Clark stitched each element of the prosecution's case into a single tapestry. He spoke at length, steadily, persuasively, with bull doglike determination, as he gave context to all the other witnesses.

Tommy did not object to the major's words, nor to the damning portrait he created. He knew one thing: The major, for all his stiffness and military rigidity, was a fighter, much like Lincoln Scott. If Tommy battled him on every point, with a series of objections, he would respond like an athlete; each little struggle would only serve to make him stronger and more determined to reach the goal.

But cross-examination was a different matter.

As Major Clark finished his testimony. Tommy lay in wait, feeling for all the world like a cobra in the high grass. He knew what he was required to do. One single weakness in the steady, convincing story the major told. Just attack that one critical point and expose it for a lie, then the rest will crumble. At least that was what he hoped, and he knew where he was going to strike. Had known since the first minute he'd examined the evidence.

He stole a sideways glance over at Scott. The black airman was fingering the stub of the pencil again. Tommy watched as Scott suddenly took the pencil and wrote on one of the precious scrap pieces of paper the single word: Why.

It was a good question. Tommy thought. One that still eluded him.

"One last question. Major Clark," Walker Townsend was saying.

"Do you have any personal animosity toward Lieutenant Scott, or toward members of the Negro race, in general?"

"Objection!"

Colonel MacNamara nodded toward Tommy Hart.

"The lieutenant is correct, captain," he admonished Townsend.

"The question is self-serving and irrelevant."

Captain Townsend smiled.

"Well, perhaps self-serving, colonel," he responded.

"But hardly irrelevant, I would wager."

He said this as he turned toward the audience, playing the moment for the assembled kriegies. It was not necessary for Major Clark to have answered the question. Merely by asking it, Townsend had answered it for him.

"Do you have other questions, captain?" MacNamara asked.

"No sir!" Townsend replied, snapping his words like a salute.

"Your witness, lieutenant."

Tommy rose slowly, moving out from behind the defense's table with patience. He looked over at Major Clark and saw that the witness was sitting forward in his seat, eagerly anticipating the first question.

"Do you have, major, any particular expertise in criminal investigations?"

Major Clark paused, before responding.

"No, lieutenant. But every senior officer in the army is accustomed to investigating disputes and conflicts between men under our command. We are trained to determine the truth in these situations. A murder, while unusual, is merely an extension of a dispute. The process is the same."

"Quite an extension, I'd say."

Major Clark shrugged.

"So, you have no police training?" Tommy continued.

"You've never been taught how to examine a crime scene, have you?"

"No. Correct."

"And you do not have any special expertise in the collection and interpretation of evidence, do you?"

Major Clark hesitated, then answered forcefully.

"I have no special expertise, no. But this case did not require any.

It was cut and dried, right from the start."

"So you say."

"Correct, again, lieutenant. So I say."

Major Clark's face had reddened slightly, and his feet were no longer flat on the floor, but lifted slightly at the heels, almost as if he were about to spring up. Tommy took a moment to read the major's face and body, and he thought the man wary but confident. Tommy moved over to Scott and Renaday and whispered to the Canadian, "Let me have those drawings, now."

Hugh pulled out from beneath the table the three crime scene sketches that Phillip Pryce's Irish artist friend had drawn. He handed them to Tommy.

"Nail the pompous bastard," he whispered, perhaps just loud enough for any kriegie with keen hearing to understand.

"Major Clark," Tommy said loudly, "I am going to show you three drawings. The first shows the wounds in Captain Bedford's neck and hands. The second shows how his body was located in the Abort stall.

The third is a diagram of the Abort itself. Please examine these, and tell me if you think they fairly represent what you yourself saw on the morning following the murder."

Walker Townsend was on his feet.

"I'd like to see those," he demanded.

Tommy thrust the three drawings at Major Clark, then gestured toward the captain.

"You can look over his shoulder, captain. But I do not recall your presence at the Abort crime scene, so I would question your ability to determine the accuracy of these pictures."

Townsend scowled and walked behind Major Clark. Both men examined each drawing carefully. Tommy saw Captain Townsend bend over slightly, and start to speak in the major's ear.

"Don't speak to the witness!" he shouted. His words creased the still air of the makeshift courtroom. Tommy stepped forward angrily, pointing a finger in Townsend's face.

"You have had your opportunity with the witness, and now it is my turn for cross-examination. Don't try to advise him in the middle of my cross!"

Townsend's eyes were narrow, staring at Tommy Hart. Into this instant fury. Colonel MacNamara interjected himself, taking Tommy slightly by surprise by landing squarely on his side.

"The lieutenant is correct, captain. We need to maintain correct trial procedure as much as humanly possible. You will have a second opportunity under redirect. Now step back, and let the lieutenant continue, although, Mr. Hart, I'd like to see those drawings myself."

Tommy nodded, handing them up to MacNamara, who also took his time to inspect them.

"They fit with my recollection," he said.

"Now, Major Clark, answer the question."

Clark shrugged.

"I would concur, colonel. They seem accurate enough."

"Take your time," Tommy said.

"I wouldn't want there to be some obvious error."

Clark glanced at the drawings again.

"They appear quite skillfully drawn," he said.

"My compliments to the artist."

Tommy took the three drawings, then held them up above his head, so that the audience could see what he was speaking about.

"That won't be necessary," MacNamara growled, speaking before Walker Townsend had a moment to object.

Tommy smiled.

"Of course," he said to the colonel. Then he turned back to Major

Clark.

"Major, based on your examination of the crime scene in the Abort, based on your inspection of Trader Vic's body, and based on your collection of the evidence in this case, would you please tell the court precisely how you contend this particular murder took place?"

Tommy pivoted, leaning back against the defense table, half-sitting, crossing his arms and waiting for the major to tell his tale, trying to impose an attitude of disbelief in his stance. Internally, he was nervous about the question. Phillip Pryce had long before burned into him the credo that no one ever asks a question in a trial that they do not know the response to, and here, he was asking Scott's main accuser to take free rein and describe Trader Vic's death. This, he knew, was something of a gamble. But he counted on Major Clark's ego and pugnacity, and knew that the rooster like officer would walk into the trap he'd set. He suspected the major didn't see the danger in the crime scene sketches. And, Tommy presumed, the major had no idea that waiting in the wings was Nicholas Fenelli, the mortuary man and doctor-in-training, who would contradict everything Clark was about to say when Tommy called him to the stand and showed him the same pictures just as he had already done in Fenelli's bare-bones infirmary. And in this conflict, Tommy thought, Scott's insistent denials would take force and suddenly gain the wind of truth Clark paused, then said, "You want me to describe the killing?"