Von Reiter stopped in front of the gathered men. His face was slightly flushed and the riding crop he liked to carry danced nervously in his hand.
"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 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?"