pal.”
“He’s the competition, Reuters, and he’s on his own. You’re pretty good at not answering a question.”
“Used to be a cop, so it’s second nature to ignore reporters.”
“Hmm. An ex-cop, first lieutenant, traveling way above his pay grade, with pictures of what looks like a strangled officer. You know they bumped a colonel to make room for the congressman?”
“How come they didn’t throw you off instead?”
“Billy, I’ve found that the promise of a mention in a news story works wonders with all sorts of people.”
“Including the noncom in charge of the flight manifest,” I guessed.
“Sergeant Randolph Campbell, of Casper, Wyoming, soon to be mentioned in a little piece about Americans stationed at Gibraltar.”
“Based on your extensive research there.”
“Yep. Two hours on the ground. Talked to Randolph and a bunch of other guys. Dateline Gibraltar: the unsung heroes who keep men and material moving in the Mediterranean Theater. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, and I’m sure Randolph’s mom will think so, too.”
“See, you can answer a question! So fill me in on the dead guy.”
“I can’t, Phil, sorry.”
“Listen, Billy. You’re headed to Caserta, so that’s obviously where the killing took place. I’ve been there more than a month, I know the place inside out. Odds are I’ll get the dope on this guy before I change my socks. And I really need a clean pair.”
“Okay,” I said, deciding he had a point. It had been a while since I’d been to Caserta, and Galante’s death was probably the main topic of discussion at the palace anyway. It might be interesting to hear what Einsmann had to say about it. Plus, there was no reason to mention Landry. “The name is Captain Max Galante, M.D. He was strangled two days ago—no, three days ago—his body was found two mornings ago.”
“Where was he killed?”
“Not sure, but his body was found next to that pool with the statue of Diana and the guy who got eaten by his dogs. You know it?”
“Actaeon. That’s a ritzy neighborhood,” Einsmann said.
“How so?”
“Engineers just finished building bungalows for generals, pretty close to that fountain. Tennis court and dance hall too. Seems like the palace is too run-down and drafty for the big brass, so they ordered up a little complex for themselves. The CO of the engineer unit wrote up an official complaint, saying his men came over here to win a war, not build vacation homes for generals.”
“You gotta love an idealist. How close to the fountain?”
“A stone’s throw if you have a good arm, but there’s trees and shrubs bordering the place.”
“You didn’t hear anything about this? You were still there when the body was discovered.” It was odd that a newsman wouldn’t be all over a juicy story like this, even if the censors would probably keep it under wraps.
“I went down to Naples for a couple of days there before flying out. Painted the town red with a couple of guys from the BBC. You said Galante was a doctor?”
“Yeah, he worked out of the hospital near the palace.”
“Must be the 32nd Station Hospital. I’ve interviewed lots of boys there. Nurses, too,” he said with a raise of the eyebrows.
“I bet. Ever run into Captain Galante?”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell, but I paid more attention to the female staff. CID, that’s the new Criminal Investigation Division, right? Are you CID?”
“No.”
“Who do you work for, then?”
“Listen, this has to be all off the record, okay?”
“Sure, Billy. If there is any news in this, I might follow up with you, but that’s got nothing to do with this conversation. Strictly background.”
“Okay. I work for General Eisenhower. Actually, I work for Colonel Sam Harding, who works for the general. He sent me down here to investigate.”
“Well, well. My boss turns me around and sends me back to Italy, and your boss sends you down here to check on a dead doctor. There’s
“He’s the competition, Reuters, and he’s on his own. You’re pretty good at not answering a question.”
“Used to be a cop, so it’s second nature to ignore reporters.”
“Hmm. An ex-cop, first lieutenant, traveling way above his pay grade, with pictures of what looks like a strangled officer. You know they bumped a colonel to make room for the congressman?”
“How come they didn’t throw you off instead?”
“Billy, I’ve found that the promise of a mention in a news story works wonders with all sorts of people.”
“Including the noncom in charge of the flight manifest,” I guessed.
“Sergeant Randolph Campbell, of Casper, Wyoming, soon to be mentioned in a little piece about Americans stationed at Gibraltar.”
“Based on your extensive research there.”
“Yep. Two hours on the ground. Talked to Randolph and a bunch of other guys. Dateline Gibraltar: the unsung heroes who keep men and material moving in the Mediterranean Theater. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, and I’m sure Randolph’s mom will think so, too.”
“See, you can answer a question! So fill me in on the dead guy.”
“I can’t, Phil, sorry.”
“Listen, Billy. You’re headed to Caserta, so that’s obviously where the killing took place. I’ve been there more than a month, I know the place inside out. Odds are I’ll get the dope on this guy before I change my socks. And I really need a clean pair.”
“Okay,” I said, deciding he had a point. It had been a while since I’d been to Caserta, and Galante’s death was probably the main topic of discussion at the palace anyway. It might be interesting to hear what Einsmann had to say about it. Plus, there was no reason to mention Landry. “The name is Captain Max Galante, M.D. He was strangled two days ago—no, three days ago—his body was found two mornings ago.”
“Where was he killed?”
“Not sure, but his body was found next to that pool with the statue of Diana and the guy who got eaten by his dogs. You know it?”
“Actaeon. That’s a ritzy neighborhood,” Einsmann said.
“How so?”
“Engineers just finished building bungalows for generals, pretty close to that fountain. Tennis court and dance hall too. Seems like the palace is too run-down and drafty for the big brass, so they ordered up a little complex for themselves. The CO of the engineer unit wrote up an official complaint, saying his men came over here to win a war, not build vacation homes for generals.”
“You gotta love an idealist. How close to the fountain?”
“A stone’s throw if you have a good arm, but there’s trees and shrubs bordering the place.”
“You didn’t hear anything about this? You were still there when the body was discovered.” It was odd that a newsman wouldn’t be all over a juicy story like this, even if the censors would probably keep it under wraps.
“I went down to Naples for a couple of days there before flying out. Painted the town red with a couple of guys from the BBC. You said Galante was a doctor?”
“Yeah, he worked out of the hospital near the palace.”
“Must be the 32nd Station Hospital. I’ve interviewed lots of boys there. Nurses, too,” he said with a raise of the eyebrows.
“I bet. Ever run into Captain Galante?”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell, but I paid more attention to the female staff. CID, that’s the new Criminal Investigation Division, right? Are you CID?”
“No.”
“Who do you work for, then?”
“Listen, this has to be all off the record, okay?”
“Sure, Billy. If there is any news in this, I might follow up with you, but that’s got nothing to do with this conversation. Strictly background.”
“Okay. I work for General Eisenhower. Actually, I work for Colonel Sam Harding, who works for the general. He sent me down here to investigate.”
“Well, well. My boss turns me around and sends me back to Italy, and your boss sends you down here to check on a dead doctor. There’s
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