Free The Winston Affair by Howard Fast

me.”
    â€œI can defend you in court. I must do that, and I propose to do it.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause you are entitled to such defense. No matter what you have done, you are entitled to a fair trial and to an earnest and intelligent defense.”
    â€œI killed a man, Captain. What defense is there for that?”
    â€œLet me find a way to defend you,” Adams said more gently. “I’ll find a way. I only want you to help me.”
    â€œIt too late. I can’t help you or anyone.”
    â€œNo—it’s never too late. I can help you, and you can help me by answering my questions—straightforwardly and truthfully. You must begin by trusting me.”
    A long moment went by while Winston watched him—with fear, with doubt and with suspicion.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œWhat kind of questions?” Winston whispered.
    â€œDid you kill Sergeant Quinn?”
    â€œI told you I killed him.”
    â€œWhy did you kill him?”
    â€œBecause he had to die.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by that? Why did he have to die?”
    Winston shook his head tiredly.
    â€œYou said he had to die.”
    â€œI knew about it then. I don’t remember now.”
    â€œAre you trying to remember, Lieutenant Winston? I told you that I am trying to help you. Are you trying to help me?”
    â€œYes, damn you!” Winston cried out.
    â€œThen try to remember.”
    Winston strained across the table toward Adams, and whispered hoarsely, “Will you believe me?”
    â€œIf you tell me the truth.”
    Winston relaxed for the first time since Adams had entered the cell. Almost matter-of-factly, he said, “When Quinn left, I just waited until I was told. Then I did what I was told.”
    â€œWhat were you told to do?”
    â€œTo kill Quinn.” He was picking at a pimple on the back of his hand, and examining it intently as he picked at it.
    â€œWho told you to kill Quinn, Winston?”
    â€œGod,” he replied flatly, still picking at the pimple.
    â€œGod told you to?”
    â€œOh, yes. Yes.”
    â€œWhere was God when he told you this?”
    â€œWhere?” He glanced at Adams, almost in surprise. “In the same place.”
    â€œAnd where is that place?”
    â€œHere,” putting his hand on his side. “Right here. He stays here and burns. Not now. After I did it, he went away. It’s the same damned thing, all the way down the line.”
    â€œYou know you are telling me something to make me believe you to be insane,” Adams said evenly.
    â€œThat’s why I don’t tell them,” Winston nodded, glancing at the door. “I’m not insane.”
    â€œDid you tell this to Dr. Kaufman at the hospital?”
    Suddenly excited, Winston cried, “I told that lousy Jew bastard too much. He was with them all the time. I should have known. Oh, Jesus Christ, I should have known.”
    â€œWhat, Winston? What should you have known?”
    â€œThat he was with them! With them! All the time with them! God damn you to hell, mister, what are you? A lousy kike in disguise?”
    Adams stared at Winston in silence now. The anger disappeared. The slight flush faded from Winston’s sallow face. There seemed to be almost a physical process of deflation. The eyes saw nothing in particular. They began to blink.
    â€œIs there anything else you wish to tell me, Lieutenant Winston?” Adams asked.
    There was no response.
    â€œLieutenant Winston—”
    Still no response. Then Adams saw that Winston was crying. His face did not move or change, but the tears rolled down the flat, sallow cheeks.
    Adams turned around and left the cell.

Friday 9.20 A.M .
    If Barney Adams had met Major Kaufman under other circumstances, it would not have entered his mind to consider whether or not Kaufman looked Jewish. Even with the name, the thought would not have presented itself to Adams. He was simply not