“Some rough going, huh?” he whispered back.
“Worse than I expected. This judge just doesn’t give a shit.”
“Counsel,” Judge Farrell called out, “are you prepared to conduct voir dire?”
“What?” Claire exclaimed.
“I said, are you ready to bring in the members?”
Claire turned to Grimes, who was as astonished as she was.
Tom blurted out, too loud: “The trial’s not supposed to start for another three weeks!”
“Yes, sir,” Waldron said, “we’re ready.”
Claire leaped to her feet. “No, Your Honor, we most certainly are not. It was our understanding that this trial was not to begin for another three weeks. This is a capital-murder trial, the charges are extremely serious in nature, and defense is not prepared to cross-examine witnesses. We’re still in the midst of our investigation.”
“What are you sayin’, it was your ‘understanding’?” Farrell shot back with narrowed eyes.
Grimes stood. “We were told that informally by the Staff Judge Advocate’s Office, Your Honor.” Claire had never before heard such anxiety, such timorousness, in his voice.
“Yeah, well, you may have that agreement with the Staff Judge Advocate’s Office,” Judge Farrell said, “but I’m the military judge, and I control the docket.”
“Your Honor,” Claire said, “we’ve just had a motion session this morning. We obviously couldn’t prepare our case without knowing what your rulings would be on our evidence. Your rulings on the admissibility or nonadmissibility of certain evidence sculpt our case. There are certain witnesses we haven’t had an opportunity to question at all. Other witnesses, we need more investigation to corroborate or contradict their testimony.”
“Counsel,” Judge Farrell said frostily, “you’ve had plenty of time to prepare.”
It took all of her restraint not to lash out at the judge. “Your Honor, the defense has not been dilatory. We have planned our case based on the scheduling that was informally decided-that is, three weeks between arraignment and trial. I will say, too, that we’ve tried repeatedly to question the primary witness against my client, the chief of staff of the army, and he has repeatedly refused our requests. Therefore, we are absolutely not prepared to present our case today, and we are not prepared to question witnesses. We would in fact request a month in which to prepare for this trial.”
“Your request is denied,” Judge Farrell said flatly.
Waldron stood and said, “Your Honor, the Staff Judge Advocate has communicated to us that General William Marks has decided to make himself available to defense counsel for an interview.”
Claire looked at Grimes. This was a thunderbolt. She got up. “In which case, Your Honor, we respectfully request two weeks to prepare for and conduct this interview before trial begins.”
“Denied,” Judge Farrell said.
“Your Honor,” Grimes put in, “defense will accept the delay in speedy trial. The accused has been arraigned, so speedy trial is no longer a consideration. All that’s at issue now is whether our client gets a fair trial, and he’s not gonna get a fair trial if counsel’s not prepared.”
“Well, counsel,” Judge Farrell said, “defense counsel shoulda been prepared, and if you’re not, it’s not this court’s fault. This case is going to trial today.”
Grimes sank into his chair, stunned. Tom turned to him wide-eyed, and whispered, “Is he serious?”
“This is a military court,” Grimes muttered. “They got the right. Only in a military court.”
“Son of a buck!” Embry whispered in disbelief.
“Your Honor,” Claire said, still standing, “once again we object to proceeding today.”
“Your objection is noted and overruled, counsel. Are you prepared for voir dire?”
“We are, Your Honor,” Waldron called out.
“Your Honor,” Claire said, “we’ve already made our position known on whether we are prepared. We are not. We are absolutely not prepared, because of assurances given us that this trial would not begin for another three weeks.”
Farrell jabbed a stubby index finger at her. “I said, are you prepared for voir dire?”
“If you’re going to force us to proceed,” Claire said acidly, “we will conduct voir dire to the best of our ability.”
“All right,” Farrell said. “I will give you two hours to frame your questions for the members. As the lunch hour is almost upon us, this would be an appropriate time to take that break.”
And he slammed down his gavel.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Is the government prepared to make an opening statement?” Judge Farrell asked.
Waldron stood. “Yes, sir.”
This came after several hours of voir dire of the panel members. The jury. After several challenges for cause on both sides, and two peremptory challenges, it came down to two women and four men who would decide Tom’s fate. The most senior member, a lieutenant colonel, became the president of the jury, equivalent to the foreman. He was a light-skinned black man with steel-rimmed aviator glasses. He sat in the center of the front row of the jury box, the next most senior to his right, the second most senior to his left, and so on. They were an unremarkable group, and they watched the proceedings with rapt attention. Each of them had top-secret clearance, and could be relied upon to maintain absolute secrecy.
Waldron started softly, his voice almost incantatory. Claire had expected a booming, stentorian beginning. Waldron, however, was too clever.
“On 22 June 1985, in the tiny village of La Colina, not far from San Salvador, eighty-seven people were awakened from their sleep and slaughtered like farm animals.”
He had the jury members’ complete attention. They wrote nothing: the judge had instructed them that opening statements weren’t evidence and they shouldn’t take notes. They watched Waldron slowly approach the jury box and stand still in front of them.
“These eighty-seven people were not soldiers. They were not combatants. They were not rebels. They had nothing to do with the battles then raging in the country. They were men, women, and children-innocent civilians.
“And these innocent civilians were massacred not by some warring faction, not by soldiers of the El Salvador government, or by rebels or guerrillas.
“They were slaughtered by one American soldier.
“You heard me right: by one American soldier.
“One.
“And not in the heat of battle. Not by accident. But for the thrill of it.”
Claire looked at Grimes, who shook his head. Don’t object as to motive, he was saying. Not now. Don’t call attention to it. Not yet.
“How could this possibly have happened?” Waldron bowed his head as if in deep thought. He bit his upper lip. “Several hours earlier, a top-secret unit of the U.S. Army Special Forces, Detachment 27, was ordered to secure this village and determine whether the intelligence reports they had received were right-to see whether there were antigovernment rebels in hiding there.
“In fact, there were none. The intelligence, as often happens in wartime, was wrong.”
He shrugged.
“And Detachment 27, under the able leadership of Colonel William Marks-now chief of staff of the army-made this determination. They prepared to return to their base at Ilopango.
“And then, suddenly, without warning, someone began to fire his weapon. A machine gun. An M-60. To fire this machine gun on the innocent villagers.”
Claire turned to whisper to Tom and saw tears streaming down his face. She took his hand and squeezed it tight.
“You will hear from two members of the unit, Colonel James Hernandez, the executive officer, and Staff Sergeant Henry Abbott, who saw this man.” Waldron turned slowly and walked to the defense table. He pointed directly at Tom. “Sergeant First Class Ronald M. Kubik. They saw him raise his machine gun and point it at the eighty-seven villagers, who were lined up in four rows, and begin mowing them down.