Authors: Brian Haig
Regardless, I said, “Not at this time.”
Martie looked at the two military policemen and nodded for them to leave. They closed the door behind them. He then spent a moment just staring at me, I guess to make me nervous. There was a big mirror on the wall, like there is in most interrogation rooms. I figured it was probably one of those two-way jobs with somebody on the other side. Maybe Murphy. Maybe Tretorne. Maybe both of them.
“You have a serious problem,” Martie finally said. “Your running shoe matches a print we took from the latrine where Jeremy Berkowitz was murdered.”
I said, “That’s impossible.” Of course, those were the first words out of the mouth of every suspect. So much for my brilliant legal acumen.
He shrugged, then leaned across the table. “Look, Major, if you were in the latrine that night, it would go better if you’d just admit it. Maybe you met him there?”
“I didn’t go near the latrine that night.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that somebody else borrowed your running shoes, murdered Berkowitz, then put them back under your bunk?”
“I don’t expect you to believe any damned thing. I didn’t go near that latrine, and unless my running shoes grew legs, neither did they.”
“Then how do you explain the fact that your shoe prints were there?”
This was a standard technique. God knows, I’d defended enough clients who’d fallen for it. Get me to start building excuses, then tear apart my alibis and try to chase me into a confession.
“I’m not here to explain any damned thing. I never went near that latrine.”
He leaned back and began playing with his pen. “There’s more,” he said.
If this was supposed to make me more nervous, I wasn’t biting. I sat patiently and coolly watched him.
He began tapping the pen against his chin.“Among the notes we found in Berkowitz’s room was one where you asked him to meet you in the latrine at one o’clock.”
My coolness suddenly dribbled away. I now knew I was in very serious trouble. The running-shoe prints could be challenged in a courtroom. There was always the possibility of the crime scene being contaminated by poor procedure or even of contamination at the lab back in Heidelberg. Poor police and lab procedures had bollixed more than one case. There was also the chance that someone with my exact same shoe size and taste in running gear did the crime. An outside chance, admittedly, but I’d built defenses on weaker arguments and prevailed. I mean, I knew I’d never gone near that latrine, so somebody, somewhere, had made a bad mistake. The note, though—that was a slam dunk.
I blurted out, “That’s impossible.” Oops! There I went again. “We’ve had two experts examine the handwriting. It’s yours, Major. For Chrissakes, you’re an attorney. Do I have to spell it out for you?”
No, he didn’t have to spell it out for me. I was being framed. Actually, I was being framed for the second time, if you want to get perfectly technical about it. I didn’t know how, but there was no other explanation. I knew I’d never made an appointment with Berkowitz. And I knew I’d never been in the latrine.
I was surprised how tight my lips were when I said, “Martie, I’m done talking without counsel.”
He stared at me a few seconds, then stood up, walked over to the door, and knocked. The two MPs came back in, and he ordered them to book me and put me in a cell. They did. First, I was dumbly led to another room where I was fingerprinted, although for the life of me I didn’t know why. The military keeps copies of the fingerprints and dental X rays of all personnel in the event they’re needed to identify remains. Maybe they just wanted to humiliate me. It worked, too.
My belt and shoelaces were collected, then I was taken to a cell. I knew I’d need a clear head in the morning, so I collapsed onto the bunk and tried to will myself back to sleep. Of course, that never works when you need it to. For thirty minutes I sat there thinking how terrifically stupid I’d been. I’d been too over-confident. I’d overestimated my own cleverness. Worse, I’d once again underestimated who I was dealing with.
I just couldn’t figure out how they’d pulled this off. Even if Martie was working for Jones, aka Tretorne, how in the hell had they fabricated such condemning evidence?
I suddenly heard the sound of a lock being opened down the hall. Then footsteps. No lights were turned on, so the hallway and my cell remained pitch-dark. The footsteps stopped in front of the cell.
I could smell the cologne.A good one, too, like scented pines. Very expensive.
“Tretorne, you bastard,” I said.
“You look good in there, Drummond,” he said.
I said, “Yeah? Why don’t you come on in and join me? I’d love a chance to rip your guts out.”
He chuckled.“I knew it was you who burgled my room.You have no idea what that briefcase cost. And I really would like to get my passport and ID back. It’ll be a real pain in the ass if I have to get them replaced.”
Sounding more bitter than I wanted, I said, “Gee, Jack, I’m really sorry. I’d hate to think I’ve put you out.”
“Well, you have, Drummond. You’ve really pissed me off.” “Then we’re even. Let me out of here.”
“I’m afraid it’s no longer that easy.”
“Sure it is, Jack. If I go to jail, I won’t take my secrets with me.” “You don’t have any secrets. You only think you do.”
“Hah,” I said.“I know all about what you and Murphy are up to.You frame me, and I’ll get the word to every reporter I know. Believe me, I’ll find a way. Think about that.”
“I already have, Drummond. You think they’ll listen to you? No one listens when an accused murderer starts mumbling about conspiracies and frame-ups. Think about it, Drummond. You’ve got no evidence, and you’ve got no leverage.”
He was right, of course. And that only infuriated me all the more. He moved back and I saw him lean against the wall. His face was completely in the shadows, which only made him appear more sinister.
When he spoke again, his tone sounded suspiciously reasonable. “Regardless, I’m here to make a deal. This will be your only chance. Want to hear it?”
I said, “I’ve got nothing better to do for the moment.” “Okay. You quit screwing around and do what you’re supposed to do on this investigation, and we’ll call this thing even. I’ll even convince Clapper to cancel that inquiry, and you can get on with your career.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“That’s it,” he said.
“And I’m supposed to just overlook this little thing you’ve got going with the Green Berets?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“What about Berkowitz? Am I supposed to forget you did that, too?”
“We didn’t do Berkowitz’s murder.”
Now it was my turn to chuckle. “Horsecrap.”
“It’s the truth. I don’t know who murdered him.”
“But you’re framing me for it.”
“Sure. You’ve put us in a difficult corner, Drummond. But if you’re the leading suspect in a murder investigation, well, you can hardly remain the chief of the investigating team. Nor can you leak to the press like you tried with Berkowitz. Very cute, that.”
So that confirmed it: My office was bugged. They’d listened to the whole conversation I had with Berkowitz. They’d listened to everything.
That confirmed something else, too. They had a compelling motive to murder Berkowitz.
I said, “Come on, Tretorne. What was it? Was Berkowitz getting too close? Did he have you figured out? Why’d you have him killed?”
“I’ll say it again. I don’t know who killed Berkowitz. We didn’t do it. I’m not crying any crocodile tears about it, though. He wasn’t much of a human being. However, his death gives me the opportunity to get you out of the way.”
“You’re a real prick.”
“I’m not proud of this, but I’m doing it for my country.”
I almost guffawed at that one. That line really was the last refuge of the worst kinds of scoundrels. I thought of telling him he sounded just like one of Hitler’s henchmen on the docket at Nuremberg, but I’d just be wasting my breath.
Instead, I said, “How’d you work the frame?”
“Easy, really. Everything today is electronic, even police lab work.You’d be surprised to know how easy it is to hack in and change the image of a shoeprint stored in a lab computer when you have the right technology. These NSA people can do miracles.”
“And the note they found in Berkowitz’s room?”
“A man with all the right credentials planted it in Berkowitz’s room yesterday. The right technology can also produce flawless forgeries.”
I didn’t say anything, so he added, “Look, Sean, don’t force us to do it this way. I admire you. I really do. I know all about your time in the outfit. You did some very courageous things, and you’ve been very dogged in this investigation. But I can’t let you damage your country. Don’t make this personal.”
Back when I was dancing with Sergeant Major Williams in the hard sell interrogation room, every time he hit me, something nasty took control of my brain. I kept mouthing off at Williams, and he kept hitting me harder and doing more and more serious damage to my frail body. I thought about that every night when the day’s session was over, and I knew I was facing another one the next day. The rational part of my brain warned me that passive resistance would spare me a lot of pain, but somehow every time they threw me back in that padded room with that sadistic monster, I couldn’t help myself. I climbed right back in the saddle, and he drew a little more blood and bounced me off the walls a little harder.
Now I was twelve years older, but was I twelve years wiser? All I had to do was give Tretorne what he wanted. I could get on with my life. Okay, I’d have to live with the fact that I’d participated in a whitewash. Everybody in life has a few blemishes on their record. That’s why Catholic priests do such a brisk confessional business. What made me any different? What made me so holy?
I said, “Okay, Tretorne, I’ll do it.”
He jerked himself off the wall and approached my cell.“You better mean that.”
I sounded angry, because I was. “I told you I’ll do it.”
Even in the dark, I could feel his mechanical eyes studying me. “Give me your word as an officer,” he demanded. He was a West Pointer, so he’d been trained to believe that an officer’s word was an inescapably sacred bond. It was kind of funny, really. He looked right past the irony of forcing me to swear I’d lie on an official report.
“You have my word,” I said.
“Okay. In about two hours, General Murphy will come in here and swear you were with him the night Berkowitz was murdered. That’ll get you released. But you try to screw me, and I’ll have your ass right back in this cell. There won’t be any second chance, either.”
“Look, I gave you my word. Get me outta here, and I’ll do everything you want.”
“All right,” he said.
Then I heard his footsteps echoing down the hallway again. I was lying, of course. The second I got out of here, I was going to do every damned thing I could to screw Tretorne and Murphy and the whole United States Army. I had no idea what that was, but I sure as hell couldn’t get anything done sitting in this jail cell.
You are who you are, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. These guys framed me and blackmailed me, and I was mad enough to spit. Only I’d settle for a little revenge.
A
t eight o’clock they came to get me. Martie accompanied the military policeman who carried the keys. He had showered and changed, and now he wore a striped suit with a striped shirt and a striped tie speckled with tiny stars. On top of his abominable taste, he was color-blind. It was all red, white, and blue. He resembled a walking American flag.
He looked tired, too, with lank hair and these big puffy dark things under his bloodshot eyes. He also looked mopey. He thought he had his crime solved, then the Army’s most respected brigadier general shows up to give me an alibi, and now poor Martie was right back where he started. Only a lot more tired.
I didn’t mind one bit, though. I mean, I liked Martie, but not enough to volunteer to stay here and be his culprit.
I went back to my tent, showered, shaved, and put on a fresh uniform. Delbert and Morrow were both back when I walked into the office. Nobody knew I’d been arrested and released. At least nobody acted as if they knew. The mole probably knew but was canny enough to keep it to himself. Or herself. Whichever.
I invited them both into my office. Then we spent an hour or so hashing through the motions of reviewing what they’d accomplished. The folks back at Bragg had told Delbert that a preemptive ambush wasn’t exactly what they’d envisioned when they wrote their rules of engagement. However, they reasoned, the parameters certainly fit as long as you stretched things the right way and as long as the team was under genuine duress. No surprise there.
Morrow had built a lengthy, intricate chronology of events that closely resembled the checkery outfit Martie had worn the day before. She’d produced this twenty-page computer-generated spreadsheet, composed of tiny color-coded blocks for each man in Sanchez’s team. It was an amazing piece of work. You could follow their every action for four straight days. I sarcastically mumbled something about how I couldn’t tell when they went potty in the woods, and she gave me this dead serious look and assured me she had that in an annex but would certainly integrate it in the master chronology if I thought that was necessary. I had no idea if she was kidding.
When we were done, Delbert and Morrow stood up and started to leave. Morrow suddenly paused at the door and asked if she could speak to me. In private, she stressed. I nodded, and she shut the door and returned to her same seat.
She looked deeply troubled. She paused, then said,“I’m having second thoughts.”
“About what?” I asked.
“It’s kind of hard to explain. Just a sense.”
“A sense about what?” I asked again.
“I no longer think they’re innocent.”
I shook my head and cleared my hearing. “You’re kidding, right?”
She looked me dead in the eye. “No. When I was working with them to construct this Chinese puzzle, I just got this impression that it was a little too fabricated. Does that make sense?”
“I wasn’t there,” I said in my most maddeningly ambivalent tone.