I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. On the paratrooper’s sleeve was the camouflage insignia of an oberst. German for colonel, two green leaves with three bars underneath. I reached into his tunic pocket, knowing what I would find there.
“The corporal didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, showing Cassidy the king of hearts. “Take the handcuffs off Stump.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“A kraut? He’s killed a Kraut?” Heads turned as Major Kearns raised his voice. His worried tone did sound odd, since killing Krauts was our stock-in-trade. Several heads turned among the Corps HQ staff laboring underground.
“Quiet down, Major,” Harding said, hustling us off to a far corner of the wine cellar where clerks worked their Smith Coronas. Harding told them to take a break and we sat at the narrow table, typewriters in front of us, army forms and carbon paper scattered about. I’d brought Cassidy along because I thought an expert might explain things better than I could. I still didn’t quite get whether this murderer was crazy or not.
“Now calmly and quietly, tell us what happened,” Harding said. “I thought you had the killer in custody. Case closed.”
“I thought I had,” I said, laying the king of hearts found in Stump’s hand on the table. The edges were crumpled, but it lay flat. “Until Stump pointed out something I should have picked up. Colonel, you said your assailant used both hands?”
“Yes. He grabbed the binoculars with one and twisted the straps with the other. He pulled back on either side of my neck, so the straps dug into my throat.”
“Both hands would have been clenched shut, like this?” I stuck out both hands, mimicking the movement as Harding had described it. When he nodded, I opened my hands and a playing card fell out. It sat crushed next to the king of hearts, folded in on itself from the pressure of my grip.
“Somebody put that card into Sergeant Stump’s hand,” Kearns said.
“Yes. I wasn’t sure until we found the German colonel. It was by accident, really. A bunch of POWs were wounded in the bombing, and their guards brought in the Herr Oberst as well, thinking he might still be alive.”
“His tunic hid the bruises,” Cassidy said. “When I opened it up, they were clear as day, as well as the petechiae.”
“Speak English, Doc,” I said.
“Small red marks, burst blood vessels in the eyes and on the face.”
“That couldn’t be caused by concussion from a bomb blast?” Harding asked.
“No, and a concussion wouldn’t leave bruises shaped like thumbs and fingers on his throat. That man was strangled, no doubt about it. He had a leg wound, fairly severe. It would have caused him pain, made it hard to walk, but it wouldn’t have killed him.”
“Maybe he was unpopular with his men,” Kearns suggested.
“He was the only paratrooper in with the bunch,” I said. “The others were regular Wehrmacht. He couldn’t have made enemies that fast.”
“So our killer is still on the loose,” Harding said. “But it sounds like he may have shot his wad. He failed with me, and now he’s reduced to murdering a wounded POW. Hard to see how he could move onto a general after that.”
“No, not at all,” said Cassidy, shaking his head, as eager as a schoolboy with the right answer. He took one look at Harding’s frown and remembered to add “sir.”
“Colonel, please listen to Doctor Cassidy. He’s studied cases like this, and he has a theory.” Harding eased up on the frown and I nodded to Cassidy to continue.
“We are most likely dealing with a genuine psychopath here. Someone who totally lacks empathy for another human being. For him, a person is either a target or a tool, nothing in between. He has a self-centered view of the world, an overblown grandiose imagining of his own importance. For whatever reason, Red Heart has set up this card game, with the goal of filling his royal flush.”
“I’d hardly call it a game,” Kearns said.
“That’s because you’re not a psychopath. To him, it is a game. High stakes, since it’s all about him, but still a game. I know it’s hard to grasp, but this is a man who places no value on human life, except as it exists to benefit him.”
“So what’s your theory?” Harding asked.
“It’s important to understand a few things. Psychopaths generally have a need for high levels of stimulation. They are also very clever, manipulative, and versatile. Don’t imagine this guy as a drooling sadist; he’s a lot smarter than that and very good at covering up what he is. He can observe and copy emotional reactions, but he can never feel those emotions. He enjoys humiliating people who trust him. It’s one of the behaviors that stimulates him.”
“Is that what this whole card game is about?” Harding asked. “Stimulation? Showing us how smart he is?”
“Yes, exactly. And you were onto something when you talked about his failure to kill you. I thought it might knock him off course. Sticking to a long-term plan is not a psychopath’s strength. But he rebounded. He found a way, after being thwarted, to kill his colonel.”
“And that means what?” Harding said.
“That previously he was following a script. The victims he left his calling card with were all American officers. But now, he’s gone from almost being derailed to one card away from filling a royal flush. He probably sees himself as invincible. And he’s upped the ante, adding a German to his victims. So I’d bet he’ll go after a general for sure, and as soon as possible. Not an American, he’s broken that pattern.”
“A British general?” Kearns said.
“Unless you got any others around here,” Cassidy said. “Italian, French, it wouldn’t matter to him. What matters is upping the stakes. I think the POW murder was a desperation move, but one that may have reinvigorated him.”
“Wait a minute,” Harding said, holding up his hand. “Didn’t you just say that sticking to a plan is not what these nutcases do? He’s got one helluva plan here.”
“I think I know why, sir,” I said. “From what the doc told me, being in combat might be a psychopath’s dream. Lots of opportunity for killing, legit and otherwise. Arms and ammo. Rules and rank to hide behind.”
“As a professional army man, I might take offense at that, Boyle.”
“No, it’s not the army he likes. It’s war. War gives him everything. Death. Stimulation. Belief in his own power. I think something happened in Caserta that put Galante onto him. I was bothered by the order of the murders, but if you think about Galante being the first victim, it makes more sense. The cards were a cover, to confuse us. I think Galante wanted to help this guy. Maybe he told Red Heart he could get him into a hospital, heal him, something like that.”
“That would have instantly turned Galante into a target,” Cassidy said. “The last thing Red Heart would want to give up would be his freedom to kill.”
“So he planted the jack on Galante, then killed Landry? So Landry must have been the one to send him to Galante.”
“Exactly. Maybe he noticed something, and sent Red Heart to Galante to be evaluated.”
“Why not stop there?” Harding asked.
“Because he’d created a new pattern,” Cassidy said. “Remember, this isn’t a normal, logical mind at work. He may be addicted. Perhaps killing in combat no longer satisfies him.”
“But he also had a reason for each murder. You, Colonel, because you’re here to oversee the investigation. Arnold-” I stopped myself. I hadn’t thought about Arnold, but there was only one reason I could see. “Arnold, because he paid him off to have my brother transferred into the platoon.”
“Are you sure Major Arnold was the type to be bought off?” Harding asked.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Kearns said. “Rumor was he was in the souvenir racket, big time. No one paid it much mind, but I think it was more about loot than souvenirs with him. What do you think the killer’s motive was to get your brother in the platoon?”
“Simple,” I said. “To use him against me if I got too close. Insurance.”