All of a sudden the lightbulb went off, the final piece that I hadn’t understood.
“That’s how you knew in advance about me, being from Boston and all. I was the investigation that couldn’t succeed! You were counting on me to screw up!” Now I started to get steamed.
“Calm down, Boyle,” Harding interjected. “Yes, Major Cosgrove was not fully briefed and made some untimely remarks.” I could see looks passing between them and knew Harding was finessing some sore points.
“With the murder of Birkeland,” he continued, “things became complicated. I had to keep your search for the killer from uncovering our spy before he got out of the country. You were pretty hard to keep on a short leash.”
“Can you just explain a few things about the murder of Knut Birkeland?” Cosgrove asked. “We understand the motive now, and we’ve surmised that the note Birkeland left was really part of another note.”
“Yes. He was offering his resignation. That was the final act he referred to.”
“To force the king’s hand,” Harding suggested. “To induce the king to appoint him rather than Skak as senior adviser.” I nodded.
“But what about the timing of the murder?” asked Cosgrove, a confused look still on his face. “Wasn’t Rolf Kayser off hunting with the king when the murder took place?”
“Based on the condition of the body, I thought so at first. But there were several small clues that finally came together. I found out that Rolf was big on medical training for himself and for his men, so they could treat their wounded in the field. He knew enough basic first aid to be pretty familiar with how the body works. I also remembered that when I examined Birkeland’s body he was very clean, as if he had just bathed. But there was stubble on his face. I wondered then why a guy would bother to clean himself up and not shave.”
“What does that mean, the stubble?” Uncle Ike asked.
“A lot of people don’t know it, but hair continues to grow after death. Remember, Birkeland had a heavy, thick beard. I realized he hadn’t been killed when we’d thought, but several hours earlier. Unfortunately, I didn’t think of that until I went for a swim in the cold waters off the coast of Norway.” I decided not to tell them how or when it had really come to me.
“Cold water?” Cosgrove was really confused now.
“Yes. Cold water and old plumbing. The night of the murder, I had a little too much to drink. I wanted a nice big glass of cold water and some aspirin. Well after midnight there was hardly any cold water in the pipes. That was because Rolf had Knut Birkeland’s body in the bathtub, running cold water over it continuously, and turning it regularly for hours. Slowing down the onset of rigor mortis. And overtaxing the ancient plumbing. Turning the body kept the blood from pooling and delayed lividity. The cold water slowed down the natural process of decay. Kayser probably shaved Birkeland in the bathtub, not knowing his whiskers would begin to grow back, enough to be noticeable to the touch in the morning.”
“Then he dressed him, tossed him out the window, left the last page of the note with his gold coin, and went off to meet the king, certain that the condition of the body would suggest a time of death that would clear him as a suspect,” said Harding, ticking the points off on his fingers.
“Yes. And then coming down from Birkeland’s room, he saw Anders breaking into the map room. He hotfooted it back upstairs to stash the key in Anders’s room, where he hoped we’d find it. And here we are.”
“William,” Uncle Ike said, “your investigation was remarkable. We sorely underestimated you. You were resourceful and courageous in finding the perpetrator of these crimes. Not only did you apprehend a murderer; you saved the life of Anders Arnesen. If Rolf Kayser had killed him, he never would have made it back to Germany with the invasion plans. In no small part we owe the success of this operation to you.”
“So there is no invasion? All those troops and commandos, the underground, was that all a fraud?” I was still having a hard time taking it all in.
“No, William,” Uncle Ike said. “Not a fraud. A plan to save Allied lives. A deception. We’re going to turn Norway into the biggest German POW camp you ever saw, for the rest of the war. Right now, the Germans are transferring more infantry units to Norway. Infantry that we, or the Russians, won’t have to face elsewhere. Good job, son!”
They each shook my hand. I was stunned. Now I was a hero. Now that I wasn’t the total fuckup they thought I was, it was time for congratulations and pats on the back. It was a dirty, rotten low down trick. It made me feel like a little cog in a big machine, two-timed by people I had trusted, including my own uncle.
“Wait a minute, sir,” I said. “Was there anybody else in on this deception?”
Uncle Ike seemed to understand. He nodded to Harding and Cosgrove to leave us alone. They filed out and Uncle Ike waited, standing by the window and looking out at the quiet park in the middle of Grosvenor Square.
“No, William. Daphne didn’t know. She didn’t deceive you, we did. Lieutenant Kazimierz doesn’t know, and won’t. And no one else will either. This has been your initiation, William, and you’ve passed with fly-ing colors. But with that comes responsibility. You’ve saved countless lives by your actions. Now you simply need to keep quiet about it. Do you understand, William, I mean, really understand what I’m telling you?”
“Men died, General. Others were captured…” I shrugged, unable to finish, feeling confused and betrayed. I stood by Uncle Ike and looked out the window as he lit another cigarette. Late afternoon shadows reached like fingers across the small green park below.
“This is war, William. Nearly everything I do is a calculation balancing lives against victory. Men did die on your mission, and it was totally your responsibility. There’s no way around that, is there?”
“No, sir. No way.”
“But you also saved many, many more. You’re ahead on this one, William, if you can stand to do the calculation at all.”
“I understand.”
He gripped my shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to, with all my heart.”
The famous Ike grin vanished. All that was left was a weary sadness. He gave my shoulder a tight squeeze, turned, and walked out of the room. He had left a cigarette half stubbed out in the ashtray, and the blue smoke rose lazily up, a thin strand pooling under the lamp, dulling the light in the room. I did understand, God help me, I did. I was glad their plan had worked, understanding the lives it had saved.
But I had been out on that boat and seen Higgins and the other crewmen, alive one minute, cut down the next. I had killed them, just as much as any German sailor. I could do the calculation all right, but those few numbers on one side of the equation had faces that I would always remember. Daphne had a face.
I put my palm on the window, feeling the coolness of the glass. I watched a GI and a young girl stroll arm in arm through the park. Was he headed for the real invasion? Maybe I’d saved his life. A group of sailors rounded the corner, laughing, pushing each other playfully. Maybe them, too. I looked down the street to the crosswalk. A stream of uniforms hustled across the street, American, British, who knows what else. All of them, too? I wanted to run out, look each of them in the face, ask their names, look at pictures of their girlfriends.
I didn’t. I stood there, counting. I could have stayed there all night. But Harding collected me and walked me down to his office.
“Just one more thing, Billy,” he said as he paused in front of his door. “I want you to know that I admire what you did. It took guts. And if you ever do it again I’ll string you up by your balls. Got it?”