James Benn - Billy Boyle

I wanted to tell him he had the wrong guy. I wanted to tell him I was just a Boston Mick and I was like a fish out of water here in England. I doubted I could find out how Birkeland died, and I sure was no spy catcher. He needed to know that maybe our congressman oversold me a little bit to get me a job with Uncle Ike. Probably a lot. Yeah, I had been promoted to detective just before the war started, but I never even got to work a single case. Sure, I had worked a few here and there with my dad, but never as the detective in charge. Now, I was between that old rock and a hard place. If I told the truth about myself, Harding would send me to a rifle company and I’d find myself landing on a cold, stony shore in Norway in no time flat. If I didn’t, I’d probably screw up this investigation and never find the murderer, much less the spy. I was feeling pretty bad.

Maybe I should come clean and get it over with. Admit that what I did, what my family did, was wrong. Face the music. Easier said than done, if you want my opinion. It wasn’t just me who had pulled this off, it was my whole family. What was I supposed to do, turn state’s evidence on them with Uncle Ike? I thought about Dad throwing that package in the garbage. At some point, when you were in over your head, what became important wasn’t whatever you’d gone after in the first place, but something more indefinable. You couldn’t call it honor, not at this stage, not after you had gotten yourself in this deep. Avoidance of shame, that was more like it.

“Billy, darling, we’ll help you,” Daphne said, reading the struggle on my face, but not understanding how far back it went. “Look at everything we’ve found out so far! We can do it together.”

She reached out and put her hand on my arm while Kaz solemnly nodded his agreement. Well, maybe I was being too hasty. Why agonize over it? Why disappoint Daphne and Kaz? So what if the murderer got away? It had happened before and would happen again. Uncle Ike might not be too happy if I didn’t take care of this little problem, but he’d be a lot madder if he found out… found out the truth about me. It didn’t sound real pretty when you just came out and said it, did it? I shivered a little inside and tried to forget it.

“Sure we will, Daphne. We can do it. Major, we’ll ask a few more questions and then the three of us will regroup and decide what to do next.”

Harding nodded, as if he really believed I knew what I was doing. He seemed to have changed his opinion about me. It was as if he trusted me to get the job done.

“Very well, Lieutenant,” he said in a formal tone, sealing the deal on my assignment. “I’m going to meet with the king. He was very upset at hearing the news. He needed some time to compose himself. He and Birkeland had evidently been close friends for some time.”

“How did Rolf take it?” asked Kaz as Harding got up to leave.

“Surprised, but he seemed to take it in stride. He’s seen plenty of death and destruction in this war already. One more body wouldn’t shake him.”

“Did he come back with you?”

“Yes, but he’s gone by now. He had to get back to his unit. The Norwegian commandos have been moved to a new base at Southwold, up the coast, along with our Ranger and paratroop units.”

I’m not the most experienced detective around, but I knew that didn’t sound right. When you didn’t have one suspect, everyone was a suspect, and you didn’t let anyone waltz out the front door. I drank some more coffee, but it was cold.

“We should have questioned him first, sir.”

“Why? He obviously wasn’t involved if he left with the king to go hunting before Birkeland died.”

“It’s hard to explain, sir, but I need to talk to everyone. Rolf may know something he doesn’t even know is important.”

“I’ll pretend I understand that, Boyle. Don’t worry. They’ve got a big fence around the Southwold base. If you want him, you can find him there. Keep me posted.”

Harding strode out of the mess hall, confidently leaving his staff to solve a murder while he went off to hold King Haakon’s hands. It must be nice to be in command. Oh yeah, I was, too. In command of a little Polish baron and his beautiful English broad. If the guys at the precinct could only see me now. I was beginning to think I had gotten stuck with the short end of my own stick. How could I find the murderer if I couldn’t even keep track of the suspects? The suicide theory was beginning to look better by the hour. I tried to sound confident for my rookies.

“OK, here’s the deal. We’ve obviously missed something important, and we have no idea what it is. So we’ve got to split up and ask a lot of questions. Daphne, you’ve got the hardest job of all, one Kaz and I couldn’t even attempt.” I could see her eyes widen at the prospect. She was a real trouper.

“Tell me what to do, Billy.”

“Chat up the young ladies and make some friends. We need to know if any of them had visitors from the fourth floor last night.”

“You mean ask them about…”

“Yes, dear,” Kaz said with a smile. “Ask them about that.”

“Well, it’s usually not done, but I’ll try my best.”

“Really?” I asked. “Don’t girls talk about… that?”

“If we did, we wouldn’t let you men in on it, would we?” With a sly smile, she got up and stood in line for a cup of tea along with a gaggle of giggling WRENs who had just entered the cafeteria. On the job in a flash.

“Do you understand women, Billy?” Kaz asked, his eyes still fixed on Daphne.

“I understand they make me crazy, Kaz. Other than that, not a damn thing. What about you?”

“She is a constant, wondrous mystery.” He refocused on me. “Now, what do I do?”

“You talk to the housekeeper. Find out if any of the household staff saw someone walking around early, from five o’clock on. They must have been up and about. Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of them will have seen something.”

“What will you do?”

“I think I need to talk to Vidar Skak some more,” I said.

“Why Skak?”

“So far, he’s got the most to gain from Birkeland’s death. Nothing else makes sense, but that always does. My dad always says when you’re stuck, go back to the guy who benefits the most.”

We left the mess hall and I headed to Skak’s office, praying that Dad’s advice would provide the solution to this mess. I didn’t have any other cards to play. If this didn’t work I was going to need a whole new deck.

Vidar Skak didn’t have the casual open-door policy of Knut Birkeland. In his office on the third floor I was confronted by a severe gray-haired Norwegian woman, seated at a desk way too small for her big-boned figure, in an anteroom way too small even for the desk. She spilled out over it, big droopy arms lying on papers as if she was holding them down. Her arms moved as I entered, hands poised to push her body up from the desk, ready to leap in front of Skak’s closed door if I tried anything. A piece of paper stuck to the underside of one forearm, which she shook until the paper fluttered down, freed from the thin veneer of dampness that had bonded it to her. I backed up, not wanting to get in the way of those elbows and arms.

I gave my name and asked to speak to her boss. She told me to wait as she moved away from the desk, which took no more than two steps in that little room, keeping her eyes on me at all times. She guarded Skak’s office like it was Fort Knox. I still didn’t know exactly how the gold fit in, or even if it really did, but it was never far from my mind.

Brunhilda, or whatever her name was, knocked on the door, waited a beat, then went in, half closing the door behind her. Maybe Skak took naps and didn’t like the help walking in on him. She spoke to him in hushed tones and then, grudgingly, opened the door and nodded me in. I tried to make myself small as I went past her sideways.