Hear No Evil

“Because he’s a busy man, and he should be made aware of his options.”

“He’s aware. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d sit tight and let me get answers to the questions I’d like to ask.”

“Fine. Ask away.”

“What was the question?” asked the lieutenant.

Jack said, “I’m just trying to get a sense for how you felt about the captain’s wife.”

The lieutenant said, “You mean before or after she shot her husband?”

“You think she shot him?”

The JAG lawyer grimaced. “Mr. Swyteck, come on. He has no way of knowing one way or the other. And I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask him to speculate on that matter.”

“I think he’s doing just fine,” said Jack. “Lieutenant, is there some reason you don’t want to answer my question? Do you think Lindsey Hart shot her husband?”

“Yeah, I think she shot him. Everybody thinks she shot him. That’s why I was glad to hear she got indicted.”

“Why do you think Lindsey Hart shot her husband?”

The JAG lawyer slapped his palm on the table. “This is going beyond speculation. You’re asking him to make wild guesses about very serious matters, and I don’t see how any of this is helpful to the investigation. I’m not his lawyer, but frankly, if I were, Lieutenant Johnson and I would be on our way out the door.”

The lawyer rose from his seat, as if expecting the lieutenant to join him.

Jack looked at the lieutenant and said, “You go

“I don’t see how he could responsibly answer that question,” said the JAG lawyer.

“No, no,” said the lieutenant. “I want to answer.”

“You don’t have to,” said Kessinger.

“And you don’t have to stay,” the lieutenant told him.

Captain Kessinger slowly returned to his seat beside the witness. Then the lieutenant looked at Jack and said, “I actually liked Lindsey Hart. When she was on her medication.”

“Her medication?”

“Yeah. She misses a few pills and-whoa. Good-bye.”

“Medication for what?”

“Not sure. Oscar never told me anything specific, but if you want my opinion, I’d say the woman is bipolar or something.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Many, many things. But let me give you just one example that you can probably relate to. Did she do that thing with her cell phone for you yet?”

“Cell phone?”

“Yeah. When she flips open her phone and points to the numbers stored in her address book. All those important people she says she could call in a heartbeat.”

Jack didn’t answer, but he couldn’t help the look on his face.

The lieutenant smiled and said, “She did do it for you. I knew it. Admittedly, it wouldn’t have the same impact on you in Miami as it did on me here in Cuba. Cell phones aren’t much use in Guantánamo, so it was weird enough that she was walking around with one. But that Nancy Milama co

“Lindsey told me that she was married to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

“Yeah. Was married.”

“They’re divorced?” asked Jack.

“Uh-uh. Tony Milama is a widower. His wife, Nancy, died three years ago.”

Jack was speechless.

“So let me make this clear to you, Mr. Swyteck. It’s a terrible thing that happened to my friend Oscar. But truthfully, I’m more scared for his son, stuck living with that wack-job mother of his.”

Jack still couldn’t speak.

The lieutenant looked at the JAG lawyer and said, “Now I think it’s time for me to get back to work.” He pushed away from the table, and the lawyer followed.

“Thanks for your time,” said Jack.

The lieutenant stopped at the door and said, “You’re welcome.” He seemed ready to move on, then added, “You want a little free advice, Mr. Swyteck?”

“Sure.”

“Not sure what you expected to find when you came down here. But we have two basic rules here at Guantánamo. First, the important stuff is always simple.”

“What’s the second?”

He smiled wryly and said, “The simple things are always hard.”

Jack added a silent “Amen” to that, keeping his thoughts to himself as the two officers shared a little laugh and left the conference room.

16

Hector Torres waited at the end of the pier at the marina. The prosecutor needed to meet with Alejandro Pintado, which was never as easy as summoning him to the U.S. attorney’s office. A man like Pintado didn’t come to you. He made you come to him, even if you were prosecuting the woman accused of murdering his son. Equally power conscious, Torres was unwilling to get in his ten-year-old Ford and drive to Pintado’s waterfront castle like a common servant to Miami ’s undisputed king of Cuban restaurants. They agreed to meet halfway, but it was Pintado who arrived in style.

A Hatteras 86 Convertible pulled up alongside the dock, eighty-six feet of yachting pleasure that was many times over the value of the prosecutor’s modest Hialeah home. One of the crew helped Torres climb aboard and led him across the aft deck into the salon. It was technically a fishing boat, but the feel was more like a custom-built mansion, complete with a mirrored ceiling, club chairs, polished maple coffee table, and a wet bar with hand-crafted teak cabinetry. Pintado was seated on a curved, sectional sofa that faced the entertainment center. He switched off the flat-screen television with the remote and rose to greet his guest.

“Hector, very good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

They shook hands and patted each other on the shoulder, as close as two men ever seemed to come to hugging each other. Torres could easily have allowed himself to be envious of Pintado’s wealth. They were both tireless workers, but Torres had chosen the life of politics and public service, leaving himself far fewer toys to play with as they neared the end of their respective careers. But six years on the Miami-Dade County commission and two terms as mayor had established him as a real player in the local political arena. After a short stint as chief assistant to the U.S. attorney, he cashed in his political chits to become south Florida ’s top federal prosecutor. Being U.S. attorney was more management than trial work, so the thought of actually getting back in the courtroom to prosecute Lindsey Hart had revitalized him, made him realize that there was nothing in the world more thrilling than trying a big case and wi

“So how is the case going?” Pintado asked as he filled two glasses with some kind of fancy-pants water that came in a blue bottle. He offered one to his guest and returned to the couch.

Torres said, “The case is going well. It was going even better before you spoke to Jack Swyteck in Key West. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re not going to scold me, are you?”

Torres did not return the smile. “You told him about the trust fund.”

“Says who?”

“Your personal attorney. I phoned him this morning to let him know that Swyteck was on the case. I reminded him that if Swyteck starts poking around into family financial affairs, don’t reveal any details about the trust fund. But he said you’d already let the cat out of the bag.”

“So, what’s the big deal anyway?

“That is a key part of our case. It’s Lindsey motive for killing her husband.”

“I understand that.”

“You needlessly tipped our hand, Alejandro. I purposely did not mention the trust fund to the grand jury so that we could surprise Swyteck with that information at trial.”

“Oh, come on. Surely Lindsey would have told him about it before trial.”

“You’re assuming that his client is being completely forthcoming with him. That’s not always the case.”