Free A Mortal Terror by James R. Benn Page B

Landry hadn’t shown the lower part of his body, so I’d missed the fact that he’d been placed there. And Cole hadn’t mentioned it. Was he a rookie at this, or did he have something to hide?
    “Come on,” Gates said with a sigh. He donned a poncho, his helmet, and slung his Thompson, barrel down, over his shoulder. We headed out into the rain. The supply tents were at the edge of the area, a double row, back to back. There was just enough space between the guy wires from each tent to walk without tripping over them. The ground was soaked, but it hadn’t been ground up into mud yet.
    “It was dry when he was found,” I said.
    “Yeah, we had a clear spell for a while. It’s been raining off and on since. You looking for anything special?”
    “No, just trying to get a feel for things. I saw one photograph, but it only showed his upper body. You’re right, he wasn’t killed here. So someone had to carry him from someplace else.”
    “What difference does that make?”
    “Don’t know yet. Maybe he didn’t want the body found until he got to Galante.”
    “I heard his body was sort of hidden too. Tucked away by those fancy fountains.”
    “Rusty, for a guy who doesn’t care about this investigation, you seem to know a lot about it.”
    “Not much else to do around here but clean weapons and listen to scuttlebutt. You seen enough?”
    “Yeah,” I said, looking down the long row of tents, a back alley of olive-drab canvas. Landry had been killed somewhere close and hidden here. It had to be close. It took some nerve to snap a man’s neck and then carry him when you could be seen at any moment. Even in the dark, you could trip over a tent stake, create a racket, and be done for. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.
    “Let’s get out of the rain,” Gates said.

CHAPTER NINE
    W E SAT IN the mess tent, clutching mugs of hot coffee as rainwater dripped from our clothes. Gates wiped his Thompson down and leaned it against the bench.
    “Not everybody here goes around armed,” I said.
    “Not everybody here has been around since Tunisia, Sicily, and Salerno. I notice you keep your .45 close at hand.”
    “You never can tell,” I said. “Especially in my line of work.”
    “That’s what I tell the men. If you’re always loaded for bear, the bear won’t win. It’s got to become a habit, if you want to stay alive.”
    “Evans hasn’t picked it up yet,” I said. He was a couple of tables away, playing cards with three other lieutenants. Not a weapon among them.
    “No. He says it’s safe here.” He shook his head at the futility of explaining things to officers, and sipped his coffee. “He hasn’t fired a weapon since he’s been in Italy, so you can’t blame him. Too much.”
    “Do you know Sergeant Jim Cole?”
    Gates’s eyes flickered for a second. “Jimmy Cole? Sure. He’s over at CID now, right?”
    “Yeah, he’s working this case with me. How about Captain Galante? Did you know him when he was with 3rd Division?”
    “Knew of him,” Gates said. He looked away at nothing in particular.
    “What did you think of him?”
    “I think he’s dead, and I have the living to worry about. Now I have a question for you.”
    “Okay.”
    “Do you think I killed them?”
    “That’s not how it works. If I could—”
    “Do you think I killed them?”
    I looked at his hard eyes. I looked at his strong arms, and at his weapon close by. He held ready violence like a whip at his side.
    “I don’t think so. But I’ve been wrong before.”
    “Fair enough,” Gates said. “You want to talk to the other sergeants?”
    “Sure,” I said. “But tell me about Cole and Galante first.”
    “No need for that. Come on.” Gates rose, and I followed him out of the mess tent. I knew I wasn’t going to get anything more out of him about Cole, but I didn’t know why. Rusty Gates was hiding something, but I didn’t think it was murder. He was a deadly killer, yes. But everything he did was about