by James R Benn
“Yes, absolutely. I see his handwriting nearly every day. This is it.”
I walked around the room and looked on top of the bureau, the nightstand, felt in the pockets of the coat hanging on the coatrack near the door. I thought about Knut Birkeland sitting at that desk, writing that note. I thought about him down below, dressed for a date with the daisies. Something was wrong. I scanned the room again.
“What are you looking for, Billy?” asked Kaz.
“Tell me what’s missing from this room.”
Kaz looked around, shrugged. “Nothing obvious.”
I walked over to the bureau, where some coins sat in a ceramic ashtray, a penknife on top of the pile. His billfold was next to the ashtray.
“What else belongs right here?” I asked. “If this were your room, what would be lying next to coins and a pocketknife?”
I saw the lightbulb go on.
“The key! The key to this room, of course.”
“Yes, good! It wasn’t in any of his pockets, and the door was locked when we got here, so it has to be in this room.” We began a thorough search. We looked in the obvious places again, then everywhere else. Lifted the mattress, moved the desk. Nothing.
“What’s so important about the key?” Harding looked irritated at what he obviously thought was a waste of time.
“Sir, if the door was locked, and Birkeland didn’t have the key on him, then it must be outside the room. Which is really important. It means someone else took it out, after Birkeland was dead, and locked the door from the outside.”
“After they threw Knut Birkeland out the window,” Kaz added.
“He catches on fast,” I said to Harding, jerking my thumb in Kaz’s direction.
“There’s just one problem with your theory,” Jens interrupted.
“What?” Harding growled. His temper wasn’t improving any.
“Look at this room.” Jens gestured with open arms at the order around us. “What do you think a room would look like if someone tried to throw Knut out this window? He was a very large man. It would not have been easy.”
“Maybe he was killed first,” Kaz suggested halfheartedly.
“Once again, it would not be easy to kill such a man without a struggle.” Jens looked smug. I looked down at my shoes. Kaz gave it another shot.
“Maybe he was poisoned? Last night at dinner?”
“What, a delayed-action poison?” Jens laughed. “He obviously got up this morning early, as was his habit, bathed, dressed, wrote that note, and committed suicide. Skak must’ve been right about the stolen gold. . . .”
His voice trailed off as he looked at the gold coin. “I wonder where the rest of it is?”
“Why would anyone bother taking a bath and getting dressed if they were going to kill themselves anyway?” Harding asked. I could tell he hadn’t been around dead bodies a lot, or at least not after the fact.
“Actually, sir, suicides are pretty careful about their appearance, in their own way. I found a guy once who had shot himself in the heart. He took his shirt off before he did it. I guess it made sense to him, although he still left a bloody mess.”
“So the bath and good suit make sense to you?”
“I’d say it’s consistent with suicide, but the missing key bothers me.”
“What about the suicide note?” Jens asked. “Isn’t that clear proof that he took his own life?”
“It seems so, Jens, I have to admit. But, still, where is the key, and who has it?” He seemed to have an answer for everything, except that.
Harding did, though.
“Well, find the damn key, Boyle! It’s probably just been an hour or so since Birkeland went out that window. No one’s been allowed off the premises, so get cracking!” He turned to Jens.
“Captain Iversen, we should find the king and report to him now.”
“Very well. Would you like some of my men to assist in the search? It is a very large building.” Harding glanced at me and I gave a slight shake of the head.
“No, thank you, Captain. Lieutenant Boyle will take care of it.” He shot me a look as they left the room. I knew he understood we didn’t want any possible suspects in on the search, and that right now anyone with the slightest Norwegian accent was a suspect.
I sent Kaz to fetch Daphne. We’d make better time in the search if we split up, and I figured a rookie like him could use an extra pair of eyes. First, I went outside and searched the flower bed again, in case the key had been in Birkeland’s pocket and bounced out. No dice. I didn’t think it would be there anyway. He had nothing else on him, so why should he put a key in his pocket?
I found the housekeeper and got the spare keys. There was a metal ring of keys for each floor, each one marked with a room number on a small metal tag. I sounded like sleigh bells a-jingling as I trotted up the stairs. Reindeer came from Norway, didn’t they? For the first time I wondered if I’d be going to Norway after the invasion, or maybe as part of it. It then quickly occurred to me that I had just about had my fill of Norwegians, and that they couldn’t take back their country soon enough for me.
CHAPTER ▪ TEN
BY LUNCHTIME I HAD rummaged through more Norwegian underwear drawers than I ever thought I’d see in my life, which, if I had really thought about such things, would have been zero. I had learned a few choice Norwegian curses based on comments made by the occupants of rooms as I searched them. I didn’t know if they were referring to me, or my mother, but they weren’t happy with either of us.
Vidar Skak was unexpectedly cordial. He was on his way out, but he offered to let me search him for the key. I realized that word of our search was spreading faster than we could possible conduct it, and that if someone had the key he or she would have to be a complete idiot to be found with it. I patted him down anyway. He must’ve been in a good mood with his rival for senior adviser dead, because he smiled when he left, and probably would’ve whistled if he were a whistling sort of guy.
His room was about the same size as Birkeland’s, but at the other end of the building, maybe so they wouldn’t have to bump in to each other in the hall. His bathroom was even larger, but no marble finishes. His fix-tures were pretty new, probably installed by the government. He had a fireplace, and I poked around the ashes for anything incriminating, getting nothing but soot for my troubles. I went through the motions in the rest of his room, feeling that the search was increasingly useless. Searching a room can actually be interesting, if there’s only one room or even just one house to search. But a repetitive search of a whole bunch of small rooms is very, very boring. What is personal and sacrosanct individually, like family pictures, old photos, and letters, becomes mind-numbingly more and more like the debris of everyday life, devalued a little bit every time you see it again with only the faces changed. I longed to find the room of a monk, someone who had renounced the world and all connections with it. No such luck. Even Vidar Skak kept a picture of his mother or grandmother on the mantel. I hoped to God it wasn’t his wife.
I walked out of his room and shut the door. The hallway was silent, everyone busy in their offices or at lunch. I put the key in the lock and turned it, withdrew it, and started to walk away. Something stopped me. I went back to his door, unlocked it, and then locked it again. For the first time, maybe because of the quiet or because I had lost focus on the search, I noticed something. The key, turning in the lock, made a loud or at least noticeable metallic click clack sound. What would that sound like in the early morning hours, when you were close to waking up? Could someone in an adjacent room have heard that sound just before dawn?
I headed to the stairway to see how far Kaz and Daphne had gotten up on the fourth floor. I wanted to test my theory out in Birkeland’s room. I heard rapid footsteps, heels racing on the wooden floor, and Daphne’s high voice calling out “Billy? Billy, we found it!” I hotfooted it to the stairwell and caught her before she made it all the way down.
“Where?” I asked as I took her arm and turned her aro
und.
“Anders Arnesen. In his room,” she answered breathlessly, “and I found it!”
Major Arnesen. Hmm. I had a strange feeling about him yesterday. He seemed relatively indifferent after I almost took a shot to the head. Had he been the shooter? Was he the killer? What was he thinking about when he left the key in his room?
Kaz was standing in the open doorway. “Billy, we haven’t touched or moved anything. Come, see.”
This room was more like mine, a small guest room, suitable for temporary visits but not outfitted for living space. His bathroom was even smaller than mine, which made me happy.
“It was so easy, wasn’t it, darling?” Daphne gushed as she squeezed Kaz’s arm. “It was terribly gauche going through these people’s personal possessions, don’t you think? But there it was. We didn’t even have to look hard!”
She was thrilled with her find and would probably be walking on air for the rest of the day. Kaz silently walked to the corner of the bed and picked up the mattress. There, lying about ten inches from the edge, was a key.
“Daphne found it just like that. I checked the spare key to this room against it; it’s not the same.”
I pulled the housekeeper’s spare for Birkeland’s room out of my pocket and laid it next to the key. It was a perfect match. Well, well, well.
“Daphne, will you please find Major Arnesen. He should be in his office or the map room. Tell him we need his assistance up here. Don’t let on that we found anything. Then find Captain Harding and tell him we’ll meet him in the mess hall. I need some chow.”
“Shall I tell him what we found?”
“No. Don’t tell anyone anything, OK? Can you pull it off with Arnesen?”
“Darling, at dinner last night I pretended I was interested in the business of fish-processing and canning. I can handle a little white lie with the major.” She winked at me and scurried off.
“What is your plan, Billy?”
“Poke him with a stick, Kaz, and see how high he jumps.”
“I think I will like this part. What do you want me to do?”
“Sit right here.” I motioned to the edge of the bed where the key was hidden. “I’ll ask him a few questions, and we’ll watch his reaction to where you’re sitting. Then we’ll spring it on him.” Kaz grinned like a sly fox in a henhouse and I leaned up against the wall near the window, trying to look casual. I wasn’t sure the presence of the key in his room meant he was the one who put it there, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t either. I thought about how that really meant I didn’t know a damned thing. A minute later, Anders Arnesen walked in.
“Major.” I greeted him with a smile. “Come on in!”
“It is a little strange to be welcomed into one’s own room, Lieutenant. However, I understand the necessity. How are you, Baron?” He nodded at Kaz politely.
“Very well, Major. Searching is quite a tiring business, though. I am glad Billy has given us a respite.” I watched Anders closely. He gave no hint that he was doing anything except engaging in polite chatter.
“Have you found anything yet? I hear you are looking for a missing key.”
He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking extraordinarily nonchalant. He didn’t look like he was in mourning for Knut Birkeland, but, he wasn’t acting like a guilty or nervous suspect either. I watched for the telltale glance at his hiding place, but, aside from his exchange with Kaz, his eyes never darted anywhere. He looked at me idly, waiting for a response. Already this wasn’t going the way I thought it would.
“Word travels fast. Did you know Knut Birkeland well?”
“Actually not very well at all. After our escape from Norway, I saw him only a few times here at Beardsley Hall. I have been busy training the Norwegian Brigade at our base. New volunteers are coming in from Norway constantly.”
“How do they get here?” asked Kaz.
“Every commando raid along the coast returns with a large number of volunteers. When we land near a town the word spreads and young men pack up and return with us. Sometimes a fishing craft will slip through the German coastal patrols and make the journey to Scotland.”
“What did you think of Birkeland’s position on using the Underground Army?”
“I have just requested permission from the king to go to Norway and assess the effectiveness of the underground. I believe it would be a waste of resources to organize and arm this force and not use it. However, if they are not capable of a sustained uprising, it would be criminal to order them into action.”
“Makes sense. What did the king say?”
“His initial reaction was that he wanted me to stay here and get the brigade ready for the invasion, but he promised to think about it. Lieutenant—”
“Major, unless you want to stand on ceremony, please call me Billy. When people say ‘lieutenant’ I can only think about my supervisor back at the Boston Police Department.” I wanted to put him at ease, figuring that he’d assume a friendly approach meant he wasn’t a suspect.
“We are very lucky to have a trained policeman here. Quite a coincidence . . . Billy.” He smiled and lifted a questioning eyebrow at me. Wow, this guy was confident. He was either innocent or very experienced at interrogations. Or both, which was also possible. An attack is a good defense when you’re being questioned. The interrogator needs to know not to respond, not to give up the rhythm of the questioning by answering the attack. I knew that. Kaz didn’t.
“What do you mean by that?” Kaz demanded angrily, jumping up from his seat on the bed and standing in front of Arnesen, arms akimbo, defending my honor.
“Baron, you must admit it is quite odd. First, our American friend Billy is almost shot yesterday, and then Birkeland is found dead this morning. Beardsley Hall has not seen so much commotion since the days of the Vikings. Before your party arrived, things were very quiet here. One has to wonder at your real reason for coming.” Again, the smile. So disarming. He’d make a great interrogation partner. Kaz was fuming, so I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to calm things down. He sat back down on the bed, his eyes shooting daggers at Arnesen.
“Major, there’s nothing I’d like better than to leave you all here and get back to London—or Boston, for that matter. I just came along for the ride and now I’m stuck with this assignment, just like you’re stuck here with the Brigade instead of taking off for home. So give us a hand, will you?” He studied me for a minute. I could practically see the wheels turning, and I wished I knew what he was really thinking.
“OK, to use an American expression. How can I help you, Billy?”
“We have a little experiment to perform. Your room is two doors down from Birkeland’s, right?”
“Yes.”
“You and Kaz stay here with your door shut. I’m going down the hall. Tell me what you hear.” I left the room and went to Birkeland’s door. I unlocked it, trying to be as quiet as I could. The key turned in the lock and the mechanism rotated with a clear metallic clack. I opened the door, closed it carefully, and locked it. Clack. It was a distinct sound, not really loud, but probably more audible in the quiet of night. I walked past Anders’s door, stopped, then walked back and knocked. Kaz let me in.
“Major, please tell me what you heard, in detail.”
Arnesen closed his eyes and held up one finger. “First, your footsteps down the hall.” Another finger came up. “Then the faint sound of the key turning the lock, twice. I assume you unlocked and then locked Birkeland’s door. Then, and probably only because I was listening for it, the sound of your footsteps going by my door.” He ended with a fourth fin-ger up and opened his eyes. I looked at Kaz, who nodded his agreement.
“So this experiment, it was to show that others on this floor could hear the door being locked?” Arnesen asked.
“Yes. Did you hear anything like that last night?”
“Billy, my American friend, you have discovered what every man on this floor discovered when the female staff moved in!” Arnesen started to laugh, a
dding, “Congratulations!” Now I was really off my rhythm.
“What are you talking about?”
“Of course these old locks make a terrible noise at night, when everything is quiet. They echo in the hallway off the wooden walls and floor. I was here six months ago just after they brought in female clerical and housekeeping staff. The king’s staff had grown so large Jens decided they needed additional help. Late-night visitations were forbidden, but that first night it sounded like a symphony of locks as men left their rooms to meet their newfound girlfriends. As Skak and Birkeland were at opposite ends of the building, and were early risers, no one ever tried to bring the girls up here.”
“But what’s so funny?”
“There was a crackdown on the nocturnal visits, and several officers were disciplined when they were caught in the act. They learned to leave their doors unlocked at night, and slip out quietly. You could walk down this hallway at night and probably every other door would be unlocked and the room empty. So even if Birkeland or Skak were awake, they wouldn’t hear any coming or goings. Excellent, Lieutenants!” He gave each of us a mock bow. “You have uncovered a dastardly plot to steal the virtue of young English women!” By now he was almost howling with laughter. That did it. I was mad. At my own stupidity mostly, but it was never fun to take things out on myself. So I went for Arnesen. I flipped up the edge of the mattress.
“Do you think this is funny?” I picked up the key and held it in front of his face. My dad had taught me to hold off confronting a suspect with a piece of evidence long enough for the guy to think he’d gotten away with it. Let him feel relief at having put one over on you, he used to say. That way he’ll have even farther to fall when he finds out he’s wrong.
I watched Arnesen. Not just his eyes, but the muscles in his face. I wanted to see his fear when he realized I had found his hiding place. The shock of being found out, the little twitch that gives off the aroma of guilt. He had been riding high, laughing at us, and I was going to enjoy watching him reveal himself.
There was none of that. Genuine amazement, round-eyed surprise showed on his face. He was still half laughing as the fact that Knut Birkeland’s key was in his room dawned on him.
