Mortal Allies (27 page)

“I said no. Don’t even think about dragging Ernie into this. The Army would destroy him. He’s got a wife and kids to worry about.”

“Hey, Tommy, I wouldn’t worry about other people’s problems. He’s a big boy. He knows what he’s doing.”

Tommy very firmly said, “I told you no. And don’t go looking for any other character witnesses, either. This is my problem and I won’t drag my friends down with me.”

While I was deeply impressed by his loyalty, he wasn’t in any kind of position to be so noble. But there was no use wasting arguments on this one, at least not yet, since I still hadn’t found any worthy character witnesses to wrangle over. Besides, I had other, more important issues to resolve.

I said, “I wouldn’t bring him over anyway. He told me about your boxing career. Shit, you must’ve been a terror in the ring. Unfortunately, that’s not real helpful right at this moment, because four straight years of West Pointers watched you fight and they all generally agree you’re a homicidal maniac. Couldn’t you have played tennis or something?”

Of course, I was using this opportunity to broadly hint that I knew about the bone-snapping power of his fists, not to mention his penchant for flailing opponents nearly to death, and I wanted to hear how he’d reply.

But he made no reply, he just stared at the far wall. So I continued. “I also talked to Ed Gilderstone. Can’t say it was a real chummy conversation or anything, but he still holds you in high regard. Not that he’s willing to lift a finger. He seems to like it inside the closet.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Gilderstone.”

“You expected him to react that way?”

“A lot of old gays are like that. He’s spent decades hiding. The longer you do it, the more obsessive you get. You hide it from your parents, your family, your closest friends, from everybody. You don’t come out unless somebody drags you out, kicking and screaming.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Remember that gay magazine that got its kicks outing famous gays?”

“Yeah, I guess I remember something about that.”

“They caused two or three suicides, and more lawsuits than you could count. If you’re straight you can’t begin to understand the terror it can cause a gay who’s been trying to preserve a normal life.”

“Is that why you want us to withhold an admission?”

“It’s got nothing to do with it. I mean, it’s a fairly hollow denial, right? That part of the damage is done.”

“What is it, then?”

“I won’t give them the satisfaction. Besides, Katherine says I shouldn’t.”

Well, this was news to me. I mean, among many other things Katherine never mentioned was that she’d already advised her client on this issue.

“She say why?”

“She just thinks it’s a good legal strategy. And I see her point. The more burden of proof we put on their shoulders, the better our chances, right?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I admitted, because technically that was true. Most smart defense attorneys never freely concede a single point. They force the prosecutor to painstakingly prove everything, because even if he
can
prove everything, it still increases the odds he’ll make a mistake in the process. Except when it’s completely hopeless, because then the jury is apt to see the stonewalling as an admission the defense team hasn’t got a leg to stand on. In those instances, you only end up losing the goodwill of the jury members. An admission of Whitehall’s homosexuality struck me as one of those instances.

And Carlson should know that, too. What in the hell was she thinking?

“So, Tommy,” I continued. “Does your family know you’re gay?”

“They know. They’ve known since I was old enough to walk. Some gays don’t realize it till pretty late in life. I knew it from the day I could think rationally.”

“Why was that?”

“I guess because I had a great family. My parents are remarkable people. They weren’t into pretenses or shame. They always just figured you are what you are.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, “I’ve been trying to track them down. Your personnel file says you were raised in Denver, Colorado, but there’s thirty-two Whitehalls in the Denver greater metropolitan area. Nowhere in your personnel file does it list your parents’ first names. Could you help me out here?”

“Leave them out of this,” he said. He said it very firmly, too.

I let out a deep sigh. “Tommy, they’re your family. I’m sure they want to help, and they could be damned helpful. The way things stand right now, good character witnesses are essential.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “They stay out of this.”

I wasn’t going to give up this easily. “Look, there’s an impression out there that you’re some kind of nutso homo freak who beat, murdered, then raped a guy. It wouldn’t hurt to have your mother on the stand telling the board how cute you were as a baby, and what it was like to see you learning to crawl. Or your father talking about how proud he was the day you got accepted to West Point.”

“It isn’t going to happen.”

“Are there strains between you? Gilderstone said he never saw them visit you at West Point.”

“No, no strains. I love them and they love me. They’re doing everything they can, but I want them left out of it. And don’t cross me on this, Major.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, recognizing a lost battle.

But what the hell did I know? Maybe he was worried his mother would get up on the stand and say, “Tommy? My little Tommy? Why of course he killed that boy. From the day he was born, he used to love to play with webbed belts, wrapping them around his brothers’ and sisters’ necks. Why, it was a terrible strain on all of us.”

And his father would say, “Damn was that boy happy to get into West Point. He was always homicidal anyway, and they promised to turn him into a professional killer.”

I said, “Want another burger?”

“You got another one?”

I reached into my case, pulled out the last one and another beer. “Here.” I handed them to him. “Go slow. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“That’s the least of my problems,” he replied, and I guessed he was right.

I leaned against the wall. “So what was it like growing up and knowing you were gay?”

He didn’t answer for a while, just sat and munched his burger and sipped his beer. Finally he said, “Look, Major, I appreciate the hamburgers and the beer and the company. I really do. But don’t push it. You’re not my friend. You’re the lawyer the Army assigned to my case. Now, why’d you really come out here?”

So much for my guileful attempt to bypass his defenses.

“You’re right about the burgers and beers. I thought it might soften you up a bit. Can I be candid?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Be as candid as you want.”

“Here’s the thing. I’ve spent the past five days going over every detail of your case. I’ve read the full case file. I’ve viewed the corpse and studied the autopsy. I’ve talked to Bales and checked out your background. And, Tommy, I can’t remember seeing a stronger case. From a strictly procedural standpoint, it’s perfect. I can’t find a single flaw, not one. You know what that means?”

“I’m screwed?” he guessed.

“That would be my professional judgment. Unless we find something we haven’t thought of, or the prosecutor or the judge make a fatal blunder, your chances of conviction are at least ninety-nine percent. And don’t bank on the prosecutor or judge screwing up. They’ve brought in the best prosecutor in the Army. And the judge is one of those guys they keep chained up in the basement unless they absolutely need him.”

“So they’ve stacked the deck?”

“Let’s just say they’re bringing in the A-team. I wouldn’t want to face these guys even if I had a foolproof defense.”

He considered that in silence.

Then I said, “Tell me something. And it better be the truth.”

“What?”

I drew a heavy breath and fixed his eyes with my best prosecutorial glare. “Did you kill Private Lee?”

It was the same question he’d told me earlier he had no intention of answering — only, having laid out the bleak facts, I now hoped he was willing to relent. Stonewalling his own attorneys never was a good idea. It had become a catastrophically bad idea.

And besides, I really wanted to hear how he answered.

“I did not,” he answered very simply.

“Do you know who did?”

“No. You can’t believe how much I’ve thought about it. All I can tell you is that I’m positive it wasn’t Moran or Jackson.”

“That’s an assumption, Tommy. It could be a very dangerous one. They’re the only other possible culprits.”

“We’ve already been through this, Major. I’m not changing my stance. I don’t believe they did it. It had to be someone else.”

“Someone else? Your apartment door was locked. You were on the twelfth floor of a twenty-story building. The windows were locked from the inside. A lock expert was flown up from Taegu. He took the door lock apart and inspected every single piece under a microscope. There were no signs of tampering, no visual scarring. The lock wasn’t picked.”

“So maybe somebody had a key?” Whitehall suggested, although you could tell from his tone even he recognized he was throwing pebbles at the moon.

“Won’t fly. You admitted in your statement that only you and the apartment management company had copies.”

He tensed a little bit. “That’s not completely true.”

“What?”

“I, uh, I lied about that. No had a key. I gave it to him months before, right after I got the apartment. I didn’t tell Bales, because it would’ve confirmed No and I were lovers.”

“You’re not making this up?”

“It’s true. If you can’t find his key, isn’t it possible the killer might’ve stolen it from him and used it?”

“How? How would the killer have gotten the key from him?”

“I don’t know.”

I pondered that a moment before I said, “What about the possibility the management company lost track of the keys?”

“That’s a possibility, too.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out the second-to-last beer. I opened it, took a long pull, and handed the rest to Whitehall, who took a short sip and immediately passed it back to me. He was watching me, so I immediately took another long draw, guessing, I think accurately, that he wanted to see if I was too squeamish to drink from the same can as a gay man.

“This is one strange damn case,” I said.

“You’re telling me,” he remarked.

“No, Tommy, stranger than you think. You don’t know the half of it.”

“Really?” He chuckled. “And I thought I was the only one who does know all the halves of it.”

“You know why Katherine asked for me?”

“Tell me.”

“Well, she and I went to Georgetown Law together. You know that old saying about cats and dogs? That was me and her. We were a walking combat zone. It got so bad the law school issued flak vests and helmets to the other students, just in case of stray rounds.”

“She can be pretty stubborn.”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not questioning her legal skills. Between you and me, if I was accused of something, she’s one of the few lawyers I’d want in my corner. It would have to be something damned serious, though. Otherwise, I couldn’t put up with her.”

“My position’s pretty precarious,” he said, smiling curiously.

“The point is, Tommy, I’m not sure why she asked for me. The passage of time hasn’t improved our compatibility. You need to know that, because we’re at the point where you’re going to see some fairly gaping differences in how she and I think and operate. I have an obligation to inform you of that.”

He needed a moment to take that one in. I had to tell him, though, because unlike Katherine, I didn’t believe in withholding critical information from my client. His fate was on the line, and this was another of those instances where what you don’t know could very well hurt you.

“Anyway,” I continued, “here’s another thing that’s got me hot and bothered. This thing is much bigger than just you and this crime. There’s all kinds of hidden currents and eddies.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s this gays-in-the-military thing.”

“No, Tommy. Bigger than that even.”

He hunched forward. “What do you mean?”

“Keith got tossed in front of a moving car and he’s in a coma. I’ll be damned if I can figure it all out. But there’s something else here . . . Something.”

He peered at the far wall, and the shadows accentuated the strong features of his face. If he weren’t an accused homosexual murderer who was locked up in a Korean prison cell, he’d be the perfect choice for that “noble soldier” model you see on Army recruiting posters. Strong-jawed, clear-eyed, a perfect complexion. You think of murderers and rapists as guys with shifty, soulless eyes, swarthy, pockmarked skin, crooked teeth, and thin, cruel lips. Whitehall just didn’t look the type. On the other hand, what we were dealing with here was most likely a crime of passion, not the cold-blooded variety, so that bent all the stereotypes in half.

“Tommy, be honest with me. Is there something here I haven’t been told? Are you holding anything back?”

He put the beer on the floor and faced me. “Look, all I know is I woke up one morning and the man I loved was lying dead beside me. I don’t know why. I don’t know who did it.”

“Then it’s narrowed to one option. You had to be framed. Deliberately set up. That’s what Katherine believes. At least that’s what she says she believes. Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some gay-bashing group learned about us and decided to set me up. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“It’s possible. The hardest damned thing in the world to prove, but it’s possible. Did anybody know you were gay? Aside from Moran and Jackson.”

“Nobody. Gilderstone guessed, but he’s the only one. At least, the only one who knew for sure.”

“Come on, Tommy. Don’t be bashful. Didn’t you have affairs or platonic relationships with anybody else? Think hard. Anybody? Back at West Point, maybe? In high school? Any other place you’ve been?”

There was this rather awkward moment, and at first I was confused. Then I caught on. “You mean, Lee was your first?”

“Umm . . . ahh . . . yeah,” he finally stammered.

“Jesus, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I said, then we both chuckled, because if you think about it, that was something of an awkward observation.