“That’s what everybody says,” I said. “Funny that he got murdered. What do you think, Louie?”
“I think I’d like to get my hands on whoever done it. Now we got ourselves a ninety-day wonder for a platoon leader, like to get us all killed if he ain’t smart enough to let Rusty run things.”
“I think Billy is asking what we think about who might have killed him, Louie,” Flint said. “Not about his replacement.”
“Yeah, sure. Well, no one had a beef with him that I know of. He was real good to us, on the line and off. Kept the MPs off our backs, that sort of thing.”
“He a big gambler?”
“No,” Stump replied, and the others shook their heads in agreement. “No more than the average Joe. Helps to pass the time. But he didn’t owe anyone, I’m pretty sure.”
“You think that’s why the ten of hearts was left on him?” Flint said. “Like a warning not to welsh?”
“No, you don’t kill a guy who owes money, unless it’s to make an example.”
“Hell, if the Lieutenant needed dough, any of us woulda been glad to cough up what we had,” Louie said. “We all looked out for each other. I woulda given the shirt off my back for the guy. Saved my life just a coupla weeks ago. Pulled me outta the way of a Kraut 88. Took the arm off a guy not twenty yards behind us. And Flint, he saved Landry’s life more than once, right?”
“Yep,” Stump said. “He plugged that Kraut officer we thought was dead. He was about to put a slug into Landry’s head. Flint shot him from fifty yards out, square in the back of the head.”
“Nice shooting,” I said.
Flint shrugged. “Lucky. I was just hoping these guys would hit the dirt. The guy only had a Walther.”
“Worked, didn’t it?” Stump said. “I dove into a shell hole filled with mud. I would have shot that sonuvabitch just for getting me wet. Landry gave that Walther to Flint, and he sold it to some headquarters weenie for a load of booze when we got sent here.” He grinned.
“Yeah, there’s no percentage in carrying a Kraut pistol,” Louie said. “You get captured, especially by the SS, and they take exception.”
“Don’t like it much myself,” Flint said. “Finding a Kraut carrying around anything from our boys.” There were murmurs of agreement, and I knew I was in the presence of hard men, men who knew how to survive, to put away mercy until another day. Kinder men than them were buried in graveyards for hundreds of miles behind us.
“You guys have any trouble with the military police?”
“Naw, nothing that you’d call trouble,” Stump said. “We ain’t had time to get into any real trouble. A few twelve-hour passes that got us as far as Acerra, a town about an hour south. It ain’t much, but it’s still in one piece, so it’s the best place to go if you can’t get to Naples.”
“Landry go down there much?”
“A few times, sure,” Flint said. “We saw him having dinner with some other officers at a cafe, that sort of thing. He and I had to go down there the night before he died, as a matter of fact. One of the men in my squad started a fight, broke up a joint pretty bad. We had to square it with the locals.”
“What kind of joint?”
“The kind with booze and broads,” Louie said, grinning as he clamped the cigar in his mouth. “We didn’t want the MPs to declare it off-limits, so we took up a collection, fixed things with the owner.”
“Landry knew it would be better all around to keep things quiet,” Flint said. “Give the boys a place to blow off steam, and keep a good soldier out of the stockade. All it took was a wad of occupation scrip.”
“No hard feelings with the locals?”
“No,” said Flint. “And even if there were, no civilian could make it in here, never mind get the drop on Landry.” He was right. I’d had a flicker of hope that this could be traced back to a barroom brawl, but it didn’t add up. This killer was in uniform, invisible to everyone around him. A strong, experienced killer.
“You all know Landry a while?”
“Yeah,” Stump said. “He was with battalion staff when I got transferred in, back in Tunisia. Landry brought Louie with him when he got the platoon just before Sicily. Flint’s been around the longest, since Morocco, right?”
“Yep,” Flint said. “Not many of us left from back then.”
“Any other sergeants in the outfit?” I asked. “Assistant squad leaders?”
“We was the assistant squad leaders,” Louie said. “We got promoted due to sudden vacancies opening up. Ain’t enough noncoms to go around, so no more assistant squad leaders. Just a bunch of green replacements.”
“We’re supposed to have twelve-man squads,” Flint said. “We each have two or three experienced men, but none ready for corporal’s stripes yet. Plus about a half-dozen replacements.”
“Are you getting any of the ASTP replacements coming in?” I asked.
“Them college boys? Be more trouble than they worth,” Louie said, crushing out his cigar.
“Aw, you never know,” Stump said. “Keep an open mind, will ya?”
“My kid brother is in ASTP,” I said, unexpectedly bristling at Louie’s insinuation. “I think he’ll do alright if it comes to that.”
“No offense, Lieutenant,” Louie said. “You know how it is with replacements.”
“Yeah, I know. Tell me, did any of you know Captain Galante?”
“He patched me up once,” Flint said. “Got a piece of shrapnel in the calf, and he took good care of it. Let me lay around the hospital for a couple of days, with all those pretty nurses. He was a decent guy.”
“That’s what I heard too,” Stump said. Louie agreed.
“Any idea who’d want him dead?”
“No,” Stump said, looking at the others, who shook their heads. “He wasn’t like a lot of the other officers. Didn’t drink a lot, kept to himself. Didn’t you tell me, Flint, he had a thing for Italian art?”
“Yeah, right,” Flint said, snapping his fingers. “He told me all about the fancy artwork they have in the churches here. I don’t remember the names of the artists, but he knew them all. He knew all about Italian royalty too. Me, I didn’t even know they had a king over here until he fired Mussolini. King Victor Emmanuel, it was. Galante told me all about them, how the royal family used to have fancy dance balls right here in Caserta, in the palace.”
“A real bookworm,” Louie said.
“Louie, you got no class,” Stump said. “Billy, you got any other questions? We gotta go get our boys ready for inspection. Everybody gets a pass into town once we’re done.”
“Just one. What about Jim Cole?” There was silence, and three sets of eyes looked everywhere but at me. “What’s the big secret?”
“Nothing,” Stump said. “Cole’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, leave him out of this,” Flint said. “Let’s go.”
Louie shrugged, and they all stood.
“Don’t you feel bad taking all that dough from the padre?” Stump said.
“I’m going to give it back, most of it anyway. For some worthy cause,” Flint announced with a grin. “I just wanted to hang onto it for a while, make believe it was mine.”
“Who’s the padre?”
“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.
