CHAPTER 12
The alarm went off at four. I almost heaved it against the wall and yanked the covers back over my head. But I mumbled to myself that the early bird gets the worm, and all that shit, as I rolled out of bed and knocked off fifty quick push-ups to get my blood circulating.
The particular worm I wanted was to force Katherine off that bankrupt defense she was planning. To do that, I needed leverage. Unbeknownst to himself, Whitehall was going to give me that leverage. He was going to be my ace in the hole.
I groggily lifted up the phone and told room service to send up a freshly brewed pot of coffee. I stressed that freshly brewed thing quite adamantly. I wasn’t in any mood for the dregs of midnight’s pot.
Then I jumped into my second cold shower inside four hours. When I emerged, my eyes were so popped open that to the nice kid who brought my coffee I must’ve looked like I’d just stuck my finger into an electrical socket. I tipped him handsomely, then positioned the pot by the window. I opened the blinds and stared at the lights in the distance.
Koreans are hungry, industrious, hardworking folks, and the city was already popping to life. Little scooters piled high with textiles and other goods were careening around the streets, making their early-morning deliveries to shops and warehouses. The drivers had to have gotten up at three to be out this early. Some life.
I lifted up the phone and asked the operator to put me through to the office of the registrar at the United States Military Academy at West Point. A high, timid female voice answered. I said I wanted to speak with the registrar.
The receptionist politely inquired, “You mean Colonel Hal Menkle?” and I politely said yes, and she politely asked me to wait a moment.
This being West Point, some inspiring martial marching music came on the line. I marched gently in place, until a gruff voice said, “How can I help you?”
“Colonel Menkle?”
“That’s who you asked for, wasn’t it?”
Sometimes you just know, right away, you’re not going to like somebody.
I said, “I’m Sean Drummond, defense counsel for one of the less stellar graduates of that great institution of yours. Thomas Whitehall? Class of ’91? Ever hear of him?”
There was a brief pause before he said, “I wasn’t here back in ’91. I know who Whitehall is, though. Everybody does.”
“I’ll bet.”
“We’ve been flooded with press inquiries on that bastard for weeks. You wanta talk to his physics professor? His priest? We’ve even got one of his former roommates on the faculty. We gotta whole list. Who you wanta start with?”
“How about the roommate? That sounds good.”
“Captain Ernest Walters. He teaches mechanical engineering. Just a second, I’ll transfer you.”
After a moment, then three rings, a clipped, perfunctory voice said, “Department of Mechanical Engineering. Captain Walters.”
“Hello, Ernie,” I said, as though we were the best of friends, “my name’s Major Sean Drummond. I’m a lawyer and I’m on the defense team for your old roomie Thomas Whitehall.”
“How can I help you, sir?” he asked, so starchly that it sounded much more like, Hey, you and me, we ain’t buddies, and why don’t you go screw yourself.
“Heh-heh,” I chuckled, like I hadn’t even noticed. “Must’ve been a tough coupla weeks for you I guess, huh, Ernie?”
“I guess,” he coldly replied, still not cozying up to my bonfire of friendliness. This couldn’t last, though. I mean, I’m a pretty charming guy when I put a little elbow grease into it.
“I sure as hell don’t envy you,” I plugged away. “I’ll bet you’ve taken a lot of grief, huh?”
“If that’s what you’d call getting seven bogus appointment slips to report to the dispensary to take an AIDS test, I guess so.”
“Aw, come on, that’s not so bad,” I said.
“Yeah? That’s this afternoon. Yesterday, some asshole stuffed my desk drawers full of pink underpants. Last week, some cadets broke into my classroom at night, painted my desk flaming pink, and changed my name placard to ‘Mrs. Whitehall.’ ”
“Hey, Ernie, tell me about it. Been there. You know, the other day, some bastard even painted the word ‘homos’ above my office entrance.”
“Yeah?” he said, suddenly sounding much more receptive. “I guess I saw that on CNN. That was you, huh?”
“That was me,” I said. “You can only guess how I got my butt reamed over that one.”
“Pretty bad, huh?”
“Shit, generals were standing in line to call me. You’d think I knocked up the President’s daughter. I’ll tell ya, Ernie, I’ve been catching some royal hell.”
“Yeah?” he asked, sounding suddenly much more chummy, proving once again that misery really does love company. “Try this one for size. I been married to my wife eight years, right? We date all through high school, all through my time as a cadet. I mean, hell, we got three kids, right? So, the other night, we’re layin ’in bed, and she turns to me and she gives me this real quirky look, and she says, ‘Hey honey, is there anything at all you want to tell me about? I mean,
“Wow. Your own wife. That’s one for the books.”
“ ’Course I didn’t. Jackslap her, I mean. I just jumped on her ass and gave her a taste of the old power drill till three in the morning. Lady walked bowlegged for two days, no shit. She won’t be questioning my damned manhood again.”
“Heh-heh,” I chuckled, now that Ernie and I had bonded through our common woes. The ice was out of his voice, and he was getting relaxed, sounding much like one of those basic good ol’ boys from the South Bronx. The talkative type, at least once you get them going.
Still chuckling, I said, “So Ernie, what can you tell me about Whitehall?”
“Depends. What are you interested in?”
“What kind of guy was he?”
“Hell, everybody asks that. I don’t know. He’s just a guy, right?”
“Come on, Ernie, I’m not everybody. I’m the guy who has to convince ten hard-nosed sons of bitches they don’t really want to run fifty thousand volts through him. To do that, I have to know what kind of guy he really is.”
He seemed to weigh that a moment, because there was a fairly extended pause before he answered. I was taking a big risk. Maybe he really didn’t like Whitehall and wouldn’t mind one bit if fifty thousand volts cooked him like a Christmas turkey. But what choice did I have?
“This’s between us?” he finally demanded.
“Absolutely.”
“I mean, this isn’t the crap I tell reporters to keep my butt outta trouble, right?”
“Ernie, I swear. I won’t say a word.”
“Okay. Truth was I really liked Whitehall. I liked him a lot. We were pretty good buddies, y’know?”
He was backing into this tentatively, like a guy sticking his toe into hot water.
“Why?”
“Hell, I don’t know. He was just a great guy, y’know. A fantastic cadet, though. He played the game, right? Only don’t take that in no unfavorable way. He was a straight shooter. A guy you could trust in a bad moment.”
“No kidding?” I said.
“Yeah, no kiddin’. Tell ya a story. Freshman year, which they call plebe year here, right? There was this kid in my company who was a real screwup. Y’know the type, right? Couldn’t spit-shine his shoes, uniform always looked
