Karl, who had probably been thinking similar thoughts about war and peace, mortality and immortality, said, “I try to come here once a year, on August 17, the anniversary of a battle I was in.” He stayed silent a while, then continued, “The battle of Highway 13… Eleventh Armored Cavalry, the Michelin rubber plantation. You may have heard of it. A lot of people around me were dying. So, I come here on August 17, and say a prayer for them, and a prayer of thanks for myself. It’s the only time I pray.”
“I thought you used to go to church every Sunday.”
“One goes to church with the wife and children.”
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. We turned and walked back the way we came.
He said, in a different tone of voice, “So, are you curious about the man who was murdered?”
“I may be curious. But I really don’t want to know.”
“If that were the case, you’d leave.”
“I’m being polite, Colonel.”
“I would have enjoyed that politeness when you worked for me. But as long as you’re being polite, hear me out.”
“If I listen, I can be subpoenaed at some future judicial proceeding. Says so in the manual.”
“Believe me, this meeting and this conversation never took place. That’s why we’re here, not in Falls Church.”
“I already figured that out.”
“May I begin?”
I was on solid ground now; the next step was a greased slope. There was not a single good reason in the world that I could think of for me to listen to this man. But I wasn’t thinking hard enough. Cynthia. Get a job, get a life, or whatever she said.
Karl asked, “May I begin?”
“Can I stop you anytime I want?”
“No. If I begin, you listen, I end.”
“Is this a criminal case?”
“I believe homicide is criminal, yes. Do you have any other stupid questions?”
I smiled, not because of the insult, but because I was getting on his nerves. “You know what? To prove how stupid I really am, I’ll listen.”
“Thank you.”
Karl had walked away from the Wall toward the Women’s Memorial, and I walked with him. He said, “It has come to the attention of the CID that a young lieutenant, who is listed as killed, or perhaps missing in action, was in fact murdered in the city of Quang Tri, on 7 February 1968, during the Tet Offensive battle for that city.” He added, “I believe you were in Quang Tri Province at that time.”
“Yes, but I have an alibi for that day.”
“I only mention that as a coincidence. In fact, your unit was some kilometers away from the provincial capital of Quang Tri City on that day. But you can appreciate the background, and visualize the time and place.”
“You bet. I also appreciate you checking my service records.”
Hellmann ignored this and continued, “I was, as I said, with the Eleventh Armored Cavalry, stationed at Xuan Loc, but operating around Cu Chi at about that time. I don’t remember that particular day, but that whole month during the Tet Offensive was unpleasant.”
“It sucked.”
“Yes, it sucked.” He stopped walking and looked at me. “Regarding this American lieutenant, we have evidence that he was murdered by an American army captain.”
Karl let that sink in, but I didn’t react. Now, I’d heard what I didn’t want to hear, and now I was in possession of a Secret. Details to follow.
We stared at the Vietnam Women’s Memorial, the three nurses, one tending to the wounded guy lying on sandbags, one kneeling close by, and the other looking up at the sky for the medevac chopper. The four figures were in light clothing, and I felt cold just looking at them.
I said to Karl, “These statues should be closer to the Wall. The last person a lot of those guys over there saw or talked to before they died was a military nurse.”
“Yes, but perhaps that juxtaposition would be too morbid. This man here looks to me as though he will live.”
“Yeah… he’s going to make it.”
So we stayed silent awhile, lost in our thoughts. I mean, these are statues, but they bring the whole thing back again.
Karl broke the silence, and continued, “We don’t know the name of the alleged murderer, nor do we know the alleged murder victim. We know only that this captain murdered this lieutenant in cold blood. We have no corpse — or I should say, we have many corpses, all killed by the enemy, except the one in question. We do know that the murder victim was killed by a single pistol shot to the forehead, and that may narrow down the name of the victim based on battlefield death certificates issued at that time. Unless, of course, the body was never found, and the victim is listed as missing in action. Are you following me?”
“I am. A United States Army captain pulls his pistol and shoots a United States Army lieutenant in the forehead. This is presumably a fatal wound. This happened in the heat of battle nearly thirty years ago. But let me play defense counsel — maybe it wasn’t murder. Maybe it was one of those unfortunate instances where a superior officer shot a lower-ranking officer for cowardice in the face of the enemy. It happens, and it’s not necessarily murder, or even illegal. Maybe it was self-defense, or an accident. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” I added, “But of course, you have a witness. So I shouldn’t speculate.”
We turned and began walking back toward the Wall. The light was fading, people came and went, a middle-aged man placed a floral wreath at the base of the black granite and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.
Hellmann watched the man a moment, then said, “Yes, there was a witness. And the witness described a cold-blooded murder.”
“And this is a reliable witness?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who and where is this witness?”
“We don’t know where he is, but we have his name.”
“And you want me to find him.”
“Correct.”
“How did you first hear from this witness?”
“He wrote a letter.”
“I see… so, you have a missing witness to a thirty-year-old murder, no suspect, no corpse, no murder weapon, no motive, no forensic evidence, and the murder took place in a godforsaken country very far from here. And you want me to solve this homicide.”
“That’s correct.”
“Sounds easy. Can I ask you why? Who cares after thirty years?”
“I care. The army cares. A murder was committed. There is no statute of limitations on murder.”
“Right. You realize that this lieutenant who was killed, or is missing, is believed by his family to have died honorably in battle. So what is gained by proving that he was murdered? Don’t you think his family has suffered enough?” I nodded toward the man at the Wall.
“That is not a consideration,” said Karl Hellmann, true to form.
“It is to me,” I informed him.
“It’s not that you think too much, Paul, it’s that you think of the wrong things.”
“No, I don’t. I think that there is a name on this wall that is best left alone.”
“There’s a murderer at large.”
“Maybe, maybe not. For all we know, the alleged murderer was later killed in action. That was a nasty time, and odds are that this captain got killed in battle.”
“Then his name doesn’t belong on this wall with those men who died honorably.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“I knew you’d understand.”
“I think we worked together too long.”
“We worked well together.”
This was news to me. Maybe he meant we got the job done together, which was true, despite our big differences in personalities, and the fact that one of us was a stickler for rules, while the other was definitely not.