The Summer House(67)
Slate says, “Sergeant Jefferson, I don’t have time for your amateur lawyering. I suggest you work with Captain Pierce here and—”
Jefferson says, “Nope. Not going to happen. But I will tell you what will happen this Thursday, when I appear in front of that judge. I plan to stand there and look him right in the eye and plead guilty to all charges.”
Chapter 60
STAFF SERGEANT CALEB JEFFERSON enjoys seeing the shock and confusion on both of these lawyers’ faces, even the Army one, who’s supposedly looking out for his interests. They may be high-priced and highly educated lawyers, and he might be an Army grunt and in handcuffs sitting in front of them, but he has the sweet, sweet feeling of being totally in charge.
Pierce says, “Sergeant Jefferson, I’m not your official legal representative, but that—”
Slate cuts him off. “Just like that? You want to plead guilty?”
“I certainly do,” Jefferson says. “In open court and in front of that judge and the world. But I want something in exchange.”
The district attorney still looks shocked. “Like what?”
This is it, and Jefferson recalls a time back in Afghanistan, early one morning, responding to a Taliban ambush on a narrow mountain trail, and letting the training kick in. Anyone else, facing the incoming AK-47 fire and RPG rounds, would run away or go to ground. But Jefferson did what he had to do, what was right, which was to charge straight at the attackers, not giving up an inch.
Like now.
“You’ll get a guilty plea from me, Mr. District Attorney, and in exchange, you’ll let my two guys go free. Completely and one hundred percent off the hook. Got that?”
The JAG lawyer says, “Sergeant Jefferson, you can’t do this.”
“Sure I can,” he says, smiling. “Mr. District Attorney here, give him some time. He can draw up all the legal papers and I’ll sign them. But you, Mr. JAG, I need you to look over them, cut through the legal mumbo-jumbo, and you tell me, in straight Army talk, that what I’m signing is what I want. I plead guilty to the murders, take my sentence like a man, and my two guys get freed, and nothing happens to them down the road. Not a damn thing.”
Slate says, “I can’t guarantee that the Department of Justice won’t want to look into it if there’s a public outcry. The other two Rangers might be charged with federal offenses.”
Jefferson says, “That’s out of your control. That’s okay. I’m a reasonable guy.”
The JAG lawyer turns to Slate and says, “You can’t be considering this! This isn’t justice!”
The district attorney doesn’t say anything.
Jefferson says, “Sure he’s considering it, Captain Pierce. Why not? He can say he got a conviction without the pain or expense of a lengthy trial, I take the fall, he looks good to the voters, and justice is done.”
“But the forensic evidence…” the JAG lawyer says.
Jefferson says, “I’ve heard some about the forensic evidence. All points to me, right? Nothing connecting the squad.”
The district attorney nods. “Seems that way.”
“Wait,” the Army captain says. “There was a witness, seeing you leave that place with at least one other Ranger.”
The district attorney says, “Well, that’s true, Captain, but…just because he was at the scene doesn’t mean he took part in the killing.”
Jefferson nods, feels that the district attorney is coming his way. “My fingerprints are in that house. Empty shell casings from my weapon. And what those clowns did to my stepdaughter…the district attorney can step up before the judge, say he got a deal, and I murdered all those folks because I snapped. Right? Every time there’s a war, there are always stories about the crazy vets who come back and lose it. I’m just the latest one. Right? I found out my daughter nearly died from an OD, and I snapped. Went in there and murdered everyone. The end.”
Jefferson waits.
The JAG attorney says, “This isn’t right.”
The district attorney says, “You heard the staff sergeant. You’re just here as a witness, not to act as his defense, Captain Pierce.”
Jefferson says, “That’s right, Captain. And if you don’t cooperate, well, I’ll get somebody else in here to do the job. But one way or another, it’s going to happen. The district attorney is going to draw up a plea agreement that I’ll sign, and he’s going to write up some official papers that my guys are going to be cut loose, with no chance of any prosecution, today or tomorrow or fifty years from now.”
A pause. He adds, “What do you say, Mr. District Attorney? Want to get my guilty plea? Save the county the expense of a trial? Get this case put away day after tomorrow when I appear before the judge? Help you get reelected?”
The district attorney smiles.
“Son, you got yourself a deal.”
Chapter 61
SPECIAL AGENT CONNIE YORK is in her motel room, sitting cross-legged on the saggy and scratchy platform that claims to be a bed, when there’s a heavy knock on the door. Her laptop is in front of her, and she’s trying to figure out what time Major Cook is getting into Bagram—and why in hell Afghanistan insists on having their time zone thirty minutes off, instead of on the hour like other countries. She puts her laptop aside and goes to answer the door.