“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.”