“I mean, you’d already studied the autopsy results. You’d already interviewed Bales. Is there anything else you’ve already done I should know about?”

“Like what?”

If it was anybody but her I would’ve taken that question at face value. “Anything?” I said, with a menacing look.

Her expression became suddenly thoughtful, as though she were rummaging through her memory banks for anything worth noting.

“Katherine?” I said, going on a hunch.

“What?”

“Tell me about Keith.”

“What do you want to know about Keith?”

“I’m just wondering why he got picked. Was he a target of opportunity? Or was he doing something that caused him to be targeted?”

Again she went into her contemplative mode. “Off the top of my head, I can’t think of anything.”

“No?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Because if I were to find out you were holding out on me, I’d probably get real pissed off.”

Those green eyes searched my face. “Do you have some reason to doubt me?”

I had a thousand reasons to doubt her. A million reasons. Hell, I couldn’t think of a single reason to trust anything she said. But in the interest of our newfound partnership, I thought it best to confine this discussion to the subject at hand.

“Only that in the embassy Keith claimed his specialty was suing the government. But he accompanied you in your interview with Bales, didn’t he?”

“He was along, yes,” she conceded. “But don’t give it any significance. He has a good legal mind so I wanted him along.”

“But you must admit it’s curious that an attorney whose specialty is civil suits is collecting evidence in a murder investigation.”

She smiled. “My specialty is civil rights narrowed down to homosexual suits. Look what I’m doing.”

And I had to admit she had a very good point. Anyway, I needed to go get some things done, like arrange for Imelda to have all our rooms and offices swept for bugs.

CHAPTER 17

I went through the same rigmarole to get in to see Whitehall, only I went alone. His obstinate silence had me stymied. It struck me that if we met alone, he might become more loquacious. His being gay, maybe women made him nervous or tight-lipped.

At least that’s what I told myself. The truth was, I figured I could get an inside edge on Carlson by building a better relationship with her client. I can be very sly that way.

I even snuck in some treats in my briefcase – three Big Macs and a six-pack of Molson.

The big Korean with oxlike shoulders did the routine of leading me to the cell and getting the door open. I told him I expected to be with the prisoner about an hour and invited him to lock us in together and then go do whatever big thugs do when their services aren’t in any great demand. He smiled, but it wasn’t a real fraternal smile, and I wondered if he was going to reappear when my hour was over.

Whitehall was giving me a curious once-over as the cell door banged shut and was locked behind me. “You’re alone?”

“That’s right, Tommy. I think it’s time we get better acquainted.”

He stood up and walked over, to shake my hand I thought at first, but he stood stiffly in front of me. “Welcome to my world” was all he said, and although my eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the dimness, I thought I saw a slight smile. His world was claustrophobic, especially when you cram two full-grown men into such a tiny, coffinlike space. It was intimate, though, which met with my designs.

“I brought gifts,” I informed him, setting down my briefcase, flipping the locks, and reaching in to pull out two of the Big Macs. The smell immediately permeated the cramped space. The burgers were cold, but they were still the most American of meals, and after a week of rice and water, I knew they would have the desired effect. I handed him the first two and he simply stood for a moment squeezing and sniffing them, like he just couldn’t believe they were the real article.

Then the wrappers were ripped off and he began gobbling them like an angry gargoyle, with gnashing teeth and grunts for swallows.

“Slow down,” I warned. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Screw it,” he replied, not slowing down the least bit.

“Hey, I’ve got another little surprise,” I proudly informed him, withdrawing two cans of beer and opening the tops.

They made that lovely pshht, and “Jesus” was all he murmured before he grabbed one and slammed it up to his lips. Half the contents disappeared in a single gulp.

I patiently watched him finish it, as well as the second Big Mac, before I fell into the corner. He licked his fingers for a few seconds to get that final bit of flavor, then collapsed onto his sleeping mat. I handed him another beer.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“It sucks,” he admitted, belching from the effect of drinking a full beer in only two sips.

I couldn’t resist. “Worse than West Point even?”

He gave me a self-conscious, embarrassed expression. “I guess that sounded pretty stupid?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

We quietly sipped from our beers and stared at the walls.

I finally looked over at him. “You gettin’ any exercise?”

“One hour a day I go out into the courtyard and jog in a circle. They take me out at ten o’clock at night when the other prisoners are asleep. It’s for my own safety, they say. Other than that, I spend most of my days doing push-ups and sit-ups in here. It kills the time.”

I chuckled. “Christ, you’ll turn into a beast.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Watch this.”

He stood up, kicked off his sandals, put his feet against one wall, fell forward and placed his hands against the other wall, then began scaling the cell, using his hands and feet. He moved quickly, gracefully, like a cat. He made it all the way to the ceiling, gave it a small bump with his ass, then came back down the same way. He wasn’t even winded when he was done, like he could’ve done it a hundred more times.

“That’s very impressive, Tommy,” I said, shaking my head. “They teach you that at West Point, that climbing-the-walls thing?”

I heard a sudden gurgling sound in the back of his throat, the sound of a convulsive vomit being swallowed, then, “Oh shit. I never tried that after burgers and beer.”

I chuckled some more. “Hey, I talked to some old friends of yours.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“I had a great chat with Ernie Walters. He sends his best. He asked me to tell you he still loves you. But like a brother, he says. He made me promise to be real clear on that point.”

I heard a small “hmmph” come from somewhere deep inside Whitehall’s chest. “I’ll bet Ernie’s catching hell, isn’t he?”

“Well, yeah,” I replied. “The day I talked with him his desk was painted pink, the cadets changed the nametag on his door to read ‘Mrs. Whitehall,’ and his wife made him demonstrate he could perform his heterosexual obligations.”

Whitehall brought his right hand up and began rubbing it across his lips.

I said, “Hey, he’s keeping his sense of humor. And he’s telling everybody who asks that he still considers you his best friend.”

“Ernie’s always been a damned good guy,” he said, still rubbing his hand across his lips.

“He had great things to say about you. He even offered to climb on a plane and come testify on your behalf. Of course-”

But before I could finish he said, “No.”

“Huh?”

“I said no. Don’t even think about dragging Ernie into this. The Army would destroy him. He’s got a wife and kids to worry about.”

“Hey, Tommy, I wouldn’t worry about other people’s problems. He’s a big boy. He knows what he’s doing.”

Tommy very firmly said, “I told you no. And don’t go looking for any other character witnesses, either. This is my problem and I won’t drag my friends down with me.”

While I was deeply impressed by his loyalty, he wasn’t in any kind of position to be so noble. But there was no use wasting arguments on this one, at least not yet, since I still hadn’t found any worthy character witnesses to wrangle over. Besides, I had other, more important issues to resolve.