James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“Did you find out anything useful today, Billy?” Kaz asked, after a momentary lull. He was giving me an out in case I didn’t want to discuss it in front of David, but this wasn’t exactly classified. I didn’t want Fraser’s name to get around as a stool pigeon, so I left him out of the story.

“There’s a gangster by the name of Charles Sabini,” I said. “He’s been big in gambling and extortion for years, and since he’s half Italian, the government interned him at the start of the war. Put a crimp in his business. He did some time after that, too, but lately he’s been rebuilding his criminal organization. He has a reputation for violence.”

“Where is he?” Kaz asked.

“He works out of the racetrack at Newton Abbot,” I said.

“I was there once,” David said. “Nice place, overlooks the river.”

“The River Teign,” Kaz said. “A tidal river.”

“Oh, right,” David said. “You thought your dead chap may have gone in and out on the tides. The River Teign would do it. It turns tidal close by the racecourse.”

“Do you have any reason to connect this gangster to the killing?” Kaz said.

“Apparently a competitor felt Sabini was encroaching on his territory and sent an assassin after him. This was three months ago. But Sabini must have turned the tables, since the killer was never heard from again.”

“That fits,” Kaz said. “The timing and the reason why no one filed a missing persons report.”

“Everything points to it,” I said.

“You don’t sound terribly convinced,” David said, whispering as he checked to see if anyone was listening. He was definitely enjoying himself. Dinner at Ashcroft was never half as exciting.

“I think it’s likely,” I said. “But we need to check it out. I’d like to hear Sabini’s side of the story to see if it matches up with what my contact told me. And I want to see exactly where the tides start in the River Teign, to be sure we have a reasonable case.”

“He’s not going to confess, do you think?” David asked.

“I don’t need him to confess. That’s up to Inspector Grange,” I said. “Our assignment is to make certain we know who the man on the beach was.”

“How are you even going to get him to talk to you?” David said.

“That’s where you come in,” I said. Kaz raised his eyebrows inquisitively. I told them about Sabini’s son Michael in the RAF and how he’d been shot down and killed. “Do you think you could come with us, and give your condolences? Tell Sabini you knew his son?”

“If it would help, certainly,” David said.

“Are you sure?” Kaz said. “It could be dangerous. This man has killed before.”

“So have I, Piotr,” David said. “I have sent men crashing down from the sky in a ball of fire. I am the very face of death.”

I’ve been told plenty of times by the English that Americans don’t know how to make tea, or even drink it properly. I don’t disagree. But try explaining to a Brit that the thin brew they serve as coffee is truly horrible, and nine times out of ten they’ll say it tastes just fine and look at you with faint bemusement, as if a desire for strong joe, cold beer, or tea without milk was a testament to colonial depravity.

So I said the java was fine when Meredith inquired at breakfast, saying she understood Americans were particular about their morning coffee. As if the English were nonchalant about tea.

“Was your day successful?” she asked as she spread marmalade on her toast.

“Yes, I think so,” I said. “We might be close to wrapping up the case, for our purposes, anyway. We’ll turn over our findings to Inspector Grange when we’re done.” I’d called the inspector and briefed him on what we’d found. He hadn’t sounded impressed, but he’d agreed to allow Constable Quick to accompany us. He was from Newton Abbot and would know the lay of the land. If Sabini was so overcome by remorse that he confessed his guilt, we could make an official arrest. Mostly, I was curious about Tom Quick.

“At least the victim’s family can be thankful his body was recovered,” Helen said from across the table. “It’s terrible to think of him floating about in the Channel for so long. Do you think the fishermen were right, about the tides carrying him out?”

“It seems likely,” I said, trying to be polite but hoping for a shift in the morning’s conversation. I was trying to enjoy breakfast. I was in no hurry to get to Newton Abbot; in my experience, criminal bosses weren’t early risers. “David told us about the Guinea Pig Club last night. It sounds like Doctor McIndoe is a remarkable man.”

“Guinea pigs?” Helen said. “Whatever do you mean?”

“At the hospital,” I said, then realized he must never have told her. Or she didn’t want to know. “Never mind, it was only a joke.”

“It’s nothing to joke about,” Helen said in a small voice as she studied the crumbs on her plate.

“Oh, Helen, really!” Meredith said. “At least you have a husband who’s done something positive. All Edgar ever did was cause trouble for everyone, and now he’s more useless than ever. Don’t be such a twit.” She bit into her toast like it was a piece of raw meat.

“Good advice all around,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, gliding into the room and taking a seat.

“Good morning,” I said, standing. “I hope to see you all later this afternoon.”

“No need to leave on my account, Captain,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, gracing me with a wrinkled smile.

“Crime doesn’t wait,” I said, giving her a wink to see how she’d react.

“I think it can wait a very long time, Captain Boyle. Good luck to you.”

I strolled outside looking for Kaz and David. Three disconcerting women so early in the morning made the grey misty sky seem inviting. I shivered as I sat in the jeep, the mist turning to raindrops that splattered and popped on the canvas top. My shoulder holster dug into my side; I hadn’t worn it when the tailor measured me for my Eisenhower jacket, and now I was paying the price for clean lines.

By the time Kaz and David dashed from the house, the rain was lashing, and they had to clutch their caps to their heads. They piled into the jeep and brushed the water from their coats, dripping like wet dogs. By the time we arrived at the police station, the rain lessened, drops splashing intermittently into puddles.

“Need a tour guide, do you?” Constable Quick said as he climbed into the rear of the jeep. Kaz introduced David to Quick, who seemed cheerful enough, not missing a beat at the sight of David’s burn-scarred face.

“We’re going to speak to Charles Sabini,” I told Quick. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have the law along.”

“Actually, it well might,” Quick said. “What makes you think he’ll talk to you?”

“Flight Lieutenant Martindale knew his son in North Africa. He was killed there. That’s our entree.”

“His son’s death is common knowledge, as is Sabini’s temper and hatred of the government. Quite a coincidence,” Quick said, glancing at David, “you finding a chap who knew Michael Sabini.”

“Listen, all we need to do is have a word with Sabini. We’re not here to arrest anyone, or even gather evidence. I want to confirm, even if it’s off the record, the information I’ve been given about the body on the beach.”

“I’m game,” David said. “I know all sorts of dead chaps. It won’t be hard to convince this fellow.”

“So you didn’t know him?” Quick said.

“I was far more likely to shoot down a Sabini than to know this poor sod,” David said. I was beginning to like this guy.

“We thought it might be best for you and me to wait outside,” Kaz said. “To back up Billy and David, and to avoid antagonizing Mr. Sabini.”