GREY, FORDHAM, AND TYLER STOOD TOGETHER looking down at O’Connor’s body. The Irishman had been stuffed into one of the latrine stalls. His throat had been cut so deeply his head was almost severed at the spine. He was fully dressed in dark trousers and black jersey.
“He was one of ours,” said Grey. “We thought it important to have somebody inside the camp since we knew that Jerry had a mole in here as well.”
“Is that why O’Connor was murdered?” Fordham asked. “Do you think he caught the German in the act of escaping?”
“Could be. I asked him to be on high alert. Poor fellow. He never was a very effective spy.” Grey’s voice was even softer than usual.
“He must have been killed here right beside the stall and then shoved inside,” said Tyler. “There’s no blood anywhere else.”
“Inspector Tyler, gentlemen, please take a look at this,” said Beck.
He was pointing to a gap in the barbed wire between the latrine wall and the final fence post. The screws holding the wire had been loosened and it was bent back, leaving just enough room for a man to squeeze through.
Grey turned to the major. “We must get up a search party at once. Our chappie has got about two hours’ lead. That could put him across the border if he’s going straight to Ireland. On the other hand, he could be going south, east, or north. There might be a U-boat waiting for him for all we know. Mission accomplished, get back to home sweet home.”
“Come on, Doctor,” said Tyler to Beck. “You believe that every criminal will leave a clue because in the bottom of his heart he feels guilty. All right then. Where’s the clue here for this sod?”
“I’d like to go back to the tent and have another look.”
Tyler, Fordham, Grey, and Beck all returned to the burned-out tent. In the mess tent, the internees huddled together, watching. Clare was with them, and Tyler saw her place her hand on the shoulder of an elderly rabbi.
“What do you want to see exactly, Doctor?” Tyler asked.
“The body I couldn’t identify,” answered Beck.
Tyler pulled back the tarpaulin and the doctor stared down at the burned corpse. Then he walked over to the body they had identified as Father Glatz and uncovered it as well. He straightened up.
“Of course. I have been blind. I can tell you exactly who we’re looking for. He did leave us a clue. Or, more accurately, a telltale sign. Look at Father Glatz. He always wore his gold crucifix. It was the symbol of his vocation, his identity. It was always with him even when he went to bed. Hans Hoeniger, as a seminarian, would have done the same.”
Tyler cautiously rolled over the fifth corpse. Some of the flesh came away from the bone and stuck to his fingers. He wiped them on the grass.
“There is no cross.”
“Then this body is that of Kurt Bader,” said Beck. “And we are looking for the soft-spoken devout Christian who is supposedly studying to be a priest. Herr Hans Hoeniger. He must still be wearing his cross. He didn’t think about it. He’s probably going to be in his dog collar and soutane as well. All utterly above suspicion.”