't think so. She's got his skin under her nails. Her skin under his nails and there was semen in just about every female receptacle. Best part is, she's 17."
"Reggie, what the fuck? You and I can go to jail for this."
"For what?" he asked.
Then it hit me. "Reggie, when did the alleged incident take place?"
"Last night, after the hearing, Rake visited his favorite watering hole. At the bar, he happened to meet a young lady."
"Go on," I said.
"This morning, he woke up in a hotel room. Claims he doesn't remember anything, but I guaran-dam-tee you that the DNA test will light him up like a pinball machine."
It was all becoming clear. "Reggie, you rigged this before you picked me up. You knew about my motion, and you knew it wasn't going to work. You framed the ju-."
He cut me off. "Be careful with accusations, counselor, but you can bet your ass you've seen the last of Judge Rake." The line went dead.
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