The Brave (25 page)

McKnight started gently, so gently in fact that for a while Tom wondered what the hell the guy was doing, being so nice. Then, carefully, McKnight began to undermine Delgado's credibility.

"This word hajji, Sergeant, the word you say Lance Corporal Bedford used so much. What does it mean?"

"As I think I said, it's an insult word for Iraqis."

"Yes, I heard you say that. But what does it actually mean?"

"I believe it means someone who has visited Mecca."

"And that's an insult, is it?"

"Well, literally, maybe not, but—"

"Maybe not. And is Lance Corporal Bedford the only Marine you've heard use this word?"

"No, sir."

"You've heard others use it."

"Yes, sir."

"Is it a word commonly used among US soldiers in Iraq?"

Richards stood up to object but McKnight preempted him.

"Let me rephrase that. Was the word hajji commonly used among the Marines you personally worked with?"

"No, sir. I wouldn't say commonly."

"Occasionally, then?"

"I guess so."

"Is it a word you personally ever use, Sergeant?"

"No, sir."

"Never?"

"No, sir. Not that I recall."

"So you don't recall saying on the night we're discussing, after the IED went off..." McKnight adjusted his glasses and read from the document he had in his hand. "Let's hunt their hajji asses down and burn them. You don't recall saying that?"

"No, sir, I do not."

For the first time, Delgado looked uncomfortable. McKnight moved on, challenging the sergeant's testimony about what had happened on the night of the killings, what he'd allegedly heard Danny say, asking him whether he might have misheard or misinterpreted any of these comments. The intention was obviously to dismantle the impression that Danny had been as out of control as Delgado alleged.

How, for example, could Delgado have considered it unsafe to allow a man so overwrought to search the house but safe enough to have him stand guard over the group in the courtyard? How clearly had Delgado seen what he claimed to have seen from the window? Had he seen, in that crucial moment before they opened fire, one of the deceased, a man with one leg, reach down to pick up his crutch?

To this last question Delgado, of course, said no.

McKnight pressed on. With all the noise going on, the women wailing and screaming both inside the house and outside in the courtyard, how could he have heard so distinctly what Danny had shouted? Could he have been mistaken? For example, might he have misheard what Danny yelled to Harker before opening fire? Instead of use your goddamn weapon, might he in fact have been alerting Harker to the one-legged man lifting the crutch and yelled he's got a goddamn weapon? Delgado was adamant that what he'd seen and heard was exactly as he'd testified.

There was a long pause.

"Do you have any cause, Sergeant, to dislike Lance Corporal Bedford?"

"Dislike? No, sir."

"But you weren't friends."

"No, not exactly."

"Not exactly. On the afternoon of January tenth, two weeks before the night we've been discussing, do you recall overhearing a conversation between Lance Corporal Bedford and Private Peters in the latrines at the base?"

Delgado frowned and grinned, as if he found the question absurd.

"Why does that amuse you, Sergeant?"

"It doesn't. I mean, I just... No, sir. I don't recall that."

"A conversation in which Lance Corporal Bedford made a lighthearted reference to the size of your penis?"

"No, sir."

"Let me try to refresh your memory. It was shortly after you had been talking, in the company of both these men, about the impressive number of bench presses you can apparently do."

"I don't remember that."

"And you don't remember coming across them in the latrines afterward and overhearing Lance Corporal Bedford saying the reason you boasted about such things was that you had a small penis?"

"No, sir."

"I think the exact words he used were..." McKnight referred to the document he was holding. "... that it was like a little acorn."

Wendell Richards stood to object. Scrase overruled but told McKnight to move on and that he'd made his point, which prompted a ripple of smiles around the courtroom.

"What I'm suggesting, Sergeant Delgado, is that you did hear Lance Corporal Bedford make this remark and that, because of this, for the next two weeks, up to and including the night of the incident, you constantly attempted to criticize him for almost everything he did. Is that not so?"

"No, sir. It is not. I wouldn't do that kind of thing."

"You wouldn't."

"No, sir."

McKnight took him through the two occasions on which he'd found fault with Danny and managed to cast a layer of doubt (at least, in Tom's unlawyerly reckoning) on both. On the first allegation, the impression was left that Danny had, arguably, done all he reasonably could to secure the houses. And his failure to file the report on time was, by the sergeant's reluctant admission, something that happened routinely. By the time he left the stand, Marty Delgado looked a lot less composed than he had two hours earlier.

They adjourned for lunch and over sandwiches and juice in the conference room, watched themselves on TV, trooping into the courthouse, ignoring the barrage of questions. With a scrupulously straight face, the woman reporter recounted the courtroom exchange about the size of Sergeant Marty Delgado's penis. Tom could imagine the mirth this must have caused in the newsroom.

Danny looked better than he had for days. Even the muscle in his cheek had stopped twitching. Tom watched him across the room, sitting in the corner with Kelly, holding his palms against her bulging belly, the sun shafting in on them from the window. The scene stirred some vague memory but Tom couldn't nail it and knew it was generally safer not to try.

"She's a great girl."

Tom turned and saw McKnight standing next to him. He was munching on a sandwich and had been watching the young couple too. Tom smiled and nodded.

"She is. You did a good job this morning."

"I did okay. The other one's going to be a whole lot tougher."

"You mean Harker?"

"Uh-huh. Ever done any climbing?"

"Rock climbing? A little. Nothing serious."

"When you climb, sometimes there aren't any ledges or toeholds. So what you look for is cracks. Just a little crack you can squeeze your fingers and toes into. Delgado had cracks. This guy'll have 'em too, for sure. Trouble is, finding them."

THEY STOOD there, side by side on the red carpet that had been laid across the sidewalk, smiling at the flashbulbs, their names in huge letters above them on the illuminated front of the theater. Behind the red velvet ropes, the crowd was cheering and calling to them, while the searchlights panned and swerved across the sky.

Diane was in an ice blue strapless satin dress designed for the occasion by Edith Head. A white mink stole fell loosely around her shoulders and ten thousand dollars' worth of diamonds—courtesy of Marcel of Beverly Hills, for one night only—sparkled above her already famous cleavage. Ray had his arm around her waist and as they waved one last time and turned and walked regally into the foyer, keeping up this fine charade of marital and professional bliss, it occurred to him that this was the first time he'd had his hands on her, except in anger or by accident, in at least a month.

And now some jerk of a photographer wanted a picture of them standing next to Kanter and that little fuck Terry Redfield. The two of them were standing there, waiting with their fat and ugly wives.

"Diane, you look stupendous," Redfield said, kissing her on both cheeks like some faggot French hairdresser. The smile faltered when he turned to Ray. He didn't even offer his hand, just nodded and muttered a token hello. It was understandable, given what had happened the last time they met, at the screening, which was when Ray discovered what they'd done to his performance. Though the bruise on the little bastard's jaw had gone, the memory clearly lingered on.

But neither of them was dumb enough to make a scene at what was now, since New York had been canceled, the only premiere The Forsaken would be getting. They all stood there, in front of the palms and the posters, dutifully smiling for the cameras. And soon it was over and they were making their way through to their seats where, for the next ninety-eight minutes, Ray would have to watch the damn picture all over again and pretend how wonderful it was.

Tommy was already sitting there with Leanne and didn't look too happy about it, though he perked up at the sight of his mom. Herb had thoughtfully hired the girl for the evening to look after the kid. Ray hadn't seen her since Arizona and was hoping they might get a few quiet moments at the party afterward so she could tend to his needs too. He managed to wink at her before the house lights went down, but she didn't seem to see him.

The previews in the trades had been damning. The only consistent praise was for Diane who, it seemed, could do no wrong. The critics all said things like this major new talent deserves a better vehicle and against all odds, a star is born. About Ray, on the other hand, the bastards were a lot less generous. Variety suggested he should stick to the day job and the smartass headline in the Hollywood Reporter said RED ROPES HIMSELF A TURKEY.

Ray wondered how they'd managed to form such an opinion because when you looked at the movie (which, as he watched it for the second time now, was even worse than he remembered), he was hardly in the damn thing. Redfield and Kanter, the little shits, had pretty well cut him out of every scene. Talk about a love story. It was like Diane's character was having an affair with the Invisible Man. Even the fucking horses had more close-ups.

Judging by the applause after the credits started to roll, the audience at the premiere seemed to like it enough despite some jerk at the back, cheering at the end of the court scene when the judge announced Ray's death sentence. What the hell did they know, anyhow. Herb Kanter had packed the place with friends and flunkies.

The party afterward was almost as bad as the movie. Tommy was tired so Diane had sent him directly home from the theater with Leanne, thus managing to skewer any hope Ray had of a cozy reunion. You could tell from the venue and from the quality of the food and the liquor that Kanter and the studio, the mean sonsofbitches, were already trying to cut their losses. Ray wandered around like a leper, the phony smile slowly sliding from his face. It was like the last night on the fucking Titanic. He made his way to the bar and had to wait for a long time to attract the young barman's attention.

"Excuse me?"

The kid seemed to be deliberately ignoring him.

"Do you have a problem with your hearing?"

"No, sir. May I help you?"

"Just give me a bottle of Jim Beam."

"Sorry, sir. I can give you a glass."

"Just give me the fucking bottle."

"Sir—"

"Do you know who I am?"

"Why, have you forgotten?"

Ray grabbed him by the neck and hauled him halfway across the bar, knocking over glasses, liquor splashing everywhere. The kid went red in the face and squealed like a piglet and said he was sorry, he was only kidding, it was just a joke. Everyone around them had stopped talking and were all staring. Some guy in a tuxedo, the party manager or whoever the hell he was, came to the rescue and Ray let the kid go. He got the bottle he'd been after and went off and found a quiet corner and sat there watching the sycophants flutter and fawn around Diane.

Of what happened after that, he had no clear recollection.

Diane slept in Tommy's room nowadays but she still usually heard Ray come home in the early hours. When she'd left the premiere party, a little after midnight, he was still sitting in the corner with a couple of young guys she didn't know. Much later she'd heard the car that dropped him home, heard him fumble with his keys at the front door, bump into the hallway table then stumble up the stairs. He would probably surface sometime around midday with his normal hangover.

The late night had taken its toll on Tommy too. Getting him out of bed this morning had been like prizing a limpet from a rock. There wasn't time for him to sit down for breakfast so she'd made him a bacon sandwich which he could eat in the car while she drove him to school. She was standing in the hallway, waiting for him to come downstairs.

"Tommy! Come on, we'll be late."

"Okay, okay."

The phone started to ring and she quickly picked up before Dolores could do so in the kitchen. It was Herb Kanter.

"Diane, thanks so much for all you did last night. You were great."

"Thank you, Herb. It was fun. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Oh, yes." He paused for a moment and Diane realized Dolores was listening on the kitchen phone.

"Dolores? I've got it. Would you hang up, please?"

There was silence then a click.

"Herb?"

"Yes. Diane, we've got a bit of a problem."

"Oh? Don't tell me, more bad reviews."

"As a matter of fact, this morning's aren't too bad at all. No, it's more of a personal thing."

Diane couldn't think what he might mean. She waited for him to go on. Tommy was coming down the stairs now.

"An English newspaper, the Daily Express, has run a story today with a lot of... private things about you and Ray. And about Tommy too, I'm afraid. Of course, it's all a pack of lies. I've already spoken with Vern Drewe and he's on the case. He's had it wired over from London and we'll get a copy over to you as soon as we can."

Tommy was standing in front of her now. He had his sweater on back to front and still looked half asleep.

"Go brush your hair."

"Oh—"

"Do as you're told. Now!"

He slouched back up the stairs.

"And hurry up! We're late. Sorry, Herb. I have to go. I'll call you back in twenty minutes. But tell me quickly, what does it say?"

"It's about, well, you know... About the years when you claimed to be Tommy's sister. And the effect this had on your mother. It suggests that... well, that it might have played some part in her death."

"What! Where have they got this from?"

"It quotes someone who claims to be a friend of the family. A Mrs. Vera Dutton. She appears to have some kind of grudge against you."

"I don't believe it."

"Of course, it might all just blow over. But we've already had a couple of calls from reporters who've picked up on it over here. The studio is, well... getting a little exercised. We need to get together with Vern and sort out a response."

Tommy had come downstairs again.

"Herb, I'll call you back."

She hung up. Tommy looked wide awake now and worried.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just, some of the reviews aren't so good. Come on, let's go. Got your bag? Here's your breakfast."

Miguel had the Galaxie ready and waiting outside with its roof down. Diane gave him as cheerful a good morning as she could muster.

"How was the premiere, Tommy? Good?"

"It was great."

"Momma's a big star now, no?"

"Yes."

Diane was praying there wouldn't be any reporters outside the gates and there weren't. Maybe it wasn't that big a story after all. But there was someone there, waiting under the trees. A young woman with a frizzy ponytail. And as they drove past, Diane recognized her. It was the same girl who had come to the house a few months ago and been so brutally turned away by Dolores.

Diane stopped and put the car into reverse.

"Diane, what are you doing?"

"It's that girl again."

"What girl? I'll be late for school."

"It won't take a moment."

The girl backed away as the car pulled up alongside her.

"Can I help you?" Diane said.

She didn't reply.

"Do you need help? Money or something?"

The girl gave a sort of sneering smile and looked away.

"Diane, please," Tommy whispered. "Let's go."

"Just a moment."

The girl was looking from one of them to the other. Her face was grimy and it was hard to know whether the look in her eyes was fear or contempt or both. Diane spoke more gently this time.

"Who are you?"

"As if you don't know."

"I don't. Honestly. Why should I?"

The girl looked away again with that same little sneer.

"Well, most people know their own stepdaughters."

It took a moment to sink in.

"My God."

Tommy looked frightened.

"Diane, what is it?"

She had to think quickly. For a moment she almost opened the door and told the poor creature to get in. But there was something about the look of her that made her decide not to. No. Better to drop Tommy off at school and then come back and sort it out. Sort everything out. Diane's heart was thumping.

"Wait here," she said. Then, more gently: "Please, wait here. I've just got to take my son to school. I won't be long. Then we can talk. Promise me you won't go away."

The girl shrugged, which was probably as close to a promise as Diane was going to get. As they went down the hill and around the first bend, she saw in the rearview mirror that the girl was still standing there. Tommy kept asking questions to which she had no answers. Eventually she snapped at him and told him to be quiet and eat his sandwich.

When they pulled up outside the school, it took her a few moments to realize something was different. At this time of day the street was always crowded with cars while parents escorted their children to the gates where Carl Curtis stood ready to greet them. But as Tommy was about to climb out of the car, Diane saw a group of men, half a dozen of them, maybe more, running toward them. Some had cameras and were already taking pictures.

"Diane! Good morning! Can we have a word, please?"

"Tommy," she said, starting up the engine again. "Get back in the car."

"What? Why?"

"Just do as I say! Shut the door."

She pulled away so fast that the tires screeched and if the reporters hadn't been so agile and quick and jumped aside, she would almost certainly have knocked them down.

"What's going on?" Tommy wailed.

"It's all right. Just some silly newspapermen."

"What about school? I'm late already."

"You're not going."

"Why not?"

"Tommy, you've got to help me out here. I'll tell you everything later. Please."

When they got back to the house, the girl wasn't there anymore. Maybe it was just as well. It wasn't until they were heading up the driveway that Diane decided what she was going to do. As they pulled up outside the house she told Tommy that when they got inside he was to go directly up to his room, get his bag from the closet and pack his things.

"Why? Where are we going?"

"I don't know. We're just going."

Miguel was heading out of the house to put the car in the garage but she told him as they walked past to leave it where it was, they would soon be going out again. When they came inside, Dolores handed her an envelope that had been delivered and a piece of paper with the numbers of all the people who had called while she'd been out. Diane didn't even bother to look at it. She followed Tommy up the stairs.

"Why is the boy not at school?" Dolores called after her.

"Mind your own damn business."