Up Country (86 page)

“Well, there are many causes to my problems, but he’s the most obvious, and the most honest about it.”

Karl ignored the innuendo, and asked me, “Where is this man now?”

“About a ten-minute drive from here. Susan and I spent an unpleasant hour with him at Gestapo Headquarters earlier this evening.”

“But if he released you, Paul, then you shouldn’t be too concerned.”

“It’s a very long story, and we shouldn’t leave those people in there alone too long.”

“Why not?”

“Karl. Look at me. Look closely. How stupid do I look?”

He played the game and studied my face. He said, “You look fairly intelligent. Perhaps too intelligent.”

“Why did you send me on this assignment?”

“Because you are the best man I have.”

“This is true. But not the best man for the job.”

“Probably not. But they tried to take this case away from me, and I needed to impress them with my best agent.”

“Who are
they?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What’s in this for you?”

He anticipated the question and replied, “Only the satisfaction of having done a difficult job well.”

“Am I invited to your promotion party?”

“Of course.”

I looked at him a long time and said, “Colonel, do you understand that the next president of the United States may be a thief and a murderer?”

“An alleged thief and murderer.”

“While you and I were getting our asses shot off, this guy is sitting in his office at MACV Headquarters in the Citadel at Quang Tri, wheeling and dealing on the black market, and getting stoned. Then when the shit hits the fan and American soldiers and marines are dying all around him, he finds the fucking time to commit murder and robbery. You’ve read the original of that letter. Doesn’t this bother you?”

He thought a moment and said to me, “I assume Ms. Weber translated this story from Tran Van Vinh.”

“Answer my question.”

He answered, “What’s past is past. We can’t change what happened to us there . . . here. We did our duty, some did not. We should not hold on to the anger, as you seem to do—”

“You’re damned right I’m angry.” I thought about my advice to Colonel Mang to let go of the anger, but I often don’t take my own good advice. I said to Karl, “You asked me at the Wall if I was angry at the men who didn’t serve, and I told you I was not. I told you I was angry at those who served dishonorably. Do you remember that?”

“I do. That was my first indication that I might be making a mistake by sending you on this assignment.”

“You should have known ten years before that.”

He nodded. “Perhaps I did. I have some ambivalence myself about this.”

“You shouldn’t have any ambivalence, Karl.”

He didn’t reply to that and said, “Your anger shouldn’t affect your judgment. We don’t know, nor will we ever prove, that Edward Blake is guilty of anything.”

“That’s for a jury to decide.”

“No, it’s not. Look at this problem as an opportunity. An opportunity for me, and for you, to belatedly profit from the war.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing that from you. Colonel Karl Law and Order Hellmann. You’d indict your own mother if you caught her shoplifting in the PX.”

“My mother is not going to be the next president of the United States, and she’s not surrounded by powerful and ruthless people.”

I stared at him.

He said, “You can’t judge a man’s life by a moment in time. If you or I were judged that way, we’d have a lot to answer for. The fact is, Paul, Edward Blake has led what appears to be an exemplary life since the war, and he is what the country needs and wants at
this
moment in time. What possible difference could it make to you if he became the next president?”

I turned toward the office door, but Karl grabbed my arm. He said, “Don’t make my life difficult, and don’t make your own life more difficult than it already is. We have both escaped many bullets, Paul, and are about to earn well-deserved promotions and comfortable retirements. Our military funerals with full honors will come soon enough. There’s no reason to accelerate that date.”

I pulled my arm away from him and went into the office.

Susan was sitting in a club chair, John Eagan and Bill were on a leather couch, and Marc Goodman had moved the desk chair around to the group.
I stood with my butt on the Ambassador’s desk. Karl entered and took the big leather chair he’d claimed earlier.

The room was half lit with two green-shaded lamps, and outside the windows I could hear the sounds of chairs being folded on the lawn.

Colonel Goodman said to me, “It’s been decided that I lead the discussion.”

I didn’t say anything.

Goodman said to me, “While you were outside, Susan gave us a briefing of your travels from Saigon to Nha Trang, to Hue, and then to Dien Bien Phu, and your problems with the police and the soldiers, and your run-ins with this Colonel Mang. We’re up to Ban Hin.” He looked at me and Susan and said, “I commend you both on an outstanding job.”

I didn’t respond.

He said to me, “If it’s all right with Colonel Hellmann, Paul, perhaps you’d like to tell us what happened in Ban Hin.”

Colonel Hellmann said, “Paul is free to speak. But I should tell you at this time that Mr. Brenner has some serious questions about the purpose of this mission and this meeting.”

Everyone looked at me, and I made brief eye contact with Susan. This is what is called a defining moment. My personal life has always been a shambles, and my professional life has been marked by brilliant triumphs that I’ve always managed to eclipse later through some stupid stubbornness, or a run-in with authority. I didn’t see why this case should be any different from any other, so I said, “As Bill probably told you, I’m on thin ice, and all I have to hold on to is the Vice President’s nuts.”

There was some throat-clearing and a little squirming around in the seats. Susan had her hand over her face, and I couldn’t tell if she was upset or smiling.

I said, “Let me make it clear that Susan Weber did her job in regard to the mission, Tran Van Vinh, and me. I was totally in the dark about the subject of my investigation until the very end when I discovered among Mr. Vinh’s war souvenirs a MACV company roster that listed Lieutenant William Hines and Captain Edward Blake. At that time, I indicated to Susan that I understood what this was about, and that I also understood the necessity of keeping the information secret and limited. She made an evaluation, based on my representation, that I was going to be a team player, though that’s not what I—”

Susan interrupted, “Paul, your memory is not good. You went totally bonkers when you discovered that Edward Blake was a suspect in a murder case. You wanted to blow the whistle, and I told you you’d be nuts to do that. We argued, and you won. I agree with you. We need to uphold the law. It’s really that simple.”

There was a long silence in the room, and I could see that no one was happy, least of all Bill, who’d undoubtedly vouched for Susan. Karl, too, was having disturbing thoughts about his best agent, and both he and Colonel Goodman were waving good-bye to their general’s star. Only John Eagan seemed cool, and by now I was certain he wasn’t the FBI guy sent here to train Viet narcs.

I looked at Susan, who had just put herself in a very bad situation. She winked at me.

I said, “I’m a cop, so I’m going to pretend this is a CID staff meeting, and I’m going to pretend that all of you want me to present my evidence regarding a murder case. There are no personal or political considerations in this case, and no bullshit about national security or anything but the law.”

John Eagan said, “You can present your case any way you wish, Paul. That doesn’t change the reality.”

“In fact, it will change
your
reality. And you can deal with it. It’s not my problem.”

No one offered any new realities, so I continued, “I was contacted two weeks ago by Colonel Hellman, who asked me to conduct an investigation of a possible wartime murder. During the course of this briefing, I concluded that there was more to this than a thirty-year-old murder. But I took the case anyway, which may have been my first mistake.”

I continued with my little tale, using the language of the criminal investigator. I skipped over our journey up country from Saigon, but I did mention Mang, the Highway One incident, and the Route 214 incident. I left out the sex because I’m a gentleman, it was irrelevant, and Bill was in the room. Marc Goodman and John Eagan, however, had probably figured out that Susan and I were more than partners, and they were factoring this in.

I jumped ahead and described in a little detail our last interrogation by Colonel Mang and gave the impression that Mang still thought this had to do with the FULRO.

I moved back to Dien Bien Phu and Ban Hin and the house of Tran. I
went into enough detail so that they understood that if I was in front of a congressional committee or people from the Justice Department, I’d sound believable.

I concluded with, “Tran Van Vinh, in my opinion, is a reliable and believable witness. The translation of the letter that was given to me by Colonel Hellmann, though edited for my benefit and not an original document, is an important document. So much so, that I faxed it from Dulles Airport to a friend with a note asking him to hold it for me.”

This bullshit got a few heads turning toward one another.

I went on, “As for the physical evidence, it consisted of the personal effects of Lieutenant William Hines. A wallet, a wedding ring, a canvas pouch containing letters, unread by me or Susan, a logbook in which Lieutenant Hines described Captain Blake in unflattering terms—called him a black marketeer and a good customer of the local hookers.”

I saw a little squirming from John and Bill. Colonel Goodman, too, seemed uncomfortable. I said, “I’m not being judgmental, though Lieutenant Hines was. I admit to some whoring myself when I was here, and a little cannabis to take the edge off. But no black marketeering.”

John said, “This is not relevant.”

I informed him, “Nearly everything in a homicide investigation is relevant if you want to find out why one man killed another.”

Karl, my good buddy, agreed. “Everything is relevant, and the most inconsequential things, when put together, give a picture and establish the motives and the personalities of the victim and the suspect.”

I said, “Very good, Karl. In fact, from what I could glean from the effects of the deceased, William Hines was a Boy Scout, and Edward Blake was a bad boy. No, that doesn’t make him a murderer. But we have some facts that point to him as a suspect. We have the MACV roster, which shows that both men were in the same small advisory group at the same time, and there was only one captain in the group. Army records will back this up—if they haven’t been destroyed in that famous and convenient storage fire. We have the testimony of the witness, who saw and identified an American army captain of the First Cavalry Division shoot and kill a lieutenant, now identified as William Hines, who wore the same shoulder patch as the captain, and whose personal effects this witness took.”

I milked this thin evidence for all it was worth, but if this group was a jury, and I was a prosecutor, I’d be worried. So, when you’re losing your case,
you make shit up. I said, “As Susan may have told you, Tran Van Vinh identified the photos of Edward Blake as the killer.”

I glanced at Susan, who said, “Positive identification.”

Bill, John, and Marc seemed upset; Karl seemed skeptical, as he should be.

I finished my presentation with, “And then there’s the loot from the treasury. Someone will need to investigate Edward Blake’s financial past, specifically after he returned from Vietnam. There was jewelry in the treasury vault, and that may be traceable, or still in the possession of Mr. Blake or his former lady friends or his present wife.”

There was silence in the room, then Bill spoke. “It sounds to me that this evidence is not only circumstantial, but also weak and inconclusive, not to mention three decades old. I certainly wouldn’t make an accusation based on what I’ve heard.”

John Eagan agreed and said, “An accusation this serious against Edward Blake wouldn’t stand up in court, but it would result in a field day for his political enemies and the media.”

Marc Goodman seemed deep in unhappy thoughts, then asked me, “And in your opinion, this witness is reliable?”

“I think he is. But I understand that an American jury may not.”

John asked me casually, “Where is this witness?”

I said, “Probably sleeping. He’s a peasant.”

Bill, who had observed my wit earlier, asked in an annoyed tone, “ Sleeping
where?
In his village?”

“I guess so. It wasn’t practical for us to bring him here.” I looked at Bill and John and said, “And it wasn’t practical for Susan to blow his head off.”

No one, including Karl, feigned any shock or surprise, which was a treat. But neither did anyone comment.

Colonel Goodman looked at Susan and asked, “And you and Paul have hidden this physical evidence?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Susan replied, “If I told you, it wouldn’t be hidden.”

Colonel Goodman smiled good-naturedly and said, “It doesn’t need to be hidden any longer.”

Susan didn’t reply.

Colonel Goodman asked, “Is it nearby?”

Susan replied, “No. We anticipated having a police problem when we got off the Lao Cai train.”

“So, you hid these items back in Lao Cai or near Ban Hin?”

“Around there.”

Bill was embarrassed by his ex-girlfriend’s lack of cooperation, and if Eagan was his boss, which he probably was, then Bill’s next assignment would be watching Russian ships off the coast of Iceland. Bill said sharply, “Susan, tell us where you hid the evidence.”

She fixed Bill with a look that Bill had probably seen before. “I don’t like your tone.”

He changed his tone. “Susan, can you describe for us the hiding place of Lieutenant Hines’s personal effects?”

“Later.”

“Susan—”

John Eagan butted in and addressed a question to me. “Are you withholding evidence in a criminal case?”