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 Moran 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.”