Perhaps there was an explanation.
She called Jackie and asked her to pick up Annie immediately, take her for the night.
Then she called Ray Devereaux and asked his advice.
And then she drove home as quickly as she could, her heart thudding.
Tom was already there.
The house smelled of garlic, wonderful and inviting.
“Guess we’re not having leftover paella,” Claire tried to joke, setting down her briefcase and removing her jacket.
“Linguine with clam sauce,” he said. He came over, gave her a kiss. “Your favorite. Ready to eat? I’m starved.”
“Let’s eat.” Claire smiled. She had no appetite. Her stomach was a small hard ball.
“Where’s my little doll?” he asked, dishing out pasta and salad.
“She wanted to sleep over at Jackie’s.”
“She’s really gotten attached to Jackie, hasn’t she?” He dug into the pasta. “Sorry. Mind if I start?”
“Go ahead.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
She toyed with her napkin. “Tom, we need to talk.”
“Uh-oh,” he said through a mouthful of linguine. He chewed, swallowed. “That’s not an auspicious opening line.” He smiled, took a sip of sparkling water, took another forkful of pasta.
“Who’s Lentini?”
Tom’s chewing slowed a moment, then resumed. After he’d swallowed, he said casually, “Another member of the unit.”
“What’s his real name? Lentini or Mackie?”
Tom took a long sip of his fizzy water. His eyes watched her steadily over the curve of the glass. He set down the glass. “What’s with the cross-ex, Claire? Trial’s over.”
She replied very quietly. “Not to me. Not yet.”
He shook his head slowly.
She said very quietly, almost in a whisper: “Do you love me, Tom?”
“You know I do.”
“Then I need you to tell me the truth now.”
He nodded, and with a sad smile, he said: “Lentini-his true name’s Mackie, but I always knew him as Lentini-well, he’s really a CIA guy. CIA’s secretly been his employer ever since he was assigned to the detachment. So, anyway, he tells me that CIA considers-considered-Marks a real enemy, a bureaucratic opponent, and they all wanted to undermine his candidacy for the Joint Chiefs job. But I really think that with Lentini it was personal. He despised Marks as much as I did.”
“Is that why he gave Waldron the forged tape? To set up the prosecution, sabotage their case?”
“Does it make any difference now?” Tom took another forkful of pasta.
The room was utterly quiet.
“I’d like to know. Was it your idea or his?”
He shook his head as he chewed. He swallowed, said, “Claire, I haven’t seen the guy in years. Like thirteen years.”
Claire felt herself go numb.
“I have copies of the brig visitors’ log,” she said. “Right here. He visited you three times.”
He regarded her quizzically; then another expression took over, one of calm realization.
Slowly he set down his knife and fork. He breathed a long, soulful sigh. “Claire,” he said wearily. “Claire, Claire, Claire. This was all a very long time ago.”
She whispered: “You killed those people.”
He looked at her pensively. “I don’t think Marks knew the peasants were unarmed and innocent, but he was so riled up about his buddy Arlen Ross being killed at the Zona Rosa that he wasn’t thinking clearly. Later, when the shit hit the fan back at Fort Bragg and they needed a scapegoat, Marks sure wasn’t going to take the fall, and he wasn’t going to point the finger at his XO. Even though he gave Hernandez the fire order. So I realized it was my word against a major’s, and Marks was on his XO’s side, of course. And I knew I had to disappear. Because they were going to pin it on me. And they did, sure enough. And Hernandez and Marks have been blackmailing each other ever since. Partners in crime, so to speak.”
“But you fired, too, didn’t you?” Claire said. “You helped Hernandez massacre those people.”
Tom’s eyes became moist. “Marks knew he could count on me. Everyone in the unit refused except me and, of course, Hernandez.”
He reached out his hand and placed it over hers. It was warm and damp. She withdrew her hand suddenly, as though she’d been burned. She felt her stomach flip over. Suddenly she felt very tired. “You did it,” she said. “You helped Hernandez kill eighty-seven people.”
“You have to understand things in their proper context, Claire. These villagers, they were laughing at us. Totally uncooperative. I had to be a little coercive with them.”
“Torture them.”
“A few of them. Had to. But I couldn’t just torture some of them and then leave them there to report human-rights violations, understand? You don’t do that. You gotta mop up your own work. I didn’t have any choice.”
She felt very cold. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugged herself. She shivered.
“Marks knew he could count on me,” Tom said again, almost conversationally. “You know, before I went to Vietnam they put me through a whole battery of tests. And… and they concluded that I was-what was the expression?-‘morally impaired.’ Which was their way of saying I was just the kind of guy they needed. For the assassination squads, and later for Detachment 27. I could kill without feeling any guilt or remorse.”
She stared at him. The room seemed to be revolving slowly.
“The government needed people like me,” he said. “Always does. People who can do the job others won’t. Then, when they’re done with you, it’s, ‘Oh, we’re shocked, shocked at what you’ve done. Here, spend the rest of your life in Leavenworth. Here’s your thanks.’ I do what they tell me, and suddenly I’m a criminal when they don’t need me.”
Claire nodded. “I don’t get it, Tom,” she said. “The ballistics guy-there was evidence of only one shooter. All the bullets came from the same barrel.”
“All the bullets he examined. I told you those weren’t my bullets.”
She needed to make sense of this, even as her head was swimming. “I don’t understand.”
He shrugged. “I cleared the scene. I always liked to do my own mop-up. Always used my own ammo-German.308 rounds, full metal jacket, steel-cased. Easy to pick up with a magnetic wand. Unlike the standard brass shit Hernandez was using that won’t stick to a magnet. I went over the scene pretty carefully, got all the projectiles and cartridge casings. I never like to leave behind my calling card.”
Again she nodded. She swallowed hard. She got up from the table, made her way to the wall phone.
“What are you doing, Claire?” he said. He got up, came close. He smiled. “It’s over, you know. Remember? I’ve been found not guilty.”
She nodded again. “Of course,” she said blandly. She felt queasy. Her stomach boiled like a cauldron. She wanted to vomit. She picked up the receiver, punched out a seven-digit number.
“This is all between you and me, Claire,” he said. A note of harshness entered his voice. “You’re my lawyer. You’re bound by attorney-client privilege.”
She could hear ringing on the line.
“It’s over, Claire. Double jeopardy, remember? I can’t be tried again.”
Ringing. Where was Devereaux?
“Don’t do it, Claire.” He reached over and depressed the plungers on the top of the phone to break the connection.
She replaced the handset carefully. She looked around the kitchen, furnished so beautifully. So homey. How many breakfasts had they had there, she and Tom and Annie? How many times had Tom cooked dinner for his wife and stepdaughter? And all this time it had been a carefully sustained lie. How safe he had made her feel, when in fact she and her daughter had been living with a dangerous, sick man. “You need to turn yourself in, Tom,” she whispered.