Worse. Every minute, an innocent man takes a stride closer to a firing squad.
He stole a sideways glance at Scott. He knew the black flier understood this. But the iron in his face remained constant.
An expression of deeply muted anger.
'Now, lieutenant,' Townsend said loudly, gesturing at the man on the witness chair, then pausing, as if trying to impart some added weight to his question, 'you hail from the state of Massachusetts, do you not?'
Tommy, still troubled by all the divergent thoughts crashing around within him, was still only half paying attention. Townsend had this languorous, slow-paced style to his queries, a sort of nonchalant, genteel approach that lulled the defense into some state of unobservant quiet. Prosecutors, Tommy understood, liked weight of testimony every bit as much as they liked drama. Ten people steadily saying the same thing over and over was far better than one person delivering it theatrically.
But the next question got Tommy's attention.
'Now, lieutenant, Massachusetts is a state well known throughout the Union for its advanced and altogether enlightened racial atmosphere, is it not?'
'It is, captain.'
'Did it not raise one of the first all-black regiments to fight in the great War Between the States, or what some of us consider the Great War of Secession? A most valorous group under a justly famed white commander?'
'It did, yes sir…'
Tommy rose.
'I object. Why do we need a history lesson, colonel?'
MacNamara waved his hand.
'I'll allow some leeway,' he said, 'as long as the prosecution makes its point rapidly.'
'Thank you,' Townsend answered.
'I will move swiftly.
You, Lieutenant Murphy, come from Springfield. A lifelong resident of that fair city in that state, famed as a birthplace to our own revolution, are you not? Bunker Hill, Lexington, and Concord-these important sites are all neighbors, are they not?'
'Yes sir. In the eastern portion of the state.'
'And in growing up, it was not unusual for you to come into contact with Negroes, is that correct, sir?'
'Correct. Several attended my high school. And there were others that were employed at my place of business.'
'So, you, sir, are not a bigot?'
Again Tommy jumped up.
'Objection! The witness cannot conclude this about himself! Why-'
MacNamara cut him off.
'Captain Townsend, please make your point.'
Townsend nodded again.
'Yes sir. My point, sir, is to show this tribunal that there is no southern conspiracy here operating against Lieutenant Scott. We do not hear solely from men who hail from states that seceded from the Union.
The so-called slave states. My point. Your Honor, is that men from states with long traditions of harmonious coexistence of the races are here willing, no, eager, I dare say, to testify against Lieutenant Scott, and who witnessed actions the prosecution feels are crucial to the sequence of events that resulted in this most despicable murder…'
'Objection!' Tommy jumped up, shouting.
'The captain makes a speech designed to en flame the court.'
MacNamara stared over at Tommy.
'You are correct, lieutenant.
Objection sustained. Enough with the speech, captain.
On with the questions.'
'I would further point out that simply because someone comes from a particular section of the United States gives him no greater or lesser claim on the truth. Colonel…'
'Now, Mr. Hart, it is you who makes speeches. The tribunal can judge the integrity of witnesses without your assistance.
Sit down!'
Tommy sat down hard, and Lincoln Scott immediately leaned over, whispering.
'Racial harmony, my ass. Murphy was just as fast as Vic was with the word nigger. Just spoken in a different accent, that's all.'
'I remember,' Tommy said.
'In the corridor. I may remind him on cross-examination.'
Townsend had sauntered over to the prosecution's table.
Major Clark reached down beneath and removed the dark sheet-metal frying pan that Scott had constructed to fix his meals. The major handed it to Townsend, who pivoted and approached the witness.
'Now, lieutenant, I'm showing you an exhibit that we have introduced as evidence. Do you recognize this, sir?'
'I do, captain,' Murphy replied.
'How do you recognize it?'
'I watched as Lieutenant Scott constructed the frying pan, sir. He was in the corner of the barracks room in Hut 101 that we all shared. He fashioned the pan out of a piece of metal liberated from one of the German refuse bins, sir. I have seen other kriegies do the same, but I remember thinking that Scott seemed to have some expertise with metalwork, because this was the best version of the frying pan that I had seen in my months here.'
'And what did you observe next?'
'I saw that he had some leftover metal that he was beginning to form into some other shape. He used a piece of wood to hammer out the bends and wrinkles, sir.'
'Please tell the tribunal what you next witnessed.'
'I left the room, briefly, sir, but when I returned, I saw Lieutenant
Scott wrapping the handle of this leftover piece of metal with an old strip of cloth.'
'What was it that he appeared to have constructed?'
'A knife, sir.'
Tommy jumped up.
'Objection! Calls for a conclusion.'
'Overruled!' MacNamara bellowed.
'Continue, lieutenant.'
'Yes sir,' Murphy said.
'I remember asking Scott, right then, what the hell did he need that for? Damn thing was near as big as a sword ' 'Objection!'
'On what grounds?'
'This is hearsay, colonel.'
'No, it isn't. Please continue.'
'I mean,' Murphy persisted, 'I'd never seen anyone in this camp ever construct something like that…'
Townsend had once again crossed over to the prosecution's table. Major Clark handed him the flattened metal blade. The prosecutor held it up before him, almost like Lady Macbeth, then he slashed it through the air several times.
