Heart of War

by Lucian K. Truscott

  “Your Honor, the Government calls Major Frank Hollaway.”

  Hollaway was sworn and took the stand. As Sanders took him through the evidence in the murder of Sheila Worthy, Kara noticed that he managed to work around the issue of who had found the body. But when he got to the gold U.S. insignia, he zeroed right in.

  “So you checked with the N.S. Meyer Company to see how many Fort Benning officers had ordered the gold U.S. insignia, and Captain Taylor’s name turned up on the list, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “He was at that point a suspect?”

  “Yes.”

  “And under questioning he admitted that he had a relationship with the deceased?”

  Kara jumped up. “Objection. I was present for that interrogation. He didn’t admit it. He volunteered the information.”

  “The witness should be allowed to answer the question, Your Honor.”

  Colonel Freeman rolled his eyes. “Objection overruled. Let’s allow the witness to characterize the defendant’s answers under questioning. Major Hollaway? You may answer.”

  “He said he had dated her, yes.”

  “Why didn’t you check to see if Captain Taylor’s insignia was missing at that point?”

  “We didn’t have any corroborating evidence. He was a suspect, but we didn’t have probable cause to go in and search his apartment.”

  “But you got your probable cause when the defendant was found astride a dead woman in a hotel in Washington, D.C., right?”

  “Yes. We searched his apartment, and we found one of his gold N.S. Meyer insignias in his drawer. It matched the one we found in Sheila Worthy’s car. Captain Taylor had plated insignia on the Class A uniform hanging in his closet. They were similar in appearance to the N.S. Meyer U.S.’s, but they weren’t solid gold.”

  Sanders entered the gold U.S. insignias found in Sheila’s car and in Randy’s apartment into evidence as exhibits B and C.

  “And it was during another search of the apartment that you found these photographs, correct?” He held up a packet of color photos of Sheila and Lannie.

  “Correct.”

  “Ask that these photos be introduced as prosecution exhibit D, Your Honor.”

  “So ordered.”

  He handed the photos to Hollaway. “Have a look at the photos, Major. Describe them for the panel.”

  “These photos appear to have been taken with a telephoto lens. They show both of the deceased women in various places around Fort Benning. Getting out of a car at the PX. Going into an office. Entering their apartments. That sort of thing.”

  “So the defendant was following these women and taking their pictures with a long lens, so that they would be unaware of this intrusion into their lives?”

  “Objection,” called Kara from the defense table. “The question asserts facts not in evidence. It has not been proven that my client took these pictures, Your Honor. Only that they were found in his apartment.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Would you say that photographs such as these reflect an obsession with the subjects of the photos on the part of the person who took them?”

  “Objection. Major Hollaway is a talented and experienced military policeman, but he is not an expert on the psychology of photography.”

  “Overruled. The witness can characterize the photos.”

  “Yes,” said Hollaway. “I would agree that the photos reflect an obsession with the subjects.”

  Sanders pulled out the nylon bag and handed it to Hollaway. “You found this in the defendant’s apartment, correct?”

  “Yes. Under a pile of clothes in the closet.”

  “What does the bag contain?”

  “A collection of knives.”

  Sanders took the bag and dumped it onto the prosecution table. He asked for and was granted permission to enter the knives as prosecution exhibits.

  “There is one additional knife, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Sanders held up the bloody knife in a plastic bag. “This one. It was found next to the dead body of Captain Love, less than one inch from the defendant, with his prints on it, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Objection. Major Hollaway isn’t the person who found the knife. He has no knowledge of where the knife was, or under what conditions it was found.”

  The judge turned to Hollaway. “Is this correct?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Then why did you answer the question in the affirmative?”

  “I was remembering what I read in the report from the District of Columbia PD and the house detective, sir.”

  Freeman turned to Sanders. “Presumably you will present this testimony?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Then you may proceed to question Major Hollaway on his knowledge of the evidence, not the knowledge of others. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He handed the bag containing the bloody knife to Hollaway. “When you examined this knife, did it resemble the knives you found in the defendant’s apartment?”

  “Yes. It’s a hand-made, custom knife, identical to one of the knives we found in the bag.”

  “Did you run a check of the prints on this knife?”

  “Yes. The Washington, D.C., police ran a check, and we ran a backup check. They came out the same.”

  “Whose prints were on the knife?”

  “Captain’s Taylor’s. Four fingers and palm.”

  “No further questions.” Sanders sat down.

  Kara stood, leaning on the podium. “Let’s start right there, Major. He could have gotten his prints on that knife in any number of ways, couldn’t he?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  “Oh, I think you do. Let’s run down a list of possibilities. Captain Taylor could have gotten his prints on the knife when he pulled it out of her neck, couldn’t he?”

  “I guess that’s possible.”

  “His prints would be on the knife if the knife was lying next to her, and he picked it up and handled it, correct?”

  “I guess so.”

  “And his prints would be on the knife if he moved it out of the way, so he could perform CPR on her, right?”

  “That’s improbable.”

  “But possible.”

  “Yes. On the outer edge of possible.”

  She walked over to the pile of knives on the prosecution table. “You didn’t happen to run fingerprint checks on the rest of the knives, did you?”

  Hollaway shifted nervously in his chair. “Yes.”

  “Did you find any of Captain Taylor’s prints on these knives?”

  “No.”

  Kara feigned surprise. “Really? Isn’t that a bit strange, Major? You’re in this court testifying that these knives belonged to the defendant, and presumably the purpose of your testimony is to bolster the prosecutor’s claim in his opening remarks that the defendant was some kind of knife nut, and he was obsessed with knives the way he was obsessed with strange photography, and you didn't find his prints on them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you find any prints at all on the knives?”

  “A few. They were all partials, one half thumb print, the rest of them just scraps, really.”

  “As if, perhaps, the knives had been wiped down and a couple of prints on a tang, say, had been missed?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Were you able to identify these prints?”

  “We ran them through the FBI’s fingerprint system, but nothing came up.”

  “How could that be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kara paused for effect, a quizzical look on her face. She looked up at Hollaway. “You’ve been an MP for how long?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “You’ve investigated murders before, haven’t you?”

  “Quite a few.”

  “Knife murders?”

  “Yes.”

  “You collect knives yourself, don�
�t you, Major Hollaway?”

  He shifted again in his chair. His voice dropped a half octave. “Yes.”

  “It’s rather common in the state of Georgia, isn’t it? Knife collecting? They have knife shows and knife shops and knife conventions, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many knives do you have in your collection?”

  “Six.”

  “Custom knives. Nice knives. Collectible knives, like these?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are your fingerprints on your knives, Major Hollaway? Do you pick them up and hold them and look at them and show them off to other collectors and maybe even whittle with them occasionally?”

  “Yes.”

  “So indeed it is rather unusual that these knives"—she put her hand on the table next to the knives—"the ones you say belong to Captain Taylor, do not appear to have been touched by Captain Taylor at all. Not once. Maybe never.”

  “Objection! Asks for speculation!”

  “I’ll withdraw the last part of the question, Your Honor. But I want an answer to the first part.”

  “Answer the first part of the question.”

  “It is unusual, yes.”

  “How unusual, Major? Have you ever heard of a knife collector who never touched his knives?”

  “No.”

  Kara snuck a satisfied glance at the panel. “One more question, Major. How many officers were on that list of people who owned solid gold U.S. insignia from N.S. Meyer?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Sixteen men and six women, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Did you check to see if any of the twenty-one officers other than Captain Taylor were missing a solid gold U.S.?”

  “No.”

  “So as far as you know, there could be an additional twenty-one U.S. insignias missing from uniforms all over this post, isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t know that to be a fact.”

  “So you don’t know whether or not twenty-one U.S. insignias are missing?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Major, you didn’t mention finding the negatives for the photographs you discovered in Captain Taylor’s apartment. Did you look for them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you find the negatives?”

  “No.”

  “Isn’t that a little strange, Major? You’re saying this man was so obsessed with these women that he went around taking their pictures, and you find the prints, but there were no negatives?”

  “Maybe he threw them out.”

  “Maybe they didn’t belong to him. Maybe someone else took the photos and they have the negatives.”

  “Objection!”

  “Withdraw the question. Thank you. That’s all I have.”

  Colonel Freeman checked his watch. “We’ll take a break for lunch and reconvene at 1400 hours. This court stands in recess.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  She grabbed a sandwich from the PX and sat in the Cherokee behind the football stadium, reading through her notes. A training company of young second lieutenants ran past in formation, carrying their M-16’s at port arms. In a moment she heard them inside the stadium, going through bayonet drills. An instructor was standing on a PT stand, screaming at them over the P.A.: “WHAT IS THE SPIRIT OF THE BAYONET?” And the company of lieutenants was screaming back: “TO KILL, SIR!”

  Here she was in a murder trial only a hundred yards away from the stadium, and inside the court that morning they could hear the echo from the football stadium across the street: “KILL! KILL! KILL!” There were jarring incongruities in the military to which, even after all these years, she still had difficulty adapting.

  Just before the court-martial reconvened, she ran the gauntlet of reporters and cameras, and this time she stopped directly in front of what’s-her-name from CBS, who shoved the requisite microphone in her face.

  “What did you think of the prosecution’s case?” she asked perkily.

  Kara smiled warmly. “I thought they did a good job of pumping a lot of hot air into a very flat tire.”

  What’s-her-name faced her camera and said: “There you have it! A legal flat tire, says the defense! Barry? Back to you!”

  Inside, Kara strode into the anteroom the prosecution was using as an office. Sanders and Hollaway were bent over a conference table, going over notes. They turned when she slammed the door closed.

  “I’ve got a request for a subpoena, Howard. I wonder if you could process this right away.” She handed him a typed sheet of paper.

  He scanned it quickly and looked up. “What in the hell is this?”

  “Just what it looks like, Howard. A subpoena.”

  “You want the records on a military cell phone?”

  “Yep.”

  “What could this possibly have to do with the court-martial of Captain Taylor, Kara?”

  “Look at the date, Howard. I want the billing records covering the time of Sheila’s murder.”

  “Whose cell phone is this?”

  “I don’t have to reveal that to you.”

  “Then I don’t have to process the subpoena.” He handed her the typed request. Angrily she snatched it from his hand.

  “The law says you’ve got to honor my requests for a subpoena, Howard.”

  “The law says I have to honor reasonable requests. How can I tell if this is reasonable if I don’t know what’s involved? You tell me whose cell phone it is, and I’ll make my decision.”

  “I can’t do that. It will give away my case.”

  “Then I’m sorry.”

  She glared at him for a second and stalked out of the room. In the courtroom, Randy was already at the defense table. She sat down. “Did the guard bring you the hamburger and fries?”

  “Yeah, thanks. It was great.”

  The judge walked in and gaveled the court to order.

  “Call your next witness, Major Sanders.”

  “Sir, the prosecution calls Nicholas Reilly.”

  The burly house detective from the hotel was sworn in, and Sanders took him through the morning he had arrested Randy. His description of discovering Randy on top of Lannie’s bloody dead body was devastating. Sanders showed him the photos of Randy taken by the Washington police. Reilly confirmed they reflected Randy’s appearance at the time of his arrest. It was obvious when Sanders sat down that he thought Reilly’s testimony practically guaranteed a conviction, at least on the charge of killing Lannie.

  Kara stood and approached the podium. “What did the defendant say when you first came into the room, Mr. Reilly?”

  “He said something like, he was trying to revive her.”

  “Didn’t he say he was giving her CPR?”

  “Yeah. That was it.”

  “And what else did he say?”

  “He said I was making a big mistake.”

  “And you said?”

  “You’re the one making the mistake, mister.”

  “Now, Mr. Reilly, I want you to be very careful as you answer my next questions. They are very important, and I want to get your precise recollections of what transpired. Understand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When you entered Captain Love’s room, did you see the defendant with the knife in his hand?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see him stab her with the knife?”

  “No.”

  “When you described the scene for Major Sanders, you said there was blood all over the place. In fact, there was blood on Captain Love, and there was blood on the bed next to her neck, and there was blood on Captain Taylor, and that is all the blood you saw, correct?”

  “Yeah, it was all over the place.”

  “How much blood was there on the bed?”

  “Lots.”

  “We had testimony from Captain Evans, the doctor who did the autopsy on Captain Love, and he said that she had lost so much blood that quite a bit of time had gone by since the time of her death. Would that sur
prise you?”

  “She was lying there and he was on top of her, is all I saw.”

  “Yes. So you told us.” Kara glanced over at the members of the panel. At least one of them looked like he needed a nap. She turned back to questioning Reilly. “I was referring to the amount of blood and the probable time of death, Mr. Reilly. The doctor said that perhaps as much as thirty to forty-five minutes may have passed since she was killed. You understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me ask you this, Mr. Reilly. How long have you been a house detective at that hotel?”

  “Six years.”

  “And during this time you have made quite a few arrests, correct?”

  “A lot.”

  “And at least one of those arrests was for murder, correct?”

  “Yeah. Two years ago. Guy killed his wife.”

  “Mr. Reilly, how many times in six years at the hotel have you seen a crime committed with the door open so the whole world could walk by, as you did, and look right into the room?”

  The witness sat very still for a moment, thinking. “Uh, I can’t remember that that ever happened.”

  “So your answer would be, none. Zero. Correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “People who rent hotel rooms ordinarily keep their doors closed and locked, do they not?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’ve had to use passkeys to get into rooms where you suspected a crime was being committed, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go back to the arrest you made for murder. The man killed his wife, you said. Did he kill her with the door open?”

  “No. He did it in the bathroom.”

  “So both the door to his room and the bathroom door were closed, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You could conclude that murder is normally a very private business, couldn’t you?”

  “Objection! The witness is not an expert in homicide investigations.”

  “Your Honor, he’s an expert house detective, and he has testified to his extensive experience in that regard. The question merely asked him to draw a conclusion based on his own experience.”

  “Overruled. You may answer, Mr. Reilly.”

  “I forgot the question.”

  “I was asking you, Mr. Reilly, if you couldn’t conclude from your experience that ordinarily murder is a very private business.”