James Benn - A Blind Goddess

As senior detectives on the force, my dad and his brother Dan had done enough favors for politicians to get me a spot on Uncle Ike’s staff. But what we hadn’t planned on was that our unknown and distant relative would be tapped to head up US Army forces in Europe in early 1942. And that he liked the idea of a police detective who was a relative to handle sensitive assignments. Assignments that tended to involve bullets and very loud explosions.

I didn’t start off this war the gung-ho type. What I really wanted was to end it in one piece. But when Uncle Ike needed something done, I couldn’t say no. Partly because he was a general and could order me to do whatever he wanted, but mainly because he was family, and he carried a heavy burden. So I hadn’t minded asking him for one small favor this time.

“What do you say we celebrate tonight, Billy?” Diana said as she took me by the arm. “Let’s go dancing at the Rhythm Club. Big Mike and Estelle fixed Kaz up with a nurse from the infirmary. It will be loads of fun, I promise.”

“Sure,” I said. I knew Diana was working hard at making up for the lost leave, and that a night out on the town might be just the ticket. I’d been down since seeing Tree again, and being sidelined by both SHAEF and my own girlfriend. So what the hell. “Kaz said he’d go?”

“Yes. Although he and Nini have been writing almost every day. It is quite touching. I’m so glad for him.” Nini was an Italian princess, holed up within Vatican City in occupied Rome. Long story. Diana went off to tell Estelle, leaving me with not much to do.

“William,” Uncle Ike said, as an officer beckoned him from the doorway. “You remember to write your folks and give them my regards.”

I promised I would and watched him leave, trailing a bevy of aides carrying files and map cases. Planning an invasion while I ate cake. Really not a bad deal, I reminded myself. The WACs drifted back to their desks as the party wound down. Estelle left for her office in Air Force Operations while Harding took a telephone call.

“Kaz,” I said. “Let’s get over to the Provost Marshal General’s office and see what they’ve got on the Smith case. We still have time before we hit the fleshpots of London tonight.”

“Good. It will give us something to do,” Kaz said.

“I’ll drive you as long as Sam don’t need me,” Big Mike said. “We might have to drop him off at Norfolk House.”

“You’re staying put,” Harding said, slamming down the telephone. “All of you. Major Cosgrove is on his way over. We have a case. You’d best cancel your reservations tonight.”

So much for the Rhythm Club. And my leave. I wrote a note to Diana and gave it to Mattie to deliver. I told her I was sorry, and that it might be no more than a couple of days. I felt bad about standing her up, but we both understood wartime demands. I felt worse about letting Tree down and not getting into the Angry Smith arrest, but I have to say, an official case was just what the doctor ordered. Nothing like a cold corpse to make you feel needed.

“Glad you’re here, Boyle,” Major Charles Cosgrove said, sitting down at the conference table and puffing his cheeks as he let out a deep breath, wiping away beads of sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief. “Congratulations on your captaincy, by the way.”

“Thanks, Major,” I said. “But what’s the rush?”

“We have a bit of a problem, and it seems you are the perfect solution, Captain Boyle.” It was odd to hear the word captain in front of my name. To me, a captain is a high-ranking cop, not a soldier one step above dime-a-dozen lieutenants. It was also odd hearing Cosgrove say I was perfect for anything.

Major Cosgrove worked for MI5, the British security service charged with counterintelligence. He was an older gent, the kind of guy who would have been long retired if it hadn’t been for another war coming around. He was grey-haired and portly, with a white mustache that gave him a grandfatherly look that was at odds with his deadly, steel-blue eyes.

Cosgrove and Harding sat on one side of the table in the conference room just a few doors down from Uncle Ike’s office. Kaz and Big Mike flanked me on either side. We eyed the manila folder with MOST SECRET stamped in red.

“I’ve asked Colonel Harding for help in this case,” Cosgrove went on. “For reasons I cannot let on, it will be better for an American team to investigate this murder.”

“Who’s been killed, and where?” I asked. I’d only been back in England for less than a week, and I liked the idea of staying put for a while.

“A chap named Stuart Neville. He was found at his rooming house in Newbury-west of London-this morning.”

“Newbury is close to Hungerford,” Kaz said. “We passed through it yesterday.” The look he gave me said it all. Close enough to look into Angry Smith while we were at it.

“Are the police investigating, or is this a hushed-up MI5 case?” I said.

“The Berkshire Constabulary are on the scene now. We want this treated as a normal criminal investigation,” Cosgrove said. “Publicly.”

“It won’t be normal once we show up,” I said. “What’s our role?”

“There is an American involved. He discovered the body, actually. Sergeant Jerome Sullivan, stationed at the nearby US Air Force base at Greenham Common. That will explain your presence. It is a joint investigation with the local police. Inspector John Payne is expecting you and will cooperate fully. He has primary jurisdiction, of course.”

“What is MI5’s involvement?” Kaz asked, not unreasonably.

“For reasons of security, I can only say we have an official interest that must be kept quiet.”

“Do you have an official interest in the killer being apprehended, or not apprehended?” I asked. Having dealt with Major Cosgrove before, I knew enough not to assume either.

“I am confident that you and Inspector Payne will ensure that justice is served, Captain Boyle. I cannot say more without prejudicing your investigation and military security. I have prepared some basic information for you which you can review on your way there. If you leave immediately you will be able to inspect the crime scene with the inspector before the body is removed.” Cosgrove slid a folded piece of paper across the table. I handed it to Kaz.

“Hold on,” I said. “Newbury is about fifty miles away. You’re telling me that you found out about the murder this morning, had time to contact Colonel Harding, come out to Bushy Park to brief me, and I can still get to Newbury before they move the body?”

“There are telephones, you know,” Cosgrove said.

“Who called you?” I wondered if it had been the killer.

“That is not germane. One thing I can tell you is that the owner of the rooming house, George Miller, emigrated here from Germany. He and his wife were active in the Social Democratic Party and had to flee after Hitler took power. He was originally Georg Mueller, but changed his name for obvious reasons.”

“Is that common knowledge?” I asked.

“Yes. He keeps to himself these days, but his background is not a secret. He and his wife, Carla, have had some trouble since the war began-they have slight but noticeable German accents-but are reasonably well accepted in Newbury. Lots of foreigners on our shores these days, people have got used to it.”

“By trouble, do you mean violence?” Kaz asked.

“Not that I know of. More along the lines of taunts in the street, that sort of thing. Inspector Payne can fill you in.”

“And you know of Miller how?” I asked.

“It is my business to know of the Millers in our midst, Captain Boyle.”

“I assume they’ve been investigated, since they are interned.”