“I told him to forget the whole business, sir.”
“But since he obviously didn’t, I’d like to know something else. What did Corporal Larkin offer you in return for the use of that truck?”
Docker saw that Walton’s pencil was poised over his notebook, and that Weiffel and Major Karsh were watching him intently. Even Sergeant Corey was looking at him now, frowning slightly.
“What did he offer you, lieutenant?” Walton repeated.
“Larkin offered me half of his share.”
“How much would that have amounted to?”
“I don’t know, sir. I don’t think he did either.”
“You’ll excuse me, but I find that difficult to believe,” Walton said. “Are you telling us that Larkin was prepared to go AWOL from his gun section, prepared to commit a felony without any notion of what kind of money was involved?”
“His guess was the goods would bring something around eight or nine thousand dollars.”
“You recall that now. Good. Did you inspect those German supplies, by the way?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you can’t tell us whether the corporal’s figure was realistic or not.” Walton studied his notes. “According to Paul Bonnard again, there was a black market operator involved in this deal, a Belgian named Gervais. Did you know him?”
“No, sir.”
“So what we have is a three-way split between Larkin, Bonnard and Gervais.” Walton looked up at Docker. “And the deal was that you’d get half of Corporal Larkin’s share, right?”
“I’ve already told you—”
“You told us lots of things, lieutenant. Right now just answer my question. You were supposed to split with Corporal Larkin. Right?”
“I’ve testified he suggested that to me and that I told him to forget it.”
Walton continued as if he hadn’t heard this. “Let’s see what we’re talking about in terms of dollars and cents. We’ll accept Larkin’s estimate for that purpose, make it an even nine thousand.” The captain scratched figures on his legal pad, drew a line under them and jotted down the results of his calculations. A small smile appeared under his mustache. “A three-way split of nine thousand would give Larkin three thousand and you fifteen hundred. You want to check my arithmetic, lieutenant?”
“There’s no need, captain. Lm sure you’re qualified to divide three into nine.”
Major Karsh said sharply, “In your interests. Lieutenant Docker, I will ask the recording secretary to strike that last remark.”
Sergeant Corey nodded and drew a line across her notebook and initialed the margins.
Walton bent forward and wrote rapidly on his legal pad, his expression sullen. He didn’t look up when he said, “You took no action against Corporal Larkin, lieutenant?”
“No, sir.”
“Even though you knew he had entered into a criminal conspiracy with Paul Bonnard and a black market dealer? Even after he had offered you a bribe to take part in that conspiracy?”
“What the hell do you think I should have done, captain?”
Captain Walton’s face flushed red and he threw his pencil on the table. “I’m not going to take any more of your insubordination. Docker.” His voice was rising. “Under the Articles of War, you had not only the authority but the responsibility to put him under arrest.”
“We were in a combat situation, we’d already suffered casualties. I needed every man I had on the guns. I couldn’t spare Larkin and another soldier standing guard over him.”
Major Karsh said quietly, “I’d like to interrupt for a moment. Lieutenant, when your section reestablished contact with your battery, did you tell Captain Grant about Corporal Larkin’s deal with Bonnard and Gervais?”
“Yes, sir.”
Karsh removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief, obviously taking his time about it, and allowing the commonplace sights and sounds in the old ballroom, the shadows on the brocade walls, the stir of pencils and papers to ease the palpable tension between Docker and Walton.
Then he said, “Tell me, lieutenant, was Corporal Larkin usually involved in the black market?”
“No, sir. But like practically everyone, he traded cigarettes and chocolate for wine or brandy, things like that.”
“Yet now he was getting in much deeper.” Karsh held up his glasses to catch the light from one of the tall windows. “How do you account for that?”
“I can only make a guess, sir.”
“And what would that be?”
“Larkin was worried about a job when he got home. He was married, had a young daughter and wanted a stake any way he could get it.”
Karsh replaced his glasses and said casually, “By the way, lieutenant, did you mention to Captain Grant that Larkin offered you some fifteen hundred dollars to come in on this black market deal with him?”
The question caught Docker off guard — he knew from the way the officers were watching him that Karsh had meant it to. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that nothing in the conduct of these hearings was casual or unpremeditated; the three officers had their lines and cues like actors on a stage, and Docker realized that he and the recording sergeant were the only players on the scene without scripts.
“The question was, did you mention Larkin’s offer to your battery commander?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because it didn’t seem to make any difference, sir. Larkin was dead and that was the end of it, I thought.”
“I can see how you might think so. But as things stand, we have only your word that you were not an active and willing partner in Corporal Larkin’s black market plans. Isn’t that about the face of it, lieutenant?”
But before Docker could reply, the double doors were pushed open and the MP corporal called out in a parade-ground voice, “Atten-shut!.”
A two-star general, accompanied by a bird colonel, entered the room, trench coats over their arms, rows of medals and theatre ribbons bright against the olive drab of their Ike jackets.
“At ease, gentlemen,” the general said, and with a glance at Sergeant Corey, who was also standing, “you, too, young lady. Major, excuse the interruption. Colonel Rankin and I had a meeting with SHAEF’s G-2 people, they’re billeted here, so I thought we’d look in and see that everything’s moving along smooth and fast. The operative word being ‘fast,’ major.”
“We’re making good progress, General Adamson.”
“If it’s not pressing you unduly, I’d like a firm date.”
“We’ll be through tomorrow night, I think, sir.”
Docker studied General Adamson and Colonel Rankin, remembering that Karsh had said these two officers had the overview responsibility for First Army’s board of inquiry. General Adamson was of middle height and years, thin and wiry with a pale complexion and eyes alert with humor and intelligence. Docker had heard colorful stories about Adamson from men who’d served under him: that he drank four inches of whiskey neat each night before bed and that he had once called Patton a fucking idiot to his face and that Patton had laughed and said if he had to be an idiot it was some consolation at least to be a fucking idiot.
Colonel Rankin was in his early forties, a head taller than the general, with the whalebone hips and stomach of a cavalry man, and gray eyes set so wide apart in his weather-rough face that his sweeping glances seemed instantly to embrace the whole room and everyone in it.
While the general conferred with Karsh, Colonel Rankin studied Docker with deliberate appraisal, then said, “I’m Colonel Rankin. I’m just as interested as the general in seeing a transcript.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know that General Jonathan Baird was an instructor of mine at the Point?”