Free Murder at the Pentagon by Margaret Truman Page A

and early dinner. “Jeff, I’m not sure what time I’m going to be out of here tonight. Something broke that could tie me up for a while.”
    “Like what?” he asked, sounding distracted.
    “I really can’t discuss it on the phone. In fact, I can’t discuss it at all until tomorrow morning after it’s been announced at a press conference.”
    Now, his attention seemed more focused. “Don’t tease, Margit. It’s annoying. What’s up?”
    She was sorry she’d called, or at least she should have begged off the evening without hinting that something extraordinary was taking place. She said, “I know, it isn’t fair, but my hands are tied. Please understand. If I see that I’ll be able to leave at a decent hour, I’ll call, and we’ll meet as planned.”
    “Call either way,” he said. He sounded angry.
    “If I get a chance.” She hung up and felt unsettled. There had been these minor tugs and strains lately. She chalked them up to the pressure of their jobs, and had recently considered taking a few days’ leave, suggesting to Jeff that he take time off, too, and maybe they’d get away together for an extended weekend. But this was no time to be thinking about leave. She called Helen Matthei, Colonel Bellis’s administrative assistant, and said she was ready to meet. Helen buzzed him, then came back on the line and told Margit to be there in a half hour. It was twelve-thirty. She was suddenly hungry. Would he order in some lunch for them? She hoped so, because she didn’t have time. They may say that no two offices are more than seven minutes apart in the Pentagon, but you couldn’t prove it by her. Going downstairs to the nearest snack bar would take at least fifteen minutes. More if she took a wrong turn.
    “I have two hours before I have to meet with SecDef,” Bellis said to Margit. “That means we have two hours to choreograph the press conference.” Margit wasn’t sure she liked his choice of words.
    Bellis continued. “Aside from making sure that the military justice system is followed to the letter, we have two other things to accomplish. First, the public must be assured that Captain Cobol will be prosecuted to the fullest extent. He’s not only been accused of murder, the victim was a well-known expert in the field of military weapons research. It also happened on military property.” His laugh was sardonic. “The Pentagon, peacekeeping HQ, no less. Second, the public has to be assured that the accused receives the fullest and fairest defense available.” He sighed. “In other words, Major, this had better be a textbook trial on both sides.”
    Margit had formulated a list of questions. Before asking them, however, she said, “In my defense, Colonel, is there any chance of getting something to eat?”
    “I’ve always admired pragmatic lawyers. I’ll have Helen order something up. What’s your pleasure?”
    “Chicken salad on whole wheat,” she said. “And coffee.”
    They got back to the topic at hand. “Does Captain Cobol know I’ve been assigned to his defense?” Margit asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Does he accept me as his counsel?”
    “Evidently.”
    “Considering the seriousness of the charge, I would think he might invoke his right to civilian counsel.”
    “As far as I know, he hasn’t asked for that. Sure, he’s entitled. We’ll make sure he understands that it’s one of his rights. How would you feel about being co-counsel?”
    “Fine with me,” Margit said. She’d been hoping it would end up that way. She’d feel considerably more comfortable defending an accused murderer with a savvy civilian criminal attorney at her side.
    She asked where Cobol was being detained.
    “McNair.”
    The army base, Fort Lesley J. McNair, sat on a strip of land south of the U.S. Capitol in the District of Columbia, just across the Anacostia River from the Anacostia NavalStation and Bolling Air Force Base. Its history as a detention center was long and colorful. The oldest active