Murder at the Pentagon by Margaret Truman Page B

arms secured behind his back, and Margit took the opportunity to study him. She’d seen photographs of Cobol in his file, but here he looked different. In pictures, he was a handsome young man; his records indicated he was thirty-one; in person, he looked ten years older. He had the disheveled, unkempt look of someone who’d been in confinement, although Margit wondered why that should be. Military prisoners are expected to maintain a daily standard of discipline, including attention to their appearance. Why not Cobol?
    His face was squarer and heavier than she had seen in the photos. Remnants of teenage acne pitted his cheeks. His features didn’t seem to go together. His nose was square andsomewhat flat, like a prizefighter’s, yet his mouth was thin and delicate. His posture was noncombative, not aggressive, docile—someone resigned to whatever would come next.
    Margit crossed the short distance between them and extended her hand. “Major Margit Falk, United States Air Force. I’ve been assigned as your counsel.”
    Cobol glanced down at her hand, which was the only one there. His were secured behind his back. A small smile came to his lips. Margit, too, looked at her solo hand and laughed, then said to one of the guards, “Please remove the handcuffs.” The guard glanced at the Trial Defense officer, who shook his head.
    “Captain, if I am to confer with my client, I do not wish to do it with him in that uncomfortable position.”
    The captain replied, “Major Falk, considering the nature of the crime Captain Cobol is charged with, I think …”
    “I understand your concerns, Captain, but I insist upon this. You have enough military police around here to ensure that should Captain Cobol decide to do something foolish, he wouldn’t get very far.” She snapped her head in Cobol’s direction: “You wouldn’t do anything foolish, would you?”
    “No, ma’am,” he said, surprised that he’d been asked.
    “Please, Captain,” Margit said.
    When Cobol’s handcuffs were removed, he slowly brought his hands to the front, stared at them, rubbed each wrist.
    Margit said, “I’d like to get started.” Before there was a reply, she said to Cobol, “Please sit over there in one of those chairs.” To her escort: “Thank you for your courtesy.”
    “The security detail will be right outside the door, Major Falk,” he said.
    “Good.”
    When they were alone, she sat on the couch, opened her briefcase, and placed two legal pads on the glass table, one with her questions, the other blank. She withdrew a pen from the case, uncapped it, looked at Cobol, and said, “You’re accused of having murdered Dr. Richard Joycelen.”
    Cobol, who’d been staring down at his shoetops, slowlyraised his head. “If there’s one thing I know, Major Falk, it’s that.”
    “Do you accept me as your defense counsel?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you know anything about me, about my legal background and experience?”
    “No, ma’am, I do not.”
    “I am relatively new to the legal profession. I have defended people who’ve been accused of breach of regulations, but I have never defended an accused murderer. How do you feel about that?”
    “I … no offense, Major Falk, but I have a feeling it really doesn’t matter who defends me. I’m sure you’ll do the best you can, which is all I can ask.”
    “You have a number of options, Captain. You can ask for other counsel, you can request a civilian attorney, or you can decide that you want a civilian co-counsel.”
    “Do I have to decide this now?”
    “No, but I suggest you make a decision as quickly as possible. Assuming I am your counsel, let’s proceed with this initial meeting.” She glanced down at her handwriting on the yellow page. “Did you kill Dr. Richard Joycelen?”
    “No.”
    “I want you to understand that if I question you as though I’m skeptical, it’s not because I doubt you. It’s important that you be totally honest with me, and that I satisfy