There was a long silence in the room, and I could see that no one was happy, least of all Bill, who’d undoubtedly vouched for Susan. Karl, too, was having disturbing thoughts about his best agent, and both he and Colonel Goodman were waving good-bye to their general’s star. Only John Eagan seemed cool, and by now I was certain he wasn’t the FBI guy sent here to train Viet narcs.
I looked at Susan, who had just put herself in a very bad situation. She winked at me.
I said, “I’m a cop, so I’m going to pretend this is a CID staff meeting, and I’m going to pretend that all of you want me to present my evidence regarding a murder case. There are no personal or political considerations in this case, and no bullshit about national security or anything but the law.”
John Eagan said, “You can present your case any way you wish, Paul. That doesn’t change the reality.”
“In fact, it will change your reality. And you can deal with it. It’s not my problem.”
No one offered any new realities, so I continued, “I was contacted two weeks ago by Colonel Hellman, who asked me to conduct an investigation of a possible wartime murder. During the course of this briefing, I concluded that there was more to this than a thirty-year-old murder. But I took the case anyway, which may have been my first mistake.”
I continued with my little tale, using the language of the criminal investigator. I skipped over our journey up country from Saigon, but I did mention Mang, the Highway One incident, and the Route 214 incident. I left out the sex because I’m a gentleman, it was irrelevant, and Bill was in the room. Marc Goodman and John Eagan, however, had probably figured out that Susan and I were more than partners, and they were factoring this in.
I jumped ahead and described in a little detail our last interrogation by Colonel Mang and gave the impression that Mang still thought this had to do with the FULRO.
I moved back to Dien Bien Phu and Ban Hin and the house of Tran. I went into enough detail so that they understood that if I was in front of a congressional committee or people from the Justice Department, I’d sound believable.
I concluded with, “Tran Van Vinh, in my opinion, is a reliable and believable witness. The translation of the letter that was given to me by Colonel Hellmann, though edited for my benefit and not an original document, is an important document. So much so, that I faxed it from Dulles Airport to a friend with a note asking him to hold it for me.”
This bullshit got a few heads turning toward one another.
I went on, “As for the physical evidence, it consisted of the personal effects of Lieutenant William Hines. A wallet, a wedding ring, a canvas pouch containing letters, unread by me or Susan, a logbook in which Lieutenant Hines described Captain Blake in unflattering terms — called him a black marketeer and a good customer of the local hookers.”
I saw a little squirming from John and Bill. Colonel Goodman, too, seemed uncomfortable. I said, “I’m not being judgmental, though Lieutenant Hines was. I admit to some whoring myself when I was here, and a little cannabis to take the edge off. But no black marketeering.”
John said, “This is not relevant.”
I informed him, “Nearly everything in a homicide investigation is relevant if you want to find out why one man killed another.”
Karl, my good buddy, agreed. “Everything is relevant, and the most inconsequential things, when put together, give a picture and establish the motives and the personalities of the victim and the suspect.”
I said, “Very good, Karl. In fact, from what I could glean from the effects of the deceased, William Hines was a Boy Scout, and Edward Blake was a bad boy. No, that doesn’t make him a murderer. But we have some facts that point to him as a suspect. We have the MACV roster, which shows that both men were in the same small advisory group at the same time, and there was only one captain in the group. Army records will back this up — if they haven’t been destroyed in that famous and convenient storage fire. We have the testimony of the witness, who saw and identified an American army captain of the First Cavalry Division shoot and kill a lieutenant, now identified as William Hines, who wore the same shoulder patch as the captain, and whose personal effects this witness took.”
I milked this thin evidence for all it was worth, but if this group was a jury, and I was a prosecutor, I’d be worried. So, when you’re losing your case, you make shit up. I said, “As Susan may have told you, Tran Van Vinh identified the photos of Edward Blake as the killer.”
I glanced at Susan, who said, “Positive identification.”
Bill, John, and Marc seemed upset; Karl seemed skeptical, as he should be.
I finished my presentation with, “And then there’s the loot from the treasury. Someone will need to investigate Edward Blake’s financial past, specifically after he returned from Vietnam. There was jewelry in the treasury vault, and that may be traceable, or still in the possession of Mr. Blake or his former lady friends or his present wife.”
There was silence in the room, then Bill spoke. “It sounds to me that this evidence is not only circumstantial, but also weak and inconclusive, not to mention three decades old. I certainly wouldn’t make an accusation based on what I’ve heard.”
John Eagan agreed and said, “An accusation this serious against Edward Blake wouldn’t stand up in court, but it would result in a field day for his political enemies and the media.”
Marc Goodman seemed deep in unhappy thoughts, then asked me, “And in your opinion, this witness is reliable?”
“I think he is. But I understand that an American jury may not.”
John asked me casually, “Where is this witness?”
I said, “Probably sleeping. He’s a peasant.”
Bill, who had observed my wit earlier, asked in an annoyed tone, “ Sleeping where? In his village?”
“I guess so. It wasn’t practical for us to bring him here.” I looked at Bill and John and said, “And it wasn’t practical for Susan to blow his head off.”
No one, including Karl, feigned any shock or surprise, which was a treat. But neither did anyone comment.
Colonel Goodman looked at Susan and asked, “And you and Paul have hidden this physical evidence?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Susan replied, “If I told you, it wouldn’t be hidden.”
Colonel Goodman smiled good-naturedly and said, “It doesn’t need to be hidden any longer.”
Susan didn’t reply.
Colonel Goodman asked, “Is it nearby?”
Susan replied, “No. We anticipated having a police problem when we got off the Lao Cai train.”
“So, you hid these items back in Lao Cai or near Ban Hin?”
“Around there.”
Bill was embarrassed by his ex-girlfriend’s lack of cooperation, and if Eagan was his boss, which he probably was, then Bill’s next assignment would be watching Russian ships off the coast of Iceland. Bill said sharply, “Susan, tell us where you hid the evidence.”
She fixed Bill with a look that Bill had probably seen before. “I don’t like your tone.”
He changed his tone. “Susan, can you describe for us the hiding place of Lieutenant Hines’s personal effects?”
“Later.”
“Susan—”
John Eagan butted in and addressed a question to me. “Are you withholding evidence in a criminal case?”
“No. I just hid it.”
“Why?”
“We’re in a hostile country, John. I secured the evidence in a safe location.”