laughing as the fact that Knut Birkeland’s key was in his room dawned on him.
“What’s that doing here? Who put that there?”
Now I’ve seen plenty of guys who have been through questioning try to fake it. Everyone tries too hard, tries to show you how honest and innocent they are. The trouble is, as soon as you start thinking about it, it’s harder and harder to sound convincing. Because the really convincing thing is when you aren’t prepared, because you are innocent. You sound just like Arnesen did.
“Were you off on a nocturnal adventure last night, Major?”
“No. I have not had time to get to know any of the women here.”
“So how could anyone but you have put this key here?”
“First, Lieutenant, you are holding the answer to that in your hand. There are spare keys kept by the housekeeper. Anyone could walk through the kitchen area and pick them up, as you did.” I had to admit he was right. I had to find the housekeeper myself to tell her I was taking them.
“And secondly, why would I be so stupid as to keep the key to Birkeland’s room? I could always get in later with the spare, if that’s what I wanted. And if I needed to get rid of it, I could have easily found another open room as I’ve explained, and hidden it there.”
Anders stopped, the cold logic of his words hanging in the air between us. It made no sense, he was right. What did make sense was that someone else had done just what he suggested he could have done himself. He rubbed his chin with his hand, thinking it through. It looked like the same thought occurred to him at about the same time.
“So someone did kill Birkeland and then hid the key in my room.. ..”
I could see he was considering the possibilities. I was trying to stay one step ahead of him and find out if he knew anything he wasn’t telling us. Kaz beat me to the punch.
“Maybe you were next on the list, Major,” said Kaz, “and when you weren’t here, perhaps the person thought framing you would be the next best thing.”
I had to admire Kaz for that one. It was the first thing we threw at Anders that shook him. His eyes widened fractionally and he hesitated just a second before agreeing it was possible. He nodded his head but turned away, not meeting our eyes. Or not letting us see his. Once he collected himself, he turned around, as if his thoughts had just wandered. I decided to leave on a high note.
“That must be it,” I agreed. “Better watch your back, Anders.”
“I will, Billy. It seems there are enemies on all fronts.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kaz double stepped to keep up with me as I strode down the hallways of Beardsley Hall, fists slammed into my pockets and a black cloud over my head. I didn’t feel like chatting and Kaz mercifully got the point, remaining unusually silent.
I was fuming at looking like a rookie in front of Kaz and Anders. I hadn’t placed much stock in that key being proof of Anders’s guilt, so I didn’t mind that it hadn’t worked out. We took a shot and missed, no big deal. I hated being shown up about the locks, though. I was certain that within the hour my big “discovery” of the loud locks would be making the rounds, getting a big laugh about the American detective and his powers of deduction, or was it seduction? Ha ha. It reminded me of what my kid brother, Danny, said after his first few months at college. He took a class in sociology and said a sociologist was someone who would do a year’s worth of research to find out where all the whorehouses in town were, when all you had to do was slip any cabbie a sawbuck.
I had no idea what a sociologist did for a day’s pay, but I felt about as low as that dumb guy doing all that research. The worst thing-well not actually, but it sure felt that way at the moment-that could happen to a cop in an investigation was to look stupid or be the butt of a joke. It’s hard to put the fear of God in someone who’s laughing at you. You’re more than likely to beat the guy like a drum, which may feel satisfying at the moment, but doesn’t get you anywhere. And it wasn’t an option here in merrie olde England anyway.
We went down the last flight of stairs to the basement, following a sign for the mess hall. This place wasn’t for state dinners, and the king probably never set foot inside. It was basically a cafeteria for the military and civilian staff working in Beardsley Hall. Linoleum floors, shiny aluminum fixtures in the kitchen, ladies with hairnets and paper hats, warming trays along the line, and a mixture of yeasty odors all signaled that the British version of institutional food was in ready supply. Small round tables with wooden chairs pulled up to them were scattered throughout the room. At the far end, Daphne was sitting with Harding. She smiled and waved. He didn’t. I gave it a try and came up with tight-lipped grimace.
My spirits rose just a bit when the aroma of coffee drifted out of the kitchen. Was it possible? A break from tea, here in the heart of England? Yes! There were two large urns, industrial-size jobs, one for tea and the other containing the blessed black brew. I poured hot, steaming black coffee into a tall, thick mug with the seal of the Norwegian navy on it. I dumped in some sugar, grabbed a couple of hot hard-crusted rolls from a basket, and scooped strawberry preserves onto my plate. I was a happy man again, and thanked my lucky stars that I was a simple soul at heart, satisfied with such little things that could take my mind off being the laughingstock of Beardsley Hall. Armed with java and jam, I made my way to the table and sat next to Daphne. Not a hard choice.
“Go ahead, Boyle, eat your chow. You probably haven’t had anything yet today.” Harding confused me when he was nice, which fortunately didn’t happen often enough to be a real problem. I ate, gulped, went and got a refill on the coffee, and sat down, ready to report.
“So, what have we got?” Harding demanded. There, that was more like it. That dependable tone of voice always let me know right where I stood.
“We’ve got the key. Daphne found it in Arnesen’s room. Most likely it was planted there. A lot of the fellows here leave their rooms unlocked at night so they can slip out quietly and visit the ladies. We interrogated Arnesen but it just didn’t add up.”
“Loud locks give the men away to senior staff?” Geez, did everybody know this dodge except me?
“Of course, sir.” I smiled my best man-of-the-world smile, which was also my David Niven impression.
“So run me through a likely chain of events, as best you can.”
I looked around, wanting to be sure no one had sat down at the table behind me. No worry there, the only other people in the place were halfway across the room, talking and glancing over at us, probably laughing at me.
“OK. The suicide version goes like this. Knut Birkeland knows that he is about to be exposed for the theft of gold from the Norwegian treasury. He’s about to lose everything: position, honor, the friendship of the king. He decides to end it all. He gets up early, writes a note, and places a gold coin on it to make his point. He takes a bath and dresses in his best suit, wanting to go out in style. He opens the window and jumps. Breaks his neck.”
“And you say that’s not out of the ordinary for a suicide? The bath and best-suit routine?” Harding sounded skeptical, and Daphne and Kaz looked up at me like I was a professor at How-to-Kill-Yourself U.
“Look, I’m not an expert on suicides. But from what I’ve seen, yeah, it works. Maybe he decided to sleep on it, woke up, and found everything still bleak.”
I tried to visualize what had gone on in that room and in Birkeland’s mind. I closed my eyes, gripped the coffee mug, and tried to see things as they might have happened.
“Maybe he hadn’t decided when he first got up. He took a bath, dressed, and maybe thought about it some more. He reached the same conclusion: dishonor, failure. He decided to go through with it. He wrote that note. Placed the coin on it, an admission of guilt, and a nice paperweight, too. Then opened the window and jumped.”
I opened my eyes.
“Sounds plausible,” Daphne said, looking at each of us for our reaction.
“Except for the key,” I sighed. “If he committed suicide, we have to explain how his room ended up locked and the key got into Major Arnesen’s room.”
“You’ve eliminated Arnesen as a suspect?” Harding asked.
“No, we haven’t eliminated anyone, but Arnesen seemed genuinely surprised when we showed him the key.
