Billy Boyle (18 page)

“Where were you between five thirty and six o’clock this morning?”

“I am a man of very precise habits, Lieutenant. I awake each morning at five thirty. I dress and take a morning walk at six o’clock, rain or shine. I find it clears my head for the day’s work and keeps me fit. I breakfast at six thirty and am at work by seven. This morning, Major Cosgrove joined me on my walk. He wanted to talk about the Underground Army and my plans for it.”

I made a mental note to talk to Cosgrove. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d been up and around, and I hadn’t figured him for the early-exercise much less the walking type.

“Did you see anything unusual in the house or on the grounds?”

“No, just the usual house staff about. Except for Captain Iversen, now that you mention it.”

“Was it unusual for him to be around?”

“I don’t usually see him that early. As I came down the staircase from the fourth floor, I saw him walking down the third-floor corridor very quietly. His back was to me, so he didn’t see me there. He opened his door, which was unlocked, and closed it behind him, very slowly without a noise. I thought it a bit odd at the time, and only remembered when you asked me. Why would he go out and leave his room unlocked and act so furtively?”

I was glad to hear that someone else besides me hadn’t caught on to the unlocked door dodge, until I realized it put me in the same company as this lifeless bureaucrat. I’d have to ask Jens about his excursion, and why he hadn’t mentioned it. That made three guys already up and around the building when Birkeland was killed: Skak, Cosgrove, and Iversen. And maybe Anders, since he couldn’t account for how someone got into his room to leave Birkeland’s key, although that could have been done anytime up until it was found.

“Well, Mr. Skak, maybe he just didn’t want to wake up his neighbors. Anything else?”

“No. Major Cosgrove and I met at the front entrance and walked briskly for half an hour. When we returned I went straight to my room, where I have my breakfast delivered.” The thought of Cosgrove walking briskly for thirty minutes was pretty funny, and it made me wonder why he was so interested in Skak’s plans.

“Lieutenant Boyle, will you be reporting on your investigation to the king?” I could see the worry in his eyes.

“I doubt it, sir. I report to Major Harding, who reports directly to General Eisenhower. He will probably inform Major Cosgrove as a courtesy, but what they do with my report is their business.”

“And when do you think you will complete your investigation?”

“When I understand exactly what happened and why.”

“Well, good luck then, Lieutenant.” I could see that Skak’s faith in me didn’t lead him to foresee a speedy conclusion to this case. His face visibly relaxed and his smile looked almost natural. He must’ve figured that word of his potential involvement wouldn’t get back to the king until he was safely enthroned as senior adviser.

I left and smiled at Brunhilda on my way out, trying to work the Irish charm. Nothing. I’d have had more of a chance with cod on ice at Quincy Market than with her.

I walked downstairs to the second floor, where Jens had his office amid a cluster of other officers and lower-level functionaries. No ample secretaries pulling guard duty in sight. I found him at his desk and on the phone, jotting down notes and nodding his head. Someone on the other end was doing a lot of talking. I stepped back a bit and looked around as I waited.

Down here on the second floor accommodations were a bit more spartan. Jens’s office was actually a rectangle, three walls and an open front. There were four others like it along one wall, and a nest of desks, map tables, and file cabinets filled the rest of the room. Norwegian soldiers in brown British battle dress, WRENs in their blue uniforms, and some civilian women buzzed about. I watched them talking, tracing movements on a wall map with their fingers, dancing over the North Sea from Scotland to Norway as if they were planning a Sunday drive, eyes alive with anticipation. There was a sense of purpose in everything they did, every little thing filled with great importance, even filing papers and typing forms. File cabinets were closed with determined thuds like mortar rounds going off, and the rapid chatter of typewriter keys sounded like machine guns strafing the paper into submission. There was excitement in the air, the unspoken fervor of anticipated action. The invasion was
on
. It had been two years since some of these people had seen their homeland, and now they were on their way back. This wasn’t just a government job; it was a cause, something they all believed in and would fight for. Die for.

Leaning against the wall, with Jens jabbering on the phone and the murmurs of activity all around me, I felt a stab of loneliness. Or maybe just a kind of difference that separated me from these eager beavers. They were all doing their bit for the cause, and here I was, an outsider, searching their rooms, questioning their leaders, and generally getting in the way. I sure didn’t want to go along with them, but I did feel left out, as if I were watching a parade pass me by. But that was the price I paid, the trade-off for making my living by uncovering what people wanted to stay hidden. Separateness. Everybody had their secrets, and no one liked having them aired in public. I didn’t either, which was why I was trying so hard not to make a fool of myself in this investigation.

The beehive continued to buzz as I stuck my hands in my pockets, whistled a low tune, and wondered how many of the people in this room would still be alive by the end of the war. I had never been so patriotic that I was willing to charge blindly into the jaws of death. As a matter of fact, I thought anyone who was needed his head examined. The brass was going to think up plenty of ways to get us all killed, while keeping themselves safe and cozy, sipping good brandy in comfortable quarters. I saw no reason to help them get me killed. I planned to do my best to get Mom’s oldest boy home again, safe and sound. I shook my head, like a drunk trying to get ahold of himself. I needed to watch out for this Norwegian liberation fever. It might be catching.

“Yes, Lieutenant Boyle?”

I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed Jens hang up his phone. He was looking at me as if I were a door-to-door salesman. I stopped whistling. I could tell he was still steamed at having his claim to jurisdiction overruled by Major Harding and by my role in charge of the investigation. I didn’t blame him a bit. No cop would want an investigation taken away from him, and the head of security here wouldn’t feel any different. Didn’t mean I was going to cut him any slack.

“Captain Iversen,” I began in my best imitation of military formality, “I need to ask you a few questions.” I watched him carefully. There was no surprise on his face at being approached as a witness or perhaps a suspect. Instead of indignation, I saw resignation.

“Please, sit down.” He gestured at the chair facing his desk. I pulled it closer to his desk, sat down, and leaned forward so we could speak quietly. Jens moved aside a map, then thought about it and folded it up so I couldn’t see it. He was the head of security, after all.

“Captain, first let me say that I didn’t ask for this assignment. I don’t like interfering with your work here, but I have to follow up every lead that comes my way.”

“Lieutenant, I don’t like finding the dead body of one of my officials and then having the responsibility for the investigation taken away from me. This should be a Norwegian matter. But as a soldier I understand the need to follow orders, so ask your questions.”

He was hanging on to his dignity. Not only had the death of Knut Birkeland happened on his watch, but his authority had been undercut by Harding, and now here I was to question him. Part of me felt bad for him. Most of me liked it. It meant he was off balance, worried about his status and what it was I knew. It was all a good start for an interrogation. I leaned in even closer.

“Jens,” I said in a soft and friendly voice, “why didn’t you tell me where you were this morning?”

His eyes widened and he gave out a nervous little laugh. “What do you mean? I was with you.”

“No, Jens, before we found the body. Before he went out the window.”

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled deeply. He kept quiet, which was the smartest thing anyone being questioned can do. Unfortunately for him, my dad had taught me well how to deal with a quiet suspect. Be quiet right back at them. Let them fill the silence. We sat there, looking at each other. He twitched a bit, and his eyes darted around the room behind me. I stared at him, thinking confident thoughts. When he started tapping a pencil on the desktop I knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

“Billy, what do you want more than anything else?”

That was easy; so easy that it came out with a sigh.

“To go home;” I said.

Jens laughed again, not nervously but the kind of laugh that hides a real pain or shares one. “Yes, to go home. Imagine that you haven’t been home for years instead of weeks, and that the Nazis occupy your home. Now think about how badly you’d want to get back.” I had the fleeting thought that some parts of Boston at night would be tough even on the Nazis, but I knew what he meant.

“I’d want to get back real bad, to even the score. Just like you do now.”

“Yes, I do, now that everything has changed. Within a few months we will be in Norway, taking it back from the Germans. We’ve been dreaming about this since 1940.”

“You’re telling me all this because… ?”

“Because as much as I want to be part of this invasion, as important as it is to me, I won’t answer your questions. No matter what the consequence.”

“Jens, I already know that shortly before six o’clock you were seen returning to your room. You had left your door unlocked and went in very quietly. Then you told me the sentries woke you about six thirty after they found Birkeland’s body. I know you were out of your room in the early morning hours and that you lied about the time you were up. Why not just fill in the blanks?”

“No.”

“Were you in Birkeland’s room that morning?”

“Not until I entered with you.”

“Were you in anyone else’s room that morning?” I could see him think about that question. Evidently he didn’t mind answering questions that skirted the issue of why he was out of his room. I was beginning to get an idea.

“No, I can tell you that much.”

“Did you see anyone else?” He shook his head.

“Does that mean you didn’t see anyone or won’t tell me?”

“Billy, I am not withholding any information that would bear on Knut Birkeland’s death. I know you are somewhat single-minded, but not everything that happens here has to do with his death. Some things are personal… private.”

“Until I know that something doesn’t matter, it does.”

“That does indeed make you single minded, or childlike, as if the whole world revolves around you and your needs. It doesn’t, Billy. The world goes on, with or without us or even Knut Birkeland. The invasion will go on, regardless of what you find out.”

Not exactly, I thought to myself. Maybe the invasion, yes. It will go on. But this is my world—the investigation, the intrusion, the hanging on until it’s solved or I run out of air speed and ideas. Until then, this is my universe and I’m the center of it, and I like it just like that.

“Are you telling me to back off?” I asked.

Jens shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter.

“You cannot even be sure Birkeland was murdered. It may have been a suicide. You have to admit it is somewhat ironic that one death receives so much attention in the midst of a war with thousands of deaths. Here we are working on plans for the invasion and the Underground uprising. Who knows how many on both sides will die?”

“So what’s just one death when we can look forward to so many more?”

“I mean… there is so much to look forward to, so much to do. And we will need every man to help. Why not just leave things to the Almighty? Perhaps if Birkeland really was murdered, God will punish the killer. As you say, there will be death enough very soon.”

“I’m only a cop, or whatever I am now in this job. I make it a practice to leave God’s punishment up to him, as soon as I send a bad guy his way. You need to understand something, Jens. I’m going to find out what happened. In order to do that, I need to know everything that went on this morning, whether you like it or not. Even if it hurts somebody. Even if it hurts her.”

Jens jumped like he’d been poked with a sharp stick. Wow, had I been right.

“Who?”

“Her. The woman you’re protecting. The woman who was in your room last night. The woman who you probably escorted back to her quarters, being such a gentleman. Am I right, or were you off killing Knut Birkeland instead?”

Jens just about collapsed into a chair. His hands covered his face as he tried to mask his emotions. “
Gudshjelp meg
,” he said in a whisper. “God help me.” He rubbed his eyes as if he were very tired.

“I did not kill Knut Birkeland, Billy. If you can figure out everything else, you should know that much.”

“What about her? Who is she?” Well, he was the one who called me single-minded.

“It’s more… complicated than you might think. If it would help you, I would tell you, but there is nothing she could know. And it would cause… great pain.”

“Tell me one thing, Jens. Did you take her all the way back to her room?”

“No, I didn’t want us to be seen together. I took her down to the first floor, and then she went on from there.”

“Then I need to talk to her. She may have seen some thing after she left you, something she’s not even aware of.”

“No. I will not put her through this.”

“It sounds like this goes beyond your normal slap and tickle, Jens.”

“What does that mean?”

“How do you say ‘romp in the hayloft’ in Norwegian?”

A limp smile lifted his lips. “I think I understand. As I said, it is complicated. Much more complicated than that.”

“You love her, and she’s married?”

“That would be simple. I have fallen in love with her, but….”

His voice trailed off, and his eyes wandered to some dis tant place. Suddenly I realized that he was right. It probably was very complicated. So complicated that it made him miserable and might lead him to give up his dream of fighting his way back home.