She flushed hotly, realizing that he was right. She wasn’t being objective. How could her feelings for Tom not hinder the way she tried this case?
She unlocked the passenger side of the rented car first, and they both got in. The instant she switched on the ignition, they were engulfed by an enormously loud sound, the blare of the car radio, turned up all the way.
“Man, you trying to kill me?” Grimes shouted. “I just sustained permanent hearing loss. I didn’t know you were the musical type.”
She switched it off. “Jesus, what was that?”
“Marilyn Manson, I think. I don’t know. I don’t listen to that shit either, don’t ask me.”
“I didn’t put that on,” she said. “I never listen to the radio.”
“Maybe you brushed it on by accident or something.”
“I would have heard it go on. Believe me, I didn’t put the radio on. Someone else did.”
“A warning,” Grimes said. “Telling you they can get into your car or your home, anytime they want, so watch it.”
“Subtle,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Your last witness, trial counsel?” Holt said.
“Mr. Investigating Officer,” Waldron said, “I have some testimony that’s not relevant now, which I’ve prepared in response to what I anticipate the defense will put on.” Grimes looked at Claire, puzzled. “So, rather than keep Chief Warrant Officer Four Stanley Oshman around for another day and a half, I’d like to put him on now.”
“Defense, do you have any objections?” asked Holt.
Claire whispered to Grimes, “You didn’t find out who this guy is?”
“No luck,” Grimes whispered back. “It’s okay, we’ll get to cross him, help us put on our case.” Aloud, he said, “We have no objection.”
“I call as my next witness Chief Warrant Officer Oshman,” Waldron announced, “a polygraph examiner assigned to Fort Bragg.”
The courtroom stirred.
“What the hell is this?” Grimes said aloud. He looked at Claire and then at Embry. “What the hell is this?”
Chief Warrant Officer Stanley Oshman, slight and owlish in thick glasses, with receding blond hair, in his early forties, got up from one of the spectator seats. He had been there all along, observing. He made his way to the witness stand and was sworn in. Waldron moved swiftly through the preliminaries while Claire and Grimes watched in dull horror.
“Chief Warrant Officer Oshman,” Waldron asked, “in addition to your day-to-day responsibilities, what do you do with the Special Forces units you work with at Fort Bragg?”
“I teach them to beat the box,” Oshman said.
“Beat the box? What does that mean?”
“I teach them techniques-tricks, if you will-that enable them to beat a polygraph, in case they’re captured and interrogated behind enemy lines.”
Aloud, but ostensibly to himself, Grimes said, “Wait one goddamned second.”
“So it’s your testimony here today,” Waldron continued, “that certain Special Forces officers, like Ronald Kubik, can beat the polygraph.”
“That’s correct. He certainly can.”
“That, if he’s given a polygraph, he knows how to give the answers he wishes to, whether truthful or not, and yet most polygraph examiners will conclude that no deception is indicated.”
“That’s correct.”
Too loudly, Grimes said, “Jesus fucking Christ. Our guy can just goddamn well go home now.”
“Are you accusing me of leaking again?” Embry asked after the hearing was over. “Is that what you’re implying?”
“I’m not implying, I’m saying,” Grimes fulminated. “You got another explanation how Waldron knew we were going to call our polygrapher, introduce the results of the polygraph? You got another explanation, dude?”
“I have no explanation.” Even Embry’s ears were flushed. “I was just as shocked as you-”
“Oh, were you, really?” Grimes said.
“Give him a chance to talk,” Claire said.
“For what?” Grimes said bitterly. “So he can stand here and bullshit us? The prosecution just successfully knocked out our ace. You think anyone’s going to pay attention to an exculpatory polygraph taken by a guy trained to beat the box?”
Claire instinctively turned to Tom, then remembered he’d just been taken back to the brig.
“Fine,” Embry said. “I see where this is going. I can see you don’t really care what I have to say. So I’m going to make it easy for you. I’m withdrawing.”
He turned and began striding away.
“You’re still subject to attorney-client confidentiality, you asshole,” Grimes called after him. He muttered, “Not like it ever stopped you, sorry-ass motherfucker.”
Embry joined the exodus of spectators and lawyers from the courtroom. From a distance, Waldron approached the defense table. Claire wondered how much he had overheard. It wouldn’t take particularly sensitive ears to hear the heated exchange.
When he was a few feet away, Waldron spoke directly to Claire. “Captain Embry didn’t tell me anything. You owe him an apology. This is a small world, and things get around.”
Claire chose not to give him the satisfaction of pursuing the matter. Instead she said, sweetly, “Maybe you can enlighten me about something. What’s the point of conducting a trial if it’s going to be held behind closed doors? I mean, I’ve always taught that a trial is held for the purposes of demonstrating to the public that justice is being done. So where’s the public? Five anonymous guys with top-secret clearances?”
“Take it up with the secretary of the army,” Waldron said.
“I just may,” Claire replied. “But it’s clear to me that the only justification for keeping this whole business so top secret is to keep certain persons from being embarrassed. There’s clearly no real national-security justification, given that the events we’re talking about are thirteen years old.”
“The national security-” Waldron began.
“It’s just us here talking,” Claire said. “No investigating officer to play to. Just us. So we can be honest. You see, I really don’t quite get the point of putting my husband through a court-martial. Why didn’t you guys just lock him away in a loony bin?”
“That’s actually where he belongs,” Waldron shot back. “Your husband is a sociopath, a twisted, sick bastard. He demonstrated that as an assassin in Vietnam. He was a legend, a sicko legend in that covert world. But he was brilliant, he spoke a bunch of different languages and dialects perfectly, and he had no compunction about killing his fellow human beings. He was perfect for the military’s purposes. Just like the U.S. government hired those Nazis at the end of World War Two. Only the Pentagon thought they could control Kubik. But he lost it.”
“Ask yourself what the brass really want,” Claire said. “Say whatever lies you want to about my husband; the folks at the top really just want to keep all this buried. They want to make sure the fact of a U.S. massacre in El Salvador never becomes public. And we’re prepared to agree to that. You drop the charges now, and we’ll agree to complete secrecy. In writing if you want. Nothing will ever come out. But if you let this go to court-martial, you’ll destroy the chief of staff of the army. This I promise you. And I’ll go public with the story-the whole world will know. You’ve gotta ask yourself, do you really want that? He goes down, you do too.”
Waldron smiled. It was an unpleasant, feral smile, the smile of someone who rarely did. “I really don’t give a shit who wants to cover their ass. Or who goes down. My job here is to prosecute a mass murderer, to get him put in Leavenworth for the rest of his pointless life. And preferably executed. That’s my job. And I’ll do it happily. I’ll see you at trial.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN