James Benn - A Mortal Terror

He was holding a sawed-off shotgun. But that wasn’t what surprised me. It was his face. Ugly purplish-red bruises covered it. His other eye was swollen shut, and he winced as he stepped back, the shotgun pointed to the floor.

“ Posare il fucile,” Luca said, in a tone that I would have recognized in any language, coming from a cop. Put the gun down. He did. “ Che e successo a lei? ”

“Who is the Americano?”

“A friend. Now tell us, what happened to you?”

Inzerillo steadied himself with one hand on a chair, then eased himself down into it. Broken ribs. I could tell by the way he moved, and by the sharp intake of breath between clenched teeth. Two fingers were taped together on one hand, probably broken. His knuckles were about the only part of him that wasn’t bruised, meaning that he hadn’t even gotten a good punch in.

“You were beaten by someone who knew what they were doing,” I said, walking around the table to look at Inzerillo from all angles. “Somebody who took his time, who wanted to inflict as much pain as possible, and still leave you conscious. He broke your fingers, cracked your ribs, worked on your face, but didn’t hit you in the head. Or your mouth, so he wouldn’t have pieces of your teeth in his fist. A connoisseur of pain, a man who enjoyed his work.”

“I fell down the stairs,” Inzerillo said in his thick accent. If he could have moved his face more, he would have sneered.

“A man who might come back,” I said.

“When did you fall down these stairs?” Luca asked him as he holstered his pistol and then removed the shells from the shotgun.

“Last week, I don’t remember. Venerdi? ”

“Did anyone see you fall down the stairs last Friday?” Luca asked. Inzerillo shook his head. “Where were your men, your bodyguards?”

“Ask them, if you can find the bastards!”

“What was the argument about?” I asked.

“I told you, I fell down the stairs. Am I under arrest?” He sounded hopeful.

“No, Signor Inzerillo,” Luca said with a sigh. “We have nothing to arrest you for. Clumsiness is not a crime. Gentlemen, do you have any other questions?”

“Talk to us off the record, Inzerillo,” I said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. The stand-up interrogation was not going to work, so why not try the one-guy-to-another technique? “We know a GI did this to you. Just tell us what you know about him and we’ll keep it quiet.”

“I do not know you,” Inzerillo said. “So I don’t trust you.”

“He is the nephew of General Eisenhower,” Luca said. Inzerillo rolled his eyes. The eye I could see, I should say.

“Were these the damages Lieutenant Landry came back to pay for?” I said, gesturing at his face and hands.

“The lieutenant never paid me for anything.”

“You knew Landry?”

“Sure. He has a favorite girl. Always trying to get her to quit, but she makes too much money. I think she breaks his heart.”

“What about a doctor, Max Galante? Or an army priest, Father Dare?” The chaplain had said he never came here, but a pistolpacking priest deserved a bit of distrust.

“We have a doctor who takes care of the girls, but his name is not Galante. And priests do not come here, thank God. What is Landry going to pay me for?” The wheels had started to turn in his beaten, larcenous head.

“One of Sergeant Flint’s men broke up the place?”

“No. Only I have been broken.”

“Falling down the stairs.” He nodded, as if I’d finally figured it out. “You know Landry’s sergeants? Gates, Flint, Stump, Walla?”

“Louie Walla from Walla Walla,” Inzerillo said. “Louie likes to have fun. Sure I know them, I know many GIs. It is my job to help them relax, to enjoy vino and amore.”

“What you sell here is not fit to be called either,” Luca said. “Come, he is not worth our time.”

“You sure you won’t let us help you?” I asked, giving it one last try. He laughed, coughed, and winced again.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Signor Inzerillo,” Kaz said. “It will be duly noted in our report.”

“What do you mean, Inglese? ”

“I am Polish, Signor, but I do wear the British uniform proudly. What I mean is that we will report to the Army Criminal Investigation Division, and to the Third Division headquarters, that you have fully cooperated and an arrest of the soldier who attacked you is imminent.”

“Huh?” Inzerillo said, trying to follow Kaz. “ Imminente? ”

“Yes, imminente. You should probably give the Signor his shotgun shells back, Tenente. He may need them.”

“No, you wouldn’t. It is a death sentence, and I am an innocent man!”

“I doubt that,” Kaz said. “Innocent men have nothing to hide.”

“ La santa madre di dio,” Inzerillo said softly. “Talk to Landry. He will tell you.”

“You don’t know?” Luca said.

“Know what?”

“He is dead. Assassinato.”

It was a rookie move to tell Inzerillo that Landry was dead. He hadn’t picked up on the past tense when we’d mentioned his name; his English wasn’t that good. Luca was more of a military man than a detective, so he didn’t get that if Landry knew whatever Inzerillo was trying to keep covered up, and Landry had been killed, Inzerillo would see the same thing might happen to him. Kaz’s ploy had been a good one, but after hearing Landry had been murdered, Inzerillo clammed up tight. There was nothing to be learned from him.

We left Inzerillo’s neighborhood behind, gladly, and took Luca’s suggestion to stop for lunch off the main piazza. The Trattoria La Lanternina was a different world. Clean sidewalks, delicious smells from the kitchen, tablecloths, and several Carabinieri at their midday meal. Any joint where bluecoats ate was okay by me. Luca stopped to chat with two officers and we grabbed a table.

“Friends of yours?” I asked when he joined us.

“Yes, we served together in the Fourteenth Carabinieri Battalion. I haven’t seen them for months. Tell me, was this trip worthwhile?”

“It was,” I said, before Kaz could say anything about Luca blowing our chances with Inzerillo. No point in showing him up. “We know that Landry knew something about what happened to Inzerillo, and was killed a day later. There might be a connection.”

“But no connection to Doctor Galante,” Kaz said. “He showed no recognition of that name.”

“Still, it’s interesting. And why did he deny that Flint and Landry went to see him? All the sergeants agreed that they had.”

“Maybe Landry went to see that girl he liked. Maybe that’s where the money went,” Kaz said. “Perhaps Inzerillo was afraid to admit there had been a fight, in case he would be closed down.”

“Could Landry and Flint have beaten him like that?” I wondered aloud. “Maybe he harmed the girl, and they took it out on him.”

“Or your Lieutenant Landry was insanely jealous of this prostitute, and killed her,” Luca said. “And then her family attacked Inzerillo and killed the lieutenant.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“No, but with no evidence, it makes as much sense as your conjectures.”

“I’ll talk to Flint and see what he says. I’ll bet the girl fits in somewhere. Any chance of finding her?”

“A prostitute, yes. A specific prostitute, never. If anything did happen with Landry, she will have disappeared. If not, she would not allow herself to be found by the authorities for obvious reasons.”

“Well, I don’t know of anything else we have to go on. Luca, if you hear of anything else from Inzerillo, please let us know. Kaz and I will check out the hospital and see what the staff has to say about Galante.”

Luca ordered as the waiter delivered a decanter of wine. “Since we spoke last night of Queen Margherita, I thought you should taste the dish named after her. Pizza Margherita. It is said that she scandalized the court by eating pizza bread from street vendors when she visited Naples. It used to be sold plain, rolled and eaten by hand. The story goes that she noticed the poor eating it and ordered a guard to bring her one. She loved it, and the people of Naples appreciated her for noticing their native food. A chef created a pizza dish in her honor, using tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and basil leaves, to represent the colors of the Italian flag: red, white, and green.”