Robert Randisi - Bullets & Lies

“It’s a day-to-day thing, depending on his condition,” she said.

“And who might they have told?”

“Polly lives in. She’s with him every minute. Miriam goes home, she could have told her brother.”

Roper looked at Harwick, who hadn’t mentioned a brother. The lawyer shrugged.

“Does he live with her?”

“No, but I assume she sees him.”

“And who might he tell?”

“I don’t see any reason for him to talk to anyone about it.”

“Maybe somebody asked him.”

The kitchen door opened and Miriam entered carrying a tray with coffee and pie.

“Perhaps she can answer your questions herself,” Victoria said.

“Mum?” Miriam said.

“Mr. Roper has some questions for you, Miriam,” Victoria explained. “I’d like you to answer him quite honestly.”

Miriam folded her red, thick hands in front of her and asked, “And why would I answer any other way?”

“You’re Irish,” Roper said, not necessarily in response to her question.

“O’Brien through and through,” she said, apparently taking no offense. “Is that one of the questions?”

“Yes.”

She stood obediently and waited for the next.

“Did you know I was going to Washington on behalf of your employers?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know?”

“I heard you all talking.”

“And then did you tell anyone else?”

“No.”

“Not your brother?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I do not discuss my employer’s business with anyone,” she said, “not even my brother.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need my job,” she replied. “I have no desire to get fired.”

“Did you ever tell Polly about me going to Washington?”

“I don’t talk to that one much.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like her.”

“Why not?”

Miriam sniffed and said, “She’s uppity.”

Roper looked at the tray. There were three pieces of pie on it, one apple, and two that looked like peach.

“Which pie is better?” he asked.

“My peach is my best pie,” Miriam said.

“Then if nobody minds,” he said, “I’ll have one of the peach slices.”

“Of course, Mr. Roper,” Victoria said. “Miriam?”

The cook doled out the coffee and served the pie.

“Anything else, mum?”

“Mr. Roper?”

“I have nothing further.”

“Not right now, Miriam. Thank you.”

The cook nodded, sniffed again in Roper’s direction, and went back to the kitchen. He assumed that she did not like him either.

“I didn’t mean to insult her.”

“She’s very proud. Would you like to speak to Polly now?”

“In a while,” he said. “Let’s eat, and I’ll tell you what I found out…”

20

“I spoke to someone in the government who has knowledge of the Medal of Honor situation,” he told her. He did not reveal Donald White’s name, however.

“Are they taking Howard’s medal away?”

“That hasn’t been decided yet,” Roper said. “I asked to look at his war record, but somehow those records are missing.”

“What? How could that be? Why?”

“I can’t answer any of those questions.”

“Then when will the decision be made?”

“I’ve been given the opportunity to determine if his medal should be taken or not.”

“How?”

“I need to speak with some of his colleagues from the war,” Roper said. “If I can get some affidavits signed, testifying to the fact that his medal was well earned, it will influence the decision.”

“I can probably give you what you need,” Victoria said when he’d completed his story. The pie was also gone, but they were each having a second cup of coffee.

“I need names and locations.”

“How many?”

He thought a moment, then said, “Three or four should be enough. Five, to be on the safe side. In case I can’t find a couple.”

“Or they’re dead,” Harwick said. It was the first time he’d spoken in some time.

“Good point,” Roper said.

“I’ll make you a list,” Victoria said.

“I’d like to talk to Polly while you do that,” Roper said.

“Of course. I’ll take you upstairs.”

They both looked at the lawyer.

“I’ll wait here,” he said, waving his hand. “Maybe Miriam can give me another slice of pie.”

“Come with me, then,” she said to Roper.

In the upstairs hall he asked her again, “How well can your husband speak?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “It depends on how well he’s breathing.”

He remembered the man had said only two words to him when they first met.

“Should I talk to Polly in the hall, or in front of him?”

“In front of him is fine,” she said. “If he has something important to say, he’ll say it.”

Roper nodded.

They stopped in front of a closed door, and he waited for her to open it. When she did, he followed her inside.

Her husband was in bed, lying flat on his back. The nurse, Polly, was standing beside the bed.

“How is he this morning, Polly?” Victoria asked.

“His breathing is labored,” the woman said. “I didn’t want to risk getting him out of bed.”

“All right.”

Victoria walked to the bed and put her hand on her husband, over his heart. She kept it there, as if checking to see if he was breathing. Then she turned to the nurse.

“Polly, Mr. Roper has some questions for you,” she said. “I’d like you to answer them honestly.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she told both of them, and left.

“Yes, sir?” Polly said to Roper.

“Relax, Polly,” Roper said. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

“I was a nurse in the Army,” she said. “It’s an old habit.”

“Well…at ease,” he told her.

She smiled but didn’t seem to relax much beyond that.

“Polly, do you know who I am?”

“Well yes, si—yes. You were here only a couple of days ago.”

“And do you know where I went after I left here?”

“I understood you were going to Washington.”

“Do you know why?”

“I believe it had something to do with Mr. Westover’s medal.”

“Yes. Polly, did you tell anyone I was going to Washington?”

“No, sir.” They were back to that.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t really leave here, Mr. Roper,” she said. “Mr. Westover needs constant attention. I don’t see very many people.”

“No days off?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s a tough job.”

“I understood that when I took the job, Mr. Roper.” She looked down at her patient. “I am totally devoted to Mr. Westover.”

“I see. So you don’t speak to anyone but Mr. and Mrs. Westover, and Miriam?”

Polly smiled. “Miriam doesn’t speak to me.”

“Why not?”

“She thinks I’m uppity.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

Roper liked the woman and believed her. She hadn’t spoken to anyone.

“Does Mr. Westover speak to you, Polly?”

“He does, when he can.”

“Has he spoken to you about his medal?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“So when he speaks, what does he talk about?”

“This and that. What he wants to eat, he talks about Mrs. Westover—”

He asked her a question he had never thought to ask the lawyer, or Victoria.

“Do they have any children?”

“No,” she said. “They never had children before he went to war, and when he came back, they couldn’t. So it has only been the two of them.”

“And you and Miriam.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay,” he said, “okay. Thank you, Polly.”