James Benn - A Mortal Terror

“He had an argument,” she said. That got my attention. “The day before he was killed.”

“With who?”

“I don’t know his name. He was an infantry lieutenant, I could tell.”

“How could you tell?”

“You just can. The way they carry themselves. It sounds funny, but I just know. He wasn’t pretending at anything. And he wore the Third Division patch, the blue and white stripes. Probably a platoon leader.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I don’t know, but the lieutenant wanted help with someone, or something, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. Captain Galante finally agreed to help him, and then he left in a big hurry.”

“Help him how?”

“He just said, ‘Okay, okay, I’ll do it.’ That was it.”

“Thanks, Edie. And thanks for checking the list.”

“No problem. You two boys come back if you need anything.”

I said we would, but I knew she meant Kaz. I think she was already consoled.

“That was interesting,” I said to Kaz as we drove up the main road to the palace. “Had to be Landry. Who or what were they arguing about?”

“And did it have anything to do with who killed them?”

“Right. There has to be a connection there, to a person or persons unknown, or to someone we know. Inzerillo, Cole, who else?”

“Didn’t Signora Salvalaggio say that Galante and Father Dare discussed Louie Walla?”

“From Walla Walla,” I said automatically. “We should talk to Louie and the other sergeants. They held out before, protecting their pal Cole. Maybe they’re protecting somebody else now.”

“Landry? Perhaps he asked for help for his prostitute girlfriend. Perhaps she needed medical care.”

“Hmm. That would explain the argument. Galante was a straight arrow. He probably drew the line at brothels.”

“Or was drawn into one,” Kaz said. “Do you think we should try to find her?”

“It would eliminate a whole lot of questions if we did, either way.”

“Without Luca, perhaps we could persuade Inzerillo to tell us where she is,” Kaz said. His voice was harsh, and I knew he meant business. Kaz had been a gentle soul when I first met him, but now there were times when his intent was as grim as the scar on his face.

I remembered my first meeting with the sergeants of the Third Platoon, and the discussion about carrying captured souvenirs. Neither side liked finding evidence of how their comrades’ bodies had been looted. In the same breath that they condemned the Germans for mistreating captured GIs with German sidearms, they’d all but admitted doing the same.

Mistreating prisoners, or shooting them? I didn’t know, but I knew that in most units there was always one guy you didn’t detail to escort prisoners to the rear, if you wanted them to survive the journey. Hard men, I had thought at the time. Damned hard men, I thought as I turned the wheel and drove in the direction of Acerra, determined to get to the bottom of something in this cursed investigation.

We smelled the smoke from the center of town, and I had a bad feeling. Another bad feeling, on top of all the others. Black smoke churned above the rooftops ahead, and if I didn’t know where I was going, I could have used it as a beacon. Vehicles clogged the road near Bar Raffaele, and we left the jeep to walk the last hundred yards. A long flatbed truck marked Vigili del Fuoco stood in front of Bar Raffaele, two hoses attached to a large cylindrical tank pumping water onto the building.

The bar wasn’t the only thing burning. A U.S. Army truck in front of the main entrance was engulfed in flames, its burning tires producing most of the black cloud we’d seen from a distance. More smoke billowed out from the two windows, both partially blocked by the truck, which had been pulled up against the door, blocking the exit. Firemen tried to get near the windows but were driven back, gasping and coughing. We followed two of them down an alleyway, to the rear of the building that housed the bar. Empty bottles and rotting garbage were piled against the wall beneath a pair of windows, iron bars set into the masonry, probably to discourage thieves. One wooden door was set low, down a short flight of steps. A torrent of flame gushed up from the door, and I could make out a jerrycan at the base of the steps.

“Truck up against the front door, and a can of gas ignited at the back door,” Kaz said.

“He must have seen us,” I said, realizing I could scratch Jim Cole off my list of suspects.

“Who?”

“The killer. He saw us here and decided not to take a chance on Inzerillo staying quiet. But he knows Inzerillo’s guard is up, that he’s barricaded himself in there. So he uses it against him.”

“Cunning,” Kaz said as we stepped out of the back alley and went around the front. There, the flames had died down amid the swirls of acrid black smoke, and the fire truck pulled out to circle around the block. Kaz spotted a Carabiniere talking to onlookers and approached him as I tried to get a look inside. The wreck of the truck was too hot to get close to, and all I could make out was a gray haze inside the building. No telltale smell of burned flesh, but no sound of movement, no cries for help. The heat or the smoke must have gotten him. In his weakened condition, he couldn’t have moved fast enough to escape.

“He says witnesses saw the truck pull up alongside the entrance, but paid little attention,” Kaz told me. “Two of them saw an American soldier take something from the truck and walk around back. It was common knowledge that Inzerillo dealt in the black market, so it was not seen as unusual.”

“Could they indentify the GI?”

“No. He wore a helmet and had his collar turned up. They can’t say if he was an officer or enlisted man. Both claim not to have seen the fire start, front or back. The Italian officer says they are scared to talk, that if a tough bastard like Inzerillo could be killed, no one is safe.”

“I think that was part of the message.”

“It worked. These people look genuinely frightened. Should we check the truck?”

“No, it’s probably stolen. He used the spare gas can for out back, then probably lit a rag stuffed into the fuel line. Hoofed it back to his vehicle, and was gone before the local fire brigade got here.”

“There’s only one piece of good news in all this,” Kaz said. “He hasn’t played the queen of hearts yet. Perhaps the cards were a feint, to distract us.”

“Or maybe he had loose ends to tie up before he moved onto bigger and better things. Let’s get back,” I said. I didn’t think much of Inzerillo, but I didn’t like him added to the list of victims either. He was a loose end, and now no one would have to worry about him unraveling. I should have seen this coming. I should have seen Cole’s death coming, for that matter. I don’t know what I could have done about either, but that didn’t stop me from feeling responsible.

As we turned to leave, the Carabiniere whom Kaz had spoken to called him over and I watched as they talked, the conversation growing heated at the end.

“What was that about?” I asked as we walked back to the jeep.

“He asked if we had a vehicle to tow the truck away. He thought we were from the AMGOT headquarters in town. When I said we were not, he began to ask what our interest was with Inzerillo. I told him it was part of an investigation that Lieutenant Luca Amatori was involved in. He didn’t like that answer.”

“He probably didn’t like being kept in the dark, especially since the investigation involved an Italian civilian. Can’t blame him.”

“No, it wasn’t that. It was the mention of Luca’s name. He called him a Fascist, and a friend to the Nazis.”