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.