by Brian Haig
“Your Honor, I-”
“Knock off the ‘your honor’ crap. We both know this isn’t a proper judge-to-lawyer conversation. This is a mano-to-mano chat we’re having here.”
“Right.”
He fixed his eyes on my face. He paused for a moment to let me know this was a decisive moment. Then he asked, “Do you really believe Whitehall’s innocent? Don’t screw with me now, Drummond. I’m not the jury. You don’t have to persuade me. Give me a no-shit answer.”
I did not pause or hesitate. “Of murder, rape, and necrophilia, I do. The other crimes, I suspect he did.”
He leaned back in his chair and kept staring at me. I guess he was trying to look into my soul to see if I was capable of telling the truth or if I was just one more prevaricating, weasel-faced defense attorney.
Finally he nodded that big head of his and said, “All right. Do what you have to do. Talk to Moran and Jackson. On Friday, we’re gonna have a trial, and you and Carlson come in and give it all you’ve got. No holds barred. I won’t be easy on you, but if an American soldier, of all people, can’t get a fair trial, then you and I chose the wrong profession.”
I thanked him, left, and hooked back up with Katherine. As soon as we got outside, we stood right where we were, in the sunlight, blinded and awestruck for a second.
I said, “We’ve got permission to talk with Moran and Jackson. Also, trial starts on Friday. No holds barred.”
She nodded. “Friday. No holds barred.”
We fell quiet.
I finally laughed. “Ah hell, he’s not so tough. He’s a big pansy.”
Katherine giggled, too. “Did you hear what he said? He threatened to rip off my head and poop down my throat. Poop? He’ll poop down my throat? What kind of a man uses that word?”
“A man who means it.”
She sighed. “God, I’m not looking forward to this trial.”
CHAPTER 30
Imelda waited impatiently by the front door to the hair parlor. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into a back room, then closed the door behind us.
She said, “Michael Bales.”
“Right, Michael Bales.”
“I checked his ass out.”
“You checked him out.”
“In country five years. Came over on a three-year tour, married a Korean, and extended.”
“So he’s a homesteader?” I asked, or concluded. Homesteaders are troops who get tired of being shifted from one end of the earth to the other and fight to remain in one place. It’s a fairly common thing with troops in Korea especially, because so many of them marry Korean girls who aren’t real eager to leave Mamasan and Papasan to go live in a strange culture on the other side of the globe.
“Guess who his wife is.”
“A girl who’s into S amp;M. On weekends they send the kids to stay with Grandma and Grandpa so they can tie each other up and beat the bejesus out of each other.”
“Choi’s sister.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Actually it was a stupid question, because one of the things about Imelda Pepperfield is that she never kids. I’ve heard her try to tell jokes, but frankly her timing sucks. Imelda’s one of those folks who’re only funny when they’re not trying to be. A natural comedienne, I guess you’d say.
Unlike me – a forced laugh a minute.
“Bales is the number one boy around here. A tough case rolls in, he’s the man. Boy’s broken more cases than Jesus saved souls.”
“And now we know how he does that, don’t we?”
“He busts their nuts and don’t get caught.”
By the time we walked out of the office, Katherine had already called Fast Eddie and arranged for him to meet us at the holding facility. We had two days left. Katherine wasn’t wasting time.
Since both witnesses were soldiers, it seemed obvious I should come along. We decided to bring Imelda as well, technically as our recorder, but really because she was a senior noncommissioned officer and might catch something we missed. The Army’s like that. All kinds of hidden cues pass among the troops that officers and civilians can’t begin to detect.
Twenty minutes later, we walked into the holding facility. A tall, gangly MP lieutenant met us at the door and lethargically escorted us to an interview room. Eddie was already there, seated beside a short, wispy, skinny kid who looked frightened as hell. The kid had wavy blond hair, a sallow, skinny face, reddened rudiments of popped, scabby pimples, and big, round, frightened blue eyes. I recognized his face from his photo. He looked even more effeminate in person.
“Good morning, Eddie,” Katherine said, giving Golden a perfectly churlish smile.
“Have a seat,” Eddie said, no longer using any of his famous charm on Katherine or me. Eddie’s a smart boy. He doesn’t waste ammunition.
Katherine instantly extended her hand across the table at Jackson. “Hello, Everett, I’m Katherine Carlson, the attorney for Thomas Whitehall.”
She gave him a positively dazzling smile, and she was a beautiful woman, and although Jackson was gay, a smile on a beautiful woman’s face is still a glorious thing to behold. I mean, I was staring at her. Of course, I’m hetero. But then, she’s not, which just goes to show how chaotic everything was in this case. Anyway, Jackson shook her hand.
“And this,” she pointed at Imelda and me, “is Major Sean Drummond, my co-counsel, and Sergeant Imelda Pepperfield, our legal assistant.”
He gave a brief glance in our direction, then turned immediately back to Katherine. Imelda, I noticed, had backed herself into a corner with a pained expression on her face.
Katherine continued. “Everett, I’ve been hired by OGMM, whom I’ve worked for, I guess, for about eight years now. I’m a civilian, of course. My specialty is military gay cases. I’m what you might call an advocate. I believe gays should be allowed to serve, and I make my living fighting for that right in the courts.”
This was a very clever move on her behalf. She was informing young Everett Jackson, a soldier imprisoned and about to be dishonorably discharged for committing homosexual acts, that her life’s work was fighting for guys like him. By implication, she was saying, Hey, about that legal pretty boy on your right – that’s right, the good-looking stud in the green uniform. Don’t be taken in by him; sure he might act like a nice fella, but he’s the guy who gets paid for getting guys like you shoved out of the service. I’m the good guy here, Everett. We’re simpatico. Let’s be chums.
Jackson was nodding like he understood. I was trying to look invisible. I didn’t want him looking at me and thinking, Hey, what about him? Isn’t he one of the gay haters, too?
But Eddie wasn’t any chump, either. He quickly said, “Don’t be fooled by her, Everett. She’s the attorney for Thomas Whitehall, the man who murdered Lee No Tae and got you into this mess. She doesn’t care about you. She cares only about her client.”
Jackson’s eyes shifted back and forth a few times from Eddie to Katherine, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Katherine swiftly said, “Of course, he’s right, Everett. My job is to defend Thomas Whitehall. And I do it willingly, because I know he’s being railroaded, just like I suspect you were railroaded into giving the testimony you provided.”
Jackson so far had not said a word. He had not been asked to say a word. The prosecutor and defender were too busy fussing and fencing over his loyalty.
“Now, Everett,” Katherine continued, “let me tell you what this is about. In your testimony, you said you were invited to Captain Whitehall’s apartment by First Sergeant Moran. Is that right?”
Jackson looked at Eddie, who nodded at him that it was okay to speak. The fact that he looked over at Eddie, this wasn’t a good omen.
He said, “That’s right, ma’am.”
A big, warm, friendly smile. “Please, Everett, drop the ‘ma’am’ stuff. Call me Katherine. I’m not one of these stiff-lipped Army guys here.”
“Okay, Katherine. Yes. First Sergeant M
oran invited me.”
“Didn’t you find that strange? I mean, how often do you get invited to an officer’s quarters for a party?”
“A little odd, yes. But I was, uh, well-”
“You were First Sergeant Moran’s significant other?”
“Yes, that’s right. I thought, well, you know, I thought I was invited like his date.”
“Of course,” Katherine said, as though this were the most innately aboveboard thing in the world. After all, she was a gay rights advocate. He didn’t have to be embarrassed to disclose these intimate details to her. He didn’t have to feel awkward. He could say it like it was. She, after all, was Jackson’s only real soul mate in this room.
“Anyway,” Jackson continued, “I felt odd at first, but Whitehall, uh, the captain, he was a real nice guy. I mean, he seemed real nice. He kept pouring me drinks, and he spent a lot of time talking with me. I, uh, I felt pretty comfortable.”
“And what was Carl Moran doing? Was he talking with Lee No Tae?”
“Yeah. Part of the time, anyway.”
At this point, Eddie lurched forward in his chair. “What in the hell’s going on here? What does this line of questioning have to do with the interrogation?”
“I’m sorry?” Katherine stiffly replied, like, What the hell do you mean by what in the hell?
Eddie gave her a taste of his friendly-exterminator expression. “Lady, you’re not here to practice your cross-examination on my witness. The judge’s written order is clear. You can ask questions pertaining to Jackson’s interrogation. That’s it.”
Katherine archly said, “Let me see your copy of the order.”
In our haste to get back to our office, we hadn’t actually stuck around to get a copy. Shame on us.
He triumphantly tossed it across the table at her. She picked it up, read it, then handed it to me, and I read it, then I handed it to Imelda and she gave it back to Eddie without looking at it herself.
It was a limited order. Carruthers was nobody’s fool. We’d said we were investigating the possibility the witnesses were tortured. We could ask about the sequence that occurred after the arrest – period.
Katherine took a moment to regroup. She drew a couple of deep breaths, then smiled at Jackson again. This time it was a forced smile.
“Okay, Everett, let’s review what occurred after you were arrested. Where were you taken?”
“To the Itaewon Police Station. We all were.”
“And what happened there?”
“Well, first they separated us into different rooms. Then they took my fingerprints. Then they asked me a bunch of questions and-”
“Who asked you the questions?” I interrupted.
“A Korean police officer. I can’t remember his name. It was like, uh, like-”
“Like Choi?”
“Yes… maybe.”
“A uniformed cop, or a detective in civvies?”
“He was in civvies. I think he said he was like a chief inspector, or something like that.”
“Where was this?”
“In a room in the back.”
“Were any Americans present?”
“No.”
“Okay, then what?” Katherine asked.
“Then I was put in a cell till some MPs came and got me. They brought me to base. They kept me in a room in the MP station. Then Chief Bales and the same Korean guy came in and asked me some questions.”
“Did they touch you?” I asked.
He suddenly broke eye contact. He looked at Eddie, and Eddie nodded for him to go ahead and answer.
He said, “No… uh, they didn’t touch me.”
I bent toward him. “You’re sure?”
“Yes sir, I’m sure.”
“Then what happened?” Katherine asked.
“After an hour or so, I was released to go back to my unit.”
Katherine turned and looked at me. I shrugged. She looked back at Jackson. “You went to see a lawyer, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. I’d been at a murder scene. Who knows what the Korean cops thought, right? I thought I’d better be safe.”
“And did the attorney advise you to go back and revise your initial statement?”
Jackson looked at Eddie again. Then he fidgeted for a moment. “Yeah. He said I should tell the truth. I mean, I didn’t kill or rape anybody.”
“Did you contact Carl Moran before you went back?”
“Yeah. I mean, I thought I owed him that. I couldn’t leave him hanging.”
I said, “Does that mean you knew Moran lied in his official statement to the MPs also?”
Eddie came forward. “Drummond, you’re crossing the boundary.”
“The hell I am. Your witnesses were interrogated twice and their initial and final statements conflict. We have the right to know why.”
Eddie scratched his chin for a second. Then he said, “I don’t agree. Do we need to get on the phone and ask the judge?”
“We’re only trying to get the truth. What the hell are you afraid of?”
He smiled. “Nothing. When you get him on the stand, ask anything you want. As long as it’s relevant, of course. Otherwise, I’ll break it off in your ass. You remember what that feels like, don’t you, Drummond?”
If I hadn’t mentioned it before, I don’t really like Eddie Golden. In fact, I dislike him intensely. And not just because he’d bested me twice, but because he was such a puffed-up prick. I guess I was letting my feelings show, because Katherine put her hand on my arm to quiet me. I simmered but kept my mouth shut.
Then Katherine asked, “Everett, this is very important, now. Were you brought to the Itaewon station for a second visit?”
Jackson looked nervous. He turned to Eddie again, but Eddie stayed quiet.
He said, “I, uh, I’m sorry. What was your question again?”
“I asked, were you brought to the Itaewon station for a second visit?”
“No. Uh, I never went back there again.”
He was lying. He wasn’t even a good liar, because his eyes turned away from her, and his face turned red.
Katherine got forceful. “Were you ever beaten? Did Chief Bales or Inspector Choi touch you? Did they attempt to coerce you?”
Then, in a quick, taut, almost frantic rush of words, “No, never. They never touched me. I wasn’t beaten.”
To which I quickly said, “How odd, Everett. I have a copy of a statement from the Itaewon station that says you were beaten.”
His face suddenly became alarmed. “What?”
“You heard me. I have an official police statement that says you were beaten at the Itaewon station.”
Jackson’s lips were just parting, but before he could say a word, Eddie grabbed his arm, and said, “Show me the statement.”
“I didn’t bring it with me,” I replied, which was technically true. Since I didn’t have any such statement, I obviously didn’t have it with me. But such a statement did exist – the cover-up statement I’d overheard Choi confide to Bales that he’d filed, the one that claimed Jackson was beaten by his cellmate. I made a quick mental note to lodge a request with the Korean Ministry of Justice to see if they would produce it. I made a second note not to hold my breath.
Eddie, in the meantime, was smiling. “You’re claiming you have evidence that contradicts my witness. I expect to see that evidence before he has to answer.”
I wondered at this moment how much Eddie knew. Was he aware his witnesses were liars? Or was he just so eager to get another victory notch on his belt that he didn’t want to know what he didn’t want to know? Or did he really just think Katherine and I were a couple of sleazebag defense counsels trying to pull rabbits out of the hat?
Anyway, we’d reached what’s called a deadlock, and Eddie was looking at his watch. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I have a very busy schedule to keep. Unless you have a reasonable objection, I’m going to have Jackson returned to his ce
ll and I’ll have Moran brought in.”
Without waiting for our reply, he got up and sauntered to the door and signaled a guard. Jackson was led out with his head hung low. I found it telling that he never turned and looked at us before he left. Not once. He got out of there as fast as Eddie could arrange it.
Then it was just us lawyers. And Imelda, of course, still standing quietly in the corner, observing us.
Eddie chuckled. “You guys are really grasping at straws. What’s the matter, Carlson? I thought you said you and Drummond had some big surprises for me.”
Like I mentioned earlier, Eddie was into playing mind games.
I was steaming, but Katherine was calm and unruffled, since mind games were her idea of sport also. “Oh, we do, Eddie, we do. We’re just cleaning up a few loose ends.”
“Sure you are, Carlson. You’re hoping to assassinate Bales on the stand. Not unexpected, but a very bad idea.”
“Really? Why’s it a bad idea?”
“Because Bales is clean. He’s rated one of the top three CID agents in the entire system. He’s got the second highest arrest record, the highest conviction rate, and he’s never had a single brutality charge leveled against him.”
Katherine stared him right in the eye. “He’s dirty.”
And he stared right back. “Say that in court, and I’ll make you regret it. This is a court-martial, Carlson, not a trial in some Black inner-city ghetto. Our jury’s going be made up of ten Army officers. They respect CID officers. You open the issue, and I’ll spend three days proving what a great guy he is. Don’t waste your time.”
“We’ll see,” Katherine said.
That was the moment when the door opened and First Sergeant Carl Moran was led in. His eyes roved around the room and locked on each of us for a brief second.
