of the country. Kaz wanted to serve, but a heart condition had kept him out of uniform. He finally talked his way in, as a translator for Uncle Ike. He was a skinny, bookish kid, and the idea was he could work in an office and do his bit.
Kaz’s father had seen what was coming, and deposited the bulk of the family fortune in Swiss banks. As a result, Kaz was filthy rich. Rich enough to permanently keep a suite of rooms at the Dorchester hotel in London, the same suite where he and his family had celebrated their last Christmas together. I bunked with Kaz when I was in London and felt the ghosts of his past life drift by us in the ornate high-ceilinged rooms. One of those ghosts was Daphne, the love of Kaz’s life. Sister of Diana Seaton. Maybe that’s why I worried about Diana so much. I didn’t want to become scarred like Kaz.
Kaz wore a physical scar as well. An explosion—the same explosion that had killed Daphne—had ripped his face from the corner of one eye down to the cheekbone. The injury and the loss had changed him. For a long time, he hadn’t cared whether he lived or died, and I felt it was my job to keep life interesting enough for him to hang around. Lately, he’d turned a corner. He’d begun working out, building himself up, but for what I didn’t know. All I did know is that he had more brains than ten other guys put together and wasn’t afraid to use the Webley break-top revolver he wore. I could use both kinds of firepower. I decided to radio Colonel Harding and ask for Kaz to be sent down from London.
The column finally passed and the traffic moved along, toward Caserta. I ran through the leads I had to follow. Pay a visit to Bar Raffaele in Acerra and see what the scuffle was all about, and why Landry and Flint went down there to pay damages. Find out whom Louie owed his next paycheck to. Go back and find Major Arnold, Schleck’s second-in-command, and see if he’d be more talkative. Ask Sergeant Jim Cole why he didn’t tell me about knowing Landry and Galante. An infantry division is a big place, about fourteen thousand guys at full strength. He should have mentioned it, even if it was only a coincidence. He didn’t, and I wanted to know why. I also needed to find out how Galante had gotten a squad killed, and why Cole was supposed to know about that. Maybe it was just a rumor that Schleck glommed onto, but if true, it would be a motive for revenge. Then ask the same question around the 32nd Station Hospital, and see what Galante’s colleagues had to say.
It was a lot of legwork, and none of it might end up being important. But it gave me the illusion of being on the right track, and I might get lucky and stumble onto something I’d recognize as a clue. After an hour of stop-and-go traffic, I parked in front of the Caserta HQ and went to see Major Kearns. My plan was to send the radio message to Harding, then look at where Galante’s body was found before it got too dark. Then Cole, then chow, and onto the officer’s club to practice my interrogation skills at the bar. It was a good plan, except that it didn’t hold much promise in terms of solving the murders.
“Billy!” A familiar voice echoed in the hallway leading to Kearns’s office.
“Kaz,” I said, turning to find him behind me. “What are you doing here? I was on my way to radio Harding to ask for you.”
“He sent me immediately, but we had aircraft trouble and I was stuck at Malta for a day. It’s good to see you, Billy.” We shook hands warmly, both of us glad to be working together again. As usual, Kaz looked perfect in his tailored British battle dress uniform, complete with the red shoulder patch with “Poland” inscribed in bold letters. His blue eyes shone eagerly behind his steel-rimmed spectacles, and as usual the Webley revolver was at his hip.
“Do you know what’s going on here?” I asked.
“Yes. Colonel Harding briefed me in London, and I saw Major Kearns twenty minutes ago. He told me to
Kaz’s father had seen what was coming, and deposited the bulk of the family fortune in Swiss banks. As a result, Kaz was filthy rich. Rich enough to permanently keep a suite of rooms at the Dorchester hotel in London, the same suite where he and his family had celebrated their last Christmas together. I bunked with Kaz when I was in London and felt the ghosts of his past life drift by us in the ornate high-ceilinged rooms. One of those ghosts was Daphne, the love of Kaz’s life. Sister of Diana Seaton. Maybe that’s why I worried about Diana so much. I didn’t want to become scarred like Kaz.
Kaz wore a physical scar as well. An explosion—the same explosion that had killed Daphne—had ripped his face from the corner of one eye down to the cheekbone. The injury and the loss had changed him. For a long time, he hadn’t cared whether he lived or died, and I felt it was my job to keep life interesting enough for him to hang around. Lately, he’d turned a corner. He’d begun working out, building himself up, but for what I didn’t know. All I did know is that he had more brains than ten other guys put together and wasn’t afraid to use the Webley break-top revolver he wore. I could use both kinds of firepower. I decided to radio Colonel Harding and ask for Kaz to be sent down from London.
The column finally passed and the traffic moved along, toward Caserta. I ran through the leads I had to follow. Pay a visit to Bar Raffaele in Acerra and see what the scuffle was all about, and why Landry and Flint went down there to pay damages. Find out whom Louie owed his next paycheck to. Go back and find Major Arnold, Schleck’s second-in-command, and see if he’d be more talkative. Ask Sergeant Jim Cole why he didn’t tell me about knowing Landry and Galante. An infantry division is a big place, about fourteen thousand guys at full strength. He should have mentioned it, even if it was only a coincidence. He didn’t, and I wanted to know why. I also needed to find out how Galante had gotten a squad killed, and why Cole was supposed to know about that. Maybe it was just a rumor that Schleck glommed onto, but if true, it would be a motive for revenge. Then ask the same question around the 32nd Station Hospital, and see what Galante’s colleagues had to say.
It was a lot of legwork, and none of it might end up being important. But it gave me the illusion of being on the right track, and I might get lucky and stumble onto something I’d recognize as a clue. After an hour of stop-and-go traffic, I parked in front of the Caserta HQ and went to see Major Kearns. My plan was to send the radio message to Harding, then look at where Galante’s body was found before it got too dark. Then Cole, then chow, and onto the officer’s club to practice my interrogation skills at the bar. It was a good plan, except that it didn’t hold much promise in terms of solving the murders.
“Billy!” A familiar voice echoed in the hallway leading to Kearns’s office.
“Kaz,” I said, turning to find him behind me. “What are you doing here? I was on my way to radio Harding to ask for you.”
“He sent me immediately, but we had aircraft trouble and I was stuck at Malta for a day. It’s good to see you, Billy.” We shook hands warmly, both of us glad to be working together again. As usual, Kaz looked perfect in his tailored British battle dress uniform, complete with the red shoulder patch with “Poland” inscribed in bold letters. His blue eyes shone eagerly behind his steel-rimmed spectacles, and as usual the Webley revolver was at his hip.
“Do you know what’s going on here?” I asked.
“Yes. Colonel Harding briefed me in London, and I saw Major Kearns twenty minutes ago. He told me to
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