“How did you react to that?”
“I knew that he could do those things, and in a matter of seconds I’d be dead. That’s when I decided to reach for the gun.”
“As best you can, describe your thoughts and feelings at that instant.”
Brian’s eyes narrowed, as though he were transporting himself to another place. “I was trapped. The only chance I had was to freeze him where he was.”
“How long did this take?”
“A second, maybe two.”
“Had you ever had similar experiences?”
“Yes. House-to-house fighting in Sadr City. You open a door, and someone might be waiting on the other side. You had a split second to react before they killed you.” Brian touched the bridge of his nose. “That happened to me twice. Both times I shot a militiaman without thinking, and survived.”
“How far apart were you and D’Abruzzo?”
“About the same as you and I are now. Four to five feet.”
Turning to the members, Terry allowed them to gauge the distance with their eyes. He could read Alex MacDonald’s face—“too close for safety.” The question was whether the members believed this.
“When you took out the gun,” Terry asked, “did you say anything?”
“I told Joe to straighten himself out, or I’d protect Kate any way I could.”
“How did he react?”
“He whirled to the side and raised his hands to attack me.”
Terry’s rhythm quickened. “And then?”
“I felt the gun jump in my hand.” Brian shook his head in seeming despair. “That’s where it all goes dark.”
“Do you remember shooting Captain D’Abruzzo three more times?”
“No,” Brian answered dully. “I don’t.”
“Do you remember where the first bullet hit?”
Brian’s eyes became slits. “His arm.”
On the bench, Hollis leaned forward, as though watching for any change in Brian’s features. “When you fired the first shot,” Terry said, “did you know where you were?”
“I didn’t think about it. All I saw was Joe D’Abruzzo. Then nothing.”
“Had you ever experienced this kind of blackout before?”
“Not exactly. But in the firefights I described, things happened fast. I’d see a dead Iraqi on the floor before I knew I’d shot him. Afterward I couldn’t bring back any details.” Brian paused. “Maybe I didn’t want to. You just move on.”
“In the two incidents when you killed a militiaman in house-to-house fighting, how many shots did you fire?”
“I have no idea. You know that you don’t always kill someone with a single shot. So you just keep shooting.”
“After you shot Captain D’Abruzzo, what’s the first thing you remember?”
Briefly, Brian rubbed his temples with the fingers of both hands, as though trying to banish a headache. “Joe was lying near the door in a pool of blood. I remember wondering how he’d gotten there.”
“Did you check to see if he was dead?”
“No.” Brian hesitated. “There was a lot of blood, and he didn’t move.”
“When you shot those two militiamen, did you take their pulse?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how did you know you killed them?”
“Because they were lying on the floor, riddled with bullets. You didn’t stop for a postmortem.”
“Is that how you felt when you saw Captain D’Abruzzo on the floor?”
Brian puffed his cheeks. “I can’t tell you how I felt. All I can say is that Joe looked the same as those militiamen.”
“So what did you do then?”
Brian glanced toward his sister. “I called Meg.”
“What do you recall about that conversation?”
“It wasn’t a conversation. It felt more like trying to figure out what was real.”
“A dead body must have seemed real enough.”
“It was. But it seemed like I was in a different world. Staring down at Joe, I went in and out of thinking it was a nightmare.” Brian bit his lip. “Then Meg answered her phone, and I knew it was no dream.”
“What did she tell you?”
“To call the MPs right away, but not to answer questions without a lawyer.”
“Did you take her advice?”
“Only about calling the MPs.”
“Why did you talk to CID?”
“Because I’d killed a man. I needed to explain what happened.”
“Even though you couldn’t remember an important part of it.”
“The hole in my memory was part of it, too. So I told them that.”
For a long moment, Terry paused. “How did you feel about Joe D’Abruzzo?”
“I’d come to hate him,” Brian said softly. “Because of Iraq, and because of Kate.”
“Before he came to your apartment, did you want to kill him?”
“No,” Brian responded firmly. “I’m not God. And Joe had kids.”
“Did you ever discuss killing him with Kate?”
“No,” Brian responded evenly. “Mathew and Kristen are her kids, too.”
“So you and Kate didn’t collaborate on a cover story to conceal a murder?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did you and Kate ever discuss whether she might leave Joe to be with you?”
“Never.”
“Did you hope she would?”
“I never thought about it,” Brian answered. “The relationship between our two families would have made that impossible. And whatever happened between us, Kate wouldn’t have left Joe for another man. Her reason would have been Joe himself.”
“So what happened in that room was spontaneous?”
Brian drew himself up. “Joe demanded the gun, then threatened to kill me. When I took out the gun, he whirled to attack.” Facing the members of the court, he concluded in a clear voice, “I had no time to think, let alone premeditate. The twitch of my finger was pure reflex.”
Scanning the members’ faces, Terry saw openness, doubt, confusion, but no hostility. “Thank you,” he said to Brian. “That’s all I have.”
nine
TENSILE AND ALERT, FLYNN STRODE TOWARD BRIAN, HIS LEAN profile radiating a caged energy. Brian watched him warily, his attention tightly focused. At that moment, Terry imagined him driving into an ambush he knew was coming, his nerves and sinews taut. Meg was completely still.
“In Iraq,” Flynn said harshly, “you learned to hate Captain D’Abruzzo. Correct?”
Brian stared at him. “Joe rejected information. Men died as a result, though I also share the blame. After that, we hated the sight of each other.”
“Do you believe an officer has the right to refuse an order from his superior?”
“No. And I didn’t.”
“So Captain D’Abruzzo had the right to direct you to carry out a mission ordered by Colonel Northrop?”
“I’ve never suggested otherwise.”
“Did it occur to you that Captain D’Abruzzo or Colonel Northrop might have considered factors of which you were unaware?”
“Of course. But I certainly knew something of which Colonel Northrop was unaware. Thanks to Captain D’Abruzzo.”
Flynn stopped moving. “So Captain D’Abruzzo deserved to die?”
“Perhaps from a guilty conscience,” Brian said coolly. “I confined my revenge to reminding him of that.”
“Did you believe he wanted you dead?”
“Every time he looked at me. He did his best to find Iraqis to do it for him.”
However much they had drilled him, Terry and Meg could not keep Brian from answering Flynn in his own way. Watching the members, Terry hoped that Brian’s lacerating candor impressed them more than false displays of emotion. Disdainfully, Flynn asked, “So you believe that Captain D’Abruzzo was also trying to kill your men.”
Brian ignored Flynn’s sarcasm. “Honestly, Major, I don’t think he considered that at all.”
“Isn’t the real problem, Lieutenant McCarran, that you couldn’t accept the necessities of combat, or Captain D’Abruzzo’s role as your commander?”
Brian tilted his head, as though to appraise Flynn from a different angle. “Call me soft, if you like. But to me, the ‘necessities of combat’ means that a soldier’s death is necessary. Or, at least, that it’s necessary to put his life at risk.”
Flynn’s aim, Terry understood, was to underscore Brian’s hatred of D’Abruzzo while painting him as an arrogant junior officer. “Who gets to decide that?” Flynn prodded. “You?”
“Certainly not. But as an officer I get to have an opinion and express it. Or I’m no good to those above or below me.”
“Do you get to decide when a mission—or a war—is necessary?”
“I’ve already said no to that,” Brian said calmly. “But given that you threw in the war, I’m not at all sure it was necessary. And even if it was, the way the occupation was handled was criminally stupid—a waste of American and Iraqi lives that I witnessed at first hand. Including sixteen deaths in my platoon.
“Am I angry about that? You bet. Did I ever disobey an order? Never. Did I shoot Joe D’Abruzzo to avenge my men? Not a chance.” Brian’s voice lowered. “One could even argue that, long before he died, Joe became a casualty of the conditions under which we were asked to fight. If so, Kate was, too.”
“So you took your revenge by sleeping with his wife.”
“No,” Brian said softly. “That wasn’t about revenge. And I cared for Kate long before I ever knew that Joe existed.”
With a delphic smile, Flynn asked, “When did you find out that D’Abruzzo knew about his wife’s affair?”
For the first time, Brian hesitated. “After he threatened her with the gun.”
“Not before? I thought Joe saw you at the Marriott when he confronted Kate. She didn’t at least see fit to call you?”
This had always puzzled Terry, as well. But neither Kate nor Brian could give a better answer than the one Brian gave Flynn now: “I don’t think Kate knew what to do.”
“I assume Mrs. D’Abruzzo knew that an accusation of adultery with a fellow officer’s wife could terminate your career.”
“I’m sure she did,” Brian answered. “But for Joe to have accused Kate would have exposed that he’d abused her, threatening his own career. Perhaps she felt a few days could pass without warning me. Or maybe she was scared.”
Meg, Terry noticed, had stopped taking notes. “Before coming to your apartment,” Flynn asked, “did Captain D’Abruzzo ever confront you about the affair?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t that suggest a considerable ability to control his own emotions?”
“It could suggest that, though I didn’t see much sign of it when he came looking for the gun. It could also suggest that he felt too vulnerable to charges of spousal abuse to confront me when he was sober.”
“Prior to the night you shot him, did you worry that Captain D’Abruzzo might kill or injure you?”
Brian pondered the question. “I’m not sure,” he finally answered.
“Well, you must have been worried, Lieutenant. Why else would you take his gun instead of getting rid of it?”
“I’m not sure I thought about it.” Brian paused. “I think I reasoned that disposing of the gun would inflame things even more.”
“More than shooting him? Why didn’t you at least remove the bullets?”
Brian appraised him. “I’m not sure. But had I done that, I’d be dead.”
“So you were planning to use the gun?”
Brian shook his head. “I had no plan. I didn’t think about the gun as a means of self-defense until Joe came to my apartment.”
“When you shot Captain D’Abruzzo, did you know who he was?”
“Of course.”
“So you didn’t think he was a member of the Mahdi Army?”
For the first time, anger flashed in Brian’s eyes. With lethal quiet, he asked, “Have you ever fought in a war, Major Flynn?”
“Answer the question,” Flynn snapped.
Brian gave himself a moment. “All right,” he said. “In combat, you develop reflexes. That’s how soldiers survive. When Captain D’Abruzzo threatened to gouge my eyes out and shatter my windpipe, then wheeled to carry out his threat, my reflexes kicked in. Maybe you’d have stated an objection. I didn’t feel like I had time.”
Flynn stiffened. “So you shot him.”
“Yes. In the arm.”
“But you don’t remember shooting him in the chest and hand?”
“No.”
“Can you explain why the bullet casings were found in different places?”
“No.”
“Or why you shot Captain D’Abruzzo in the back?”
Brian looked away. More softly, he said, “I can’t.”
“Or even how his body ended up against the wall?”
“No.”
“And when you awakened from your trance, and saw him in a pool of blood, you never touched him to see if he was still alive?”
“No. As I said, I’ve seen dead men before. That’s what I thought he was.”
“So you called your sister.”
Brian nodded. “I needed to get a grip.”
“Even though you’d seen dead men before. Men you’d killed with a gun.”
In the jury box, the members watched this duel intensely, eyes moving between Flynn and Brian. “Yes,” Brian answered quietly. “But that was Iraq. This was a man I knew. Kate’s husband, Matt and Kristen’s dad.”
“So after you called your sister, you also called Mrs. D’Abruzzo.”
Brian’s face froze. “I only called the MPs.”
“Then Sergeant Frank showed up and you gave him an account of the shooting, much like you’ve given today.”
“Yes.”
“Did Sergeant Frank ask if you were having an affair with Mrs. D’Abruzzo?”
“Yes.”
“And you denied it.”
“Yes.”
“And that was a lie.”
“An honorable one, I thought. I was protecting Kate and her family. All our families, really.”
From behind him, Terry heard Flora D’Abruzzo’s harsh, scornful laugh. Hollis glared at her, inducing a silence more taut than before. Incredulously, Flynn asked, “Weren’t you protecting yourself?”
“No.”
“Even though you knew that an affair violated military law and the army’s code of honor.”
“I knew that, yes.”
Sitting beside him, Terry saw the muscles in Meg’s face tighten. Each new question seemed to impale her. “So in addition to protecting family members,” Flynn prodded, “you were protecting your career.”
Brian paused again. “Maybe it had that effect. But that’s not how I saw this.”
“Nevertheless, you recognized that as a benefit of your and Mrs. D’Abruzzo’s decision to lie about your affair.”
“No,” Brian objected. “There was no decision—”
“So your lies were a coincidence?”
“No,” Brian answered. “Human nature coincided. That our reactions were predictable doesn’t make this a conspiracy.”
The answer, brilliant in its simplicity, was of Brian’s own design. It made Flynn hesitate. “So if you didn’t call Mrs. D’Abruzzo to warn her, why did she think she could get away with lying?”
Terry could have objected. But part of their strategy was to let Brian face Flynn without Terry interceding. “I don’t know,” Brian answered calmly. “Maybe she thought Joe would conclude, as we did, that no one would be served by airing something so private. Especially Matt and Kristen—”
“In fact,” Flynn interjected harshly, “didn’t you kill Captain D’Abruzzo in part to cover up your affair? Didn’t you believe your secret would be buried with him? After all, you already hated him enough to sleep with his wife. Once you and Mrs. D’Abruzzo lied, you thought no one cou
ld expose you. Isn’t that why you lied?”
Brian stared at him. “How many questions was that? No, I didn’t plan to kill him. No, I didn’t kill him to cover up my affair. No, I didn’t know what Kate would say. And no, hating someone is different than deciding to murder them. If it weren’t, everyone in this courtroom would be in prison.” Brian’s voice softened. “This was a tragedy, not a murder. I’ve told the truth about the shooting—”
“Including the shots you can’t remember?”
To this, there was little Brian could say. Tiredly, he responded, “I remember the first shot, Major. Whatever else happened followed from that.”
Flynn stared at him as though examining a specimen on a slide. “No further questions,” he said. Swiftly he turned away, as though he could no longer stand the sight or sound of Brian McCarran.
On Terry’s legal pad, Meg had written “Self-defense.” Rising quickly, Terry asked, “Why did you shoot Captain D’Abruzzo?”
Brian seemed to re orient himself to Terry, sloughing off Flynn’s hostility. “I was afraid he’d kill me.”
“Did you intend to kill Captain D’Abruzzo?”
“No. All I wanted was to stop him. If I couldn’t, I figured I was done.”
“So at the moment you fired the first shot, all you thought about was surviving.”
Brian closed his eyes. “At that moment, I wanted to live. That was a reflex, too.”
Terry let this linger for a moment. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Returning to the defense table, Terry heard Hollis excuse Brian from the stand and saw Meg’s shoulders slump from the exhaustion of watching. “Stay with him,” he murmured to her. “We’ll have other nights.”
Meg thanked him and looked away, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.
TERRY WENT TO THE gym. Alone on the court, he traced the oval his father had created, missing more shots than he made.
Flynn had done well. But so, for the most part, had Brian. The balance lay in the mysterious chemistry through which members of the court determined whether they liked Brian, or at least believed him. Terry could not be sure. Perhaps he would feel more confident if he believed the whole of Brian’s story.
In the Name of Honor Page 36