Read Online A Mortal Terror by James R. Benn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James R. Benn
Tags: Historical, Mystery
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Especially the Southern boys.”
“Everything will probably smooth out once they get up on the line,” I said. Yeah, it’ll be peachy up there, one big happy family united by butchery and misery.
I saw Major Kearns making his way through the crowd, with two Carabinieri officers in tow. They both wore dark-blue dress uniforms, with the flaming grenade emblem of the Italian national police on their service caps.
“Lieutenant Boyle,” Kearns said, after a nod of greeting to Einsmann. “This is Capitano Renzo Trevisi, and Tenente Luca Amatori. Capitano Trevisi is in charge of the local Carabinieri garrison.”
“Billy Boyle,” I said, standing to shake hands.
“Pleased to meet you,” Trevisi said in heavily accented but precise English. He looked to be about forty, with a thick, dark mustache, a slight paunch, and a friendly smile. “If I can be of any assistance, I am at your service. Major Kearns has told us of your investigations. I do not think there is any civilian involvement in this unfortunate matter, but please ask should you require anything.”
“Thank you, Capitano, I will.”
Trevisi spoke in Italian to his lieutenant, who had been silent during the exchange in English. I heard Galante and Landry’s names mentioned as he gestured to me. “Tenente Amatori will provide whatever you need if I am not available. Buona sera .”
“Interesting,” Einsmann said as they moved off.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen Italian officers here before, army or Carabinieri. I wonder what’s up?”
“Well, the Italians are on our side now. They have a combat group fighting near Cassino, and most of the Carabinieri are loyal to the new government. Stands to reason they’d show up at HQ sooner or later. Plus there have been two murders.”
“Yeah,” Einsmann said. “But the killings are an army matter. No way they’d let the locals in on that unless they needed them for something.”
“Well, not my problem,” I said as I watched Kearns and the two Italians huddled in conversation. Maybe it was somebody else’s problem, maybe not. I decided I had enough to worry about without adding Italian cops, and got back to the subject of Galante.
“This Colonel Schleck, who got Galante transferred out. Where do I find him?”
“Personnel section, 3rd Division HQ, over at San Felice.”
“I’m headed there tomorrow. I’ll see what he knows.”
“What can he tell you? I doubt he killed Galante because they disagreed about combat fatigue.”
“No, but if he had it in for Galante, he had to know him, right? You can’t have a beef with a guy and not get to know him, even if it’s only his weaknesses.”
“And Galante’s weakness might tell you about who killed him?”
“It’s all I have right now,” I said.
I finished my drink and made my way out of the room, passing a group of colonels and women in low-cut dresses. The colonels were flushed and loud, their lips smacking with drink and lust. The women laughed, a harsh, high laugh that echoed off the marble floor and stayed with me as I stood in the rain, looking toward the invisible mountains to the north, where men shivered, suffered, and bled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S AN F ELICE WAS a fair-sized village, or at least had been before the fighting passed through. Now it was a fair-sized pile of rubble, with the few intact buildings housing the 3rd Division staff. In front of a burned-out church, a water pipe stuck up from the ground, a spray of water gushing into the air. Women and children with buckets were lined up, eager to haul the fresh water home. At the base of the pipe, a gleaming white stone arm lay on the ground, its fingers gracefully pointing to the sky. Debris and masonry cascaded from the buildings into the street, making it hard to tell where the outline of homes and shops had been, but it was obvious this had been the piazza, the center of the village. Now it was crammed with shattered stone, a line of black-clad women, and American
“Everything will probably smooth out once they get up on the line,” I said. Yeah, it’ll be peachy up there, one big happy family united by butchery and misery.
I saw Major Kearns making his way through the crowd, with two Carabinieri officers in tow. They both wore dark-blue dress uniforms, with the flaming grenade emblem of the Italian national police on their service caps.
“Lieutenant Boyle,” Kearns said, after a nod of greeting to Einsmann. “This is Capitano Renzo Trevisi, and Tenente Luca Amatori. Capitano Trevisi is in charge of the local Carabinieri garrison.”
“Billy Boyle,” I said, standing to shake hands.
“Pleased to meet you,” Trevisi said in heavily accented but precise English. He looked to be about forty, with a thick, dark mustache, a slight paunch, and a friendly smile. “If I can be of any assistance, I am at your service. Major Kearns has told us of your investigations. I do not think there is any civilian involvement in this unfortunate matter, but please ask should you require anything.”
“Thank you, Capitano, I will.”
Trevisi spoke in Italian to his lieutenant, who had been silent during the exchange in English. I heard Galante and Landry’s names mentioned as he gestured to me. “Tenente Amatori will provide whatever you need if I am not available. Buona sera .”
“Interesting,” Einsmann said as they moved off.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen Italian officers here before, army or Carabinieri. I wonder what’s up?”
“Well, the Italians are on our side now. They have a combat group fighting near Cassino, and most of the Carabinieri are loyal to the new government. Stands to reason they’d show up at HQ sooner or later. Plus there have been two murders.”
“Yeah,” Einsmann said. “But the killings are an army matter. No way they’d let the locals in on that unless they needed them for something.”
“Well, not my problem,” I said as I watched Kearns and the two Italians huddled in conversation. Maybe it was somebody else’s problem, maybe not. I decided I had enough to worry about without adding Italian cops, and got back to the subject of Galante.
“This Colonel Schleck, who got Galante transferred out. Where do I find him?”
“Personnel section, 3rd Division HQ, over at San Felice.”
“I’m headed there tomorrow. I’ll see what he knows.”
“What can he tell you? I doubt he killed Galante because they disagreed about combat fatigue.”
“No, but if he had it in for Galante, he had to know him, right? You can’t have a beef with a guy and not get to know him, even if it’s only his weaknesses.”
“And Galante’s weakness might tell you about who killed him?”
“It’s all I have right now,” I said.
I finished my drink and made my way out of the room, passing a group of colonels and women in low-cut dresses. The colonels were flushed and loud, their lips smacking with drink and lust. The women laughed, a harsh, high laugh that echoed off the marble floor and stayed with me as I stood in the rain, looking toward the invisible mountains to the north, where men shivered, suffered, and bled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S AN F ELICE WAS a fair-sized village, or at least had been before the fighting passed through. Now it was a fair-sized pile of rubble, with the few intact buildings housing the 3rd Division staff. In front of a burned-out church, a water pipe stuck up from the ground, a spray of water gushing into the air. Women and children with buckets were lined up, eager to haul the fresh water home. At the base of the pipe, a gleaming white stone arm lay on the ground, its fingers gracefully pointing to the sky. Debris and masonry cascaded from the buildings into the street, making it hard to tell where the outline of homes and shops had been, but it was obvious this had been the piazza, the center of the village. Now it was crammed with shattered stone, a line of black-clad women, and American
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