James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“No,” I said, my hand draped over the steering wheel as I looked out over all the ships anchored off Darmouth harbor. Destroyers clustered at the center of the river, and smaller landing craft huddled close by the docks. Fairmile Motor Torpedo Boats cruised out toward the Channel, the throaty rumble of their engines echoing against the hills across the wide river. “The body doesn’t bother me. A guy was killed, floated around for a while, and then washed up at Slapton Sands. It makes sense. All we need to do is reconstruct what happened before he took a couple of slugs. Quick and the crew at Ashcroft, they’re all unanswered questions and confusion. They all have secrets. The dead body is just an unknown. There’s a big difference.”

“I see your point,” Kaz said. “But it is none of our business, really. Whether Quick has a limp or not, what David wants, why the overall tension at Ashcroft: these are all merely curiosities. Colonel Harding will want a report on our progress on the actual case, Billy.”

“We’ve been going about this all wrong,” I said, turning to look at Kaz. I think he’d been lecturing me, but I hadn’t listened too much after the word business . “Most murders are about love or money. Assume money in this case. A criminal enterprise. So who should we talk to? A county detective is going to be as much help as a fisherman. We need to talk to a crook.”

“Not that fellow in London,” Kaz said. “The one who has the gang in Shoreditch?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know what sort of reception I’d get. I’m thinking of Razor Fraser.”

“The solicitor?” Kaz said.

“Yep. And he’s closer than London, to boot,” I said. Stanley Fraser was a lawyer whose clients were mainly known criminals. I’d questioned him on our last case, but it had turned out he had nothing to do with the crime in question. There’s always a first time.

“Why would he help?” Kaz said.

“I’ll try the carrot, and carry a big stick,” I said. Fraser was based in Hungerford, more than halfway to London, but it was the only idea I had. He was connected to several major gangs, according to the police inspector who had come along for that last interview. Razor-so called because he got a client declared innocent after witnesses had seen him slit the throat of his victim-knew things. And one thing I’d picked up on was that he craved respectability. Maybe I could use that. If he knew anything-and it didn’t mean selling out a rich client-he might go for it.

“We should get started,” Kaz said. “It’s a long drive.”

“I’ll go. You can spend some time with your buddy and snoop around Ashcroft,” I said with a grin. I wanted Kaz to know I was joking, but I wouldn’t mind if he dug up anything on the cast of characters in that family, just for laughs.

Kaz went to check the train schedules, and I returned to the police station. I told Grange I needed to use the telephone. He probably assumed I was calling Scotland Yard, because he let me use his office, telling the switchboard operator to put my call through. The operator made the connection, and after Fraser calmed down and I explained that this was strictly off the record, he agreed to see me that afternoon.

“You’re in luck,” Kaz said as we rendezvoused at the jeep. “A ferry leaves in ten minutes, and the train stops at Hungerford. If you don’t spend too long there you can make it back this evening.” The Dartmouth ferry shuttled people across the river directly to the station at Kingswear, which cut down on travel time. I figured two hours in Hungerford would be more than enough, so Kaz planned to pick me up later that night.

I paid my fare at the Dartmouth ticket booth and half an hour later settled in to a Great Western Railways car with the local newspaper. The big news was that the British government had banned travel and communications for all neutral diplomats. No more coded messages in diplomatic pouches, no flights to other countries where secrets could be passed on. The government had given no reason, but they didn’t have to. D-Day. No one was taking any chances on a neutral diplomat friendly to the Germans getting out with any information about where or when.

It made me feel better about our case. If Great Britain was violating centuries of international law for security purposes, then maybe identifying this corpse was worth our time. It remained to be seen whether Razor Fraser agreed.

Fraser’s Place was a short walk from the train station on a quiet residential street. I still had a bit of a limp, and my arm was stiffening up, but a brisk walk felt good. Fraser worked in one side of a semi-detached and lived in the other. A gleaming brass plaque marked the office entrance, and as I opened the door I tried to recall the name of his receptionist. What I did remember was her manicure. She’d spent most of her time filing her nails, and I doubted she did much typing with them.

It didn’t matter. Sitting at the receptionist’s desk was Mrs. Fraser herself. Her nails weren’t as perfect as her predecessor’s, but she was actually working, typing away at a rapid pace.

“Right on time, Captain Boyle,” she said. “So nice to see you again.”

“Same to you, Mrs. Fraser. I didn’t expect to see you at work. You’re pretty fast with those keys.”

“I worked in an office before we were married,” she said. “And I got bored sitting around, doing nothing. Now Stanley and I are together all day, and we save on the expense, of course.” She smiled, queen of her domain, having vanquished the competition.

“That sounds great,” I said, wondering what Stanley thought about the staffing change. “Is he available?”

“Yes, go right in. But you’ve only got twenty minutes. We’ve got a new client coming in and you’ll have to be done by then. A local, law-abiding client, I am pleased to say.” She looked quite pleased indeed.

“They’re the best kind,” I said, and went in.

“What’s this all about?” Fraser said as I sat across from him.

“What happened to the previous receptionist? Too receptive?” I figured if he was going to give me a hard time, I’d give it right back.

“She went off with a Yank,” he said. “Dorothy and I decided to put her skills to use. It’s worked out well for us.”

“That must be dandy,” I said. Stanley Fraser was a man with too much around the middle and not enough on top, but he dressed up well. He adjusted his cuff links and straightened his tie. His suit looked expensive; he certainly wasn’t making do with worn-out clothes. “Actually, I’m here to ask for your help.”

“Do you need a lawyer, Captain Boyle? If not, then I don’t see how I can help you.”

“Listen, Mr. Fraser,” I said, hoping to score points for not calling him Razor. “Let’s start over, okay? I’m not here to cause trouble for you. I’m only seeking your assistance.”

“All right,” Fraser said, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m trying to identify the body of a man about thirty years old, probably a civilian. He washed up on the beach at Slapton Sands a few days ago.”

“What makes you think I would know about a dead body?” Fraser said. “Are you accusing me?”

“No, not at all,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s imperative that we find out who this person is, in order to rule out any possibility of an enemy agent having gained access to a highly restricted area.” That got his attention.

“Did this person drown?” Fraser said.

“Murdered,” I said. “Shot.” I went over what we knew from the body and the movements of the tides.

“So if this was a German spy, the worry is that others might have been in the restricted area as well?” He leaned forward in his chair, caught up in the drama.