by James R Benn
“It could have been just one of them, with the second man killed to confuse us.”
“I’m confused enough as it is. The only thing I’ve found out is that Cole held something back from me. He’s only been with CID a short time. Before that he served in the 3rd Division and knew everyone in Landry’s platoon. They all refuse to talk about it, as if they’re protecting him. Colonel Schleck, who runs Personnel for the division, says Galante got a squad killed, and that Cole knows all about it.”
“Do you think it’s true?”
“Schleck seems convinced. What’s more important is why Cole held that story back, especially any relationship he had with Galante.”
“If Galante was somehow responsible for an entire squad being killed, that could be a strong motive,” Kaz said.
“Yeah, and I wonder if any of those guys were Cole’s buddies.”
“Let us find the sergeant,” Kaz said, “and discuss this with him.”
“Maybe after we get some chow. I’ll fill you in on my Swiss vacation.”
“Switzerland? How…”
“What’s going on over there?” I said, interrupting Kaz and pointing toward the palace. To one side, among the jeeps, trucks, and ambulances lined in neat rows, a growing mass of people was gathering, many of them pointing to the roof of the palace. We hurried closer, curious as to what the hubbub was all about. GIs, officers of all ranks, nurses, and civilians began to jostle us, eager to get closer to a break in the endless routine of headquarters work. No one seemed to know what was happening, but no one wanted to miss it.
Vehicles were started and headlights lit the wall of the palace. Lights went on in windows as they were thrown open and heads peered out, looking up, then down at the crowd, then up again. The sun had begun to set, and the roof, a full five stories up, blended into the dark gray sky. The headlights only made it worse with their bright angled glare. Someone found a searchlight mounted on a truck and switched it on. A harsh white light played across the building, and I could see people in the windows covering their eyes, turning away. The beam darted back and forth until it caught a pair of boots dangling from the edge of the roof. Then the full form of a GI, his hand shielding his eyes. Even at that height, with the mask of an outstretched palm covering his face, I knew we’d found Sergeant Jim Cole.
I raced up the stairwell, looking for a way to the roof. Kaz was right on my tail, keeping up as we hit the fourth floor. Not too long ago, he would have stopped, gasping for breath halfway up. I didn’t know if his heart could take it, but I figured Kaz was more interested in living what life he had than worrying about dying.
One more floor, and we found Kearns at the base of a narrow set of stairs, with a couple of MPs keeping the curious at bay. “It’s Cole,” he said.
“Yeah, I saw him. What happened?”
“You tell me. He came to see me this afternoon, looking for you. Next thing I hear, he’s on the roof. What did he say to you?”
“Nothing, I just got back from 3rd Division.”
“Well, get up there and talk to him, dammit! Bring him in, Boyle.”
“Yes sir. I’ll need some rope.”
“You’re going to tie him up out there?”
“No. It’s for Kaz. Tie it around his chest and anchor it to the stairs. Then send him out. I may need something to grab onto and it’d be nice if it stayed put.” Kearns sent an MP and I took the metal stairs, holding onto the thin rail as the walls narrowed and ended at a small wooden door. I opened it and had to duck to squeeze through.
It was windy. Windy and dazzlingly bright, as the searchlight caught me square in the eyes. I stumbled back, grabbing for the door, but it had shut in the wind. I grabbed air, slipped, and felt myself sliding down a section of roof, panicking in my near blindness. My leg jammed up against a low wall, but my head kept going until it hit granite. It hurt, but not as much as the idea of falling. The searchlight moved on.
“I’ve been thinking about shooting out that light,” Cole said, his voice even and low, eyes on the crowd below. We were on a flat section of the roof, a narrow catwalk at the corner of the building. Above us the roofline sloped into the night. Below us, a long fall to hard ground. A knee-high wall was all that separated me from air. It did less for Cole. He sat on it, his boot heels dangling into space. A. 45 automatic rested in his hand, and he gestured with it lazily toward the searchlight.
“I’ll do it for you,” I said, hoping for a chance to establish a common bond. I untangled my legs and stood. Or more accurately, leaned against the roof, as far from the edge as possible.
“Don’t come any closer,” Cole said.
“Yeah. Or else you’ll jump. Pretty obvious. What’s with the gun? Can’t make up your mind which way to check out?”
“What? Why’d they send you out here anyway, Lieutenant, to crack jokes?” He still didn’t look at me.
“No, I’m serious. I was a cop back home, saw my fair share of suicides. Usually they picked one method and stuck to it. Did you have a plan when you came up here?” One thing my dad taught me is that it’s a rookie move to tell any jumper that this too shall pass, you’ll feel better in the morning, that sort of stuff. It’s likely he’s already heard it, and it didn’t stop him from climbing to the top of the highest thing he could find. Sometimes a person would jump just so he wouldn’t have to listen to another idiot lecture him. No, best thing was to go right at him, ask him what he planned to do. It let him know you took him seriously, that you knew he was in pain. Then, maybe, he might talk.
“The gun is for anyone who tries to stop me,” Cole said, finally giving me a quick glance.
“Listen, if you think I’m going to grab you and let you wrestle me off that ledge as you make your swan dive, you got another thing coming. This is as close as I get. Tell me what happened today.”
“Today? What do you mean?”
“You didn’t come up here yesterday. Or the day before. Not that I know of, anyway. So what got you on this ledge today?”
“You wouldn’t understand. You couldn’t, or you’d be up here yourself. I keep seeing them. Especially the little girl. I see her in my dreams, and she’s alive. She’s holding her doll, like kids do, you know? Then I wake up, and I know she’s dead. I can’t go on any longer, I can’t.” Cole spoke in a deliberate, slow voice. The voice of a man who was sure of himself. This wasn’t a cry for help; this was a guy in the last moments of his life. I needed to get him thinking in a different direction.
“Why were you looking for me today? Was it about the case?”
“It’s nothing. Meaningless.”
“Come on, Cole, help me out. If you jump, I’ll be all alone on this investigation. Tell me what you know.” What I knew was that this wasn’t the time to ask about dead squad mates from the 3rd Division.
“I don’t know anything. Except that nothing matters, no matter what you do. You try to do good, but it turns evil. You try to save lives, but you end up taking them.”
“This is war, Cole.”
“Innocent lives. I can’t forget them. He won’t let me. I can’t carry this any longer.” He thumped his chest, once, then again, harder. “It’ll never go away, never.”
“Who won’t let you?”
“He was my friend,” Cole said, his voice breaking. “I see it in his face, see everything all over again.” He began to sob now, rocking back and forth on the ledge. I reached out to steady him, but his gun hand was up in a flash. “Don’t touch me!” His face was contorted in agony as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Okay, okay. Just tell me, Cole. Who are you talking about?”
“Everybody wants something, don’t they? You do, the army, the Krauts, you all want something. Answers. Blood. Promises. But I’ve got nothing left to give. I’m going crazy, I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to see that face for the rest of my life. I see that doll too, a rag doll in a red dress. Even when I’m awake, I see it. I don’t want to live like that. I can’t.”
I heard a noise behind me, and hoped it was Kaz.
“Shoot the light,” I said. “Shoot the damn searchlight!” It was all I could think of.
“There’s people down there. Are you nuts?”
“You’re a combat infantryman, Sergeant Cole. You telling me you can’t hit a big, blazing searchlight dead center at this range?”
“What do you care?”
“You’re the one about to kill yourself, so what do you care?” It was like daring a kid to break a window back home. What are you, chicken? I heard the door move on its hinges.
“Okay,” Cole said, taking the dare. “But first, in case someone shoots back, I have something to give you.” He reached into his pocket, and tossed a double strand of pearls into my hand. Pearls? Smooth white pearls. I was dumbstruck.
“What’s this?”
“You’re the detective,” he said. He stood, balancing his weight, and raised his arm, aiming the. 45 at the searchlight. A murmur rose up from the crowd, and I hoped it covered the sound of Kaz coming through the door.
It didn’t. I leapt, but Cole saw my move and sidestepped away from me. I came down hard on the edge of the granite wall, Kaz hanging onto my legs, the breath knocked out of me. I looked up at Cole, surprised at how agile he was, and tried to think of what to say.
“Don’t jump.” It was all that I could come up with, and it came out in a wheeze as I gulped air.
“I’m not going to,” he said, and took another careful step away from me, sliding his feet along the narrow ledge. He raised the automatic and placed the muzzle under his chin. He didn’t move as the searchlight played over him and the crowd below gasped. He stood, rock solid, until the slightest movement of his finger shattered the night with a sharp noise, blood, and bone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Who was that up there?” Phil Einsmann asked. He’d been coming upstairs as Kaz and I headed down, and he turned to descend with us. He handed me a handkerchief, and I must have looked at him dumbly because he made a rubbing motion. I ran the handkerchief across my face and it came away red-streaked. I’ve never gotten used to the tremendous power of the human heart, and I don’t mean its capacity to love. I mean as a pump. The last mechanical function at the moment of death by violence, the release of crimson as if the body is leaving its final mark upon this Earth. And on anyone who happens to be close by.
“It’s not a story, Phil. Not one his folks back home need to read, anyway.”
“I’m not asking as a reporter, Billy. I have a lot of friends here. Who was it?”
“Jim Cole. Sergeant with CID. Did you know him?”
“No, not really. I heard he was new with CID, saw him around, but those guys are a tight-lipped bunch. What set him off?”
“Hard to say.” I meant it.
I handed Einsmann his handkerchief, but he told me to keep it. Couldn’t blame him. I introduced him to Kaz, and then left him to go to CID. I didn’t feel like talking right now, and Kaz could tell. He took the handkerchief and wiped the side of my neck. The top of my jacket was covered in tiny dots of drying blood, and I hoped it wasn’t too noticeable. We walked among people filtering back to what they had been doing before the crazy sergeant shot himself on the roof. Shaking their heads, telling each other it was unbelievable, the poor guy must have been off his rocker. All the things people say to put as much distance between their own lives and the suddenness of death.
That was one of the terrifying things about being on the line. There was so little distance. Death was all around you, and not just during combat. It could be a mine where you didn’t expect it, a sniper shot, or a random shelling. It’s why you lived in a hole in the ground, getting as much distance as possible between yourself and the rest of the world.
I found myself standing in front of the door to CID. Staring at it. Kaz was standing by, patiently. I rubbed my eyes, shook my head, and wished I had a hole to crawl into.
“We don’t have to do this now,” Kaz said.
“Yeah, we do. I don’t want anyone going through Cole’s stuff. Might be a clue there.” I put on my cop face and opened the door.
An MP sat at his desk, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. “Jeez, Lieutenant,” he said, shaking his head. “Can you believe it?”
“Did you see it?” I asked.
“Yeah, we were trying to keep people back. That shot. The blood. I couldn’t believe it was Jim.”
“Was he acting strange at all?”
“No more jumpy than usual. He spooked easy. But I never figured he would kill himself. Jesus.”
“Did you see him leave here?”
“Yeah, I did. He went into his office, then came out a few seconds later. He must have gone straight to the roof. Jesus.”
We left the MP and went into the office Cole shared with the other CID investigators. It was empty. Cole’s desk was clean as a whistle except for the white phosphorus grenade set square in the middle of it.
“What is that?” Kaz asked, stopping short of the desk.
“It’s a new kind of grenade. M15 white phosphorus.” I walked around the desk and studied it. The safety lever and pin were both securely in place. It was about the shape and size of a beer can, painted gray with a yellow stripe around it. “When it bursts, the phosphorus makes white smoke, good for cover. It also burns incredibly hot, thousands of degrees, I’ve heard. It’s used for taking out pillboxes or fortifications, if you can get close enough.”
“Why would a CID agent have one?” Kaz asked.
“No reason at all,” I said, opening the two drawers on the side of the desk. The playing cards Cole had shown me were there, along with forms, pencils, an empty holster, and an Armed Services Edition paperback- Deadlier Than the Male, by James Gunn. I flipped through it and two photos fluttered to the floor.
One photo was of Cole standing in front of the Caserta Palace with two people. One of them looked like Captain Max Galante. That was a surprise, but not as much as the other.
“This is Signora Salvalaggio, Galante’s former cook and landlady,” I said. “What was Cole doing with them? For that matter, what was Galante doing with her?”
“We can ask her tonight,” Kaz said. “I am billeted with you.”
“Good, because she doesn’t speak English,” I said, as we studied the other photo, which was much more worn at the edges. It showed three GIs, arms around each other, weapons slung over their shoulders and wine bottles in their hands. It looked like a hot and dusty summer’s day. Sicily, maybe.
“That’s Cole, on the left,” I said. “And Sergeants Louie Walla and Marty Stumpf. Third Platoon. Let’s find these guys. It’s time for secrets to be told.”
We asked the MPs on duty about the WP grenade. No one had noticed it, or seen anybody bring it in. I carefully put it in my jacket pocket and we headed for the jeep. On the main floor I spotted Father Dare, and he made a beeline for me.
“Is it true? Cole killed himself?” He looked stunned, his eyes wide with hope that I’d tell him it was all a mistake.
“Yes, Father, I’m sorry to say it is. I’m heading out to find the other sergeants now. Anything you want to tell me about Cole before I do?”
“I wasn’t there, Lieutenant. Better let them tell you,” he said. “You don’t have to look far, they’re all over at the NCO club. Passes were cancelled, so they drove over here to have a few beers. They told me about Cole.”
“They saw it happen?”
“Yes, Rusty told me. They were walking to the NCO club when they saw all the commotion. Was that you up there with Cole?” He glanced at the stains on my jacket, then locked eyes with me. “What did he tell you?”
“Not nearly enough. Where’s the NCO club?”
“Across the way from the main entrance there’s a row of Quonset huts. It’s marked, you can’t miss it.”
“What were you doing here, Father?”
“I came for a good meal at the officer’s club. I have a feeling we’re pulling out very soon. More re
placements came in today; we’re almost back to full strength. I think I’ve lost my appetite, though. Good night, Lieutenant.”
“Good night, Father. I’m sorry.”
Father Dare walked away, looking distraught.
“Isn’t the clergy supposed to comfort others?” Kaz asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “What do you make of a poker-playing padre who carries a. 45?”
“You can be religious and still wish to defend yourself. And to gamble.”
“No law against that. Listen, while I talk with these guys, will you ask around and find out if there’s an armory in this joint, or nearby? Some place where they have M15 WP grenades?”
“Do you think it had anything to do with Cole’s suicide?”
“I don’t know. It could be evidence from some other case, for all I know. See what you can find, and we’ll meet at the officer’s mess and compare notes.”
It’s not unheard of for an officer to grab a drink or a meal at a NCO club, but as a courtesy he’s expected to ask permission of a senior noncommissioned officer present. I spotted Rusty Gates and figured a platoon sergeant was senior enough.
“Mind if I join you fellows for a while?” Gates was sitting with Louie Walla from Walla Walla, Flint, and Stump. It was a subdued crowd. “Be glad to buy a round.”
“You just bought yourself a chair, Lieutenant,” Flint said, making room at the table. Gates gave me a nod, then signaled to the bar for five beers.
“Call me Billy, fellas. I was a cop back home, and I still turn around and look for my father when someone calls me lieutenant.”
“You’re in the family business, then?” Flint said.
“Until the war, yeah.”
“Looks like you’re still keeping your hand in,” Stump said. “Asking all those questions.”
“And I’ve got more. That’s why most cops don’t have a lot of friends outside the job. Always asking questions, it tends to get on people’s nerves.”
The beers came, and I waited to see who would say it, if anyone would. I held onto my bottle, half-raised in a toast.
