“Father Dare,” Flint said. “Regimental chaplain.”
“Last guy to see Landry alive,” Stump said.
“Not counting the guy what killed him,” corrected Louie Walla from Walla Walla.
T HE RAIN HAD let up, so as the three sergeants went to organize their squads, I walked back to where Landry’s body had been found. Smoke mingled with the fog and dressed everything in a dull, damp gray. I stood in the narrow pathway in the rear of the supply tents, an alleyway bordered by stakes and ropes from the tents on either side. I planted my feet where the killer must have stood to drop Landry’s body, and saw how he must’ve had to drag him by the collar to get him under the guy wires and up against the tent.
Where did you come from? I thought as I looked around. How far did you carry him? Why did you bring him here? I went back to the boardwalk and looked in every direction. More tents, more open space. Was Landry killed in a tent? No, then he could have been left there. I walked in front of the supply tent, and noticed the tire tracks in the mud. Trucks had been bringing in supplies constantly, backing up to the supply tents for easy unloading.
Here, Landry was killed here. In between trucks parked for the night. No, not for the night, just for a while. That’s why the killer had to move the body, if he didn’t want it found right away.
But why did he need the body not to be found? Why hide both bodies in places that only delayed their discovery? To show someone else? To frighten someone-a major, maybe? Or was it simpler than that? Maybe he had to go get a deck of cards. If that was it, then the cards were an afterthought.
So what if they were? That and a nickel would get me a phone call.
I shivered, mostly from the chill creeping up my boots, but also from the presence of murder. Here, on this meaningless patch of dirt, a man’s life ended. The air was different here, choked with mist, as if the specter of violence oozed from the ground. I looked around, feeling I was being watched, trying to pick out a pair of eyes focused on me and this patch of dirt. Nothing but GIs hurrying back and forth, killing time while waiting to be killed.
Maybe Landry would have been dead anyway in a week, maybe two, when they went back to the line. But that made those two stolen weeks all the more precious. Some bastard had taken that from him, and I was going to make sure he paid for his sins.
Before he added to them, I prayed.
CHAPTER TEN
“I was wondering when you’d pay me a visit,” Father Dare said as he invited me into his tent. He had his gear laid out on his cot, and was stuffing his field pack with thick wool socks. A communion kit lay open, the brass chalice gleaming from a fresh polish. Rosary beads lay curled on the wool blanket. “Have a seat, Lieutenant Boyle.”
“How’d you know I was here, Father?”
“Word travels fast, especially about the dead,” he said, as he sat opposite me in a folding camp chair, surrounded by stacks of hymnals. He sighed, leaned forward, and looked straight into my eyes. “How can I help you, son?”
Father Dare was maybe thirty or so, hardly old enough to call me son, but with the silver cross on his collar and the paraphernalia of the church all around him, I let it slide. He was a tall guy, with dark hair and thick eyebrows that almost met when he furrowed his brow. His eyes were bloodshot, likely from the night of poker and cigar smoke.
“No one else has been much help,” I said, unsure of exactly what I hoped to learn here. “It’s pretty much the same story everywhere. Lieutenant Landry was a good man, an officer the men could count on. Well liked. Captain Galante didn’t get along with Colonel Schleck and got himself kicked upstairs to the hospital at Caserta. He kept to himself, didn’t seem to bother anyone other than Schleck. What can you add to that?”
“That about sums it up. Landry was solid. Galante was a good doctor, I saw him in action many times. Are you Catholic, by any chance?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I thought you had the look of the altar boy about you. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir. Back in Boston. How can you tell?”
“Oh,” he shrugged. “I’m not really sure. Something in the eyes. A great disappointment at the ways of men and God. It comes from youthful adoration dashed on the rocks of death and despair. I see it in you, son. It’s clear the war has marked you. Have you been to confession recently?”
“Thanks, I’ll pass for now.” Not that I thought a chaplain could be a suspect, but until I figured out who was who, I preferred to keep my deepest and darkest to myself. “The war has marked everyone, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Some more than others. The sensitive ones, the ones who had ideals, they have it the worst.”
“Who does best?” I asked.
“The boys who had nothing, who were used to tough times. Not that sudden death and dismemberment are easy to take, but anyone who’s been hardened by life has a thicker skin, if you know what I mean. But sooner or later, it gets to everyone. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Is that what Captain Galante thought?”
“That every man has his breaking point? Yes, he did. That’s what didn’t sit well with Colonel Schleck. He didn’t like the idea that all the men under his command would break in time. I think it made him feel too responsible. It was easier for him to insist that some men are cowards, and the rest have to be led by example.”
“Just as long as I’m not the one to lead them.”
“No one likes being responsible for other men’s lives. I’d bet you have been, and the experience didn’t sit well with you.”
“Really, Padre, I’m okay. I don’t need to tell it to the chaplain.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me. For a while, anyway.”
“Pulling out soon?”
“The signs are all there. Plenty of supplies, extra socks, and ammo. Good food, replacements coming in. Not hard to figure. It pays to be ready.”
“From what the noncoms tell me, things have been pretty rough for your outfit.”
“Yes,” Dare said, looking right through me for a fleeting moment, as memories danced just out of his field of vision. “Rough. There seemed to be no end to the minefields, machine guns, and mortars.” He kept looking into that middle distance, the place where the mind’s eye sees everything it wants to forget. Finally he rubbed his eyes and sighed. He stayed quiet, and I wondered if he were praying.
“Sorry,” he said, standing. “We lost a lot of men before we came off the line after Monte Cesima. Took the starch out of my collar.” He forced a weak smile. “The men get torn up horribly. I never imagined there were so many ways to be wounded and still live. I work with the litter bearers mostly.”
“It’s hard to imagine there’s someone living in the midst of this carnage and committing murder,” I said, trying to bring Father Dare back to the present.
“Evil exists in the world, we know that to be true,” he said. “It saddens me, but comes as no surprise. This person must have a tortured soul. Perhaps the exposure to so much violence has released demons that might have stayed buried in peacetime.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“No, not generous-realistic. Being a man of God means that you also have to accept the devil for what he is. Why wouldn’t the prince of darkness haunt a battlefield, probing for weaknesses, uncovering what lies beneath our civilized exteriors?”
“I was a cop in civilian life. I found the reasons for murder were more mundane. Love and money usually topped the list.”
“Don’t you think it takes the devil to turn what once was love into murderous intent?”
“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to get into a theological argument. My money was on the devil within us, not the guy with horns and a pitchfork. “Did Landry or Galante have any problems with love or money?”
“There’s little time for love of the kind you mean. Lust can be satisfied for chocolate or cigarettes, I understand. I have no idea what Landry may have done while in town, but I know Captain Galante was not the type to pursue lust. He was a not a lighthearted man. He took his responsibilities seriously. Any free time he had he spent studying Italian culture. He loved the language, the history, everything about it.”