James Benn - Billy Boyle

We went down the last flight of stairs to the basement, following a sign for the mess hall. This place wasn’t for state dinners, and the king probably never set foot inside. It was basically a cafeteria for the military and civilian staff working in Beardsley Hall. Linoleum floors, shiny aluminum fixtures in the kitchen, ladies with hairnets and paper hats, warming trays along the line, and a mixture of yeasty odors all signaled that the British version of institutional food was in ready supply. Small round tables with wooden chairs pulled up to them were scattered throughout the room. At the far end, Daphne was sitting with Harding. She smiled and waved. He didn’t. I gave it a try and came up with tight-lipped grimace.

My spirits rose just a bit when the aroma of coffee drifted out of the kitchen. Was it possible? A break from tea, here in the heart of England? Yes! There were two large urns, industrial-size jobs, one for tea and the other containing the blessed black brew. I poured hot, steaming black coffee into a tall, thick mug with the seal of the Norwegian navy on it. I dumped in some sugar, grabbed a couple of hot hard-crusted rolls from a basket, and scooped strawberry preserves onto my plate. I was a happy man again, and thanked my lucky stars that I was a simple soul at heart, satisfied with such little things that could take my mind off being the laughingstock of Beardsley Hall. Armed with java and jam, I made my way to the table and sat next to Daphne. Not a hard choice.

“Go ahead, Boyle, eat your chow. You probably haven’t had anything yet today.” Harding confused me when he was nice, which fortunately didn’t happen often enough to be a real problem. I ate, gulped, went and got a refill on the coffee, and sat down, ready to report.

“So, what have we got?” Harding demanded. There, that was more like it. That dependable tone of voice always let me know right where I stood.

“We’ve got the key. Daphne found it in Arnesen’s room. Most likely it was planted there. A lot of the fellows here leave their rooms unlocked at night so they can slip out quietly and visit the ladies. We interrogated Arnesen but it just didn’t add up.”

“Loud locks give the men away to senior staff?” Geez, did everybody know this dodge except me?

“Of course, sir.” I smiled my best man-of-the-world smile, which was also my David Niven impression.

“So run me through a likely chain of events, as best you can.”

I looked around, wanting to be sure no one had sat down at the table behind me. No worry there, the only other people in the place were halfway across the room, talking and glancing over at us, probably laughing at me.

“OK. The suicide version goes like this. Knut Birkeland knows that he is about to be exposed for the theft of gold from the Norwegian treasury. He’s about to lose everything: position, honor, the friendship of the king. He decides to end it all. He gets up early, writes a note, and places a gold coin on it to make his point. He takes a bath and dresses in his best suit, wanting to go out in style. He opens the window and jumps. Breaks his neck.”

“And you say that’s not out of the ordinary for a suicide? The bath and best-suit routine?” Harding sounded skeptical, and Daphne and Kaz looked up at me like I was a professor at How-to-Kill-Yourself U.

“Look, I’m not an expert on suicides. But from what I’ve seen, yeah, it works. Maybe he decided to sleep on it, woke up, and found everything still bleak.”

I tried to visualize what had gone on in that room and in Birkeland’s mind. I closed my eyes, gripped the coffee mug, and tried to see things as they might have happened.

“Maybe he hadn’t decided when he first got up. He took a bath, dressed, and maybe thought about it some more. He reached the same conclusion: dishonor, failure. He decided to go through with it. He wrote that note. Placed the coin on it, an admission of guilt, and a nice paperweight, too. Then opened the window and jumped.”

I opened my eyes.

“Sounds plausible,” Daphne said, looking at each of us for our reaction.

“Except for the key,” I sighed. “If he committed suicide, we have to explain how his room ended up locked and the key got into Major Arnesen’s room.”

“You’ve eliminated Arnesen as a suspect?” Harding asked.

“No, we haven’t eliminated anyone, but Arnesen seemed genuinely surprised when we showed him the key. He pointed out, with some logic, how easy it would have been for him to hide it elsewhere. And how stupid it would have been for him to hide it in his own room.”

Harding rubbed his chin and frowned. “OK, tell me how a murder would have gone.”

“That one’s a little harder, sir.” I took a deep breath and tried to place myself in that room, watching the events unfold. Standing there, up against the wall, real quiet, observing.

“It’s early morning, and Birkeland was already up and bathed. We know he was an early riser. Probably he’s already dressed. Someone knocks on the door and Birkeland unlocks it, lets them in. Maybe they talk a while. Somehow the killer gets Birkeland to write that note, then kills him, quick, probably by breaking his neck. No signs of a struggle, so we have to assume it was done rapidly and efficiently. He opens the window and tosses out the body. Then he probably put the coin on the note, although I don’t know if he or Birkeland originally had it. Could’ve been either one of them. He unlocks the door and goes out into the hallway. He locks the door behind him, not wanting anyone to get into the room too soon because he needs to get away before the body and the note are found. He’s standing in the hallway, trying to figure out what to do with the key. He quietly tries a few doors until he finds one unlocked. Figuring he can kill two birds with one stone, he hides the key in Arnesen’s room so suspicion will be cast on someone else.”

“Wouldn’t that mean that Major Arnesen can’t be a suspect?” asked Kaz.

“If that theory held up, it would, except for the fact that Arnesen says he was in his room all night, so his door should’ve been locked. But before we even think about that, tell me how anyone could force Birkeland to write a suicide note and then kill him? He was a big fellow, and not exactly meek. Why would he go along with it? It doesn’t make any sense.” I shrugged.

“A commando could kill quickly and quietly,” Harding offered.

“Rolf?” asked Daphne. “I think he’s the only commando who stayed at Beardsley Hall after the exercise.”

“Unfortunately, that theory doesn’t fit either,” Harding said, negating his own idea. “Rolf met with the king before five o’clock this morning to go grouse hunting. According to Boyle, the murder, or death, occurred shortly after that. Rigor mortis and blood settling gave a pretty good estimate of the time of death. It occurred when Rolf and the king were out hunting, and the king provides a pretty good alibi.”

My head hurt. Nothing added up. Birkeland couldn’t have committed suicide in a locked room with no key in it, and there was no way I could see for anyone to force him to write a fictitious note and then kill him with no fuss or muss. Even if someone like Rolf had pulled a quick one and snapped Birkeland’s neck, how did he or she get him to write that note? Neither option made any sense. Maybe it was time to tell these guys that I never actually headed up a murder investigation before. Crowd control for my dad didn’t really qualify me. Maybe it was time to tell them I was basically a fraud. I decided to go at that one sideways.

“Major, are you going to call in the military police to conduct a real… an official investigation? They’ve got all kinds of resources that we could use.”

“No way, Boyle. This is exactly the kind of affair Ike wanted you on board for. If we bring a truckload of MPs in here, word would get out in no time. It would be embarrassing for the Norwegians and hurt the war effort, especially with the invasion coming up. You’ve got to track this thing down yourself. Lieutenant Kazimierz and Second Officer Seaton will assist you. If I can help, let me know what you need. Otherwise, it’s up to you. Plus, it will be an excellent cover for taking care of that other concern. I know you can handle it.”