My father rose from the second row of the gallery and took five measured steps to the wooden witness box.

He took the oath without a pause, his voice settled in that low military register that never cracked.

“Please state your full name and occupation for the record,” the clerk said.

“Walter Hensley, Major General, United States Army, retired,” my father said, laying his big hands flat on the wooden rail of the witness box.

“General Hensley, please describe what you did on the evening of January twenty-fourth,” Douglas said.

“At eleven forty-two p.m.