“I ordered no search of this hut!” he said loudly. “What is going on!”
Heinrich Visser snapped his heels together, the clicking of his boots resounding through the morning damp. “I ordered the search, Herr Oberst. I most recently came into information to believe that contraband was present here! And so I ordered the immediate search, upon my own initiative!”
Von Reiter looked coldly at Visser.
“Ah,” he said slowly. “This was your idea. And you did not think I should be informed?”
“I thought it necessary to move quickly, Herr Oberst. I fully intended to keep you abreast of developments.”
Von Reiter narrowed his look. “I’m sure. And did you find contraband? Or any other signs of forbidden activities?”
“Yes, Herr Oberst!” Visser answered sharply. “An illegal radio. Concealed in an empty coffee tin! Expressly against all regulations and your direct orders!”
The elderly goon holding the radio stepped forward at a nod from Visser, holding the radio out toward the camp commandant.
Von Reiter smiled nastily. “Very good, Hauptmann.” He turned to MacNamara and Clark. “Radios are verboten! You know this. You must control your men!”
MacNamara didn’t reply, and Von Reiter turned back to Visser.
“And what other critical items have you uncovered in your search, Hauptmann? What else has been found to justify this disruption in the camp routine?”
“That is all, Herr Oberst.”
Von Reiter nodded.
“This is a most fortunate radio for you, Hauptmann,” he said, much more quietly than before. Von Reiter smiled, with all the affection that an alligator musters when confronting an animal that has strayed a little too close to the water’s edge, but still remains just beyond the beast’s lunge and snapping jaws. Then he turned to Tommy.
“Ah, Mr. Hart. The young defender. Is it not your opportunity this morning? Or so I am reliably informed.”
“It is, Herr Oberst.”
“Excellent. Duties permitting, I will attempt to enjoy some of your performance.”
“We are already delayed,” Colonel MacNamara interrupted. “Can we please get on with the trial? I’ve warned you, commandant, that passions are running high in the camp, and the men are eager for answers! They demand this matter be brought to a satisfactory conclusion!”
Von Reiter nodded. “Americans are always in a hurry for answers to all their questions, colonel. We Germans are much more accustomed to accepting merely what we are told.”
“That’s your problem,” MacNamara said crisply. “Now, can we please get on with business?”
“Of course,” Von Reiter replied. “I believe the Hauptmann has finished here. Yes?”
Visser shrugged. He did little to conceal the frustration within him. Tommy knew right then that he’d been searching for the murder weapon. Someone had told him what hut to look inside, and probably told him which of the barracks rooms to search personally. Tommy thought all this most intriguing, and a little amusing, as he saw the one-armed German unable to hide his disappointment and anger, because what he wanted to find remained hidden from him. Tommy threw quick glances at Clark and MacNamara, wondering if they, too, were surprised by the search’s lack of success, but he could read nothing from their faces, so he was unsure what to conclude. But he did know that someone in the camp was surprised that Heinrich Visser did not have the murder weapon in his hand right at this moment, and that the German hadn’t already begun to compose the memo for his Gestapo supervisors in Berlin that very well might have translated into the arrests of both the commandant and the ferret. Tommy took note that these two men had marched off toward the assembly area together, seemingly engaged in close conversation.
***
Once again, Lieutenant Nicholas Fenelli made his way to the witness chair through the overcrowded aisles and makeshift pews crammed with kriegies. As he passed by, Tommy could hear voices trailing after him, so that the courtroom bubbled with soft conversation, causing the Senior American Officer at the head of the theater to bang his gavel hard. Fenelli had not shaved that morning; his chin was stained with dark stubble. His uniform seemed rumpled and haphazardly collected. There were some circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he looked to Tommy like a man unfamiliar with lying, but oddly committed to it all the same.
MacNamara launched into the usual speech, reminding Fenelli he remained under oath, and then gestured to Tommy to get started.
Tommy rose at the defense table. He could see the medic twisting in his seat momentarily, then finally squaring his shoulders, awaiting the onslaught.
“Lieutenant . . .” Tommy began slowly, his voice steady, “do you recall our conversation shortly after Mr. Scott’s arrest in this matter?”
“Yes sir.”
“And do you recall telling me, on that occasion, that you believed the murder was performed by a man situated behind Captain Bedford, wielding a narrow, extremely sharp knife? The type of knife one would not usually find in this camp?”
“Yes sir.”
“I didn’t offer you anything for that opinion, did I?”
“No. You didn’t.”
“And I was not able to show you that knife, was I?”
“No.”
Tommy turned away, back toward the defense table. He reached down to his law books and papers, exaggerating every movement as theatrically as possible. To his side, he was aware that both Townsend and Clark had leaned forward expectantly, and he knew right then that this was a moment that they’d anticipated. He suspected that Visser, too, in his observer’s seat across the room, and all the members of the tribunal, as well, were eagerly awaiting his next motion. He spun about, quickly, holding both empty hands out wide.
“But now, you are unsure of those opinions, would that be correct to say?”
Fenelli stopped, looked at both of Tommy’s hands, knit his brows for an instant, then nodded. “No. That would be right. I guess.”
Tommy let a pause fill the courtroom air, before continuing.
“You’re not a murder expert, are you, lieutenant?”
“No. I am not. That’s what I told them.” He pointed over at the prosecution.
“Back in the States, this murder would have been investigated by professional homicide detectives, correct? Who would have been assisted in collecting evidence by specially trained crime scene analysts, true? And the autopsy on Trader Vic would have been performed by a competent, experienced forensic pathologist, isn’t that true, as well?”
Fenelli hesitated, a look of uncertainty on his face, almost as if he’d been told to expect one thing from Tommy and was getting something different. In this hesitation, Captain Townsend rose, pushing back from the prosecution table slowly. Colonel MacNamara looked in his direction.
“Do you have an objection, captain?” he asked.
“Well, perhaps, sir,” Townsend said slowly, hiding the hesitation in his voice unsuccessfully. “I simply wonder where the lieutenant is going with this line of questions. What might have been done in this case, back in the States, is not wholly relevant to the issues here today. This is a war, and our circumstances are totally extraordinary. . . .”
MacNamara nodded, and looked over at Tommy.
“These questions, Mr. Hart . . .”
“If I might have some small leeway, Your Honor. It will become clear in a moment.”
“Rapidly, I trust.”
Tommy smiled, looked over at Fenelli, and said, “So, your answer would be . . .”
Fenelli shrugged. “You’re correct, Lieutenant Hart. Things would be different back in the States. Real experts would have been all over this case.”
“Thank you,” Tommy said quickly, giving a small nod to the mortuary man. “No further questions of this witness, Your Honor.”
Fenelli’s face instantly creased into a surprised grin. With a quizzical look, MacNamara gazed down at Tommy. “Nothing further?” he asked.
“Nope.” Tomm
y made a sweeping gesture toward Fenelli. “The witness can be excused.”
As Fenelli rose to his feet, he scrutinized the Senior American Officer and the two other members of the tribunal. MacNamara spoke out: “Just a second, lieutenant. Anything else from the prosecution?”
Townsend hesitated, then shook his head. He, too, wore a look of some confusion.
“No sir. At this point, the prosecution rests.”
“The witness is excused.”
“Yes sir!” Fenelli said, grinning. “I’m outta here!”
This comment brought a smattering of laughter from the kriegies in the audience, and once again MacNamara resorted to the gavel. Fenelli crossed the room swiftly, tossing a single glance at Tommy that he took to be gratitude. Behind him, the room quieted.
MacNamara spoke first. “That’s it from the prosecution?” he demanded of Townsend.
“Yes sir. As I said, at this point we rest our case.”
The Senior American Officer turned to Tommy Hart. “You did not make an opening statement. Did you wish to do so now?”
Tommy smiled. “Yes sir. Briefly, sir . . .”
“That would be good.”
Tommy coughed, and spoke loudly. “I would take this opportunity to remind the members of the tribunal, the prosecution, and all the men of Stalag Luft Thirteen that Lincoln Scott stands here today only accused of this murder. Our Constitution guarantees that until the prosecution proves beyond and to the exclusion of all reasonable doubts, he is cloaked in innocence. . . .”
Walker Townsend rose, interrupting Tommy.
“Sir, isn’t it a little late for a lesson in civics?”
MacNamara nodded. “Your statement, lieutenant—”
Tommy cut him off. “But that is it, Your Honor. The defense is ready to proceed.”
MacNamara’s left eyebrow shot up in modest surprise and he let out a small sigh of relief. “Very good,” he said. “We can continue on schedule. Do you intend to call Lieutenant Scott to the stand now?”
Tommy paused and shook his head.
“No sir.”
There was a moment’s quiet, and MacNamara stared at Tommy.
“You do not?”
“Correct, sir. Not at this point.”
Both Townsend and Clark had risen again, but they did not speak.
“Well,” Colonel MacNamara asked sharply, “do you have some other witness? We were all expecting Lieutenant Scott on the stand at this juncture.”
“That’s what I thought, colonel,” Tommy replied with a smile. His eyes lit up, as if amused, which, in a superficial way, he was. But deep within his heart he felt nothing except a cold and single-minded, murderous savagery of his own, because, for the very first time in the trial, he felt he was about to deliver a stroke that had not been anticipated, either by the prosecution or the judges, and this was to him both raw and delicious. He knew that everyone in the courtroom believed that the prosecution had left him with nothing to present except an angry, accused man’s shaky protests of innocence.
“Well then, who?” MacNamara demanded.
“No sir. The defense will not be calling Lieutenant Scott. Not at this point.”
Tommy pivoted sharply, and pointed to the corner of the courtroom-theater. He shouted out his words.
“At this point, the defense calls Luftwaffe Hauptmann Heinrich Visser to the witness stand!”
Then Tommy folded his arms across his chest, satisfaction beating in his chest, appearing to be an island of calm in a courtroom suddenly buffeted by the winds of wildly excited voices.
Chapter Fifteen
AN OFFICER AND A MAN OF HONOR
Tommy took some little satisfaction in the uproar that erupted in the courtroom behind where he stood. Everyone seemed to have an opinion, and the immediate need to blurt it out loudly. Voices cascaded around him, mingling curiosity, anger, and excitement. It took some determined gaveling by Colonel MacNamara to get the overflow theater crowd of kriegies to quiet down. Behind him, arcing through the jammed throngs of airmen, was a fascination like electricity. If the trial of Lincoln Scott for the murder of Vincent Bedford was already the best show in town, in one single stroke, Tommy had made it even more compelling, especially to the hundreds of men crippled by the boredom and anxiety of their imprisonment.
By the tenth time MacNamara had shouted “Order!” the men quieted enough for the proceedings to continue. Walker Townsend was already on his feet, gesturing widely with his arms. So was Major Clark, whose usually red face was now nearly crimson, and Tommy thought he looked like a man on the verge of exploding.
“Your Honor!” Townsend shouted. “This is highly irregular!”
MacNamara crashed the gavel down again, even though the room had grown silent enough to continue.
“We would most strenuously protest!” the captain from Virginia persisted. “To call a member of an enemy force to the stand in the midst of an American trial is outrageous!”
Tommy remained quiet for a moment, waiting for MacNamara to bang his gavel once again, which is what the SAO did, finally turning toward the defense. Tommy took a single step forward, this motion alone doing more to quiet the room behind him than all the hammering from the head of the tribunal. Kriegies hushed each other and craned forward.
“Colonel,” Tommy began slowly, “the argument that this request is irregular is silly. This entire proceeding is irregular! Captain Townsend knows that, and the prosecution has already benefited from the loosening of the ordinary rules governing a military court of justice. He protests simply because he has been caught unprepared. At the beginning of this trial, you promised both defense and prosecution that there would be considerable leeway given both sides in order to find the truth! It was also promised that the defense could call anyone who might assist in establishing innocence. I would merely remind the court of those promises. And remind the court as well, that we are here under unique and special circumstances, and that it is important for all to see the elemental fairness of our democratically applied system of justice. Especially the enemy.”
He crossed his arms again, with the thought that his little speech would have been better had a brass band been playing “America the Beautiful” in the background, and would have the dual effect of infuriating MacNamara and instantly cementing him into a position where Tommy could not be turned down. He stared directly at the Senior American Officer, doing little to hide the satisfied smirk that he wore.
“Lieutenant,” MacNamara responded coldly, “you do not have to remind the tribunal of their wartime duties and responsibilities.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Your Honor. Delighted to hear that.” Tommy knew he was dancing dangerously close to censure.
“Your Honor,” Walker Townsend said angrily, “I still do not see how this court can permit an officer of an enemy army to testify! I would argue that you could never be sure anything he might say would be truthful!”
As soon as he spoke, Townsend appeared stricken by the words that had tumbled from his mouth. Too late he saw the mistake in the claim he made. In one sentence, he’d insulted two men.
“The court is more than capable of determining the truthfulness of any witness, captain, regardless of where they come from, and where their allegiances might rest,” MacNamara replied dryly, far more caustically than he had before when making the same comment.
Tommy snuck a glance over at Heinrich Visser. The German was standing. His own face was pale, and his jaw tight. His eyes had narrowed, but he was glaring at Walker Townsend, not at Tommy. He looked like a man who had just been slapped across the cheek by a rival.
This, Tommy had half-expected. Visser was probably infuriated at being called to the stand. But, Tommy suspected, he was undoubtedly far more outraged at having his pristine Nazi integrity challenged. Nothing was more irritating than hearing oneself called a liar before one has a chance to utter a single word.
MacNamara rubbed his chin and nose once, then turned toward the one-armed Germa
n. “Hauptmann,” he said slowly, “I am inclined to allow this. Are you willing to take the stand?”
Visser hesitated. Tommy could see him measuring as many factors as possible in those seconds. He began to open his mouth to reply, when there was a sudden, booming voice from the rear of the theater.
“The Hauptmann will certainly testify, colonel!”
Heads pivoted in unison to see Commandant Von Reiter standing in the doorway. He stepped forward, his polished black riding boots striking against the wooden plank flooring like so many pistol reports.
Von Reiter arrived in the front of the courtroom, clicked his heels together and made a small salute and bow, simultaneously. “Of course, colonel,” he said briskly, “the Hauptmann will be restricted from dispensing any critical military information, you understand? And he will not be able to answer questions that might compromise war secrets. But, as to his understanding of this crime, why, I would think his expertise would be most helpful for the court in determining the truth of this most unfortunate event!”
Von Reiter half-turned, nodding toward Visser, before he added: “And, colonel, I can personally attest to his integrity! Hauptmann Visser is a highly decorated officer! He is a man of complete honor and commands utter respect from his subordinates! Please, be so kind as to swear him in promptly.”
Visser kept a flat, poker face, and stepped forward slowly and clearly reluctantly, even more so, Tommy imagined, because he now had Von Reiter’s blessing and he was undoubtedly assessing how the commandant might seize some political advantage from his testifying. He sharply saluted his commanding officer, turned to Colonel MacNamara, and said, “I am prepared, colonel.” The Senior American Officer shoved the Bible toward him, and motioned toward the witness chair.
“Sir,” Captain Townsend tried one last time, “again, I protest . . .”
MacNamara scowled and shook his head. “Here is your witness, Lieutenant Hart. Let’s see what you make of him.”
Tommy nodded in response to that particular challenge. He noticed a small malevolent grin on Von Reiter’s face as the camp commandant took up a position in a seat by a window, sitting on the edge of the chair and leaning forward, just like the prisoners in the camp, eager to hear every word. Then Tommy turned, and faced Visser. For a moment, he tried to reconnoiter the German’s unspoken language, trying to read the man in the tilt of his head, the lingering narrowing of his eyes, the set of his jaw, and the way he crossed his legs. Visser was a man of deep hatreds and angers, Tommy thought. The problem Tommy faced was sorting through them all and finding the right ones to help Lincoln Scott—although he understood, simply from the way Visser tossed a single furious glance over at Townsend, that the prosecution, by questioning his integrity, had already helped Tommy on the path to Visser’s core.
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