Murder at the Pentagon Page 7

  Bellis said, “The chairman himself.”

  “If the chairman of the Joint Chiefs is the commander under which this court-martial takes place, that creates a conflict of interest for me.” She waited for a response. When Bellis said nothing, she added, “Doesn’t it?”

  “How so?”

  “Well, the UCMJ spells it out pretty clearly that defense counsel is not to be drawn from the command in which the crime took place.”

  “Right, Major, but you aren’t assigned to the Joint Chiefs. You’re assigned to SecDef.”

  “I suppose you’re technically correct, Colonel, but it does seem to be splitting hairs.”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve run this past the Chiefs’ staff judge advocate. He’s overseeing this for the chairman and sees no conflict.”

  “I just thought I’d raise it,” Margit said.

  “That’s why we’re sitting here. Raise anything and everything you want. Let’s just make sure we’re not cutting each other’s legs off at the conference.”

  Margit asked, “To what extent am I to participate in tomorrow’s conference?”

  “As little as possible. I’ve prepared a statement that includes you in it, your military background, legal training, qualifications to undertake the defense of Cobol, all the things the assembled will want to hear.”

  She hesitated before saying, “Including the fact that I am a relatively new military attorney and have never tried a murder case before?”

  “I don’t intend to make a point of that. No need to. You have defended in military courts. Period. If the question comes up, answer it truthfully, but keep in mind that while you’re the attorney-of-record, you’ll have the support of my entire staff. If you need more than that, we’ll arrange for you to go out and get it.”

  They spent the next hour forecasting and examining every detail that might arise at the conference. Bellis handed Margit a folder containing Cobol’s military records. “Familiarize yourself with what’s in there before tomorrow,” he said.

  That meant some heavy reading that night. She’d already packed into her briefcase as much legal background as she could find to help prepare a credible defense for an accused murderer in the military system of justice. What she really wanted to do was to bolt from Bellis’s office, from the building itself, and run to Mackensie Smith, sit at his feet, and soak in his wisdom as she’d done so many times as a student. But she knew she couldn’t do that. He’d been generous with his time on Saturday, listening mostly, asking questions, probing her feelings, assuring her that she had what it took to face the challenge of defending an accused murderer. When she was leaving, he encouraged her to talk things out with him at any time. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—take advantage.

  It was quarter to three. Fifteen more minutes with Bellis, then back to her office. She should go directly to her quarters and read, but decided to call Foxboro just to see if she could resurrect their dinner plans. She needed the break, felt she would be better equipped to digest what she was reading after a few hours’ respite.

  “Jeff, Margit.”

  “Congratulations,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “I just heard on the radio that you’re defending Cobol.”

  “You heard it on the radio? We’re having the press conference tomorrow at ten.”

  “An academic exercise, I suppose. Jesus, how did you get roped into that?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question. Feel like that drink and dinner? Maybe you could help me come up with an answer.”

  “You should have turned it down.”

  “I tried. No luck.”

  “Margit, you don’t have much of a legal background.”

  She stiffened at the comment; it seemed unnecessarily broad. He sensed it, adding, “I mean, you have a good background, but have you ever defended anybody charged with a crime of this magnitude?”

  “You know I haven’t. I brought that up, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Besides, Colonel Bellis assures me I’ll have the total resources of his office available to me. Jeff, there’s no sense in beating to death whether I should be in this position or not. I am. That’s the unfortunate reality. I have a lot of catching up to do before the press conference tomorrow, but I would love a relaxing drink and dinner with you.” She paused. “I really need that, Jeff.”

  “Okay. When you called earlier, I figured we were off for tonight, and I decided to hang in here to finish a project. It can wait until tomorrow. Where are we meeting?”

  She flushed with relief and pleasure. “You name it,” she said.

  “Feel like Thai?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thai Taste, the Georgetown one.”

  “What time?”

  “Six?”

  “See you there. And … thanks, Jeff.”

  They ate charcoal-grilled marinated chicken, a platter of satays, and talked for three hours. Foxboro did most of it once Margit had exhausted her comments and thoughts about being assigned to the Cobol case. On most social occasions Foxboro was more of a listener than a talker, but when he was obsessed by something, he could launch into a long and detailed monologue on the subject. This night, it was the effect the detonation of the nuclear device in the Middle East was having upon military budget hearings on the Hill, and on the atmosphere in the Pentagon. A vast army of lobbyists, military and civilian alike, were coming down hard on Congress to restore massive cuts that had taken place over the past two years. “If only they’d stop at restoring the cuts, maybe we could live with some of it, but they not only want to bring the budget back up to where it was, they want millions more tossed into it.”

  “He does pose a much more substantial threat now that he has nuclear capability,” Margit said.

  “Sure, everybody understands that, but it shouldn’t mean that two years of domestic social reform have to go down the drain. Christ, you people have been running this country for years.”

  “ ‘You people’!”

  She hated it when he did that, lumped her into the giant military bureaucracy instead of viewing her for what she was, a human being who happened to have chosen a career in the military, a woman who knew she was falling in love with him, not without reservations, certainly not as a cognitive act; rather, it was a purely emotional, visceral reaction of a woman to a man.

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Jeff, let’s not end the evening in a debate over the military budget. I know you feel deeply about it, and I respect that, but when you say ‘you people,’ you stop viewing me as an individual.”

  “An individual who happens to be a major in the air force.”

  “Yes, but so what? I don’t set policy. I’m a lawyer, like you, and I also happen to love flying. That doesn’t make me part of some military conspiracy you seem to be reacting to.”

  “You’re right, Margit. You’re a lawyer, just like me. The difference is how we apply our legal training.”

  She thought he was referring to the fact that he was in the civilian sector, while she was military, that he applied his legal training and mind to what he considered more worthwhile social issues. But then he said, “I can’t believe it, Margit, that you’d defend that fag.”

  She sat back and frowned.

  “That doesn’t sound like the Jeff Foxboro I know.”

  One of the many things that had attracted her to him was his concern for, and commitment to, social justice, especially for what were called society’s disenfranchised and minorities.

  He knew he’d gone too far. His emotions had run away with him. He drew a deep breath and smiled. “Sorry, Margit, I know we were having dinner to let you get this thing off your chest. I also know that you don’t want this assignment but that you don’t have a choice because you’re in the military. You take orders. I guess that bothers me a little because I don’t believe anybody should have to blindly follow orders when what they’re being told to do runs contrary to what they believe.” He hel
d up his hands. “But I understand. I even know the cure. Feel like some ice cream?”

  She tried to match his sudden turnaround in mood but had difficulty. He’d deflated her, and she was resentful. Still, she put on a smile. “I would love some ice cream,” she said, “but not tonight. I really have to get back and dig into this reading.”

  His car was parked a block away. She hadn’t been so lucky; hers was three blocks away.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

  “No need, but thanks for offering. I may take a roundabout way. I could use some exercise after that meal.”

  He pulled her to him, and they embraced. She realized she was on the verge of tears but also knew she would not allow them to flow. They kissed, and she felt a physical yearning for him—and dismissed it.

  “Sure you have to do all this reading tonight?” he asked.

  “Afraid so.”

  “We need some time together, Margit. Quiet, personal time.”

  “Yes, I know. I was thinking maybe we could arrange to get away for a few days, a long weekend, maybe go down to the shore.”

  “From the sound of this case, you’re not going to see leave time for quite a while.”

  “I promise I’ll find time.”

  “How about this weekend? It’s Labor Day.”

  She hesitated. “All right. We’ll try. Let’s put it on our calendars, book the time. I’d better stay in town, though. Saturday night, Sunday? Just hang out?”

  “Sounds good.” He kissed her again, then watched her walk away, turn the corner, and disappear.

  9

  Margit stood on the platform next to Bellis. On her other side was the Joint Chiefs’ staff judge advocate, Colonel Thomas Detienne, whose responsibility, among others, was to act as legal adviser to the command. Detienne was a tall, pudgy man whose uniform bowed out in front, yet who carried himself well. His curly hair was the color of pewter. He wore horn-rim glasses. Margit had noticed during their first meeting that he had a slight stammer. Detienne was an inveterate golfer; his large, carpeted office included a long felt putting green. He almost had room for nine holes.

  Margit judged the number of press present to be in excess of fifty, although she hadn’t taken a head count. She was too nervous.

  Detienne spoke first, confining his short remarks to his role in the proceedings. He announced that a general court-martial would be convened in the near future, and that trial counsel for the command and defense counsel for the accused had been chosen. He turned the podium over to Bellis.

  Bellis spoke from a neatly typed script: “As you all know, a commissioned member of the armed forces has been charged with the murder of Dr. Richard Joycelen. His name is Robert Cobol, captain, United States Army. He is currently being held at army detention facilities at Fort McNair. An arraignment proceeding will be held later this week under the rules of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and the Manual for Courts-Martial. Counsel has been assigned. I will introduce one of them to you in a moment.”

  Margit smiled. It was a reflex, and a nervous one at that. Heat from the TV lights outgunned the room’s AC. Let me out of here, she thought.

  “The purpose of military law, as it was conceived in the Articles of War used during the American Revolution, is best stated in the 1984 Manual for Courts-Martial. The manual states, ‘The purpose of military law is to promote justice, to assist in maintaining good order and discipline in the armed forces, to promote efficiency and effectiveness in the military establishment, and thereby to strengthen the national security of the United States.’ The general court-martial of Captain Cobol will be conducted under, and will adhere to, every tenet of the military system of justice.

  “At his arraignment Captain Cobol will be permitted to enter a plea. He will be represented at that proceeding by his defense counsel. It is, of course, obvious to each of you that this case has significant ramifications. The victim was a highly esteemed member of the scientific community. Dr. Joycelen was deputy director of the Defense Advanced Research Project Agency, known to most of you as DARPA. Dr. Joycelen’s contributions to national security through his untiring efforts to maintain, and to improve, this country’s military capability to defend itself, are well documented. We have lost a valuable member of the community, and his loss will be felt for a long time.”

  A still photographer crouched low as he approached the podium. He stopped directly beneath Margit and trained his lens on her. Click. Click. She thought of the Playboy photographer and winced. At least she had her clothes on.

  “At the same time, while Captian Cobol has been accused of this crime, he has not been convicted of it. While the military system of justice differs in certain areas from the civilian system of justice, the basic rights of the accused are as steadfastly protected as those of any alleged criminal tried under the civilian system.

  “There have been a number of rumors surrounding this case that only add to its unpleasantness. I would suggest that those rumors be dispelled until the facts are brought out through a proper tribunal. For that reason I respectfully request that your questions following the prepared statements deal only with substantive facts.” He glanced up and smiled. “You might as well heed my suggestion. Questions outside the appropriate aspects of this case will be ignored anyway.”

  “Ignoring those questions won’t make them go away, Colonel Bellis,” a reporter yelled.

  “It certainly will accomplish that during this meeting,” Bellis shot back.

  He returned to his prepared text: “Because of the seriousness of the crime being charged here, and the severity of the possible punishments should a conviction be obtained, the court-martial of Captain Cobol will be held under regulations governing a general court-martial. A minimum of five commissioned officers shall sit on the court. In addition, a military judge assigned by the U.S. Army Trial Judiciary, and appointed by the judge advocate general, will sit with the other chosen officers. Although this case will be tried under the command of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the military judge will be chosen from another command. As some of you may be aware, military judges are rated by other judges, not by commanders, to ensure their independence.”

  Margit considered Bellis to be a short-and-to-the-point man. Why was he going on so long, and in such detail? The press didn’t want a primer on military law. They wanted the juicy parts of the murder.

  “Trial counsel for the command, the military’s equivalent of a civilian prosecutor, has been assigned by the chief of criminal law under the guidance of Colonel Detienne’s office. That officer will be made known to you later today, and will be present at the arraignment.”

  She now understood. He was going on for several reasons. First, by dragging it out, he was giving the journalists the impression of a full and fair briefing, and making the parallel point that he respected the fact that they had their jobs to do, too. Second, he was keeping the heat off her. By taking up time with the practices and procedures of military law, he held the press at bay from questioning her, and he could end the conference without it seeming premature. For this she was grateful. Third, he almost surely did want them to understand the law, at least to the extent it could be explained in so brief a time, and under such circumstances.

  Sometimes in Washington things were done for the announced purpose, and individuals actually meant what they said.

  “Defense counsel for Captain Cobol stands next to me, air force major Margit Falk. Major Falk has an outstanding record as a commissioned officer in the United States Air Force. She is a flight-rated officer, and has served with distinction in that capacity in a number of previous assignments. She is also an attorney, having received her law degree with honors from George Washington University. Her current assignment at the Pentagon is to the secretary of defense’s general counsel. While she has been designated as lead defense counsel, she will have at her disposal the full resources of my office, as well as support from outside my office should she deem it necessary in order to pr
operly represent the accused.” He looked at Margit and smiled, then turned to the microphone. “I have asked Major Falk if she wished to present any prepared comments. She declines to do that, although she will remain with us for a brief question-and-answer period. I remind you that in the interest of justice and fairness, many aspects of this unfortunate event will not be open to discussion by either defense or trial counsel. That said, I invite your questions.”

  The media representatives in the room had plenty of questions to ask. Throughout, those regarding the allegations that Dr. Joycelen and Captain Cobol had been engaged in a homosexual relationship were firmly set aside by Bellis.

  One reporter asked about the propriety, to say nothing of legality, of keeping Cobol in detention without formal charges having been brought. Bellis replied that the duration of his detention was well within defined military law, and that the formal arraignment would take place within the next few days.

  “Major Falk, have you met with the accused?”

  Margit stepped to the microphone to field her first question. “No, I have not, although I will be doing that well in advance of the arraignment.”

  “What is your background in defending accused murderers?” she was asked.

  “If you’re asking whether I have ever defended an accused murderer, the answer is no.”

  “Colonel Bellis, you talk about making sure Captain Cobol gets the best possible defense, yet you assign someone without prior experience. How does that jibe with your previous statement?”

  Bellis stared down from the podium at the young reporter and asked in measured tones, “Have you ever written about an accused murderer from the armed forces?”

  There was some laughter in the room. “The point I’m making,” Bellis said, “is that a good journalist, given the proper amount of material, should be able to write about anything. The same holds true for a good attorney. Major Falk’s academic background, as well as her performance in her military duties as an attorney, are exemplary. She has experience in military courtrooms. Next question.”