by James R Benn
“Well, Belgium at first anyway, Baron.” Diana cocked an eyebrow at me while she took a drink. She had a look that said she was about to enjoy humiliating me. “We were in Brussels, at BEF headquarters with Lord Gort. Supposedly safe behind the lines, working the switchboard and freeing up men for the fighting units. Although nobody told the Germans.”
“Especially Rommel.” The captain said this gazing between my eyes. I could tell I was getting a message.
“Yes,” Diana went on. “Rommel and his Ghost Division, they called it. Kept showing up in our rear areas. Quite a nuisance. We abandoned headquarters, fell back. Bombed, strafed, and otherwise inconvenienced for most of the month of May. We were among the first to be transported out of Dunkirk, with the wounded.”
“Are you a nurse?” I asked.
“No, although I did learn a few things about caring for the wounded. They call us the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, but one doesn’t need to be a nurse. It’s rather a catchall organization, providing support in various ways. Working switchboards, clerking, that sort of thing.”
“Well, I’m glad you got out OK.” This was greeted with silence.
Finally the captain spoke. “The destroyer Diana was on was sunk by Stukas. The wounded were packed like sardines on deck. Most of them didn’t survive a night in the water.”
More silence. Kaz dropped a knife and the dull thud of silver hitting the table filled the room. I looked at Diana, trying to visualize her bobbing in a life jacket in the cold channel water, dead and dying men all around her. She gave her father a look that said, Please, don’t say anymore. She started to speak, stopped, and then seemed to rally. A smile crept back onto her face. She speared an asparagus and looked at me.
“So, Lieutenant, you were telling us about the difficulties of military campaigns?”
I could feel my face redden. I was glad to see she wasn’t so upset she stopped needling me. I raised my glass.
“To our English allies. They still have a thing or two to teach us colonials.”
I drained my glass. Daphne smiled approvingly, in a silent message of goodwill.
There was more wine, and several courses of good country food. The captain explained that the farm provided for most of their own needs, so rationing didn’t hurt them too badly. It was a working horse farm, and even with mechanization, there was still a big demand by the army for horses. He was evidently doing OK. After the servants cleared away the last of the dishes, the brandy and cigars came out. I had never been a big smoker, but I thought I ought to give it a try, since they were on the house. I put the cigar in my mouth before I noticed there was no hole at the end to draw the smoke through. I took it out quickly when I saw Kaz snip the end off his with a little cutter that had come with the box. For the second time that night I felt my face redden. I sincerely hoped they hadn’t noticed. Then I saw Daphne dabbing her mouth with a napkin, hiding a grin none too well.
I gave her a glare as Kaz handed me the clippers. At least Diana wasn’t laughing.
The captain was puffing on his cigar already, getting it going. Finally he exhaled. “Daphne tells me you’re a criminal detective, Lieutenant,” he said.
“Yes sir, Boston Police Department, now U.S. Army.” Criminal detective sounded a little fancier than cop, but I kinda liked it so I let it go.
“Apparently, you are conducting some kind of investigation? Anything you can tell us about?” I looked at Kaz and then Daphne. I wasn’t too sure about who should know what at this point.
“Father is actually very well informed about a number of military matters, Billy,” Daphne said. “He’s a frequent visitor at Chequers.”
The blank expression on my face must’ve said it all.
“Chequers is the prime minister’s country residence,” Kaz explained.
“Oh.”
“That would be Winston Churchill, dear,” added Daphne helpfully. I ignored her as she tried to stifle another bout of laughter.
“Father is too modest to explain,” Diana said, “but during the thirties, when Winston was trying to warn the government about the Nazi threat, he was only a member of Parliament, without much of a following or resources. A small group of influential men, some on active duty and some retired, advised him. Father was one of those. Still is, actually, when Winnie wants to sound out ideas and that sort of thing.”
“Winnie?”
“Oh yes,” Daphne added. “He’s quite a dear. He used to tell us stories of his adventures in Africa when we were children.”
“Suffice it to say, Lieutenant, I know all about Operation Jupiter. I helped Winston work out the naval logistics when it was an entirely British operation. I can only assume that’s why you’ve been consulting with the Norwegians at Beardsley Hall. As for Diana, she already has a top-secret security clearance. MI-5 cleared her before she went over with the BEF.”
Kaz gave a little shrug and nodded his head toward me. I guess we weren’t in a nest of German sympathizers.
“Do you know Knut Birkeland, sir?”
“I’ve met him in London. He advised the Royal Navy on coastal defenses and likely landing spots. Owns a fishing fleet over there, I believe, knows the coastline like the back of his hand, if I remember correctly. Decent chap.”
“Yes, he was. He’s dead.”
“It was supposed to look like suicide, Father,” Daphne broke in eagerly. “But Billy thinks it was murder! We’re helping him investigate. It’s all very exciting.”
“How was he killed?” Diana asked.
“Defenestrated,” Kaz said. “Pushed, thrown, or jumped out a fourthfloor window. Which one depends on whether or not you believe the suicide note.”
I went over the note, the gold coin, the accusations by Vidar Skak, and those who we had identified as being up and about during the early morning hours: Skak, Captain Jens Iversen, Major Anders Arnesen, Lieutenant Rolf Kayser, an unidentified female in the company of Iversen, and of course, the king.
“So,” the captain said slowly, thinking out loud, “if it wasn’t suicide, it was probably one of those individuals? Certainly you can’t suspect the king?”
“A cop . . . a criminal detective should never assume someone is incapable of murder. But leaving his royal status aside for the moment, King Haakon is one of the least likely suspects. Rolf Kayser is the other. They were out very early, hunting. The timing doesn’t work, based on the condition of the body.”
“Rigor mortis, that sort of thing?” the captain asked.
“Yes. Lividity, too.” I described the condition of the body as I found it.
“But you sound certain that the suicide note was actually written by Mr. Birkeland?” Diana asked, puzzled.
“Yes, it is in his handwriting.”’
“His handwriting, no signs of a struggle inside a locked room,” Diana said as she ticked off these points on her fingers. “How can you say it wasn’t suicide?”
“He wasn’t the type. We found the room key in Arnesen’s room later that morning. How did it get there? Someone may have planted it, or maybe Arnesen thought no one would search every room for the key, but I doubt it.”
“So who does that leave as a prime suspect?” Diana asked.
“Skak had a motive. He and Birkeland were rivals for the position of the king’s senior adviser.”
“Yes,” the captain said, “I seem to remember a difference of opinion about the role of the underground in Norway. Birkeland was dead set against it, right?”
“Absolutely. Skak was just as adamant that they be used in an uprising. Birkeland favored commando raids, even though that meant his fishing fleet was a prime target.”
“Ah, nitroglycerin!” the captain said. “The commandos have been destroying fishing boats and processing plants.”
“Correct,” said Kaz. “I am going to London to try to find out if anyone stood to gain financially by halting those raids. Someone in England, that is.”
“So, Skak has a political motive, and you’re looking for
someone who might have had a financial motive,” Diana said. “What about this mystery woman?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “Until we find her, anyway. Daphne and I are going up to the Southwold base to talk to Rolf Kayser. He left the hall soon after Birkeland’s death and we haven’t had a chance to question him. I’m hoping he and the king saw something, or somebody, that morning that will give us a lead.”
“It sounds like you’ve gotten nowhere,” said Diana, her blonde eyebrow arched and her eyes aimed at me, drilling me right through the heart.
“That’s not fair!” Daphne protested.
“Unfortunately, it is,” I admitted. “At this point in an investigation, the only thing to do is to go over everything again, carefully. They always make a mistake somewhere, it’s just a matter of patience.”
“But are you a patient man, Lieutenant Boyle?” asked Diana.
I tried to think of something suave to say, something that Franchot Tone or maybe Cary Grant would have come up with. The captain cut that short, as if he read too much into Diana’s question.
“I suggest we turn in. It will be an early start for you all in the morning. Mrs. Rutledge will have a breakfast ready at six o’clock.”
He stubbed out his cigar, grinding it in a glass ashtray with his left hand as he watched us get up and leave. I thought I could feel his eyes on my back.
CHAPTER ▪ SIXTEEN
I WAS IN BED, leafing through a two-year old magazine about horses and thinking of Diana on horseback, galloping past me like the answer to a dream I’d never had, when there was a knock at the door. Before the last rapid rap of knuckles faded my heart was pounding hard in my chest.
“Hang on!” I stumbled out of bed, throwing on a robe over my skivvies and praying it wasn’t Kaz. I opened the door. It wasn’t.
“May I come in?” Diana asked in a whisper, as she worriedly looked up and down the hallway.
“Sure. . . .”
Before I could say anything else she slipped in and closed the door, carefully and quietly, holding her left hand flat against the panel as she moved the doorknob with her right, turning it slowly only when the door was shut tight. She was wearing a light blue dressing gown, her golden hair was loose, and there were tears in her eyes. She turned and leaned back against the door, not moving except for her nervous hands.
“Want to sit down?” I moved to a small couch under the window, feeling like I was coaxing a frightened deer.
“I don’t know what I want . . . I feel like a fool, really . . . if Father finds out . . . I should go. . . .”
She turned and put her hand back on the door, but she didn’t open it. Her head fell forward and rested against it, next to her hand. Her back heaved and she began to cry silently, teardrops raining down. I gently took her by the arm, just touching her elbow, led her to the sofa, and sat her down next to me. Her sobbing lessened and she sheepishly pulled a lace handkerchief from her dressing-gown pocket. She dabbed at her nose and eyes, giving me a little smile and not much else to go on.
“Diana, tell me what’s wrong. How can I help?”
“I can’t, Billy. I can’t tell anyone. That’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Listen, Billy.” She perked up a bit as she gathered her wits about her and swung her legs up onto the sofa, tucking the ends of her dressing gown underneath them. She looked off for a second, her fingers fluttering in front of her eyes, as if she wanted to pull something away, something invisible between us.
“It’s not that anything is exactly wrong. Everything is happening as it should, just as expected. I’m worried . . . scared, actually.”
“About what?”
She put a hand up to her face to hide her eyes. It was as if she was battling a secret that wanted to come out, and the fight was costing her. Finally, she looked me straight in the eye, as her words flowed out at me.
“Billy, if there were all the time in the world, if you were here on holiday and all I had to do was train Father’s horses, things would be different. I would be very coy and flirt a little bit. After a few weeks, I would admit to you that the first time I saw you I thought you were handsome, attractive, and intriguing. I would then let you kiss me, once. But there isn’t time, not much time at all.”
She searched my eyes, looking for me to understand something she couldn’t explain. She overwhelmed me—her voice, her face, the blue of her gown reflected in her blue eyes. Everything overloaded my mind until I couldn’t think of anything except a wisecrack.
“Yeah, I hear there’s a war on. You haven’t said what you’re scared about.”
“What I’m trying to tell you is that even though we’ve just met, I feel comfortable with you, as if we’ve known each other before. And that I need a friend right now, someone to talk with. And, I have to admit, I like talking to you, even if I do make fun of you a bit.”
“Yeah, a bit. But what about Daphne? Can’t you talk to her? You two seem pretty close. My brother, Danny, and I are like that, though I’d never admit I was scared of anything to him.”
Diana avoided my eyes and looked out the window at the darkness beyond. I didn’t mean to turn her down, but I just didn’t understand what she was after.
“I can’t burden her, or Father. I don’t want them to worry.”
Then I understood. Even a thick-headed Irishman like me could understand now, and when I did, the bottom seemed to fall out of everything.
“Oh, I get it. Since we’re attracted to each other, you can burden me with your troubles, without actually telling me what they are, of course. But then, because we’re not really close yet, it won’t bother you to leave me to worry about you.”
“Why, Billy, you must really be a detective! So, you’re attracted to me, too?”
It was my turn to look away. I had never felt this shy with a girl before. I was trying to be mad at her but it just wouldn’t stick. She knew it, too.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I wanted to tell her about how I felt when I first saw her, but all I could manage was a mumble.
“Well, there’s some truth in what you say. I wanted to talk to somebody—I wanted someone to talk to me—who wouldn’t lecture me, and with whom I could cry if I wanted. But being with you, I don’t feel like crying as much as I did before. Unless that makes you uncomfortable, and you want me to leave?”
She started to get up, and I was pretty sure she was kidding, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
“No, stay as long as you want. I was tired of reading horse magazines anyway.”
She granted me a smile and adjusted herself on the couch, making herself more comfortable.
“Diana, tell me what the problem is; maybe I can help. Maybe General Eisenhower can—”
She leaned forward and put her hand on the back of my neck and pulled me toward her. She pressed her lips against mine and kissed me like we were hungry lovers who had been apart too long. Just as suddenly as it began, it was over, and she pushed me away.
“There, that was our first kiss. I told you I would let you kiss me once. Now don’t ask me again about my problems!”
I was looking at her lips, still feeling the warmth of them pressed up against mine. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but I knew I didn’t want to miss it.
“OK, OK! Instead, tell me what that little visit with your father in the library was all about. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted.”
“I think he was keeping me from you. From being alone with you.”
“Why? I’m a nice enough guy.”
“Father can be quite headstrong, but never mind him. I can be headstrong, too.”
Now she looked angry. I could tell she was trying to forget something as she spoke with a forced gaiety. “Tell me all about yourself. Tell me about your life in Boston. Do you go to parties much? Do you know any gangsters?”
“I’ll tell you I liked that first kiss. . . .” I leaned in for another and was rewarded by a firm pu
sh against my chest that was almost a punch. Her strength surprised me and then I remembered how firm her handshake had been.
“I told you I’d let you kiss me once. Once was it—for tonight, anyway. You don’t take me for a loose girl, do you?”
I was about to mention that she had kissed me and not vice versa, but I rubbed the sore spot on my chest instead and thought better of it.
“Not at all. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You don’t hit like a girl.”
“So I’ve been told. Now, tell me all about Boston.”
I talked to her about my family, my kid brother, Dad, and Uncle Dan, and all their cop pals. I told her about being a cop—the real thing, not bragging about being a criminal detective or anything. I told her about the Boston neighborhoods, Southie, Back Bay, Chinatown, and the docks. I explained how I got here, Uncle Ike and everything. I didn’t even try to make myself sound like a big deal. It was so easy to talk with her that I never felt a need to lie or even dress things up.
We started out sitting with our legs up on the sofa. Soon we were stretched out with our legs intertwined. By the time Diana finished telling me about her life growing up at Seaton Manor, we were cuddled up together pretty good, my arm around her, her soft hair smelling like a warm summer day.
“It was a good place to grow up, but I missed having a mother. All my friends had mothers, and I couldn’t even remember what mine looked like. Father was wonderful, but there was always a missing piece, some part of me that felt like it could never grow up. I still wonder about her, what she was like, really, not what Father remembers or tells us.”
“I think I know,” I said.
“How could you?” Resentment crept into her voice, as if I had trespassed.
“You and Daphne. You’re both wonderful, special in your own way. Some of that comes from your father—how you were brought up, sure—but there has to be quite a bit of your mother in both of you. Look to the best of yourself.”
Diana was quiet for a minute, staring into space, thinking.