your heel. Harding tapped the pack against two fingers and drew a cigarette out. He looked at me while he snapped his Zippo open and flicked the wheel, a tiny spark hitting the flint and producing a fine blue flame. He blew out a stream of smoke and spat out a stray bit of tobacco, shutting the Zippo with a metallic click and playing with it, turning it over in his right hand as he smoked. He shook his head and laughed again, but he didn’t fool me. I had seen his tell, that little blink.
“Joke about it all you want, sir. I know something’s not right here.”
“Damn right, Boyle! One dead government official, one active spy, and your investigation is a bust. When are you going to uncover the truth about what’s going on here?”
“Let me share a little professional secret with you, Major.” I sat on the corner of his desk and leaned forward. “It’s something my dad taught me about investigations. He’s a cop too, better than I’ll ever be. Last year I was banging my head against a wall, trying to find out the truth about a killing. Know what he told me?”
“What?” Harding sounded interested, and maybe a little worried.
“Never go after the truth; that’s a waste of time. Chase the lie, and let it lead you to the truth. And I know where the lie is here.” I pushed off from his desk and stood at attention. “Permission to leave, sir?”
“Sure, Boyle,” Harding said, shrugging as if all this made no difference at all. He stopped playing with the Zippo, set it down, and pointed at me with two fingers holding his cigarette. “But first, tell me, did you ever find that killer?”
“Yeah. The guy’s wife shot him in the chest, then blamed it on a burglar.”
“What’d you do, send her to the chair?” He smiled as if the thought amused him. I heard a door open behind me, and the sound of footsteps stopping, like when you walk into a room in the middle of an argument and realize you should have knocked. Two more footsteps backward, the door shut, and we were alone again.
“No, I didn’t send her anywhere. Far as I know, she’s still back home, looking after her two kids.”
“So you didn’t have enough evidence to arrest her?”
“I had plenty.”
Harding stubbed out his cigarette, another little soldier gone. Don’t worry, plenty more where that one came from. Lucky Strike Green has gone to war. Now he was irritated. This little story wasn’t working out the way he thought it would.
“Damn it, Boyle, spit it out! Why didn’t you take her in?”
“The bastard was screwing his own ten-year-old daughter. The wife caught him. First time the kids were out of the house she plugged him good. Two shots in the chest and he was toes up. She and her kids had been through enough, as far as I could figure it, and the guy would’ve got worse in prison anyway. Not a happy ending, but the best one I could come up with under the circumstances. I found the piece in the icebox, not exactly the hiding place of a master criminal. I dumped it in the Charles River and wrote it up as a burglary gone bad, the story she gave us.”
Harding drummed his fingers on the desk, then picked up the Zippo again. He stopped and looked me straight in the eye. “What was the lie?”
“The burglary story. They didn’t have a damn thing worth stealing.” Harding slammed the Zippo down, turned away from me, got up, and walked over to the window and looked out over the heath.
“Have Daphne drive you up to Southwold. Talk to Rolf Kayser. And be careful, Boyle.”
I left, confused by his change in attitude. He sounded like he suddenly gave a damn. I mentally shrugged, chalking it up to the inscrutable ways of senior officers. I went off to find Daphne and Kaz, to begin to chase down a different lie. Time I took my own advice.
“Pack your bags, kids, we’re blowing this joint.”
I found Daphne and Kaz working their way through breakfast in the mess. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down with them. They both looked at me quizzically.
“I understand that we are leaving, Billy, but what are we blowing up?” Kaz asked, as if he were totally ready to set off explosives at my request.
“No, wait, we heard Humphrey Bogart say that in a film!” Daphne said excitedly, turning to Kaz and grasping his hand. “Remember, dear? This house is a joint, and we’re leaving quickly, blowing out!” Her brown eyes gleamed with excitement at deciphering American slang. I was glad she liked it, since my supply of ten-dollar words was pretty short.
“Close enough, Daphne, and pretty good for an English gal. Harding gave his OK for you to drive me up to the base at Southwold. I’m going to question Rolf about what he might’ve seen that morning. The king, apparently, is off limits.”
“You didn’t ask Harding if you could interrogate King Haakon?” asked Kaz.
“Yep, and I’ve got the imprint of his boot on my backside to prove it. So, the next step is to talk to our friend Rolf and see what further confusion he can add to this investigation.”
“I’ll draft some orders for Majors Harding and Cosgrove to sign,” Daphne said, warming to the idea of an excursion. “We’ll need clearance just to get through the gate. It won’t hurt to have English and American officers co-signing.”
“Good idea. Add something about authorizing us to draw supplies while we’re there. I only packed for a couple of days up here. I’m wearing out my Class A’s and my only two shirts.”
“What am I to do, Billy?”
“I need you to check out something for me, Kaz. We need a way to get you back to London to investigate Birkeland’s business records. I want you to go through his bank accounts in England and look for any large deposits or withdrawals. Go to Lloyd’s of London and see if he has insurance on his business and on himself. If so, who’s the beneficiary? Go to SOE headquarters and find confirmation of damage done to his fishing business by the commando raids. Was that for real or just a sob story? Find out everything you can about his business and anyone who stands to benefit now that he’s dead.”
“The Special Operations Executive, not to mention Lloyd’s or the banks, is not likely to let me walk in and go through its records,” Kaz pointed out.
“I’ll add a directive to the orders,” Daphne spoke up, clearly taking charge of the planning, “giving permission to Lieutenant the Baron Piotr Augustus Kazimierz to review such records. I’ll list it as a direct order from Major Cosgrove of the Imperial General Staff. The combination of continental aristocracy and the British General Staff should open doors for you, darling. That and your charm, of course.”
She smiled at Kaz, eagerness and intelligence showing on her face. Daphne was enjoying this assignment as much as Kaz. He wanted to do something important for the war effort, understandable after what the Nazis had done to his family and his country. Daphne had a natural ability to solve problems, and it was being put to better use here than filing security forms back at headquarters. I could tell she knew it, too. She was blossoming with the added responsibilities, happy to be using her talents.
“Between my title and your brains and beauty, we can do anything!” Kaz kissed her, and Daphne blushed, looking around in mock horror at this un-English display of emotion. I sighed to myself, wishing I had a couple of my more-experienced buddies from the force helping me instead of these two lovebirds. Still, I could do worse. And they were great company.
“OK. Calm down, you two. Let’s put our brains to work on how to get Kaz back to London quickly. Is there a train station around here?”
“No,” answered Daphne, “not close by. But I do have an idea.” She raised her eyebrow at Kaz. It took him a second, but he quickly brightened up.
“Oh, yes! Excellent idea, dear. Especially if I get to drive the Imp!”
Imp?
“OK, your turn to explain the lingo to me,” I said. Before he could even ask, Daphne answered Kaz’s unspoken question.
“Lingo means patois, dear,” she said helpfully as she turned to me. “The Imp, Billy, is not some sort of rascal, but a 1934 Riley Imp sports car. A red two-seater, and a complete delight to drive!”
“Where is this sports car, and how do we get gas for it?”
“It’s at my parents’ house, outside of Bury St. Edmonds, which is east of Cambridge. We can drive there today, pick up the Imp, and then Piotr can take the staff car to London.”
“That’s unfair,” Kaz protested. “Billy, as the officer in charge of this investigation, deserves to be delivered to Southwold in an official staff car. Billy, you must insist!” I just smiled and held up my hands in surrender, not
