James Benn - Rag and Bone

“No,” Kaz said, shaking his head, as if willing the cobwebs to be cleared from Flack’s single-track mind. “I left rather than make more of an ass of myself. I knew I’d had too much to drink, and that I was verging on self-pity. I thought the cold night air would do me good, and I’d heard that from a good height, you could see the muzzle flashes from the German railway guns, when they bring them out to shell Dover.”

“You were determined to get yourself killed?” Flack suggested.

“Not at all. It may not have been my most splendid idea, but it was something I thought interesting. Better than drinking more vodka. So I climbed the path up the cliff and sat on a bench at the top. I watched the bombers fly over. It was really magnificent, if one could separate spectacle from reality. When the antiaircraft gun behind me opened up, I almost fell into the sea. I watched the two planes go down, and sat for a while longer.”

“How long?” Flack said.

“I have no idea. I was lost in my own thoughts after the firing died down.”

“What were you thinking about, Lieutenant?”

“My homeland. The likelihood that I will never see it again. What to do with my life. To whom I owe my loyalty. The woman I loved and lost. How beautiful the water looked under the starlight. The things one thinks about late at night, in wartime, under the stars, after death has flown overhead.”

“And you say you saw no one until Lieutenant Boyle came along?”

“No, I did not say that, DS Flack. I said I saw the sentries at the gate, when the guns fired. They were far away, though, and I’m sure they didn’t see me. And I saw the body, before I saw Billy.”

“Ah, yes,” Flack said, making a show of consulting his notebook. “You had no idea that the murdered body of Rak Vatutin lay just a few yards from where you sat? You didn’t see it when you looked toward the sentries?”

“No, it was pitch black, except for when the antiaircraft gun fired, and there was a bright explosive light, which lit the area around the gun. The sentries were only shadows.”

“With all that shooting, and everyone looking up, it would have been a simple matter to bash a man’s brains in,” Flack said, his voice mild but his eyes unblinking, riveted on Kaz. “It must have been tempting to come upon a Russian in the dark.”

“If Joseph Stalin had walked by, I would have given it some thought. But he was nowhere to be seen.” The constable at the door laughed, but lost the smile as Flack turned to stare him down.

“Explain the blood on your hands then,” Flack said.

“When I saw the body, I knelt down to get a closer look, to see if he was alive. I rested one hand on the ground and felt for a pulse with the other. I didn’t even notice I’d put my hand on a stone, until Billy pointed it out. Inspector, if I wished to kill anyone, Russian or otherwise, I wouldn’t do it within plain sight of sentries and a gun crew.”

“But you said yourself, they didn’t see you, that it was too dark.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have taken that chance.”

“Very well,” DS Flack said. “Now, Lieutenant Boyle. We know what time you left the inn, based on witnesses there. Approximately fifteen minutes elapsed between then and when you found Lieutenant Kazimierz leaning over the body.”

“Yes,” I said. Never give an interrogator more words than you need to. Words are his weapon against you.

“You saw no other people in the area?”

“Not in the immediate area. I saw Archie and Topper Chapman at the inn. They were looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“Vatutin. They’d asked me to deliver a message to him.”

“Why would they do that?” Flack said, underlining something in his notebook.

“They’d lost contact with him after the Soviet group moved down here.”

“What was the message?”

“They wanted to know the time and place. Of what, I don’t know. Maybe it had to do with the hijackings. Maybe they killed him.”

“It would be unlike the Chapmans to eliminate a useful conduit for information. And I doubt Vatutin would have been a threat. One word from Archie and his own people would have sent him to Siberia. Still, it may put an end to the hijacking investigation. One less thing to worry about.”

“You don’t think Archie capable of murdering Vatutin?”

“Capable?” Flack said. “Certainly. But I know how he works. He wouldn’t show up outside of his own turf and commit murder. Too obvious, too visible. He’d hire it out. Easy enough to pay someone to watch for Vatutin and do away with him. But not while Archie is within spitting distance.”

“That makes sense,” I had to admit.

“Yes. Now tell me, did you ever witness an argument between Lieutenant Kazimierz and Captain Vatutin?”

“No.”

“Nothing unpleasant at all?”

“No. We met him at the embassy. He gave us food and drink and was a cordial host.”

“On the night of the opera, when Lieutenant Kazimierz threatened Captain Sidorov? Called him a butcher, and said he’d pay for what he’d done?”

“Is that what Inspector Scutt told you?” I knew I should have kept my answer to one word.

“He told me he’d be happy to never see another Russian opera. Now please answer my question.”

“It was a deliberate provocation. Scutt must’ve told you about the opera.”

“So it did happen, as I said?”

“Exactly as you said,” Kaz said, seeing I was reluctant to admit the truth.

“And were you drunk-sorry, tipsy-that night as well?”

“No. Quite sober,” Kaz said. “I did my drinking later.”

“After the film, a Soviet diplomat was beaten within an inch of his life as he walked in the park. Can you tell me anything about that?”

“No. I went back to the Dorchester and stayed there.”

“I can vouch for that,” I said.

“You can say with certainty that he never left? Would you have heard him leave? I understand the rooms you occupy are quite spacious.” Flack sat with his pencil poised over a blank page.

“I didn’t stay up all night watching him,” I said. “What, do you think he went out in the middle of the night on the chance he’d find a Russian taking a midnight stroll?”

“What I think, Lieutenant Boyle, is that all this started with one murdered Russian. Murdered in such a way as to suggest Polish involvement. Then threats against Captain Sidorov, followed by the savage beating of another Russian, and a second murder right here. Eddie Miller, found stabbed outside the Rubens, after you, Lieutenant Boyle, discover he is working for the Russians and tell Lieutenant Kazimierz. To top it all off, Captain Sidorov has now completely disappeared; he’s not in his quarters or any of the pubs. Three, maybe four people come to harm, and Lieutenant Kazimierz has been involved, to one degree or another, with each one. Inspector Scutt tells me the Soviet ambassador is throwing a fit, and so are the Foreign Office, and the home secretary. All that turmoil rolls right downhill to me, courtesy of Inspector Scutt. So rather than take a chance on this continuing any further, I hereby place you under arrest, Lieutenant Kazimierz, on suspicion of murder.”

“You can’t do that,” I said, standing up.

“Sit down,” Flack said, and I did, knowing he had to win this one. “I can and could do much more, being here at the invitation of the War Office. For now, it’s suspicion. Be thankful for that much.”

“Thankful?” Kaz said. “I’m under arrest for a crime I did not commit, and I should be thankful?”

“Yes. Since this crime took place in a secure military area, the Official Secrets Act applies. I could put you away for two years without trial if I didn’t like an answer you gave me. So yes, be thankful.”