James Benn - Rag and Bone

“One more thing, Major. Is there any kind of shipment headed for the Soviet Embassy, something more valuable than booze or food?”

“Why do you ask?” Cosgrove narrowed his eyes, studying me, as if I’d come up with a really smart comment. He looked surprised.

“Is that a yes?”

“I can’t answer that question, Boyle, to say yes or no. Either would leave the impression I know of such a thing, one way or the other. But I would like to know what you suspect.”

“Scotland Yard says hijackings are down, so maybe it’s a rumor.”

“ What is just a rumor?” Cosgrove was angry now, and we were back on more comfortable ground.

“Just some loose talk. I’ll let you know if it comes to anything. Have you heard of the Three Kings?”

“I assume you’re not talking about a Christmas pageant, Boyle. If you mean the resistance group from Czechoslovakia, yes, I have. Last of the leaders was taken in 1941. Showed potential, as I recall. No sign from any of the survivors since, if there were any.”

“There is one. She’s here in London. Is that something Philby might be interested in?”

“Smart chap, Boyle; he may indeed. Could you produce this woman?”

“She runs a bordello for Archie Chapman. I know where she is. Producing her might be a bit difficult. She goes by Dalenka.”

“Well, MI6 would have no trouble if it comes to that. Could be a Nazi plant, but that would be useful in its own way. I’m certain Philby will want to know more, and information about Miss Seaton will be a small price to pay in exchange. I’ll see him later tonight, and will be able to speak to him alone.”

“You mean without the mysterious Mr. Brown?”

“Indeed.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with the killing of Egorov?” I asked, as I opened the office door for him. He put his weight on his cane, and frowned.

“Brown? No, I don’t. Egorov’s name never came up, and as you’ve seen, he is a bit of a braggart. I think if he had, he would’ve said something about it. I expect you’ll solve that mystery, Boyle. You seem to have talent in that direction. Be certain to tell me anything you learn about threats concerning shipments to the Soviets. Good day.”

I watched his rolling, limping gait as he left through the outer office. I’d had some strange conversations with the man, but this was the first one that had ended on a friendly note, which made it the oddest of them all.

“Let’s get to that pub,” I said to Big Mike.

“You’re the boss, Billy.”

A five-minute drive took half an hour in the thick fog. Vehicles hugged the curb to stay on their side of the road, and the late afternoon looked more like dusk. The only good thing was that the Germans wouldn’t be sending over bombers in this weather.

“Sheila Carlson could have walked in and out of the Rubens ten times,” Kaz said from his seat next to a window at the Bag O’Nails Pub.

“She probably won’t show herself in London,” I said, explaining that Mr. Brown had ordered her killed, and how she’d slipped away.

“There’s a man who doesn’t like loose ends, and a woman who is very careful,” Kaz said. “What do we do now?”

“Let’s eat,” Big Mike said. “It’s early, but we have a long drive ahead of us.”

“We can’t get to Dover in this soup,” I said.

“We should’ve left earlier, before it got this bad. Sam won’t like it that we hung around here and got stuck. So we’re leaving, after we eat.”

“OK,” I said, giving in to the lowest ranker at the table. No reason to argue with a corporal who has generals and colonels for pals and who could lift me three feet off the floor. Big Mike and I ordered ale, while Kaz stayed with Scotch. I really wanted vodka, God help me, but I resisted the hard stuff. Before long I was tucking into a plate of fish and chips. Kaz had chicken and turnips, while Big Mike indulged his taste for odd English dishes.

“Steak and kidney pie?” I said. “I didn’t know they still served that in the twentieth century.”

“It’s good,” Big Mike said. “Beefsteak, nice fluffy pastry, and the kidney tastes like liver. Sort of.” He chewed a bit, and took a long swallow of ale.

“What have you been up to, Billy?” Kaz asked, after we were through eating.

“I found out Scutt is very interested in talking to you, which I think means throwing you in a cell on suspicion of murder. Apparently a Russian named Osip Nikolaevich Blotski was beat with a lead pipe last night, and nearly killed.”

“Inspector Scutt thinks I am hunting Russians one by one, on the streets of London?”

“I’d say he’s seeking a motive, and you’ve got the best claim to one, after that scene at the opera. Things got stranger after that. I went to see Cosgrove, to confront him about Sheila Carlson and watch his reaction. Who do I find him with but none other than a Mr. Brown. They had a meeting with a guy from MI6, Kim Philby.”

“Then Mr. Brown must be more than an errand boy,” Kaz said. “Cosgrove and Philby move in the higher ranks of intelligence circles.”

“I got the distinct notion that Cosgrove was the junior of the three, and that he and Brown were on the outs. Brown as much as boasted he’d had Sheila killed, to keep her quiet.” I described my visit to the Eastcheap Gentleman’s Club, the message I was supposed to carry to Rak Vatutin, and the surprise visit from Cosgrove.

“So now we know who among the Russians was tipping off the Chapman gang,” Kaz said. “And that you are aiding and abetting them in hijacking farm produce. That doesn’t help clear me of suspicion, or help you solve the case.”

“It might be more than produce or vodka this time. When I mentioned it to Cosgrove he nearly blew a fuse.”

“What else could it be?” Kaz said. “Weapons? Drugs?”

“We’re missing something,” Big Mike said, setting down his empty glass.

“Obviously,” I said.

“I mean about Sheila. We figured she killed Eddie for the cash, right? But Scutt was right, that she could’ve taken that anytime. So there had to be another reason.”

“There could be many reasons,” Kaz said. “A lover’s quarrel, a falling-out among thieves.”

“No, we gotta look at it with this new information: Brown wanted her dead, and she got away.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not seeing where Big Mike was going with this.

“OK,” he said, holding up one finger. “Let’s say she has no clue Brown is going to have her done in. She makes the cake, gives it to Radecki, and then figures it’s a big payday. Eddie’s at work. She could take off with their nest egg, and then get whatever Brown promised her once the job was done. Why kill Eddie?”

“Maybe he found out about the poisoned cake,” I said. “Or who was paying her to do it.”

“No, he was at work. She baked two cakes, and brought him a piece of one, which he ate. He couldn’t have known about her taking off with their money.” Big Mike held up a second finger. “Now let’s figure she knew Brown was going to double-cross her. Same question applies. Why kill Eddie?”

“It doesn’t help to repeat that we don’t know why,” Kaz said.

“No, that’s not what he’s saying,” I broke in, watching Big Mike nod his head in approval as I caught up to him. “We’re stuck in a rut thinking it had something to do with MI5 or Tad. It doesn’t. There’s another reason entirely. Eddie had to know something that truly threatened her. Working for MI5 is its own protection; if she had faith in Brown, she would have felt safe. Or, if she knew Brown was going to have her killed, that threat would have been her top priority.”

“I see,” Kaz said. “You’re saying she murdered Eddie for a third reason, external to the case. And that perhaps she didn’t know Brown had ordered her death. Perhaps she slipped away for that third reason.”