Heart of War

by Lucian K. Truscott

  “Who’s there, please?”

  “Patti O’Brien? I’m looking for Patti O’Brien.”

  Curtly: “She’s not home yet.”

  “Okay. Thank you. I’ll come back later.” After the encounter with the voice on the intercom, Kara figured it would be easier if she approached her outside the apartment. There was always the chance if she got behind a locked door in her apartment, she wouldn’t agree to be questioned at all.

  A bitterly cold wind blew down the east-west street right off the lake, so she waited in the rental car at the curb. About an hour had passed when a young woman came down the street, holding hands with a little girl. Kara had seen a photo of Lieutenant O’Brien in the file at Fort Knox. It was her, all right. She opened the door and stepped out of the car just as Patti reached the sidewalk leading to the apartment.

  “Patti O’Brien?”

  She turned, alarmed. “Yes?”

  “I’m Major Kara Guidry. I’m a JAG officer down at Fort Benning. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I’m the attorney for a man on trial for murder—”

  Patti glanced over her shoulder at a face in an upstairs window. Her voice was a whisper: “Why don’t you go back to Fort Benning and leave me alone? I don’t want anything to do with the Army.”

  “My client didn’t commit the crime. He’s innocent, Patti. I really need to talk to you. It could mean life or death for this young man.”

  Patti stood there holding her daughter’s hand for a long moment before she spoke. “Will you come upstairs? My mother will watch Tisha, and we can have a cup of coffee.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Kara Guidry.”

  Patti knelt next to her daughter. “Tisha, this is Kara. She’s going to come up and have cookies with us. Do you want a cookie?”

  “Yes, Mommy,” said the little girl.

  Upstairs, Patti introduced Kara to an obviously disapproving mother, who spirited the little girl away to a room in the back of the apartment. They sat down across the kitchen table from each other.

  “Good coffee,” said Kara.

  “It’s a habit I picked up in the Army, I guess. I drink coffee all day long.”

  “Me too.”

  “What’s this about, Major Guidry?”

  “Call me Kara. It’s about Sheryl Jansen’s murder.”

  Patti took a deep breath. “I thought so. Why does Sherry’s murder have anything to do with your client at Fort Benning?”

  “Two female lieutenants from Fort Benning have been murdered, Patti. Both of them were stabbed in the neck, just like Lieutenant Jansen.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I am convinced of my client’s innocence. That means somebody else killed those women. I know Jansen’s murder is still unsolved. I was wondering if you had any ideas about who might have killed her.”

  There was a long pause as Patti swirled the coffee in her cup. Finally she looked up. “I don’t know who killed Sherry.”

  “I think you do, Patti.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “We both know who killed Sheryl Jansen, don’t we?”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know.”

  “Jansen was having an affair with Colonel William Beckwith. She had a date to meet him the night she died.”

  Patti took a deep breath. “No, she didn’t.”

  Kara’s voice was steely: “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” She stood from the table. “Major Guidry, I didn’t invite you into my house to be insulted. I’m not in the Army anymore. I don’t have to take this from you or anyone else.”

  Kara hesitated before she spoke. She knew she was close to losing her cooperation. She had to calm down.

  “I’m sorry, Patti. I didn’t mean that. But how do you know she didn’t have a date to see Beckwith that night?”

  “Because I did. Sherry and I were supposed to go to the movies, but he called up at the last minute and said his wife had driven down to New Orleans to go shopping. I met him at a motel over across the border in Texas.”

  Kara sat there staring at the young woman’s face in disbelief. “You’re covering up for him.”

  “Major Guidry, I’m telling you the truth.”

  Kara’s frustration boiled over. “Beckwith was having affairs with both of the women killed at Fort Benning! He was doing the same thing at Fort Polk! I just know he was!”

  Patti walked over to the pot and calmly refilled her cup. She was still standing when she said: “You met my little girl, Tisha, Major Guidry. She is Bill Beckwith’s daughter. He refused to acknowledge paternity and demanded that I get an abortion. When I refused, he flew into a rage and beat me up.”

  Stunned, Kara said nothing.

  “He arranged my discharge to get me out of the way. I came home to Chicago, and Tisha was born. He’s never laid eyes on his own daughter. He has never sent me one dime of child support. Do you think I would lie to protect a man like that?”

  She knew Patti was telling the truth. “No, I don’t.”

  “I have such guilt about Sherry’s murder. I can’t tell you the nights I’ve lain awake thinking, if only I hadn’t gone away with him that night. If only I’d gone to the movies with Sherry, the way we planned, she’d be alive today.”

  “You really have no idea who killed her?”

  “None. All I know is, it wasn’t Beckwith, because I was with him the whole night.”

  She heard a door open, and the little girl came running through the kitchen into her mother’s arms. “Can I have another cookie, Mommy? Please?”

  “Sure, hon.” She reached for the cookie jar and held it out so her daughter could take one out herself. “Take one for Grandma, hon.” The little girl went running back down the hall with two cookies in her hands. Patti was smiling widely.

  “She’s a doll,” said Kara.

  “The joy of my life. She’s the only reason I’ve kept my sanity. When I got pregnant, I was so mad at myself, I almost went along with what he wanted and got an abortion. But at the last minute I thought, Why shouldn’t she live? It’s not her fault. Why should I be ashamed of my own baby? I finally realized I was ashamed of myself, not her.”

  “She makes you very happy.”

  “Like you can’t even believe.”

  Kara stood up. “Well, thank you very much, Patti.”

  “You’re not going to mix me up in this thing, are you?”

  “No. I can’t see any benefit to my client in that.”

  “I wasn’t much help, was I? You thought Beckwith did it. I mean, you thought he killed Sherry? And now you don’t know who did it.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m sorry, Major Guidry. Really, I am.”

  “That’s okay, Patti. You have been very kind. I know it’s been difficult for you.”

  They walked to the door. “I hope your case goes okay, ma’am.”

  “So do I, Patti. So do I.”

  There was a late evening flight out of Chicago for Washington, and on an impulse, she changed her ticket and got on board. It was more important than ever that she talk to General Teese and see if there was any way at all that he could testify for Randy. Her theory of the case had been shredded by Patti O’Brien’s story, but the idea that Beckwith was somehow behind both killings was stuck in her mind. As soon as she got back to Fort Benning, she would have to go over her list of officers with access to secure phones and see if one of them had been stationed at Fort Polk at the time of Sheryl Jansen’s murder. Whoever had killed Jansen had killed Lannie and Sheila too. Maybe there was someone else who fit the evidenciary profile. There had to be someone at Fort Benning who had the means, the motive, and the opportunity to have committed all three murders.

  She must have dozed off for a few minutes, exhausted. When she awoke, she was staring straight at the Airfone mounted in th
e seat back ahead. She un-snapped it from its cradle and swiped her phone card and dialed. Mace answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Where are you?” he asked. “You sound like you’re in the next room.”

  “On a plane.”

  “Really? Where are you going?”

  “Washington. Mace, I know I wasn’t supposed to call you, but I’ve just got to talk to you.”

  “It’s okay. My roommate’s out.”

  “I’m so mad at myself. You were right about Beckwith. I found evidence that Beckwith didn’t kill either of those girls. I let my own prejudice blind me. I put my entire case in jeopardy.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I had predicated my entire approach to defending Randy on the belief that there was another killer, and his name was General Beckwith. Now I know I was wrong, and I’m going to have to start over from the beginning, and I haven’t got much time. The court-martial is next week.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I don’t want to mix you up in this, Mace. If Beckwith gets wind of it, he’ll destroy you.”

  “Well, if you need me, I’m here.”

  “Mace, that is so sweet . . .” She paused, collecting herself. “I just wanted you to know . . .” Her voice failed her, and she held the phone tightly to her ear, as if his words would save her. “I feel so stupid.”

  “You’re going to be okay.”

  “I will, but Randy—”

  “He’s innocent. You’ll find a way.”

  “It looks bad, Mace. Really bad.”

  “Kara, you said you’d have to start over. You know, I learned something, it’s just a little thing, but maybe it’ll help. When you’re dealing with troops, sometimes you get a guy, and you’re having trouble with him, and nothing works. You try it one way, and you try it another, and you can’t get through to him. I’ve had guys I thought were lost, they’d end up in the stockade, or they’d end up on the street with a bad discharge. Then I learned, if you start all over again, and you let yourself really look at things brand-new, sometimes you find the solution was there all along, and you just couldn’t see it. It’s like, you get the freedom, you know? To really see.”

  The captain was on the plane’s intercom, announcing the approach into National Airport. She was thinking, How can you not love this man? How could you have let someone like him nearly slip away?

  “Sounds like you’re about to land,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Mace, I—I love you. Thank you.”

  There was a long pause, and then he said, “I love you too, Kara. Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

  She called General Teese from the airport, and he gave her directions to his apartment. By the time she got off the elevator at his floor, it was almost midnight. He opened the door dressed casually in jeans and an Army sweatshirt.

  “I thought I’d be hearing from you, Major. Come in. How is Randy?” He poured her a glass of wine, and they sat on a sofa overlooking the city through a wide picture window.

  “He’s holding up, General. It’s tough. They’ve got him in isolation.”

  “It’s that son of a bitch Beckwith. He’s playing Randy’s case all over the Washington press. He thinks a conviction will wrap up chief of staff for him, and he’s probably right.”

  “He’s been a problem, all right.” She waited a moment, studying him. “General, Randy told me about you.”

  “So I figured.”

  “He was with you when Lannie was murdered. You’re his alibi.”

  General Teese got up and refilled his glass. His back was to her when he said: “You want me to testify.”

  “Randy is against it. The prosecution will cross-examine you, and you’ll be under oath, and if they ask, you’ll have to admit that you and Randy are lovers. Randy feels the jury will discount your testimony as one gay man covering up for another.”

  “He’s right. They’ll write us off as two lying fags.”

  “Randy says prejudice against gay men and women in the Army hasn’t changed since ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ “

  “Not one iota. The men on Randy’s jury will be loyal to Beckwith. You know the way it goes in the Army. It’s a big case. They’ll know what’s expected of them.”

  “Do you think Beckwith has fixed it?” asked Kara.

  “He won’t have to. The system will take care of that. A jury of your peers is a joke in the United States Army. What Randy’s going to get is a jury of frightened men. I’ve seen commanders destroy the careers of officers who served on juries that didn’t reach the verdict the commander wanted. A man like Beckwith doesn’t have to do much. It’s very subtle: You can be left off the invitation list to an important party. They can change your duty assignment, take away your responsibility and authority. The next time you come up before a promotion board, someone on the board will have gotten the hint. You’re finished.”

  “I’m sure what you’re saying is true, General. But if ever there was a time to test the system, it’s now. You’ve got the truth on your side. What if I found the hotel operator who took Randy’s call when he picked up the message? That would prove he was in his room. We can corroborate your testimony. We could make it very difficult for the jury to disbelieve you.”

  “I’m surprised at you, Major. As a woman in the Army I would have thought you’d be more aware of how deep the prejudice and distrust and hatred is.”

  Kara gazed out the window. In the distance she could see the Lincoln Memorial, bathed in white light. She thought back to her experiences as a chopper pilot, when they wouldn’t let her command a squadron.

  Why? she asked. There’s never been a female squadron commander, he said. So I’ll be the first! Not on my watch, you won’t, he growled. But that’s unfair! It’s not legal! So go over my head. See where that gets you.

  So she filed an appeal, and within a week they took her off flight status.

  Teese was right.

  “I’m only too aware of the illegality and idiocy involved in gender discrimination in the Army, General. It’s just that trials are a funny business. You get a sense about a jury. You get a feel about the way things are going. I’d like to ask you to keep an open mind about testifying, General. I want to see what kind of mistakes the prosecution makes. Even the best lawyers always make a few. They could open a door that a witness like you could waltz right through. Your testimony could save him.”

  General Teese didn’t hesitate: “I love him. Do you know that?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  He took her hand. His eyes blazed with emotion. “I’ve given most of my life to the Army. I’ll gladly give what’s left of it to Randy. I’ll be there if you need me.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  They said in law school that the worst hours in your life would be those before you went to trial. This would remain true from one trial to the next, no matter what the stakes were. They were right.

  She had reported what she had found out from Patti O’Brien to Randy. It was crushing news. Their case wasn’t in jeopardy, it was in tatters. Then she told him what General Teese had said, but even that didn’t lift him up. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, and the night ahead was going to be an even longer one.

  Sleeplessness went with the territory. Kara found herself waking sometimes six and seven times a night, groggily switching on the light, fumbling to make notes on the yellow legal pad next to the bed.

  One night she woke up around three a.m., and it was different. This time she was truly awake, and so she put on her robe and went into the kitchen and made coffee. Her files from the night before were strewn across the kitchen table.

  She was going through her notes about the evidence that had been found in Randy’s apartment. In Hollaway’s office, she had been afforded the opportunity to examine the evidence in detail. The photos they had found in his
jacket pocket had been developed in a one-hour shop. Anybody could have taken them. All they needed was a motive: framing Randy.

  The knives were a different matter. They had been in a nondescript nylon bag. Nothing to be concluded from that. But the knives themselves were interesting. There was a German knife with a deer’s antler handle. One of them had markings on the blade in Thai figures. Another was a folding knife, an antique, with a name she had traced to a defunct firm in upstate New York. Then there were several new knives, hand-made custom jobs. She’d read in the Atlanta papers about so-called “knife shows” in the area, where collectors sold and traded these hand-crafted beauties.

  The thing about the knives was that they seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The prosecution was going to get up and say Randy was an obsessive collector. She knew they would tie the knife found at the scene of Lannie’s murder to the ones in the bag. It was identical to one of the newer custom-made jobs.

  It was the haphazard nature of the rest of the so-called collection that got her. Where could they have come from? Did they belong to a single person, the man who committed the murders? Or were they assembled specifically with planting them in Randy’s apartment in mind? If so, where could such a strangely diverse collection could have come from in Columbus, Georgia?

  The obvious answer, with an Army post next door, was a military man. He might have traveled the world on duty assignments and have assembled such a collection. But would the killer take his own knives and plant them in Randy’s apartment when there was a chance someone might recognize a knife as his and implicate him? She thought not.

  She made a note to ask Randy: Did he know anyone who collected knives? What kind of camera did he have? Could his camera have taken the photos?

  She went back to bed and was about to drift off to sleep when one of the cats jumped on her stomach, purring loudly.

  “Yeah, I know. You can’t sleep either.” She closed her eyes as she gently scratched his neck, and sleep finally enveloped her in the soft cloak of fog and dreams.

  ***

  The MP guard unlocked the cell door. Randy was lying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. Kara pulled the door shut behind her with a loud clank.