She sank onto the unmade bed and, more depressed than frightened, began to make telephone calls.

16

“Boy, it’s a real honor to meet you, ma’am,” the young man said. His name was Captain Terrence Embry, he was twenty-seven years old, and he was the military defense counsel assigned to Tom. (Claire still could not get herself to call her husband Ronald, to think of him as anyone except Tom.)

She smiled, nodded politely, stirred nondairy creamer into her coffee. It was early in the morning and they were meeting for breakfast at the McDonald’s on the base. His invitation: he’d called the Quality Inn the night before, told her he’d just been detailed to the case, and would she like to get together?

“I mean, we studied your book Crime and the Law in my criminal-law class,” he went on. “I’m just sorry about the circumstances and all...” His voice trailed off, and he looked down at his Egg McMuffin. His face reddened.

Terry Embry had reddish hair, cut short in what she was beginning to recognize as an army regulation haircut, large prominent ears, nervous watery blue eyes. He blushed easily. He had long slender fingers and a dry, firm handshake. On his left hand was a large, perfectly shiny gold wedding band, obviously brand-new. On his right hand was a heavy West Point ring, on top of which was mounted a synthetic black star sapphire. He was a West Point graduate, he said, sent by the army to the University of Virginia Law School and then the Judge Advocate General School there, in Charlottesville. He was a smart young man, Claire saw at once, and almost totally inexperienced.

Her appetite still hadn’t returned. She took a sip of her coffee. “Do you mind if I smoke, Captain Embry?” she asked.

Embry’s eyes widened and he looked around anxiously. “No, ma’am, I...”

“Don’t worry, we’re in the smoking section,” she said, as she unwrapped a pack of Camel Lights, pulled one out, and lighted it with a plastic Bic lighter. She despised herself for smoking again — actually buying a pack, and not just bumming from Jackie, was serious — but she couldn’t help it.

She exhaled. There were few things more disgusting than smoking a cigarette at breakfast. “Tell me something, Captain—”

“Terry.”

“Okay, then. Terry. Tell me something. Have you ever tried a case?”

His face reddened. She had her answer. “Well, ma’am, I’ve done a number of plea bargains, mostly for drugs, unauthorized absences, that sort of stuff—”

“But you’ve never actually done a trial.”

“No, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“I see. And have they assigned a prosecutor yet? Or is it still too early for that?”

“Well, it’s really early, but they’ve already detailed someone, which tells me they’re probably planning on a court-martial.”

She smiled grimly. “What a surprise. And who have they assigned?”

“Major Waldron, ma’am. Major Lucas Waldron.” He took a healthy bite of his Egg McMuffin.

“Is he any good, do you know?”

His eyes widened. He accelerated his chewing, then tried to speak through a mouthful of food, but settled for vigorous nodding. Then he said, “Pardon me, ma’am. Major Waldron — yes, ma’am, he’s good. He’s real good. He’s probably the best they’ve got.”

“Is that right?” she said, unsurprised.

“Well, he’s a bit of a hardass, ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying. He’s the most experienced trial counsel in the JAG Corps. Really aggressive. And he has a perfect win-loss record. No one’s ever been acquitted at a trial he’s prosecuted.”

“I don’t suppose that means he only takes the easy cases, in order to maintain his perfect record, does it?”

“Not that I’ve heard, ma’am. He’s just really good.”

“My husband is being scapegoated.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely.

“When you read whatever files they give you, you’ll see that. It’s a conspiracy. Can you deal with that?”

“If it’s true, yes, ma’am, I can.”

“It won’t be good for your career, Terry, going after a cover-up within the military, will it?”

“Ma’am, I don’t know what’s best for my career.”

“Enough with the ‘ma’am,’ okay?”

“Sorry.”

“Terry, you should know I’ll be hiring civilian counsel.”

He examined his Egg McMuffin. “That’s certainly your right, uh, Claire. Would you like me to excuse myself from the case?”

“No.”

“Well, one of us will have to be associate counsel,” he said. When Claire didn’t answer, he said, “I suppose it’ll be me. That’s certainly fine.”

“Tell me something, Terry. Why do you suppose you, a complete rookie, were assigned to this case, against Major Waldron, the best the army has? Any idea, Terry?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted with a candor she found disarming, “but it doesn’t look good for us, does it?”

She gave a soft snort. “You didn’t choose this assignment, did you?”

“That’s not the way it works in the military. You go where they tell you.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be prosecuting it?”

“This case?” He reddened. “Just from the way it looks, this is a slow soft pitch right across the plate, just hanging there, waiting to be hit out of the ballpark.”

“By the prosecution.”

“Just from what I’ve heard, but I haven’t dug into it yet.”