In the Name of Honor

by Richard North Patterson

  “Your Honor,” Terry retorted, “the witness has suggested that Lieutenant McCarran was the aggressor. We believe that there’s another explanation. In fairness to the lieutenant, I’d like to bring that out without waiting days or weeks.”

  Apprehensive, Terry watched Hollis weigh the question. In a somewhat dubious tone, he said, “I’ll allow it, Major Flynn.”

  Terry faced the witness. “We were taught to aim for the chest,” Martini answered slowly. “To inflict a killing wound.”

  “Were you also taught to fire more than one shot?”

  Martini folded his hands. “Yes. Until the opponent was neutralized.”

  Terry glanced at the members. “So that the bullet in Captain D’Abruzzo’s chest as well as the multiple gunshots are consistent with how the army trains its soldiers?”

  Martini looked thoughtful. “Yes, sir. I would say that’s true.”

  This was the best place to end, Terry decided. “Thank you, Sergeant Martini.”

  AS WITH THE MEDICAL examiner, Flynn’s redirect emphasized the absence of gunshot residue, or any other evidence helpful to Brian. But this time, Terry feared, the members appeared more receptive to these efforts.

  When Martini left the stand, Hollis glanced at his watch before inquiring, “Who’s your next witness, Major Flynn?”

  Flynn shot Brian a swift, telling look. “Mrs. D’Abruzzo.”

  “It’s nearly two o’clock. I think that the members should hear her testimony all at once. Absent objection, the court will adjourn until nine A.M. tomorrow.”

  Within minutes, the courtroom had begun to empty. What lingered with Terry was Brian’s downcast look, and the bitterness in the eyes of Joe D’Abruzzo’s mother.

  AS SOON AS HIS door closed, Meg wanted to make love. Seized by his own disquiet, Terry was slow to respond. But he had learned that the sight of her body and the smell of her skin could arouse him in ways he had never known before. He let that sweep him along.

  Afterward, Meg’s gaze was soft. “Making love may not solve all our problems,” she said. “But I think we’ve been given something special.”

  Terry smiled a little. “I know so. But sometime we should find somewhere more worthy of these moments. Maybe the Italian Riviera. I always liked the pictures.”

  Meg looked pleased. “How about Venice?” she suggested. “Or Costa Brava?”

  “Anywhere,” Terry said. “I’m not feeling picky.”

  Kissing him, Meg went off to take a shower.

  Afterward, wrapped in a towel, Meg lay back on the pillow. Her expression became wistful. “In the all-too-real world, Paul, what did you think about today?”

  “Viewed witness by witness, I poked some holes in another one. But I think the members have started to wonder about the bigger picture. As I said, all Flynn wants right now is to get the prosecution case past a motion to dismiss.”

  “And if he does?”

  Terry paused, reluctant to answer. “Our toughest decision is whether to call Brian. If we don’t, it tells the jury that the only witness to the shooting won’t testify in his own defense. But what Flynn really wants is to get Brian on the stand. Absent a PTSD defense—or even with one—‘I can’t remember’ could be lethal. I wish to God that Blake Carson could get Brian to talk about Iraq, or recall whatever happened in that room. But he can’t.”

  Silent, Meg gazed up at the ceiling. Finally, she said, “I think I should stay with him tonight.”

  Gently, Terry touched her shoulder. “Is there something specific that’s worrying you?”

  “Other than what the trial’s doing to him? Maybe it’s instinct. Or maybe I keep remembering when our mother committed suicide and Brian didn’t want to be alone at night.” Her voice softened. “He had nightmares then. Now he has them again. I know that life isn’t fair, but the way it’s been unfair to Brian is hard for me to live with. I refuse to lose him before he’s had a chance to heal. If he ever can.”

  Terry took her hand. “Staying out of prison would be a start. After Kate’s testimony, I’ll do my damnedest to get Hollis to dismiss the homicide charge.”

  Her smile was doubtful. Attempting lightness, she said, “Then what would you do?”

  “Take you to Costa Brava with me. We can make love in luxury and leisure. After that I might even get a job.”

  Meg hesitated. “I don’t know if you’ve considered this, Paul. But for talented trial lawyers, there are jobs in San Francisco.”

  Feeling a rush of pleasure and surprise, Terry was struck by a sudden image of a future where, with time and patience, he and Meg might truly reach each other. Smiling, he said, “San Francisco’s expensive. Where would I live?”

  Meg touched his face. “Maybe we should think about that. Someday when we have time.”

  nine

  TAKING THE STAND, KATE D’ABRUZZO SQUARED HER SHOULDERS, a show of self-possession which, though intended to conceal her shame, reminded Terry how closely she resembled her elegant mother. Before taking her oath, she flashed Brian a look that, in the split second it lasted, was naked in its affection. She did not look at Meg, or toward her dead husband’s parents. Instead, she turned to Flynn, who intended to destroy her credibility. That Terry had prepared her for this did not improve the moment.

  Flynn began with the usual preliminaries: name, address, family relationships. Kate’s answer to the last—that she had been married to Captain Joseph D’Abruzzo; that he had left behind two children—prompted Major Wertheimer, herself a mother, to glance at Brian with veiled disapproval. The only positive note for Terry was that, for once, Brian seemed completely present.

  Turning toward Brian, Flynn asked, “Can you identify the accused?”

  “Brian McCarran,” Kate answered in a soft, clear voice. “I’ve known him all his life.”

  “Prior to your husband’s death, what was your relationship with Lieutenant McCarran?”

  Turning, Kate looked directly into the prosecutor’s eyes. “We were close,” she said. “We always have been.”

  “In the months before the lieutenant killed your husband, what exactly did that ‘closeness’ include?”

  Both Flynn’s phrasing and his muted sarcasm scraped Terry’s nerves. But that posed no grounds for an objection. Coolly, Kate answered, “We had a relationship. Do I have to say any more?”

  “All I need to know, Mrs. D’Abruzzo, is whether you and the accused became intimate.”

  Despite his decorous phrasing, Flynn’s meaning was clear. Briefly, Kate bowed her head. “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “Three months.”

  “Where did you conduct this relationship?”

  Kate’s voice became muted. “At the Marriott Hotel near Alexandria.”

  “Who paid for the room?”

  “I did.” Kate paused again. “I paid with cash he gave me.”

  Brian, Terry noticed, listened closely and attentively, as though he were hearing about someone else’s life. “Prior to his death at the hands of Lieutenant McCarran,” Flynn asked, “did your husband learn that you were involved in an affair?”

  Kate’s intake of breath resembled a shiver. “Yes.”

  “How did that occur?”

  “One day Joe followed me to the hotel. When I came down to the lobby, he was there.”

  “Was Lieutenant McCarran with you?”

  Kate shook her head. “He always left before me, out the side exit.”

  The sour look on Colonel MacDonald’s face served to underscore Flynn’s point—that Kate and Brian were practiced in duplicity. “When you entered the lobby,” Flynn asked in the same antiseptic tone, “what did your husband do?”

  Kate’s voice was softer yet. “He confronted me, saying ‘I saw him.’ Then he called me a vulgar name.”

  “Did he also demand that you end the affair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you inform Lieutenant McCarran of that fact?”

  “Yes.”

  “When wa
s that in relation to your husband’s death?”

  “Nine days prior.”

  “Why are you able to be so precise?”

  Kate drew herself up. “I always went to the hotel on Wednesday,” she said at length. “Joe died on Friday of the following week.”

  Kate’s admissions, Terry thought, were forming a damaging mosaic of Flynn’s design. Watching her, Meg was utterly still; though she held a pen, she had written nothing down. In a more pointed tone, Flynn asked, “Did the accused later remove your husband’s gun from the bedroom of your home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who let him in?”

  “I did.” Kate’s voice rose. “I was very frightened, Major Flynn. My husband had gotten drunk and held it to my head.”

  “So you told Sergeant Frank,” Flynn said coldly. “He questioned you after the shooting, correct?”

  Kate clasped her hands together, holding her arms close to her body. “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you that your husband was dead?”

  “No,” Kate said with a trace of anger. “Not until the end.”

  “Did he ask if you were romantically involved with Brian McCarran?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Kate shifted slightly. “I denied it,” she said flatly.

  “That was a lie, of course.”

  “It was a deception,” Kate retorted. “I didn’t want our families to know.”

  Glancing at Flora D’Abruzzo, Terry saw her look away in loathing and disgust. But the five members of the court, eyes fixed on Kate, were motionless. Pressing forward, Flynn inquired, “Did Sergeant Frank also ask how your husband had come to be in Lieutenant McCarran’s apartment?”

  “Yes,” Kate answered harshly. “I told him the truth—that my husband was drunk, irrational, and furious that his gun was missing. That he’d choked me until I nearly passed out. That I’d told Joe that Brian took the gun because I thought he’d kill me. That’s why all this happened.”

  This burst of emotion caused Judge Hollis to study the witness closely. With quiet scorn, Flynn said, “You also told the sergeant that you’d called Lieutenant McCarran to warn him.”

  “Yes.” Kate’s voice lowered. “I was afraid of what would happen. I was right to be.”

  “Specifically, Mrs. D’Abruzzo, you claimed to have left a voice-mail message on the lieutenant’s home telephone.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that you’d used a landline to call.”

  “Because I did.”

  The danger in Kate’s anger, Terry feared, was that it verged on the imperious. “During the affair,” Flynn persisted, “you must have called the accused.”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you call his cell phone or his landline?”

  “Both. Sometimes I called his cell if I needed to reach him quickly.”

  Puzzled, Terry made a note—“Brian’s cell phone records”—and noticed Meg’s swift, sharp glance. “Did you always use a landline to place these calls?” Flynn asked.

  “Yes.” Kate hesitated, then gave the answer she had given Terry two days before. “There was a reason for that, Major Flynn. I didn’t want Joe to see the records of my calls. So I used the landline out of habit.”

  This answer, while adding to the portrait of subterfuge, was plausible enough that it made Flynn pause. “A moment ago, Mrs. D’Abruzzo, you claimed not to have known your husband was dead when Sergeant Frank questioned you. Does that remain your testimony?”

  “Of course.”

  “But your husband knew about the affair, correct?”

  “Yes. I’ve already said that.”

  “So how did you think you could conceal it?”

  Kate gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand your question.”

  Coldly, Flynn said, “Didn’t you think you could conceal your affair because you knew that your husband was dead?”

  Kate’s hands flew to her face. “No.”

  “In fact, didn’t you and Lieutenant McCarran plan to kill him?”

  “No,” Kate said angrily. “That’s not true.”

  Flynn stared at her in disbelief. “So you thought you could lie to Sergeant Frank and your husband would just go along?”

  “I didn’t think about that.”

  “You didn’t wonder if your drunk, angry husband—who Sergeant Frank told you had been in an altercation with Brian McCarran—might reveal why he was so upset?”

  “No. I was upset, too.”

  Flynn moved closer to the witness, as though determined to extract the truth. “Didn’t the accused call you after the shooting—landline to landline—to tell you he’d killed your husband and to prepare for a visit from CID?”

  Adrenaline jackknifed Terry from his chair. “Objection,” he snapped. “There’s no foundation for this question. It’s a naked accusation from a prosecutor’s fantasies.”

  Flynn shot Terry a look of anger. “Your Honor, the witness has admitted to a pattern of deceptions that depended on the use of landlines. And the specific basis for the question is in the discrepancy between her lie to the CID about this affair and her claim that she believed her husband—who had discovered it—was still alive. That’s no fantasy, and it demands exploration.”

  “Objection overruled,” Hollis said coolly. “Please answer the question, Mrs. D’Abruzzo.”

  Kate turned to Flynn, drawing herself up. “You make me sound calculating,” she said. “I was a mess. All I knew was that I couldn’t tell a stranger what I hadn’t said to my own mother. Imagine the damage to my children, to Brian’s life and career, to everyone in our family—”

  “Didn’t you consider that,” Flynn snapped, “when you embarked on an affair with Brian McCarran?”

  Kate slowly shook her head. “I was selfish. I didn’t think.”

  Meg, Terry saw, could not repress the chilliness in her gaze at Kate. “Perhaps not,” Flynn said. “But once Captain D’Abruzzo found out, wasn’t your only hope of preventing all that ‘damage’—and your only hope of a life with Brian McCarran—to conspire with your lover to murder your husband?”

  “No,” Kate insisted in an anguished voice. “That’s completely twisted.”

  “It surely is,” Flynn said scornfully. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  STANDING, TERRY ADDRESSED THE judge. “If it please the court, the defense will conduct a brief cross-examination of Mrs. D’Abruzzo. We’d like to reserve the right to recall her, if necessary, as part of our defense.”

  “Very well, Captain Terry. You may proceed.”

  Approaching Kate, Terry stopped a respectful distance away. “Major Flynn suggests that you concealed your relationship with Brian McCarran in order to cover up a murder. Is that true?”

  Eyes glistening, Kate shook her head in dismay. “No,” she said huskily. “Our son and daughter are suffering, Joe’s parents are suffering, and all our lives will never be the same. I may have been selfish, but it doesn’t take experiencing Joe’s death to see how tragic the results would be. Whatever Joe did to me, I could never wish him dead. I can’t even live with knowing that my weakness led to so much misery.”

  “Why did you turn to Lieutenant McCarran?”

  Kate closed her eyes. “Joe started hitting me—hard, and repeatedly, on the face. He refused to get counseling. I turned to Brian because I was so lonely and afraid.” Her voice was suffused with feeling. “I’ve never had a father or a brother, Captain Terry. For so many years, Brian was like a member of my family.”

  “During your involvement, you said that you always called him on your landline. Did he return calls only to that landline?”

  “Yes. It didn’t matter if he used his cell phone. But calling mine would leave a record Joe could see.”

  “So on the evening your husband died, your call to him and his call to you were consistent with a pattern that was second nature to you.”

  “Yes.”

  Terry turned sideways, f
acing Kate and the members of the court. “In short, except for concealing the extent of your relationship with Lieutenant McCarran, everything you’ve told the CID was true.”

  Slowly, Kate nodded. “It was.”

  “And, having corrected that omission, everything you’ve told the members of this court is also the truth.”

  Major Wertheimer studied Kate with a look that, while suggesting doubt, was not judgmental or unkind. Briefly, Kate glanced at Brian. “Yes,” she said in a soft, firm voice. “It is.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. D’Abruzzo. I have no further questions.”

  “Nor do I,” Flynn said with a confident air.

  Kate remained motionless. Courteously, Hollis prompted her, “You’re excused, Mrs. D’Abruzzo.”

  Leaving the courtroom, Kate seemed to detach herself from her surroundings—except for a final glance at Brian, she gazed straight ahead, as though unaware of the gawkers, the media, the hatred of her husband’s parents. Brian watched her, empathy filling his clear blue-gray eyes, softening the cool perfection of his features.

  “Major Flynn,” Hollis inquired. “Do you have any further witnesses?”

  “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

  A brief murmur came from the onlookers, their expression of surprise. Promptly, Terry said, “May counsel address the court?”

  “Of course.”

  Sitting down, Flynn remained tensile and alert. In a low voice, Terry said, “The defense requests that the jury be excused, so that it can make a motion to dismiss.”

  “Very well,” Hollis said gravely. “We’ll excuse the members and reconvene in half an hour.”

  The light in Flynn’s eyes carried a hint of challenge. Saying nothing, he returned to the prosecution table. Meg remained where she was, somber and still, her hand touching Brian’s beneath the table.

  ten

  AT THE APPOINTED TIME, JUDGE HOLLIS ASSUMED HIS PLACE ON the bench. Across the courtroom, Terry and Meg faced Flynn and Pulaski, whose attempts to appear expressionless betrayed the same tension Terry felt. The court reporter watched them, his fingers resting on his machine.

  “For the record,” Hollis said, “we are convening under Article 39a to hear a motion to dismiss advanced by counsel for the accused. State your grounds, Captain Terry.”