Walker Townsend, smiling lightly, one eyebrow slightly raised, interrupted, then.
"Why, Your Honor, I fail to see where there has been any deception whatsoever. The man told Lieutenant Hart he would testify about threats. And that is precisely what we have just heard from Lieutenant
Murphy. A threat. It is not the prosecution's province to make sure that Lieutenant Hart adequately prepares by seeking additional information from a witness prior to trial. He asked a question of this witness and he received an answer, and he should have pursued it further, if he considered this testimony to be potentially so harmful "
"Your Honor, this is unfair attack! I object!"
MacNamara shook his head.
"Once again. Lieutenant Hart, I must insist you sit down. You will have an opportunity to cross-examine the witness. Until then, be quiet!"
Tommy did not sit, but remained standing. He surreptitiously gripped the edge of the table for support. He didn't dare look over at Lincoln Scott.
Walker Townsend held up the handmade knife.
"I ought to kill the son of a bitch," he bellowed out, the thunder in his voice only accentuated by all the soft tones he'd used before.
"And when did he say this?"
"One, maybe two days before Captain Bedford was murdered," Murphy replied, smugly.
"Murdered with a knife!
"Townsend said.
"Yes sir!" Murphy blurted out.
"A prophecy!" Townsend crowed.
"And now this blade, Lieutenant Lincoln Scott's blade, is stained with the blood of Captain Vincent Bedford!"
He walked over to the prosecution's table and slammed the knife down hard, flat against the table planks. The noise resounded through the silent courtroom.
"Your witness," he said, after a suitable pause for effect.
Tommy rose, his head jumbled with outrage, doubt, and confusion. He opened his mouth, only to see Colonel MacNamara raise his hand, slicing off his words.
"I believe we shall have to wait to have the cross-examination in me morning, lieutenant. We are closing in on time for the evening Appell, are we not, Hauptmann?"
For the first time in what seemed like an hour. Tommy pivoted toward the one-armed German. Visser was nodding his head. He seemed to take some time, however, before answering.
Instead, for several long seconds, the German stared at Lieutenant Murphy, as the Liberator copilot shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Then Visser slowly searched around the courtroom, examining Lincoln Scott and Tommy Hart, then swinging over to the prosecutors, and finally back to Colonel MacNamara.
"You are correct, colonel," Visser replied.
"This would, perhaps, be an appropriate and convenient moment for dismissal."
Visser rose and the stenographer at his side clapped shut his notebook.
MacNamara banged his homemade gavel down.
"Until tomorrow, then. We will reconvene without delay directly after the completion of the morning count! Lieutenant Murphy?"
"Yes sir?"
"You are not to discuss your testimony with anyone. Got that? Not anyone, prosecution, defense, friends, or foes. You can talk about the weather. You can talk about the army.
You can talk about the lousy food, or the lousy war. But what you can't talk about is this case. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir! Absolutely."
"Fine then," MacNamara briskly said.
"You are dismissed."
He looked up at the assembled men.
"You are all dismissed."
He rose and the kriegies all scrambled to their feet, coming to attention as the members of the tribunal pushed back from their table and stiffly exited the theater. They were followed by Major Clark and Captain Townsend, who had trouble containing his grin as he swept past Tommy, and then, in quick order, Visser and most of the other Germans.
One or two of the ferrets who lingered slightly behind urged the kriegies to depart, their hoarse cries of "Raus! Raus! You are dismissed!" cutting through the air behind Tommy's head.
Tommy closed his eyes for a moment, searching the black emptiness within. After a second, he opened up, and turned to Lincoln Scott and Hugh Renaday. Scott was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed upon the empty witness chair. Unblinking.
Rigid.
Hugh leaned forward.
"Well," he said slowly, "that was a shot across the bow, what? How do we prove that bastard is lying?"
Tommy started to reply, although he was unsure what he was going to say, only to be cut off by Scott.
The black flier's voice was dry, parched. It rasped and echoed slightly in the theater. They were alone now.
"It wasn't a lie," Scott said quietly, almost as if each word he spoke were painful.
"It was the truth. It's exactly what I said to the slimy son of a bitch. Word for word."
By the time they finished the evening Appell and returned to their room in Hut 101, Tommy was seething. He slammed the door shut behind them and pivoted to face Lincoln Scott.
"You could have goddamn told me," he said, his voice rising in pitch like an engine accelerating.
"It might have been helpful to know that you threatened the life of the murder victim right before he was killed!"
Scott started to reply, then stopped. He shrugged and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed.
Tommy's hands were balled into fists, and he circled the space in front of the black flier.
"I look like a goddamn idiot!" he raged.
"And you look like a killer! You told me you didn't know anything about that damn knife, and now it turns out you built the damn thing!
Why didn't you tell me?"
Scott shook his head, as if unwilling to answer that question.
"After I shot my mouth off to Murphy, I stuck it next to where I kept my Red Cross box. It disappeared the next morning. The next time I saw it was when Clark pulled it out from the hiding place that I didn't know about, right under the bunk."
"Well that's great," Tommy said furiously.
"That's a great story. I'm sure just about everyone will believe that…"
Again Scott looked up, ready to reply, then stopped himself.
"How the hell do you expect someone to defend you when you won't tell him the truth?" Tommy demanded furiously.
Scott opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he kept his head bent, almost as if in prayer, until he finally sighed deeply and whispered a reply.
"I don't," he said.
Tommy's jaw dropped, in surprise.
"What?"
Scott's eyes rose slightly, peering at Tommy.
"I don't want to be defended," he said slowly.