Blame the Dead

by Ed Ruggero

  Harkins knew what the first sergeant meant. “Yeah, she made me promise not to just start shooting people.”

  “I heard all about you and Captain Wilkins. You think it was him? Maybe he was pissed because you beat his ass today?”

  “I don’t know, but sure as hell he isn’t going to talk to me. Neither will Boone.”

  “Colonel Boone?”

  Harkins thought about how embarrassed Drake had been listening to Boone’s verbal assault on Ronan. “You saw how agitated he was when Ronan talked about Stephenson. You saw what he did to her.”

  “Still,” Drake said, sounding less and less sure. “That’s a long way from attacking a nurse. Besides, Colonel Boone was gone for part of the night,” Drake pointed out. “What time was this attack?”

  “About twelve thirty or so.”

  Drake looked at his hands. His life would be easier if Boone had an alibi. “He might have been back by then.”

  “Where did he go? Off-compound?”

  “He took that Kraut doctor, Lindner, with him about twenty-one hundred, twenty-one thirty or so. They drove out through the front gate.”

  “Any idea where they went?”

  “No, but it isn’t the first time. I already told you that Colonel Boone has pulled some strings to keep Lindner from getting shipped back to the States, like every other POW we’ve had come through here.”

  Harkins studied the big man. Drake clearly did not like him, but, as Felton said, he was completely predictable when it came to protecting the work done at the hospital. Drake knew what his most important mission was, and it was not shielding doctors from the law.

  “What do you know about Stephenson and Lindner?” Harkins asked. “Did you know they went to a bordello together?”

  “Yeah, I heard that, but I don’t know what to make of it. Stephenson was out of control in so many ways.”

  “I need your help, First Sergeant.”

  Drake looked at Harkins without changing his expression.

  A long ten seconds went by before he said, “What?”

  “Remember when Ronan said Stephenson was untouchable because he had something on Boone? Can you help me find out what that was?”

  Drake didn’t answer, and in the silence after Harkins’ question, the two men heard someone outside. Drake held his finger to his lips, then walked to a back flap of the tent. Opening it, he stepped outside and closed the flap behind him, so that he’d be clear of the light. Harkins did the same thing at the front of the tent, but saw nothing. When he came back inside, Drake was already sitting on his cot again.

  “See anything?” Harkins asked.

  “Not even sure I heard anything, to tell you the truth. Getting paranoid, I guess.”

  “Where do you think Lindner goes when he leaves here?”

  “I know he’s treating some colonel or general,” Drake said. “And given his specialty, I’d say the brass has the clap.”

  This confirmed what Donnelly had told Harkins.

  “Is that all he does? Goes there and comes back in?”

  “I don’t know. He gets picked up in a staff car and taken into the city. What he does beside that is anybody’s guess. Colonel Boone has given him all kinds of privileges that the Kraut shouldn’t have.”

  “He ever go into the city any other way? Take a jeep and driver, maybe?”

  “He did with Stephenson, but not by himself, as far as I know. But it’s possible he caught a ride with an ambulance or one of our trucks. The drivers all like him.”

  “They don’t care he’s a Kraut?”

  “Not since he saved that guy’s dick, the one who came in here all shot up. He’s a regular hero.”

  It was the same story Donnelly had told him. “So I hear,” Harkins said.

  Drake rubbed his face with meaty hands. “You know, I used to think I had a handle on what happened here. I used to think it was the enlisted men who would give me trouble.” Drake looked at Harkins again. “I’ll help you to the extent I can. I can’t drop everything and start working for you. And I won’t be disloyal to the colonel, won’t work against him unless I think he’s got something other than the best interests of the command in mind, the best interests of the patients.”

  “I understand,” Harkins said. “Thanks.”

  Harkins turned to go. Drake called him back.

  “Lieutenant,” he said. “I just need all this stuff to go away. I need to get a full complement of docs and nurses so we can concentrate on what Uncle Sam is actually paying us to do, you know?”

  “I do, First Sergeant.”

  “And if that means we have to get rid of a few bad apples, well, let’s make it as quick as possible, OK?”

  * * *

  When Harkins and Colianno made it back to the ward tent, they found Donnelly and Ronan awake and working, changing bandages on a kid with what looked like a half mile of white gauze wrapped around his chest.

  “We weren’t about to go to sleep,” Donnelly said when Harkins gave her a quizzical look. The four of them stepped outside.

  “I could sleep for a year,” Harkins said, running his hands across his face. He’d have to shave today, and he wanted badly to brush his teeth, which felt like they were wearing little fur coats.

  “What’s Boone’s next move?” Harkins asked. He stood, paced in front of the two nurses and his driver. “He’s getting rid of nurses; he got rid of Felton, and I think you’re next, Moira. Stephenson’s gone. Who else has been either close to Boone or causing him trouble?”

  “The Nazi,” Colianno said.

  “Lindner?” Donnelly asked.

  “Sure,” Harkins said. “Drake confirmed that Boone was pulling strings to keep the Kraut doctor here. Then there’s this whole Stephenson and Lindner at the bordello thing.”

  Harkins caught a whiff of coffee brewing down at the mess tent. He lifted his face after the scent.

  “OK, now what?” Donnelly asked.

  “Last night Boone and Lindner left the compound, and Drake told me sometimes Lindner leaves on his own. I want to find out where he goes.”

  “He has that patient I told you about,” Donnelly said.

  “The clap case, yeah, but maybe there’s something more.”

  He turned to Colianno. “You have relatives in Palermo?”

  “Cousins by the dozens,” Colianno said.

  “Can we get some to help us?”

  “Sure.”

  “And you trust them?”

  “With my life.”

  “And they speak English?”

  “Not a word.”

  “OK,” Harkins said. “We can still work with that. I want them to follow Lindner when he goes to see his patient. See if he goes anywhere else.”

  “Do we know when he’s going? To this patient, I mean,” Colianno said.

  “In the morning,” Donnelly said. “He asked one of the American docs to cover his ward, the POW ward, in the morning, from seven to noon.”

  “OK,” Harkins said to Colianno. “You’ve got to find out where this general is, get your cousins in place there by seven.”

  “You have someplace Moira can go for a while?” Donnelly asked Colianno. “Away from the hospital?”

  “You want to help her go AWOL?” Harkins asked. This wasn’t part of the plan taking shape in his mind, but he appreciated the simplicity of it. If Ronan disappeared into the city, using Colianno’s contacts, they would not have to worry about her being attacked or transferred; it would buy them a little time. Of course, she could also be court-martialed for going AWOL.

  Colianno looked at Harkins, who shrugged and said, “Honestly, I don’t have a better idea right now. Moira, what do you think?”

  “How long would I have to stay away?”

  “Until I get some answers about who attacked Kathleen, and what Boone’s next move might be.”

  “So you don’t know how long,” Ronan said. “What about the shortage of nurses?”

  “We’ll have to make do for a while
,” Donnelly said.

  Around them, the compound was beginning to stir with the early-morning rituals.

  “It’ll be light soon,” Harkins said. “Let’s get you out of here. We can always bring you back.”

  Ronan looked around. It was almost light enough to recognize people at a distance, and to Harkins it looked like that helped her decide.

  “OK,” Ronan said.

  Harkins wanted to move fast now. “You got someplace in mind she can stay?” he asked the driver.

  “Yeah.”

  “OK, take her there first, before you go looking for your cousins. I’d like to have you and them positioned as soon as possible, start following Lindner when he leaves this patient,” Harkins said. “I’m going to ask him about Stephenson and Boone and what all the hush-hush is about. Maybe he’ll give me something; maybe the attention will shake him up, cause him to do something.”

  When he said it out loud, Harkins thought it sounded like a long shot. He wondered if the detectives he knew back in Philadelphia also had these little crises of confidence.

  “Anybody has a better idea, now’s the time to say so.”

  They were all silent for a moment. A few feet away, a wounded soldier moaned in some nightmare, then woke with a start, sitting straight up, face contorted in fear, hands in front of him as if to ward off a blow.

  “No! Don’t!” he shouted.

  The soldier looked around, saw where he was, then lay back down. When it was quiet again, Donnelly turned to Harkins. “I want to go with Moira,” she said. “Not that I don’t trust you, Colianno, but I want to make sure she’s OK. Then I have to get back here for surgery.”

  “I’d rather you stayed here in the compound,” Harkins said.

  Kathleen put her hand on his arm. “I know you would, Eddie. Moira is my responsibility now.”

  Harkins knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. “OK, OK. But we’ll lose a lot of time if Colianno has to drive two of you into the city, then drive you back, Kathleen, before he looks for his cousins. Can we get you another driver? Is there someone you trust?”

  “Yeah,” Donnelly said. “One of the medical orderlies owes me a favor and he can sign out a jeep.”

  “All right,” Harkins said. “We all know what we’re doing, right?”

  Donnelly snorted. “Well,” she said, “we all know what we’re doing next, but that’s about as far as I’d go.”

  26

  4 August 1943

  0400 hours

  Eddie Harkins hurried to where the doctors’ tents were lined up, looking over his shoulder at the eastern sky, which was bloodred with the dawn.

  “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” he said to himself. “Red sky at morning, Captain Wilkins take warning.”

  He expected to find some people stirring—there were doctors on duty twenty-four hours—but he didn’t run into anyone. He checked inside the first two tents, shining a red-filtered flashlight on the men stretched out on their cots. In the second tent, one of the docs appeared to be awake and masturbating. When Harkins hit him with the light he turned toward the tent wall, but didn’t say anything and didn’t stop.

  Kathleen wanted him to think clearly, not give in to anger. What he thought was this: Wilkins was never going to admit anything to Harkins. And if he wasn’t going to get anything useful from Wilkins, he wanted to at least give the doctor something to consider, maybe give him pause the next time he was tempted to play tough guy. A clear, straightforward message that would come in handy.

  Wilkins was alone in the third tent, on his back, mouth open, arms folded across his chest, one leg dangling toward the floor. In three quick steps Harkins was inside, pistol drawn. He put one hand on Wilkins’ mouth and thrust the gun muzzle deep into the soft flesh beneath the doctor’s chin.

  Wilkins woke, eyes suddenly wide, the irises framed in a white ring. He reached for Harkins’ arms, then settled back once it registered that the MP held him at gunpoint.

  “Somebody jumped Kathleen Donnelly this morning, shithead,” Harkins said.

  He leaned closer, bent over Wilkins and the cot. He could smell the man’s breath, could see fear.

  “I don’t care about the why, but I will find out the who,” Harkins said. “Then it’s going to be a party.”

  Harkins backed out of the tent, put his weapon in its holster, and turned toward the POW encampment.

  * * *

  The prisoners lived in their own section of the hospital compound, with a military policeman manning a flimsy gate that couldn’t stop a determined toddler. Behind the MP, a few strands of barbed wire were nailed to some shaky fenceposts. It was pretty clear no one expected the prisoners to try to escape. The only ones healthy enough to run were the medical people—and according to Kathleen they were, to a man, dedicated to their patients, who were fellow prisoners. Once a POW got well enough that he might think about walking to Palermo, he got shipped out for the States.

  “Morning, Lieutenant,” the MP said when Harkins drew close. He saluted, and Harkins returned the courtesy.

  “I’m here to find the Kraut doctor, the colonel.”

  “The dick doctor,” the MP said, smiling. “Guy knows a lot about baseball. You know, for a Kraut.” He was tall, with a strong Boston accent. Harkins couldn’t see him well in the dawn light, but he knew the kid was smiling. Easy duty here.

  “The very one. You know if he was out of the compound last night?”

  “I just came on at zero-three, sir. Nobody in or out while I’ve been here.”

  “OK, so where do I find Colonel Lindner?”

  “You gotta go to their orderly room, Lieutenant,” the soldier said, pointing over his shoulder at a small walled tent. Harkins could see a kerosene lamp lit and perched on a field table. “We’re not supposed to let people go walking around through their compound.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “I’m not here to keep them in, Lieutenant. I’m here to keep GIs out.”

  “Somebody afraid we’ll disturb their beauty sleep? The Kraut POWs get to make their own rules now?”

  The MP shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Not quite.”

  “Well?” Harkins asked.

  “Some drunk GI went into one of the compounds down near Gela. Shot three unarmed POWs before they could take his pistol away. Killed them. Said he was pissed that they were going to the States and he had to stay in goddamn Sicily.”

  “Damn,” Harkins said, looking back over the MP’s shoulder. “OK, then. Is someone on duty there?”

  “Just head over there, Lieutenant. Someone will come along shortly.”

  Harkins went to the orderly room tent and waited outside. Within a couple of minutes a German noncommissioned officer approached, slapped his heels together, and said, in clear but heavily accented English, “Can I help you, sir?”

  The man’s tunic had been torn and repaired and appeared to be spotted with dried blood. But all the buttons were fastened and his face was clean and shaved.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Lindner,” Harkins said. “Show me his tent.”

  “Yes, sir,” the noncom said. “He is not there, sir.”

  Harkins cocked his head. Was Lindner already out of the gate? Did he even come back after his ride with Boone?

  “Where is he?”

  “Morning rounds, sir. Please come with me.”

  Harkins followed the German to the ward that held the POWs recovering from surgery or illness. Lindner, followed by an orderly, was moving from patient to patient, looking at paperwork on a clipboard he carried. Lindner spoke to the soldiers who were awake. When he came to a patient whose head was wrapped, his eyes completely covered in bandages, Lindner sat on the edge of the cot and put his hand on the man’s chest as he spoke.

  Harkins, who had envisioned himself dragging the colonel out of bed, decided he could wait.

  Finally, Lindner noticed him standing by the entry. The doctor finished with a patient, then gave some instructions a
nd his clipboard to the orderly.

  “You are here to see me, Lieutenant?” Lindner said as he approached. He looked serious, maybe a bit anxious.

  “Do you know who I am, Doctor?”

  “You’re investigating the death, the murder, of Captain Stephenson, correct?”

  “Yes,” Harkins said. “Let’s step outside, shall we?”

  The two men walked along a narrow footpath between the ward tent and what looked like a sleeping tent for the orderlies. Harkins could hear morning chatter inside—in German, of course.

  “You left the compound with Colonel Boone last night,” Harkins said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. Colonel Boone asked me to accompany him to Palermo. The American medical service is taking over the municipal hospital, the one I ran before the invasion, and he wanted to get my input on a few things.”

  “So you just went to the hospital and came back?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time was that?”

  “We left around twenty-one thirty, maybe a little before, and were back shortly after midnight.”

  “Colonel Boone go anywhere else? Maybe after he dropped you off?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Lieutenant. He certainly does not share his plans with me.”

  “You’ve become pretty friendly with Colonel Boone. He gives you all kinds of privileges that most prisoners don’t get. The American uniform, the freedom to leave the compound.”

  “Colonel Boone has indeed been very kind to me, and I know that this is against the wishes of First Sergeant Drake. Colonel Boone was familiar with some of my published work—from before the war—and I was able to be of some assistance on some particularly challenging surgical cases.”

  The two men reached the end of the short walk, where there was a sign in German. In smaller letters, like a subtitle, was stenciled LATRINE. They turned and headed back, simply pacing now. The older man spoke proper schoolhouse English. Harkins found himself matching the doctor’s speech patterns, which annoyed the cop a little. The Germans were all so formal, so by the book. It made Harkins want to cuss and slouch and dress like an unsoldierly slob.

  “Yeah, I understand you had quite the reputation as a surgeon, and that your work here has been very good as well,” Harkins said. “Captain Stephenson had quite a reputation, too. Though not a good one.”