"Fritz," he asked, "you found the captain?"
The ferret nodded.
"Shortly after five this morning."
"And what did you do, then?"
"I immediately ordered two Hundfuhrers who were patrolling the perimeter of the camp to come to the Abort and make certain no one entered. Then I went to inform the commandant."
"How was it you found the body?"
"I heard a noise. I was just outside Hut 103. I did not move quickly, lieutenant. I was uncertain what I'd heard."
"What sort of noise?"
"A cry. Then nothing."
"Why did you go into the Abort!"
"It seemed that the noise had come from there."
Tommy nodded.
"Hugh?"
"Did you see anyone else?" the Canadian asked.
"No. I heard some doors closing. That is all."
Renaday started to ask a second question, then stopped. He thought for an instant, then demanded: "After you found the body, the Abort was left for a time. How long was it before you returned with the two Hundfuhrers."
The ferret looked up into the gray sky, trying to add up the time.
"A few minutes, certainly, flying officer. I did not want to blow my whistle and raise an alarm until I had informed the commandant. The men were located at the wire just outside Hut 116. A few seconds, maybe a minute to explain to them the urgency of the situation. Five minutes, perhaps. So, in total, perhaps as many as ten minutes."
"Are you certain that there was no one else about when you discovered the body?"
"I did not see anyone, Mr. Renaday. After I spotted the body, and after I made certain Captain Bedford was dead, I used my torch to quickly sweep the building. But the night was still upon us, and there are many shadowy places a man could hide. So I cannot be completely certain."
"Thank you, Fritz. One last thing…"
The ferret stepped forward.
"I want you to go find us a camera. Thirty-five millimeter, loaded with film. With a flash attachment and at least a half dozen flashbulbs. Right now."
"Impossible, flying officer! I know of no-" Renaday instantly stepped forward, pushing his face up toward the lanky ferret's nose.
"I know you know who's got one. Now, go get it, and bring it here without letting anyone know what the hell you're doing. Got that? Or would you prefer it if we marched over to the commandant's office and demanded it?"
Fritz Number One looked panicked for a moment, trapped between duty and the desire to be correct. Finally, he nodded.
"One of the tower guards is an amateur photographer…"
"Ten minutes. We'll be inside."
Fritz Number One saluted, turned on his heel, and hurried away.
"That was smart, Hugh," Tommy Hart said.
"Figured we might need some pictures." Then Hugh turned to Tommy and seized him by the arm.
"But look, Tommy.
What's our job here, after all?"
Tommy shook his head.
"I'm not sure. All I can tell you is that Lincoln Scott is going to be accused of doing what's inside the Abort. And the major says they've got all the evidence they need to convict him. I suppose we should try to help him as much as we can."
And with that, the two men stepped up to the door to the latrine.
"Ready?" Tommy asked.
"Forward the light brigade," Hugh replied.
"Theirs not to reason why…"
"Theirs but to do and die," Tommy finished the refrain. He thought this might have been a poor verse to select at that moment, but he did not say this out loud.
The Abort was a narrow building, with a single door located at one end.
The wood-plank floor of the building was raised up several feet, so that one had to walk up a short flight of rough steps to enter. This was to allow space beneath the privies for huge green metal drums that collected the waste.
There were six stalls, each with a door and partitions to provide privacy. The seats were hewn from hardwood and polished to a shine by use and near-constant scrubbing. Ventilation was provided by slatted windows up just beneath the roof line. Twice each day Abort details carted off the barrels of waste to an area in a corner of the camp where it was burned. What wouldn't burn was dumped in trenches and covered with lime. About the only thing the Germans provided the kriegies in abundance was time.
A stranger walking into an Abort for the first time might have been overcome by the fetid thickness of the smell, but the kriegies were used to it, and within a few days of their arrival at Stalag Luft Thirteen, the airmen learned that it was one of the few places in the camp where one could go and have a few minutes of relative solitude.
What most of the men hated was the lack of toilet paper. The Germans didn't provide any, and the Red Cross parcels were skimpy, preferring to send foodstuffs. Men used any possible scrap of paper.
Tommy and Hugh paused in the doorway.
The familiar stench filled their nostrils. There was no electricity in the Abort, so it was dim and dark, lit only by the gray overcast sky that filtered through the high slatted windows.
Renaday hummed briefly, a nameless snatch of music, before stepping forward.
"Tommy," he said, "think for a second. It was five in the morning, right? That's what Fritz said?"
"Correct," Tommy answered, keeping his voice low.
"What the hell was Vic doing here? The inside toilets were still operating.
The Krauts don't shut off the plumbing until midmorning.
And this place would have been pitch black. Except for the searchlight that sweeps over it… what?… every minute, maybe ninety seconds.
You wouldn't be able to see a thing."
"So, you wouldn't come out here unless you had some good reason…"
"And going to the bathroom isn't the reason."
Both men nodded.
"What're we looking for, Hugh?"
Hugh sighed.
"Well, they teach you in cop school that the crime scene can tell you everything that happened if you look closely enough. Let's see what we can see."
In unison, the two men stepped into the Abort. Tommy swung his eyes right and left, trying to absorb what had taken place, but uncertain in that second precisely what he was looking for. He moved ahead of Renaday, and pushed forward.
He paused just before reaching the final stall in the row, pointing down at the floor.
"Look there, Hugh," he said quietly.
"Doesn't that look like a footprint? Or at least part of one?"
Renaday knelt down. On the wooden floor of the latrine was the clear outline of the front of a boot heading toward the Abort stall. The Canadian touched the outline gingerly.