A Mortal Terror

by James R Benn

  “There are a lot of kids out there, Boyle. I buy it that it will be better all around to get him out of the platoon, but there’s no time to get the paperwork going. Besides, all you need to do is not make a move until after tomorrow morning. That way we won’t tip our hand. After the attack, I’ll send up the proper paperwork, and it will look completely normal. Now, tell me what else you’ve got.”

  “Not much. I spoke to all of them about Major Arnold, but none of them seemed to know he was dead.”

  “They wouldn’t. They were all aboard ship by the time you found him. What else?”

  “We confirmed that Lieutenant Landry did have a girl at Inzerillo’s place. Seems he wanted her to go straight, but there’s no way to confirm that now.”

  “Boyle, you’re not exactly cracking this case wide open,” Kearns said.

  “I know,” I said, not wanting to admit that I was taking time to protect my kid brother. “I just need a little more time to get Danny out so I can press these guys harder.”

  “So you went easy on them today? Let me guess, you said it was just a social call, to see your brother. Picked up a little gossip, then headed back here to get the kid transferred. Am I close?”

  “I had to feel them out, Major. I couldn’t even interrogate them properly, since we were under artillery fire for most of the time. They had dead and wounded to deal with too.”

  “All right, all right. But press them hard next time. Find this guy, before he finds his next victim. I want him brought to justice, and I want it to happen before some Kraut blows his head off. Anything else?”

  “Only that Lieutenant Evans is worried about Sergeant Walla,” Kaz said. He hadn’t mentioned it to me, but between ferrying the wounded and driving through bombed-out ruins, we hadn’t had time for much conversation. “He says he’s changed since they’ve come ashore, as if something is worrying him.”

  “He should be worried,” I said, stating the obvious. “Any sane man would be.”

  “But remember Signora Salvalaggio telling us that Galante and Father Dare dined together, and that they discussed the sergeant?”

  “This is Louie Walla from Walla Walla?” Kearns asked. “Seemed like a happy-go-lucky guy to me.”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He did seem different to me today. Less cheery, none of that Walla Walla stuff. I figured he was all business out here, that’s all.”

  “He bears watching,” Kearns said, sorting through a pile of maps.

  “Louie was the one who plugged that German officer who killed Rusty,” I said.

  “Rusty Gates got it? Damn, he was a good man,” Kearns said as he gave up looking through the maps and rubbed his temples. He looked tired, the exhaustion of too little sleep and too much death.

  “I thought so too. Not the kind to let a Kraut fool him either. Apparently the guy was going to surrender but pulled his pistol and shot Rusty. Louie plugged him.”

  “Listen,” said Kearns. “I’ve been in combat with Rusty. If a Kraut had a pistol in his hands, he would have shot him dead. If it was in his holster and he went for it, Rusty would’ve put two rounds in his chest before he cleared it. There’s no way he would let his guard down.”

  “Unless the weapon wasn’t in the German’s hand,” Kaz said. “And the German was shot to inflict maximum pain and suffering. Two in the stomach.”

  “You’re saying the Kraut didn’t kill Rusty? But why would Louie, even if he is Red Heart?” I said. “What’s in it for him, especially in the middle of combat? Eliminating a veteran platoon sergeant increases everyone’s chance of getting killed.” I needed to question Louie about that. And to see if Evans really had offered to finish off the Kraut.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Kearns said. “I think we’re getting carried away. Focus on what you know. Hopefully the attack tomorrow will keep everyone busy, including the Germans.”

  It was a hell of a way to run an investigation, right in the middle of an invasion, my kid brother dead center, and hoping that the Germans left our killer alive long enough for us to catch him. It made about as much sense as anything else did.

  “Yes sir,” I said. “We’ll pick up tomorrow, after the attack.”

  “Good. There’s one piece of good news, anyway. Sam Harding is here.”

  “Colonel Harding?” Kaz asked. “He was still in London when I left.”

  “He flew in to give a briefing on the situation in Rome and among the Italian partisans. And, I suppose, to check up on your investigation. Sounds like Ike is worried about one of our own bumping off the brass. It’s one thing when Jerry does it, but it makes people nervous when they have to keep looking over their shoulder at every GI.”

  “Where is Harding now?” I asked.

  “He’s finishing up with Corps G-2. They’re located in an old Italian barracks in the Piazza del Mercato, just down the street. Tell him to meet me here when you’re done. I’m hoping he brought his usual Irish whiskey.”

  Kaz and I found the barracks, a thick-walled concrete building that made up in sturdiness what it lacked in looks. A 20-mm antiaircraft gun was set up in front, and I could see two machine guns on the roof, their barrels pointed skyward. Everyone was going to ground, setting up defenses, protecting themselves. Here, anyway. Up front, Danny’s outfit would be attacking in the morning, heading out in the open. It didn’t feel right. If headquarters expected the attack to be a success, why weren’t they moving up, too? Why go underground just a few hundred yards from the beach? Maybe they had their reasons, but it didn’t add up. Like Louie killing Rusty Gates. Like a lot of things.

  “Boyle!” The voice was unmistakable. Colonel Sam Harding, my boss. Who worked directly for Uncle Ike, maintaining liaison with the intelligence services of governments-in-exile and our own Office of Strategic Services.

  “Sir,” I said, standing at a semblance of attention. This wasn’t exactly the front lines, but it wasn’t good form to point out superior officers to snipers by giving a ramrod-straight salute. It was the kind of thing Harding would appreciate. “It’s a surprise to see you here.”

  “Let’s get some chow and you both can update me on your progress.” Pure Harding, no nonsense, no time wasted on pleasantries. I could tell he was in a good mood, though. He wasn’t wearing a dress uniform, and he was within the sound of enemy shells, with an M1 carbine slung over his shoulder. For a deskbound West Pointer and veteran of the last war, it was close to heaven.

  We followed him to the kitchen and had our mess kits filled. The cooks already had their portable stoves in operation, cooking fresh bread, roast beef, and canned vegetables. Danny and his pals were still eating K rations, but Corps HQ was already feeding on the A-ration diet, the same grub you could get at any base back in the States. We were all wearing helmets and carrying weapons, but that was no reason not to eat well.

  “Kearns tells me we’re up to the queen of hearts,” Harding said as soon as we sat at the end of a trestle table, far from the others.

  “Major Arnold, personnel officer,” I said. I told Harding about Danny and my suspicions about his being placed in Landry’s old platoon, and asking Kearns to arrange a transfer. Harding grunted, meaning he didn’t disagree but wasn’t going to go to bat for me either.

  “What have you found out about Landry and Galante?”

  “Landry was well liked by his men. He had a soft spot for a prostitute at a joint called Bar Raffaele in Acerra. There was some sort of fracas there and Landry and one of his sergeants, name of Flint, paid off the owner for damages. The owner, Stefano Inzerillo, claimed Landry never paid him anything. But he’d already been beaten to within an inch of his life, and was hiding something from us. We went back to question him again, but someone got there ahead of us and took care of that last inch. Inzerillo burned alive inside his own club.”

  “No playing card?” Harding asked in between mouthfuls of roast beef. I looked at Kaz, hoping he’d take up the slack so I could eat something, but he shoveled in a forkful of peas and shrugged. />
  “No. If it’s the same guy, he’s got one method for officers and another for everyone else.” I told him the story of Sergeant Cole, from the incident in Campozillone to the shot to the head in Caserta, not leaving out the rag doll I’d found.

  “Pearls?” Harding said in disbelief. Thankfully, Kaz chimed in with the story of Signora Salvalaggio, probably with a bit more history of the Italian monarchy than was necessary, but I didn’t mind because it gave me a chance to eat.

  “Galante knew about the pearls, and he knew Cole,” Harding said. “Perhaps he asked him to look for them.”

  “That’s likely,” I said. “He had the run of the palace. But I think the killer knew about the pearls, too, from the way Cole acted. Maybe he was being forced to hand them over.”

  “Are you certain the murderer is part of Third Platoon?”

  “Not certain, but everything points to it. Landry was platoon leader. Cole had been in the platoon; Galante got him transferred out. Arnold sent Danny and another ASTP kid in. They all hung out at Bar Raffaele.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Do you think this guy has some sort of grudge against officers?” Harding asked.

  “It seems he has a grudge against anyone who gets in his way,” Kaz said. “But the playing cards are something special. A calling card, so to speak.”

  “It’s interesting that the first body wasn’t hidden,” I said. “Landry was left in plain view. Behind a tent, but still where anyone could see him. Galante and Arnold were both hidden.”

  “Are you sure Landry was killed first?” Harding said. I was about to say of course he was, but stopped myself. Why assume that? Not because the killer put the ten of hearts in Landry’s pocket and the jack in Galante’s.

  “Not at all,” I said, drawing out the words and thinking it through. “Arnold’s body had to be hidden, to give the killer time to get clear of the scene. But the same logic doesn’t apply with the first two. If Galante was the first, then the killer had to place his body out of sight—”

  “To give him time to murder Landry,” Kaz finished for me.

  “Right. Which means Landry must have known that the killer was going to see Galante, and had to be silenced.”

  “Going to see him about the pearls?” Harding offered.

  “There’s no indication Landry knew about the pearls. There had to be some other reason.”

  “Simple,” Harding said. “He ordered him to.” I was about to say that was too simple, but for the second time, I saw something that was so obvious I’d missed it.

  “He ordered him to,” I repeated, letting it sink in. “But why? For what reason?”

  “Doctor Galante specialized in combat fatigue,” Kaz said.

  “But Galante wasn’t seeing anyone from Third Platoon. We checked his records.”

  “Off the books?” Harding suggested.

  “That would work,” I said. “The platoon was short on experienced men. If Landry didn’t want to lose a veteran soldier, he might ask Galante to talk to him on the QT.”

  “So, Landry sends a combat fatigue case to Galante. The guy goes off his rocker, kills Galante, then hotfoots it back to the bivouac area to kill Landry,” Harding said. “He comes up with the straight flush idea to confuse things, so it isn’t obvious that Galante was the real target. It puts Galante in among a group of victims, so we don’t see him as the primary victim.”

  “Then he didn’t go off his rocker,” I said.

  “What?” Kaz and Harding said at the same time.

  “It doesn’t fit. Who goes off his rocker and then executes a plan like that?”

  “Someone crazy enough to murder people,” Harding said.

  “That’s a tough one, Colonel. It sounds logical, but if someone is really crazy, as the law defines it, then he’s not responsible for his actions. But these are very well-thought-out actions, up to and including getting Danny in as part of the platoon.”

  Kaz shook his head. “Then what happened with Galante?”

  “Something that was a threat. A serious threat that had to be stopped in its tracks, and covered up with this card business. It has to be related to what happened at Bar Raffaele, which is why Inzerillo had to go.”

  “Perhaps the killer wanted to be sent home, and Galante refused to give him the diagnosis he needed,” Kaz said. “He gets angry, and before he knows it, Galante is dead. Then he has to kill Landry, to keep it all a secret.”

  “Or maybe it wasn’t combat fatigue at all,” I said. “Maybe Landry was helping out somebody who had the clap, asking Galante to treat him so it wouldn’t go on his record.”

  “Venereal disease isn’t exactly rare,” Harding said.

  “No, but perhaps a married man would not want it to be known,” Kaz said.

  “Or a priest,” I said, fairly certain that Saint Peter was putting a black mark next to my name for even suggesting it.

  “I’m heading over to see Kearns,” Harding said. “What’s next for you two?”

  “I want to find the Carabinieri who came along on this joyride. They may know more than they’re telling us about Bar Raffaele.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “A hunch is all,” I said. I didn’t want to complicate things by bringing up Luca Amatori’s stint at a Fascist concentration camp. That was my leverage, and I needed to keep it to myself. For now.

  “Okay,” Harding said, rising from the table with his mess kit. “I’ll be back tomorrow at 1100 hours. Report to me then. I need to send Ike an update on the situation. You’ll find me with Kearns.”

  That worked fine for me, since I planned an early morning visit to Le Ferriere. I wasn’t going to let Danny face the Germans alone, not with an American killer at his back. I knew Harding and Kearns wouldn’t be happy with my protecting Danny, or tipping off the killer. But it was my kid brother, so colonels and majors be damned.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  WE FOUND TENENTE Luca Amatori at the Anzio Carabinieri headquarters, set up in a seaside casino pockmarked with bullet holes from the initial assault.

  “Billy, Kaz,” he said, rising from his desk, which had originally been a croupier’s table. “I am glad to see you both. Is this a social call, or can I be of assistance?”

  “We could use your help,” I said as I took a seat. Luca’s desk was filled with papers, lists of names and addresses from what I could see. An ornate white-and-gold telephone on his desk rang, and he ignored it, nodding to an officer across the room who picked up the call on another phone.

  “Has it to do with the killings? The murders in Caserta?”

  “Yes. We need some more information on the connection between Bar Raffaele and Lieutenant Landry.”

  “But I already told you the little I know,” Luca said. “And we are quite busy, trying to provide for civil order.”

  “How many men do you have here?” Kaz asked.

  “One hundred and fifty.”

  “Might not some of them know of Stefano Inzerillo and his bar?” Kaz asked. “Surely some of them visited it for personal reasons, while not on duty, of course.”

  “I could ask, yes. But as you know, the American military police have jurisdiction in such matters.” Luca spread his hands and shrugged, to show how little there was he could do.

  “We don’t need help with jurisdiction,” I said. “I want to know more about the prostitute Landry was involved with, and what happened to her.”

  “Billy, how can I find a prostitute in Acerra while I am in Anzio?”

  “Listen, I know cops, and cops talk about things that are out of the ordinary. Like an American lieutenant trying to talk a prostitute into going straight. It’s the kind of naïve thing any veteran cop would get a laugh out of, you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, of course. But you must understand, the times are not normal. There are so many Americans, and so many prostitutes. My men come from all over Italy, it is not as if they are all from the area and know everything that goes on. Believe it or not, some of them
do not even frequent houses of ill repute.”

  “It sounds as if you’re making excuses,” I said. “Is there a reason you don’t want to help us?”

  “No, not at all. As I told you before, I have only been in the area two months myself. Some of my men even less.”

  “Maybe you were taking bribes from Inzerillo,” I said. “It wouldn’t take two months to set that up.”

  “You have no right to make such an accusation! Are you mad?”

  “What, cops in Italy don’t take bribes?”

  “Why are we even having this discussion?” Luca asked.

  “Because we find it hard to believe that an experienced Carabinieri officer would have difficulty with such a simple request,” Kaz said.

  “Nothing in war is simple,” Luca said. “And I do not take bribes.” He left the implication hanging like a fastball right over the plate.

  “But Capitano Renzo Trevisi does?” Kaz said.

  “The Capitano grew up outside of Caserta,” Luca said. “He knows many people.”

  “People in Acerra,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Stefano Inzerillo, for one?”

  “I would rather not say. He is my superior officer.”

  “Luca, I took you for a rookie when we first met. A guy who got a fast promotion, maybe due to the war, but a rookie nonetheless,” I said.

  “A rook-ee?” he asked, sounding out the word.

  “Someone new to the game. I thought the same thing when you came with us to Acerra, to interrogate Inzerillo, since you spilled the beans about Landry being dead.”

  “Beans?” He looked puzzled.

  “Yeah. Don’t you watch gangster movies in Italy? That was a rookie move, tipping Inzerillo off, getting him even more nervous than he was. But now I wonder, were you in on it with your capitano? Were you feeding information to Inzerillo and keeping watch on us at the same time?”

  “This is ridiculous! You and your American words, they make as much sense as your accusation.” He was right, I was making it up as I went along. I didn’t think Luca was in cahoots with Trevisi, but I had the feeling he was holding back, and pressure was the best way to find out what.