I said, “I wouldn’t bring him over anyway. He told me about your boxing career. Shit, you must’ve been a terror in the ring. Unfortunately, that’s not real helpful right at this moment, because four straight years of West Pointers watched you fight and they all generally agree you’re a homicidal maniac. Couldn’t you have played tennis or something?”

Of course, I was using this opportunity to broadly hint that I knew about the bone-snapping power of his fists, not to mention his penchant for flailing opponents nearly to death, and I wanted to hear how he’d reply.

But he made no reply, he just stared at the far wall. So I continued. “I also talked to Ed Gilderstone. Can’t say it was a real chummy conversation or anything, but he still holds you in high regard. Not that he’s willing to lift a finger. He seems to like it inside the closet.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Gilderstone.”

“You expected him to react that way?”

“A lot of old gays are like that. He’s spent decades hiding. The longer you do it, the more obsessive you get. You hide it from your parents, your family, your closest friends, from everybody. You don’t come out unless somebody drags you out, kicking and screaming.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Remember that gay magazine that got its kicks outing famous gays?”

“Yeah, I guess I remember something about that.”

“They caused two or three suicides, and more lawsuits than you could count. If you’re straight you can’t begin to understand the terror it can cause a gay who’s been trying to preserve a normal life.”

“Is that why you want us to withhold an admission?”

“It’s got nothing to do with it. I mean, it’s a fairly hollow denial, right? That part of the damage is done.”

“What is it, then?”

“I won’t give them the satisfaction. Besides, Katherine says I shouldn’t.”

Well, this was news to me. I mean, among many other things Katherine never mentioned was that she’d already advised her client on this issue.

“She say why?”

“She just thinks it’s a good legal strategy. And I see her point. The more burden of proof we put on their shoulders, the better our chances, right?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I admitted, because technically that was true. Most smart defense attorneys never freely concede a single point. They force the prosecutor to painstakingly prove everything, because even if he can prove everything, it still increases the odds he’ll make a mistake in the process. Except when it’s completely hopeless, because then the jury is apt to see the stonewalling as an admission the defense team hasn’t got a leg to stand on. In those instances, you only end up losing the goodwill of the jury members. An admission of Whitehall’s homosexuality struck me as one of those instances.

And Carlson should know that, too. What in the hell was she thinking?

“So, Tommy,” I continued. “Does your family know you’re gay?”

“They know. They’ve known since I was old enough to walk. Some gays don’t realize it till pretty late in life. I knew it from the day I could think rationally.”

“Why was that?”

“I guess because I had a great family. My parents are remarkable people. They weren’t into pretenses or shame. They always just figured you are what you are.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, “I’ve been trying to track them down. Your personnel file says you were raised in Denver, Colorado, but there’s thirty-two Whitehalls in the Denver greater metropolitan area. Nowhere in your personnel file does it list your parents’ first names. Could you help me out here?”

“Leave them out of this,” he said. He said it very firmly, too.

I let out a deep sigh. “Tommy, they’re your family. I’m sure they want to help, and they could be damned helpful. The way things stand right now, good character witnesses are essential.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “They stay out of this.”

I wasn’t going to give up this easily. “Look, there’s an impression out there that you’re some kind of nutso homo freak who beat, murdered, then raped a guy. It wouldn’t hurt to have your mother on the stand telling the board how cute you were as a baby, and what it was like to see you learning to crawl. Or your father talking about how proud he was the day you got accepted to West Point.”

“It isn’t going to happen.”

“Are there strains between you? Gilderstone said he never saw them visit you at West Point.”

“No, no strains. I love them and they love me. They’re doing everything they can, but I want them left out of it. And don’t cross me on this, Major.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, recognizing a lost battle.

But what the hell did I know? Maybe he was worried his mother would get up on the stand and say, “Tommy? My little Tommy? Why of course he killed that boy. From the day he was born, he used to love to play with webbed belts, wrapping them around his brothers’ and sisters’ necks. Why, it was a terrible strain on all of us.”

And his father would say, “Damn was that boy happy to get into West Point. He was always homicidal anyway, and they promised to turn him into a professional killer.”

I said, “Want another burger?”

“You got another one?”

I reached into my case, pulled out the last one and another beer. “Here.” I handed them to him. “Go slow. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“That’s the least of my problems,” he replied, and I guessed he was right.

I leaned against the wall. “So what was it like growing up and knowing you were gay?”

He didn’t answer for a while, just sat and munched his burger and sipped his beer. Finally he said, “Look, Major, I appreciate the hamburgers and the beer and the company. I really do. But don’t push it. You’re not my friend. You’re the lawyer the Army assigned to my case. Now, why’d you really come out here?”

So much for my guileful attempt to bypass his defenses.

“You’re right about the burgers and beers. I thought it might soften you up a bit. Can I be candid?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Be as candid as you want.”

“Here’s the thing. I’ve spent the past five days going over every detail of your case. I’ve read the full case file. I’ve viewed the corpse and studied the autopsy. I’ve talked to Bales and checked out your background. And, Tommy, I can’t remember seeing a stronger case. From a strictly procedural standpoint, it’s perfect. I can’t find a single flaw, not one. You know what that means?”

“I’m screwed?” he guessed.

“That would be my professional judgment. Unless we find something we haven’t thought of, or the prosecutor or the judge make a fatal blunder, your chances of conviction are at least ninety-nine percent. And don’t bank on the prosecutor or judge screwing up. They’ve brought in the best prosecutor in the Army. And the judge is one of those guys they keep chained up in the basement unless they absolutely need him.”

“So they’ve stacked the deck?”

“Let’s just say they’re bringing in the A-team. I wouldn’t want to face these guys even if I had a foolproof defense.”

He considered that in silence.

Then I said, “Tell me something. And it better be the truth.”

“What?”

I drew a heavy breath and fixed his eyes with my best prosecutorial glare. “Did you kill Private Lee?”

It was the same question he’d told me earlier he had no intention of answering – only, having laid out the bleak facts, I now hoped he was willing to relent. Stonewalling his own attorneys never was a good idea. It had become a catastrophically bad idea.

And besides, I really wanted to hear how he answered.

“I did not,” he answered very simply.

“Do you know who did?”

“No. You can’t believe how much I’ve thought about it. All I can tell you is that I’m positive it wasn’t Moran or Jackson.”

“That’s an assumption, Tommy. It could be a very dangerous one. They’re the only other possible culprits.”

“We’ve already been through this, Major. I’m not changing my stance. I don’t believe they did it. It had to be someone else.”