The Last Hour

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  Don’t look back (Carrie)

  I didn’t know what to do. Ray didn’t answer his phone or respond to my text message. I was shaking with anger, and fear, and my emotions were so muddled and confusing I hardly knew what I felt. I finally headed back to my office, and just as I stepped inside, my cell phone rang.

  I scrambled for it.

  “Ray?”

  “Hey, Doctor Babe,” he said. It sounded like he was just trying to sound casual, but it wasn’t convincing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, um, can you get the afternoon off? I’ve got trouble.”

  “I saw the Post,” I replied.

  He was silent for just a second. Then he spoke, his voice on the edge of desperation, “It’s already in the fucking paper?”

  “Yes,” I responded, my voice low. “Are you ... the paper said you’d been charged with murder? Are you ... under arrest somewhere?”

  “No. Meet me at the metro?”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes, let me talk to Doctor Moore.”

  I had my things together in about thirty seconds and walked down the hall quickly to Doctor Moore’s office and knocked on the door, then opened it.

  I don’t know what he was up to in there (maybe looking at porn or something?) but he jerked in his seat, and his face went red.

  “Sorry,” I said, instinctively. “Just needed to give you a heads up, I’ve got a personal emergency. I need to go now.”

  He frowned. “You’ll need to fill out a leave form, and I’ll approve it.”

  He had to be kidding. I responded, “Will do. I’ll get that to you first thing in the morning.” I started to back out of the office, and as I did so, he said, “Well, I really need it before…”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what he said, because I was already half running down the hall. I’d deal with whatever the paperwork was tomorrow. Right now, Ray needed me.

  We both walked into the Medical Center metro station at the same time. Ray pulled me into an embrace, the kind of embrace you might give someone when you’re drowning and trying to hang on for dear life. I squeezed him as hard as I could, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, face buried in the crook of his neck.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He gave a shaky laugh. “It’s been a rough morning.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  He nodded, and we walked down to the platform to wait for the train. We were midway up the platform, and the sign said it would be 4 minutes before the next southbound train. I had my hand wrapped around Ray’s right arm, and my eyes fell on a woman who sat looking at an iPad. She was staring at Ray with undisguised alarm.

  I glanced up at him. Take him out of the camouflage and put him in a dress uniform, and he didn’t look at all different from his photo on the Washington Post’s website. I think he was oblivious, but it was clear the woman wasn’t. She got up and walked to the other end of the platform.

  Fuck her. I tugged on Ray’s arm and took the woman’s abandoned seat.

  Ray told me, in halting, barely articulate sentences, about the morning he’d had.

  I fixated on one thing. “So this isn’t a court-martial? It’s more like a grand jury?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’m supposed to get a call from an attorney today.”

  “I’m iffy about an Army lawyer. Won’t he just throw the case or something if the Army tells him to?”

  Ray shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Is it okay with you if I call my Dad about it? He must know somebody.”

  “Of course.”

  With a loud roar, the train rushed into the station and we boarded.

  We didn’t talk on the ride back to the condo. Instead we just sort of huddled together in our seat, his arm around my shoulder. It was only one stop, but it felt like the ride took a million years. I’d never seen Ray this far off balance. Of course, I’d never seen him after he’d been charged with murder either. The more I thought about it, the angrier it made me. If this was what the Army did when someone reported a crime, it was no wonder there was such a culture of silence. Dad would know someone, though. He’d spent his career working with military attaches, and knew more than a little bit about how the military functioned. A lot more than I did, anyway.

  In silence, we left the train and walked to the condo, hand in hand. In the lobby, the concierge gave my car keys back. For the second time in a month, the car had been at the Mercedes dealership getting worked on. Something was wonky with the electrical system, and occasionally the car just randomly wouldn’t start. I glanced at the papers that came with the keys but they were incomprehensible. I didn’t care, as long as it was fixed. We rode up to the apartment clinging to each other.

  “I’m going to call my father,” I said once the door was open. Distracted, he nodded as he turned on his laptop.

  As I dialed the phone, Ray was pulling up the home page of The Washington Post. He muttered a curse when he saw the lead article. Then he grabbed his laptop and headed out the sliding glass door. Idly, I hoped he’d quit smoking soon. But now wasn’t really the time to worry about that.

  Dad answered on the second ring.

  “Carrie!” he said. “How are you?”

  “Hi Dad ... I’m … well.” It wasn’t true, but that’s how you did things with my dad.

  We chatted for a couple of minutes about inconsequential stuff. I love my father. Over the years he developed a certain warmth that didn’t come naturally to him, and I always knew he cared. Unlike my mother, he was far less likely to try to exert direct control of his daughters. Instead, his weapons were bribes, kindness, or a thoughtful manipulative word here and there. Dad was a diplomat. Literally, as well as figuratively. As an adult, he’d become almost a friend. But I was itching to get down to business.

  He could tell. After a couple of minutes, he said, “Something on your mind, Carrie?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes. I need to talk to you about something. And it’s important. Really important.”

  “You can always talk with me, Carrie.”

  So he obviously hadn’t read the online editions of the papers yet. Time enough for that later, or when the print edition of the New York Times arrived on their doorstep in the morning.

  “Yeah, well, this is a bit unusual. Dad, when Ray was in Afghanistan, he witnessed something. He ... he saw a murder. An Afghan child was murdered by one of our soldiers.”

  I heard my dad suck in a breath. Then he said, “That’s serious indeed. Did Ray report this?”

  “He did.”

  “And what came of that?”

  As I answered, I saw Ray set his laptop on the table on the porch. He stood up and lit a cigarette and leaned against the edge, staring out into the distance. His back was like a straightedge, and I could see his hand shaking a little.

  “Dad, Ray was called back up to active duty. We thought, we assumed, that it was because he was going to have to testify. But ... this morning he was informed that he’s been charged with murder.”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  “Dad? I need to know ... you worked in the government a long time. Do you know any military attorneys? Or anyone who could help? Ray’s going to need the help.”

  Still silent. Finally I said, “Dad, are you there?”

  “Did he do it?” my father finally asked.

  “Did he do what?”

  “Did he kill this Afghan child?” The question felt like he’d thrown something at me.

  “No!”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Ray wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  “Come now. You hardly know him. And people do things in wartime that you could never imagine. I’ve sat across the table in negotiations with mass murderers, and they were polite to a fault. Always.”

  “That’s the most disturbing thing you’ve ever said, Dad.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s also true.”

  “Dad. Ray didn’t do
it. He reported it, okay? I’m not asking you to pass judgment on him, I’m asking you for your help. You’ve been in the government your whole life, surely you know someone.”

  He sighed. “Let me think on it, and I’ll call you.”

  The relief that flooded me was overwhelming. I swallowed and asked, “When?”

  “Tomorrow. I may need to make some calls.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I struggled to find the right words, then said, “Tell Mom and the twins I said hello? I love you.”

  “Love you too, Carrie.”

  We hung up, and I set my phone down on the counter in the kitchen, and walked out to the balcony. Ray didn’t move when I slid the door open. He was still standing, tense, wound up. I slid my arms around his sides and he jerked in response.

  “Shit,” he said. “Sorry. I was ... far away.”

  That just made me tighten my arms around him a little more. I rested my chin on his shoulder and said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” he said. “Mostly I want to forget it ever happened.”

  I squeezed him, tightly, and he took my right hand in his. We stood in silence for a few minutes, and then he said, “Carrie….”

  “Mmhmm?”

  “Listen to me. I can’t say this more than once. But if I go to prison….”

  I interrupted. “You’re not going to prison.”

  “Just listen, please. If ... if I go to prison, you’re not to even think about doing anything noble. Waiting for me, or whatever. I couldn’t take it if the war came back and messed up your life, too.”

  I shivered, and a wave of sadness swept over me with the force of a tidal wave. “Stop it, Ray,” I said, and I hated it that my voice quavered as I spoke.

  “I mean it. If I go away, you forget about me. Just walk, keep going, don’t ever turn and look back. It matters to me, Carrie, that you have a happy life. A good life. When I close my eyes and look in the future, I want to see a smile on your face.”

  That made me sob. “Damn it, Ray, shut up. You aren’t going anywhere. You are my life.”

  Abruptly, he let go of my hand and turned around facing me. He took my face in both of his hands and stared in my eyes. “Don’t say that. You mean everything to me, and I refuse to have you dragged down into the muck of the war. You’ve got a good life; you’re doing things that matter.”

  I could feel the muscles in my chin and eyes as they bunched up, and tears were rolling down my cheeks and onto his hands. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Promise me,” he said, his voice urgent.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Jesus, Carrie,” he muttered. “I’ve never met anyone so stubborn in my life.”

  I sniffed and pulled him closer. “That’s why you love me,” I said.

  He shrugged, and a small grin appeared on his face for the first time that day. “Well, that and the great sex.”

  I laughed through my tears and said, “I do love you.”

  Still holding my face, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on lips, then said, “And I love you.”

  Out of your system (Ray)

  And of course, that’s when my cell phone rang. I broke off the kiss, and she said, “Answer it, it might be your lawyer.” I grimaced, and pulled out the cell phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Sergeant Sherman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Major Dick Elmore. I’m with the Staff Judge Advocate office, and I’ve been appointed as your counsel.”

  I sighed. “What can I do for you, Major?”

  “Are you available to meet this afternoon? We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

  I gave him the address of the condo, and then we went in the apartment and Carrie called the concierge to have her send Elmore straight upstairs when he arrived. And then I fidgeted, nervously, until the phone rang again.

  I didn’t recognize the number. It was a 202 area code, Washington, DC. I answered. “Hello?”

  “Hi, I’m trying to reach Sergeant Ray Sherman?” It was a youngish-sounding woman.

  “Yeah, this is he.”

  “Hi, I’m Sylvia Knight with Fox News, and we’d like to have you…”

  I recoiled from the phone then disconnected it without a word. Carrie gave me a curious look. “Fox News,” I said.

  She muttered something obscene. “I’m going to make some coffee,” she finally said.

  A moment later, the phone rang again. This one was from area code 212, New York. But it wasn’t Dylan or Alex’s number. I stared at the phone and then glanced up at Carrie, who was looking at me from the kitchen. We met each other’s eyes, and I silenced the phone.

  Where the hell did they get my cell phone number?

  The phone rang three more times in the next ten minutes. I ignored the calls and put the phone on silent. Pretty much everyone I actually wanted to talk to had Carrie’s number and could call her phone if they really needed to get in touch with me.

  It was a long forty-five minutes before we heard a knock on the door. Carrie and I both jumped to our feet. She gave me a soft smile, and we walked together to the door and I opened it.

  Major Dick Elmore wasn’t at all what I expected.

  Whether we admit it or not, first impressions make a big difference. And to a guy in the infantry, my new lawyer was impressive.

  He was in his blue Class A uniform, and the first thing I saw was the combat patch of the Third Infantry Division. In and of itself, that didn’t mean much, because if you went to war with the division, you got the patch, regardless of whether you were infantry or a supply clerk. But he also wore a Ranger tab, and on his left breast the Combat Infantryman’s Badge with two stars, which meant that at some point prior to becoming a lawyer, he’d been to war as a grunt three separate times. Underneath that, jump wings, and then his medals, which included a Bronze Star, with the V device that signifies heroism in combat, and two purple hearts. His skin was the color of a strong cup of coffee, with hair going white, and had a nasty burn scar on the right side of his face. At his elbow, his left arm ended with a prosthetic arm that conceded nothing to appearance. It was all function, ending in a functional and ugly pair of hooks.

  He extended his right arm. “Sergeant Sherman? Major Dick Elmore.”

  I shook, and I’m embarrassed to admit how relieved I was to find an infantryman on the other end of that handshake instead of some paper pushing desk jockey.

  “It’s ... very good to meet you, Major. This is my fiancée, Doctor Carrie Thompson.

  She flashed a smile at me when I said the word fiancée. We weren’t officially engaged, though we’d been talking about it more and more lately. But ... whatever. I said it.

  “A pleasure, Doctor Thompson.”

  “Call me Carrie, please. Please come in?”

  We led the Major in. He had an ancient army rucksack thrown over his shoulder and dropped it to the floor. “First things first,” he said. “If you call me Sir or Major or anything like that, I’ll knock you in the head. It’s Dick, all right? I’m your lawyer, and we’re not going to stand on rank.”

  “All right … Dick. I’m Ray.” It was really, really hard to call an officer by his first name.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” Carrie asked.

  “Please. Black.”

  She smiled and walked into the kitchen. Major Elmore sat down on the couch, and I took a seat opposite him. His eyes fell to my laptop, which was still open to the New York Times.

  “I’m going to suggest, Ray, that you close your laptop, and don’t read another newspaper or watch the news for the next six months. It’s only going to piss you off.”

  I nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  “Trust me, I’m right.”

  Carrie came back in. She was carrying a small tray with three mugs of coffee. It was a small gesture, and I wanted nothing more at that moment t
han to sweep her in my arms and run away. Elmore sipped his coffee, closing his eyes and breathing deep through his nose.

  “Oh, that’s from heaven, Carrie, thank you.”

  She smiled.

  “All right. I know you’re probably going insane right now. So first thing, I want to answer any questions you’ve got, and then I’ll brief you on what to expect in the coming weeks. And then I’m going to ask you questions, a lot of them. For the next few days, you won’t be reporting to work at the hospital. I want to know every last detail about your deployment to Afghanistan.”

  Carrie and I both nodded.

  “So ... what questions do you have right now before we start?”

  Carrie caught me off guard by speaking first. She didn’t mince words. “I want to know if you’re going to represent Ray, really represent him, or should we be looking for a civilian lawyer.”

  Elmore grinned. “Good one. Here’s how it works. I don’t know how familiar you are with the military justice system, but I fall in a completely different chain of command than the prosecutors and the General and all those folks. My job’s to give Ray the best possible chance of winning his case. And—” he paused, and his eyes swiveled to me as he said the next sentence, “I think you can see I’m not some snot-nosed kid straight out of law school.”

  I liked that. “You used to be Combat Arms.”

  He nodded. “Eighteen years. Gulf War, Somalia, Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq. I was a platoon sergeant in 3rd ID when I lost the arm, so I went to law school, then came back in. So what I’ll tell you is this, Ray and Carrie. I get that shit happens in war. I’ll do everything I can to keep you free. If you want to get a civilian lawyer, that’s fine. I’ll work with whomever you get. But what I want to see is you going free. This charge is complete bullshit.”

  Before I could open my mouth, Carrie chimed in again. “Why is Ray being charged, anyway? He’s the one who reported it in the first place.”

  Elmore shook his head. “Because two of his former buddies turned on him. They told the investigators that he pulled the trigger.”

  As the words came out of his mouth, I stood up, involuntarily. Not breathing, it felt like I had a buzzing in my ears as my fists clenched.