Claire, moved to tears, said, “Why?”
“They put you in the brig, they take away your gun, put you on suicide watch. He never could have done it. This kid killed himself. Blew his brains out with his pistol. And the next day, I put in my letter.”
“Jesus, Grimes.”
Very quietly he said: “So you see, kid, you don’t need to convince me what shit a military jury’s capable of, okay?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Grimes’s voice became louder, his tone belligerent. “So let me ask you a personal question. Do you really think your husband is innocent? Not that it matters to our case, of course.”
“Of course I do,” she said. “I wouldn’t take this on if I didn’t.”
“Well, you are married to him.”
“Grimes, if I thought he was guilty, I’d hire someone else. I wouldn’t do it myself, not if I thought he was really the sort of monster they’re trying to make him out to be.”
He gazed at her levelly. His eyes were bloodshot. “’Course, you represented Gary Lambert, didn’t you?”
“This is different, Grimes,” she said, exasperated. “He’s my husband.”
“You think this whole thing is a frame-up.”
“Of course it is. Colonel Bill Marks comes back to the States after the massacre that he ordered, and realizes he’d better cover his ass, and so he blames it on the one guy in the unit who refused to lie, to cover up. The one who could destroy his career. Here he is, thirteen years later, chief of staff of the army, soon to be chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and he figures he got away with it. Well, the fucker’s wrong. He didn’t count on me.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Grimes said.
“Nah, you’re pâté. Hey,” she exclaimed suddenly, “why not polygraph him? And introduce the results at the 32 hearing? That’ll get the court-martial thrown out faster than anything.”
“No way. Don’t go there. Get that nasty idea out your head. Anyway, polygraphs aren’t admissible.”
“Oh, they’re admissible, all right. You don’t keep up on this?”
“Rule 707 of the Military Rules of Evidence says no. In the annotated cases. Based on a 1989 decision of the Army Court of Criminal Appeals. Flat-out no.”
“Grimes, it didn’t used to be admissible, but now it can be. It’s up to the judge. U.S. v. Scheffer, 1996, decided by the Court of Appeals for the Armed Forces. If it’s exculpatory and the accused’s counsel can lay foundation for it, it may be admissible.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if he really is guilty?”
“He’s not.”
“You’re gonna take that chance? Plus, he could be innocent and fail because he’s nervous. Then we’re screwed, because people talk, you know. Word gets around. The jurors at the court-martial hear the water-cooler gossip. Everyone’ll know he failed. These guys, these examiners, are Chatty Cathys.”
“Not if he’s hired by us. That makes him an adviser to defense counsel. Falls under attorney work product, brings him within lawyer-client privilege. I’ll see what Tom thinks, but you know a good examiner?”
He sighed with resignation. “I know one. Does a lot of work for the military. You want another pitcher?”
“I couldn’t. Not a third. You shouldn’t either, if you’re driving.”
As they left, Grimes wove his way unsteadily between the bar and the tables. Claire made a mental note to insist upon driving him home. She could pick him up in the morning, but she wouldn’t let him drive now. They passed a large round table near the entrance where they heard a sudden burst of laughter. She reflexively turned to look and saw Embry surrounded by a bunch of other short-haired men, some in civilian togs, some in army fatigues.
“Grimes,” she said.
He turned with a beer-addled grin, saw where she was looking, who was sitting next to Embry. “Well, how do you do. Our own Captain Terry Embryo. Hoisting a few with our very own trial counsel, Major Lucas Waldron. Well, hell-o.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Not even four in the morning, and the sky was indigo-black with just a trace of pink on the horizon. Dew was on the grass on the forlorn little hillock in front of the “defense shop,” the low white temporary-looking structure that served as Judge Advocate General defense offices at Quantico. It looked like a dressed-up Quonset hut.
Grimes had arrived first, in jeans, a sweatshirt, a black leather jacket out of Shaft. Claire wore jeans and a green Shetland sweater and a suede jacket. They stood in silence. A pair of guys in identical gray sweats and army T-shirts jogged by, huffing in rhythm. A car pulled up, a dark-gray Honda Civic. Captain Terry Embry’s car. Grimes and Claire looked at each other. They hadn’t seen him since that night at the bar; they hadn’t said anything to him either.
Embry got out and sprinted over. “Sorry,” he said.
“No problem,” Claire said. “No one else’s here yet.”
“Morning,” he said with a nod to Grimes. He was wearing his uniform, neatly pressed as always. His complexion was clear with a ruddy flush. She could smell his mouthwash when he talked. “Claire, ma’am, bad news on the general. His office finally got back to me on our request and said the general won’t be able to testify or even give a deposition. There’s been a change in his schedule. He has to fly to CINCPAC, Camp Smith, Hawaii. So he’s going to be totally out of reach from now through the 32 hearing.”
“Ask for a continuance until he gets back.”
“Yeah,” Grimes said, “but you won’t get it.” He grunted. “Asshole.”
“The good news is, I reached Hernandez for you, and he’s all set for an interview with us.”
“Thanks, Terry,” Claire said.
“But…” Embry faltered. “You remember he works in the Pentagon?”
“Yeah?”
Embry unlocked the front door and switched on the lights.
“Well, he’s the senior administrative officer to General Marks.”
“What?” Claire said.
“Yeah. Turns out Hernandez is, like, the general’s aide de camp. His XO, his executive officer. Handles personal business, scheduling, all that. He’s followed General Marks around everywhere since ’85. Totally loyal.”
“I’m sure he’s gonna tell the truth,” Grimes said sardonically. “He won’t cover for the general, oh no, not Hernandez.”
They followed Embry to a conference room, where he also switched on the lights there. “Want me to stay for this, or no?” Embry asked.
“Best if you don’t,” Claire said.
“Okay, then, if you guys don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my office at Fort Belvoir.”