back. "I'd toss you a few easy ones, but we don't have a ball."
Dietrich swung awkwardly several times. He shook his head. "Balls should be struck with the feet, not a piece of wood."
Bell smiled at the interpretation, then lifted another cruller from the table.
SAO Hornsby said dryly, "You have succeeded in disarming us, Inspector Dietrich. Why don't you continue?"
Instead, Dietrich resumed his examination of the ward, not a wild flying-squad toss, but a visual inventory respecting the POWs' few possessions. He did not open the fruit crates that served as trunks near the bunks. He did not rifle through packets of letters. He stepped around a support post in the center of the ward. He still carried the American's bat. He came to the laundry bucket in which was floating a shirt. All eyes in the room followed him.
Dietrich dipped a finger into the wash bucket then brought the finger to his mouth. He inhaled sharply, then grimaced. "Needs a little more soap."
Heydekampf translated. Captain Davis laughed around a cruller.
Dietrich said, "Your challenge was to make Jack Cray look dead. A fractured skull — one smashed against cobblestones from a great height — has a certain damaged appearance."
Colonel Janssen protested, "It looks just like Cray's did."
"He had a ruptured eye socket, or so it seemed." Dietrich breathed on a hand. His cell on Prinz Albrecht Strasse had been warmer than the Colditz ward. "But what Cray did, or one of you did, was to pull down his lower eyelid and put a small slice on the inside of the eyelid with a knife. The tiny blood vessels there bleed profusely, and will fill the eye with blood. And, although Colonel Janssen and Lieutenant Heydekampf didn't report any blackening around the American's shattered eye, you POWs may have dabbed a little chimney soot on his cheekbones to make it look bruised. Altogether, it would have been a convincing replica of a ruptured eye socket."
Heydekampf had fallen into meter with the detective. He interpreted as Dietrich spoke, not waiting for pauses.
"Bleeding ears are a classic sign of a fractured skull," the inspector said. "And Jack Cray's ears had blood in them. But it wasn't Cray's blood, was it? One of you gentlemen cut yourself with a blade, on your arm or thigh or somewhere else, collected the blood in a cup, and at the right time, poured it into Cray's ears. If I were to search you, I would find such a gash."
Ian Hornsby wiped cruller crumbs from the corners of his mouth. His face was a carefully composed mask.
The detective was wearing black trousers and a fur-lined waistcoat that he had procured from the haberdashery with Himmler's letter. Dietrich's shoes were also new, and squeaked when he walked. He said, "Cray also appeared to have shattered his shoulders and arms when he hit the courtyard."
Heydekampf nodded fervently as he translated. Then he added, "His arms were bent crazily, as loose as rope. His elbows were touching behind his back."
"It must have been a difficult task, Group Captain Hornsby." Dietrich walked to the support post, a roughly milled timber felled in a Saxon forest in the eighteenth century. "Cray stood with his back against this post, or another post somewhere nearby. One or two of you pinned him in place so he wouldn't slip around the column. Then two more of you dislocated his shoulders."
Colonel Janssen's mouth opened. He shifted his gaze to Senior Allied Officer Hornsby.
Dietrich explained, "The shoulder socket is shallow. A few people can dislocate their own shoulders, called a voluntary dislocator. But it's a rare talent, and more probably you had to force Cray's shoulder from the socket. You used this post as a fulcrum."
Heydekampf held up his hand. "Inspector, I don't know the English word for fulcrum."
Dietrich flicked a finger, indicating it did not matter. "You used this post as a brace, gripped his arm, and levered the ball of his shoulder bone out of the socket. The result was a grotesque, inhuman shape,
Dietrich swung awkwardly several times. He shook his head. "Balls should be struck with the feet, not a piece of wood."
Bell smiled at the interpretation, then lifted another cruller from the table.
SAO Hornsby said dryly, "You have succeeded in disarming us, Inspector Dietrich. Why don't you continue?"
Instead, Dietrich resumed his examination of the ward, not a wild flying-squad toss, but a visual inventory respecting the POWs' few possessions. He did not open the fruit crates that served as trunks near the bunks. He did not rifle through packets of letters. He stepped around a support post in the center of the ward. He still carried the American's bat. He came to the laundry bucket in which was floating a shirt. All eyes in the room followed him.
Dietrich dipped a finger into the wash bucket then brought the finger to his mouth. He inhaled sharply, then grimaced. "Needs a little more soap."
Heydekampf translated. Captain Davis laughed around a cruller.
Dietrich said, "Your challenge was to make Jack Cray look dead. A fractured skull — one smashed against cobblestones from a great height — has a certain damaged appearance."
Colonel Janssen protested, "It looks just like Cray's did."
"He had a ruptured eye socket, or so it seemed." Dietrich breathed on a hand. His cell on Prinz Albrecht Strasse had been warmer than the Colditz ward. "But what Cray did, or one of you did, was to pull down his lower eyelid and put a small slice on the inside of the eyelid with a knife. The tiny blood vessels there bleed profusely, and will fill the eye with blood. And, although Colonel Janssen and Lieutenant Heydekampf didn't report any blackening around the American's shattered eye, you POWs may have dabbed a little chimney soot on his cheekbones to make it look bruised. Altogether, it would have been a convincing replica of a ruptured eye socket."
Heydekampf had fallen into meter with the detective. He interpreted as Dietrich spoke, not waiting for pauses.
"Bleeding ears are a classic sign of a fractured skull," the inspector said. "And Jack Cray's ears had blood in them. But it wasn't Cray's blood, was it? One of you gentlemen cut yourself with a blade, on your arm or thigh or somewhere else, collected the blood in a cup, and at the right time, poured it into Cray's ears. If I were to search you, I would find such a gash."
Ian Hornsby wiped cruller crumbs from the corners of his mouth. His face was a carefully composed mask.
The detective was wearing black trousers and a fur-lined waistcoat that he had procured from the haberdashery with Himmler's letter. Dietrich's shoes were also new, and squeaked when he walked. He said, "Cray also appeared to have shattered his shoulders and arms when he hit the courtyard."
Heydekampf nodded fervently as he translated. Then he added, "His arms were bent crazily, as loose as rope. His elbows were touching behind his back."
"It must have been a difficult task, Group Captain Hornsby." Dietrich walked to the support post, a roughly milled timber felled in a Saxon forest in the eighteenth century. "Cray stood with his back against this post, or another post somewhere nearby. One or two of you pinned him in place so he wouldn't slip around the column. Then two more of you dislocated his shoulders."
Colonel Janssen's mouth opened. He shifted his gaze to Senior Allied Officer Hornsby.
Dietrich explained, "The shoulder socket is shallow. A few people can dislocate their own shoulders, called a voluntary dislocator. But it's a rare talent, and more probably you had to force Cray's shoulder from the socket. You used this post as a fulcrum."
Heydekampf held up his hand. "Inspector, I don't know the English word for fulcrum."
Dietrich flicked a finger, indicating it did not matter. "You used this post as a brace, gripped his arm, and levered the ball of his shoulder bone out of the socket. The result was a grotesque, inhuman shape,
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