We Were Beautiful Once Read Online Free PDF Page A

starvation and sicknesses without medical assistance—but only vague memories, if any, of a guy named Girardin, or was it Jardin? Or Giardino?  
    Nick looked at his watch, it was after 9 p.m. on Wednesday.  He dropped the phone back into its cradle, pushed back his yellow pad, loosened his tie, and growled in frustration, “Who is left, Mitch?”
    Stretching his long skinny legs and cracking his knuckles, Mitch responded, “Well, I’ve got Simmons, Forte, and Ciuci left, who were in Girardin’s company, November ’50, but not at Camp 13.  But no discharge papers, so nobody’s located yet.  And, some Montoya guy who was at Camp 13, where his DD 214 discharge form lists New Mexico as his home address—thirty years ago.”  Nick lifted an eyebrow.  
    â€œLeave him. Who else you got?”
    â€œA Sonny Reiner.”
    Kathy, who had been listening to the rundown while rifling through a tall stack of reports interjected, “That’s a no-go. He’s dead.”
    Nick and Mitch looked at each other in disbelief.
    â€œDo you do this in your spare time?” teased Mitch.
    Ignoring the jibe, Kathy continued, “Art Girardin and I tracked him down to a small town north of Osage, Washington and talked to him for about 10 minutes.  Guy claimed he didn’t know Roger, but we told him in ’53 he’d told the interrogators at Panmunjom he did, and that he knew him from Camp 13.  Then, he said he wanted to think about talking any further.  When Art called back later two weeks later, the guy’s wife said he’d drowned.  Art freaked.  Said this was like when he’d found the guy in California, and the next thing he heard, the guy was dead.”
    â€œNobody mentioned this to me,” said Nick, mildly irritated.
    â€œDidn’t think it was that important,” Kathy brushed it off.
    â€œWe can try Jaeger again,” suggested Mitch.
    Nick was annoyed and pensive at the same time.  “Where’s Jaeger out of again?” Nick asked.
    â€œPennsy.”
    â€œMan, doesn’t anybody live close by?  We’re not even on a shoestring here, more like a piece of thread, and that deadline for naming trial witnesses is fast approaching,” Nick complained while picking up the phone and handing it to Kathy.  “Get him on the line.”
    Kathy called the number listed in the file.  “Message says the phone’s disconnected.”
    â€œCall information, see if he’s relocated or something,” Nick said, wondering if taking the case was such a good idea.  “Mitch, it’s after 9 here, so it’s still early  in Washington State.  See if you can get Mrs. Reiner on the wire...  put her on speaker.”
    Ten minutes later Nick was expressing his condolences to the widow Reiner and delicately segueing into her husband’s military service.  She knew little, because the man never spoke about the war to his wife.  As to his recent death, she was still mourning, one month to the day he’d washed up on the shore of Lake Wanapipiti.  
    She said, “Retired after 25 years as investigator with the state welfare office.  Only 56, good health, went out hundreds of times...  to fish, wouldn’t even tell me, but I’d guess where he was, good swimmer.  Clear day, too.”
    â€œDid they do an autopsy?”
    â€œCoroner did.  But even after the investigation, police couldn’t figure it out.  Drowned, a big gash on his head...  said he must of hit the edge of the boat, fell over.  Didn’t make sense to me.  What do I know?  He’s dead.”
    â€œDo you have children, Mrs. Reiner?”
    â€œNope, had no kids.  We didn’t have a lot of friends, either...  living way out here by the lake all these years.  I tried calling a couple of men that came by just a few days before he passed, but didn’t