Canidy then saw the man’s fingers.
Correction.
They started with pulling his fingernails, then probably went to his feet.
Jesus did they work him over!
Canidy saw that John Craig was standing in the door to the pisser, bracing himself on the doorframe as he stared at the body.
“What is this place?” John Craig said.
“It’s supposed to belong to Frank Nola’s cousin. I’m guessing that that’s who this guy is. They look alike, present condition notwithstanding.” He paused, then added, “Then again, maybe we will find Frank looking like this. . . .”
“Jesus!”
“Yeah, it’s one thing to read about this shit,” Canidy said, “but not so nice up close and personal, is it?”
“You warned me,” John Craig said quietly. “You said it at the table with Captain Fine.”
Canidy ignored his use of military rank.
“Don’t try to understand it,” he said. “I sure as hell can’t.”
John Craig nodded meekly.
“Is this what happens because of that Hitler order?” he said. “The one ordering the killing of ‘enemies on commando missions’?”
“‘In or out of uniform, with or without weapons,’” Canidy recited. “‘Slaughtered to the last man.’ The operative word being slaughtered.”
He looked down at the dead man and added, “And this is a clear example of what Hitler meant when he said ‘should it be found necessary to spare one for interrogation,’ they’re to be shot immediately afterward.”
John Craig, bent at the waist, made a sound that suggested he might have to throw up again. He somehow held it back.
“What mission was he on?” he then said.
“I don’t know. None. At least that’s my bet. But he could have been working for Frank and/or in the Mafia. Bottom line is that the SS believed him to be, and that was that. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that’s why he’s tied up with that. To make a point to whoever found him.”
John Craig looked at the ivory-colored fabric knotted at the wrists and ankles.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “What’s the significance?”
Canidy reached down and picked up from the floor a length of the fabric. He tossed it to John Craig.
He saw that it was about four feet long and a foot wide, with a couple inches of its edges stylishly frayed. He gently rubbed it between his fingertips. It was soft, and felt vaguely familiar.
“So it’s a scarf,” John Craig said. “Probably a woman’s?”
“It’s a silk scarf. There’s more in the closet.”
John Craig looked, and
saw a very familiar pile of ivory-colored silk.
“A parachute! We air-dropped the money and everything that was asked for in the messages. So, the scarf is cut from it. . . .”
“Right,” Canidy said.
He thought, What did Nola say his cousin’s wife’s name was?