“Cole just stood there,” Stump said. “Holding that rag doll. And I mean he stood there, looking into that burning basement. We couldn’t move him.”
“We found those Krauts,” Louie said. “They was hightailing it outta the church, four of ’em, makin’ for an olive grove. We’d split up, a squad on either side of the church. Soon as they saw us, it was kamerad, kamerad. But we wasn’t in the mood.”
“What happened with Cole?” I thought about pulling out the grenade and plunking it down on the table, but I didn’t know what that would tell me. If one of these guys put it on Cole’s desk, he might expect it. The rest would think I’d lost it.
“Landry came up with some medics and they checked him out, but he wasn’t wounded. Flint brought him to the aid station, just to give him a rest,” Gates said. “Since he wasn’t hurt, they didn’t know what to do, so Father Dare took over and took care of him for a couple of days. The padre brought him back, and he seemed okay. Quiet, not out of his head or anything. So we think everything is back to normal, that he got over the shock. We’re closer to Mignano now, and the next morning we shove off to occupy another hill. I left Cole’s squad in reserve, but we come up against a farmhouse with a bunch of Krauts holed up in it. I needed Cole to move his squad down an irrigation ditch to get closer, so I send him out. It’s good cover, and they get close, but they stay in the ditch. I crawl down there to see what’s the problem, and everyone’s looking at Cole, waiting for the order. But he won’t move, won’t speak. So I gave the squad to Flint, and we took the farmhouse. No casualties.”
“Did he say why he froze?”
“He said he just couldn’t do it anymore,” Flint said. “He was okay as soon as he got away from the shooting. But he said there was no way he could ever go up on the line again.”
“He wasn’t shaking in his boots or anything. He just said he couldn’t do it no more,” Louie said.
“It wasn’t like some guys who try to talk their way out of it,” Gates said. “He was ready to take whatever the army dished out, but he sure as hell was not going up on the line ever again.”
“Fourteen months, since Fedala,” Stump said. “That’s how long it took. Fourteen months and one morning in Campozillone.”
“We got Father Dare to talk to Captain Galante,” Flint said. “He’d just been assigned to the hospital here, and we knew he was an okay guy. If Colonel Schleck ever found out about Cole freezing, he would have transferred him to another company and courtmartialed him if he didn’t fight. We didn’t want that to happen.”
“Schleck claimed Galante got a squad killed,” I said. Now that everyone was in the mood to tell the truth, I wanted to get as much out of them as I could.
“Bullshit,” Gates said. “That wasn’t Cole anyway. It was another old-timer from Dog Company, couldn’t get out of his foxhole. Said he’d be dead if he did. Guy had the Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts, so he wasn’t goldbricking. Galante pulled him off the line and that very day his squad got caught in the open. The Bonesaw cut them to pieces.”
“So Galante got Cole transferred to CID?”
“Yeah,” Gates said. “That’s how it went. Cole was fine knowing he still had a job to do, but that he was off the front line. But we figured no one needed to know the whole story. No reason to embarrass him.”
“You all were okay with that? No one felt left in the lurch by Cole?”
“There but for the grace of God,” Gates said, to nods all around.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“There are no arms or weapons storage in the palace,” Kaz said as we settled in at the officer’s club. Neither of us had felt like eating, so we went directly to drinking. “There is a rule against carrying grenades within headquarters, but it is not well enforced.”
“Who’d want to go up against some guy fresh from the line?” I enjoyed the vision of a mud-encrusted, filthy GI, grenades hanging from his web belt, M1 slung over his shoulder, as he sauntered through the palace, scaring the pants off clerks and typists, not to mention the residents of the fancy mess hall upstairs. He would seem to be from another world, a wraith who lived underground and only came out to kill or die.
“The rule was made after a major posed for a photograph, kitted out like a combat soldier,” Kaz said, grinning. “Apparently he had political aspirations, and wanted a picture to impress his future constituents. Somehow he managed to pull the pin, then dropped the grenade and ran. The photographer threw it into a latrine, which thankfully was empty. The ensuing odor and destruction brought about the regulation against grenades as fashion accessories.”
“So the WP grenade probably came from a combat outfit.”
“Or it could have been stolen from a supply depot,” Kaz said.
“Basically we’ll never know. Hundreds of people were in and out of this place tonight. All of Cole’s sergeant pals, his padre, CID staff, even those Italians,” I said. I cocked my head in the direction of two Carabinieri officers in their dark-blue uniforms.
“Billy, the Italians are fighting on our side now. The First Motorized Combat Group performed admirably around Monte Cassino. They took heavy causalities.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. It’s just that Italians have done more shooting at me than I like. Takes some time to get over that.”
I finished my whiskey and got refills for both of us. I filled Kaz in on Cole’s story as I’d just heard it. When I was done, Kaz got the next round. We drank in silence; any words we might say would only seem trivial.
“What do we do now?” Kaz finally asked.
“What do you know about pearls?”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“Excellent question,” I said, leaning in closer. “There wasn’t time to tell you before, but Cole gave me something before he shot himself. Pearls.” I withdrew the necklace from my pocket, keeping it balled up in my fist. I passed it to Kaz under the table. “No one knows about this, so keep it out of sight.”
“Did Cole say anything?”
“ You’re the detective. ”
“Billy, this is-”
“Lieutenant Boyle, is it not?” I hadn’t noticed the two Carabinieri approach our table, but I was glad to see Kaz had, as his empty hand emerged from his jacket pocket.
“Yes,” I said. “Capitano Trevisi, this is Lieutenant Baron Piotr Augustus Kazimierz.” I remembered the captain from when we met the other night, but I drew a blank on the lieutenant by his side.
“Renzo Trevisi, at your service. Baron, this is Tenente Luca Amatori.”
“Please join us,” Kaz said, with a slight bow and a graciousness I would not have pulled off.
“Thank you,” Trevisi said. “We do not encounter many titled personages here, other than military, that is.” He spoke English well but with a thick accent, and slowly, so it took a second to realize he had made a little joke.
“Ah, yes. My title is a minor one from the Polish petty nobility. I was about to tell Lieutenant Boyle about the Italian House of Savoy, and the grand balls held in this very palace.”
“King Umberto and the great Queen Margherita of Savoy did reside here,” Trevisi said. “I am from this very town, and remember as a child watching their carriages parade through the streets. It was magnificent. Such a pity Umberto was assassinated.”
“At least it prevented Margherita from staying on the throne. She was a notorious Fascist supporter,” Luca Amatori said. His English was rapid and perfect. He was younger than Trevisi, and he had the impatient look of a guy who was tired of agreeing with his superior officer.
“Now Luca,” Trevisi said, in a weary parental tone. “Many of the wealthy and the aristocrats wanted stability after the last war, and they weren’t alone.”
“You’re not a fan of royalty, Tenente Amatori?” Kaz asked.
“On the contrary, Baron. I have the greatest respect for King Victor Emmanuel. He ordered the Carabinieri to arrest Mussolini, after all.”
“Yes, the Carabinieri were not great supporters of Fascism. The king felt safe to call upon us when it was time to get rid of Il Duce. Mussolini,” Trevisi clarified, for our benefit. “Old habits, you know. We had to call him that
