Billy Boyle: A World War II Mystery, Vol. 1 Read online

  “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 wanting to get between them.

  “Darling,” Daphne said soothingly, “I’m just thinking about the petrol. It’s a shorter drive to Southwold, and Father probably doesn’t have much to spare. Besides, the Imp is so much more fun to drive in the country.”

  “Billy, see how she mistreats me,” Kaz appealed to me.

  “Don’t look at me for help. I’m trying to figure out if she’ll let me drive!”

  “Father gave me the Imp for my eighteenth birthday. I drive, Lieutenant!”

  I didn’t dare argue. About an hour later Kaz and I were packed and waiting for Daphne by the front entrance. We were in the main hallway, sitting on a hard wooden bench, our bags on the floor beside us. Kaz had one leg draped over the other, the cut of his trousers making him look casually elegant, like Ronald Colman in a tux. I looked at my pants. Baggy, wrinkled. My wool socks were itchy, and my feet hurt in their standard-issue size nine cordovan service shoes. Kaz’s black shoes sparkled like he had just gotten a spit shine, and his socks didn’t look like army issue. He looked at home in this grand house, as if he owned the place. I felt like the house dick at the Copley Plaza Hotel, the kind of guy whose job it was to hang around and try to fit in, but who knew he never would. I glanced at my watch after fifteen minutes. Kaz was whistling softly to himself.

  “This, Kaz,” I said, “is called cooling our heels. Get it?”

  “Ah, yes. Since we are waiting, our feet are not moving and staying warm. Yes?”

  “I guess so. The expression is used whenever you’re waiting for someone, but especially women.”

  “Some things are worth cool heels, yes, Billy?”

  “Yes, Kaz, especially in your case. Daphne is a beautiful woman.”

  “Beauty is not as hard to find as intelligence and a certain charming independence. Daphne combines all those attributes. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  Kaz smiled slyly. “Do you really mean what does such a beautiful woman see in a little Polish man with a heart condition, even if he has ‘Baron’ in front of his name?”

  “No, I was just curious, really,” I protested quickly, maybe too quickly. “But since you put it that way, tell me. How did you end up with Daphne?”

  “You won’t believe me, Billy.”

  “Try me. We’ve got time to kill.”

  “Murdering time. I must file that one away, Billy. I like it, especially in light of our investigation. A race against time to find a killer and perhaps a spy, and here we are killing time. Ironic, yes?”

  “Sure, Kaz. Now, back to Daphne.”

  “Yes. It was one night at the Dorchester. I was dining alone and two couples were seated at the next table. Daphne and her younger sister, Diana. They were escorted by two young Royal Navy officers. They all looked elegant and quite dashing.”

  Kaz stopped, a smile on his lips as he remembered. Then a look of embarrassment swept over his face and he reddened slightly.

  “This sounds melodramatic, but our eyes met. I was frankly staring at her, and when she looked up at me, I didn’t look away. We just stared at each other, as if we were long-lost lovers who could not remember what the other looked like. It was actually quite uncomfortable, but I couldn’t look away. I think her sister noticed, but the young men didn’t. They were too busy trying to impress the girls. Then the air-raid warning sounded. Everyone got up to go into the shelter, but I stayed at my table.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Kaz stared down at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees. He took a minute before answering. A minute is a long time to wait when a guy has his eyeballs locked on to the linoleum.

  “At the time, I had recently received word that my parents were dead. And I was recovering from an episode with my heart; I had been in hospital. There just didn’t seem to be much point in . . . life. I was commissioned in the Polish army, but they wouldn’t assign me any duties at all because of my condition.”

  “You didn’t care if you lived or died.”

  “No, I didn’t. It was quite inconsequential. Until that night, anyway.”

  “What happened next?” I asked.

  “The most extraordinary thing. I heard Daphne tell her companions that she wasn’t going to the shelter with them, that she was going to drink champagne with the Polish officer. Me. I was stunned. They got into an awful row over it, but you’ve seen how determin
ed she can be.”

  “Uh huh. I assume she stayed?”

  “Yes. I introduced myself as her sister dragged off the two officers. We sat by the light of a single candle, talked, and drank an excellent Cristal. I forget the vintage, but I remember her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. The bombing was mostly down by the docks, but a few strays dug up potatoes in Hyde Park across the way. I told her everything—about Poland, my family, my heart, my desires and fears . . . things I had never spoken out loud before. I tell you, Billy, it was as if an angel had floated down from heaven and sat beside me. When she touched my arm, it was as if all my burdens were lifted from me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. My most romantic experiences usually took place after three or four Guinnesses wore down the resistance of whatever girl would go out with me. This was the real thing, the kind of moment I’d only heard about in the movies. I didn’t even know it actually happened. It made me feel strange, like an inexperienced high-school kid at his first dance. I struggled to find something to say to Kaz equal to the importance and depth of what he’d just told me. I came up with nothing.

  “What did Daphne say?” popped out. “I mean it’s kinda forward. . . .”

  “She told me that she couldn’t let the moment slip away and always wonder what would’ve happened if she had not spoken to me. And that if I thought that was improper, to tell her immediately, so she wouldn’t waste her time with a bloody fool.” He smiled fondly. “Pure Daphne. I told her I had always dreamed of a woman with her strength of character, and now that she was at my table, I wouldn’t dare let her leave. That was right when one of those stray bombs dropped in Hyde Park. We both jumped in our seats and laughed. It was excellent punctuation! We talked for hours, and didn’t even notice when the bombing stopped.”

  “Did her date come back?”

  “No, but her sister did. Diana had sent the naval officers to another club on their own. She said they were rather boring, and that she couldn’t wait for the bombing to end so she could come back and see what all the fuss was about. She’s a remarkable young woman in her own right. Since that night, I always go down to the shelter when a raid comes over.”

  “So how did you guys both end up working for Ike?”

  “Daphne was already assigned to the first American mission here, before General Eisenhower arrived. I was having no luck getting an assignment with the Polish Free Corps, so Daphne had her father contact the Foreign Office about securing the services of someone fluent in a number of European languages for the rapidly expanding American army headquarters staff. Suddenly I had an assignment, working for Major Harding, doing interpretation as needed, mostly of intelligence documents and memos to other governments in exile. And being with Daphne every day. It worked out rather well, don’t you think?”

  Before I could even think about the fact that with a bad ticker, in exile, with all his family dead and gone, Kaz was content and happy while I was miserable here, we both heard the click-clack of Daphne’s heels coming down the hall.

  “Ah! Daphne, and her heels are hot, right, Billy?”

  “Don’t you know it, buddy.” I resisted the impulse to say it wasn’t just her heels. Kaz’s story must’ve softened me up a little bit.

  “As usual, my dears,” Daphne said, standing in front of us, “you men lie about while I do the real work.” She flashed a sheaf of official papers at us.

  “Daphne, are these orders all for us?” I asked in astonishment at the multitude of sheets in her grasp.

  “Of course they are. In triplicate, of course, a full set for each of us.” She handed Kaz and me our copies. There was a cover sheet describing the issuing office—U.S. Army Command, European Theater of Operations—the effective duration of the orders, which was thirty days in this case, as well as the priority designation AAA.

  The second sheet went into detail about the orders, numbered one through four. The first granted Daphne and me permission to enter the Southwold base. The second directed the base commander to make Lieutenant Rolf Kayser available to assist us, which was a nice way of saying we needed to question him. The third order directed the base commander to allow me to draw supplies from the quartermaster as needed. The fourth order was the longest, detailing Kaz’s duties in London at the request of the Imperial General Staff, as ordered by Major Charles Cosgrove.

  The orders spilled over onto a third page, with a final directive to all Allied personnel to assist us, named individually, in pursuit of our specific orders. Below that item were the scrawled signatures of Majors Harding and Cosgrove, as the authorizing parties. Pretty impressive.

  “Looks like these could get us into Buckingham Palace,” I said. “Nice work, Daphne. Let’s hit the road.”

  Kaz took Daphne’s bag and grabbed his own. As I headed out the door I heard him ask Daphne, “Explain to me, why must we hit the road? Has it been unruly?”

  As I turned around to explain what I meant, I caught Kaz winking at Daphne and stifling a laugh.

  “Oh, it’s time to make fun of the Yank and the funny way he talks, is it?”

  “What do you mean, Billy?” Kaz said, almost dissolving into laughter, “we’d love to assault the roadway with you!”

  OK, I thought, as I dug down into my memory of gang talk from South Boston, you asked for it. “Look, I may be tooting the wrong wringer, but if we don’t take a powder quick and tighten the screws on this jasper, it’ll be a trip for biscuits.”

  I winked back at them and went out to the car, hoping indeed that this wouldn’t be a trip for biscuits: a trip somewhere with no clear purpose and no results.

  CHAPTER ▪ FIFTEEN

  “BILLY, WAKE UP, WE are almost there!”

  I had been stretched out in the backseat sawing logs when I awoke to Kaz hollering up front. I sat upright and rubbed my eyes. We were in the country, driving down a tree-lined lane with green fields and low rolling hills on either side. The sun was out for a change, lighting up the sky to a deep blue and reflecting off clumps of white puffy clouds moving swiftly above the landscape. It was a beautiful day.

  “Here we are,” said Daphne as she turned the staff car onto a gravel driveway. Ahead, a fair-sized stone cottage sat on the left side of the road. A line of white fence came from behind the cottage and ran down the length of the driveway beyond.

  “Nice place, Daphne,” I said.

  Kaz turned and smiled at the look on my face.

  “Yes, it is, but that’s the gatekeeper’s house. Closed up for the duration right now.”

  “Daphne, are you a princess or something?” I asked as we passed two horses on the other side of the fence running or galloping or doing whatever horses do out in the country.

  “No, silly,” she answered. “You won’t find any royalty here. Father has his knighthood, but that’s not hereditary.”

  “Your father’s a knight?” Images of a man in armor riding one of these horses floated through my mind. The Black Knight galloping across the pages of a picture book Danny loved to look at with me.

  “Sir Richard Seaton,” Kaz explained, “was knighted for his lifelong service to king and country. He was a captain in the Royal Navy in the Great War, now retired.”

  “If your father’s a knight, what does that make your mother?” I asked.

  “Mother died when we were quite young. Father raised all of us here, taught us how to ride and shoot, and tell right from wrong. It’s been too long since we’ve all been together, Diana, Thomas, and I. I do miss them terribly.” Daphne trailed off into silence and I decided to follow her example rather than ask another stupid question. The gravel crunched beneath our tires as I watched Daphne in the rearview mirror, her eyes staring at the road and maybe beyond, to images of children at play, when the world had been a far safer place.

  We slowed to cross a stone bridge arched over a small stream and through the trees I could see a house up ahead. “Seaton Manor,” Kaz announced, as if he had produced it from thin air. The house was long, whitewashed br
ick, two stories high, with a slate roof and tall chimneys at either end. Around the left side a low gated wall encompassed a courtyard with a stone barn at the opposite end. The white fence ended at the barn, and there were more horses gathered there, standing with their necks craned out over the fence, staring at us as we pulled up to park.

  It was a warm day and I left my uniform jacket in the car. As I got out, I checked my reflection in the window and tightened up my tie, made sure it was tucked into my shirt properly, and adjusted my fore and aft cap at the jauntiest angle possible, just teetering on the edge of falling off. I knew I was no Beau Brummell, but with Daphne’s father being a knight and a captain and all, I figured a little extra effort was required.

  “Daphne!” A high-pitched scream came from the barn, followed by a figure running out with arms widespread. “Daphne!” she repeated as she flew through the gate, long blonde hair falling down past her shoulders as a tweed cap hit the ground.

  “Diana! Oh my goodness!” The two sisters embraced, laughing and clinging to each other.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here—”

  “—just for a couple of days . . . how long?”

  “—pick up the Imp. . . .”

  “You look wonderful!”

  “How’ve you been?”

  “. . . the same. Father?”

  “Fine. Working terribly hard. . . .”

  It went on like that for what seemed a long time. Bits of sentences, phrases and expressions, laughter and arms intertwined, the shorthand of close siblings. My kid brother and I could catch up with each other after a month with a few mumbled exchanges and a punch to the shoulder. It was like that with Daphne and her sister, just more genteel, English, and feminine. It made me homesick.

  “Oh, Piotr,” Diana exclaimed, finally noticing us leaning up against the car. “It’s so good to see you!” She grasped Kaz’s hands and kissed him with genuine affection.

  “Diana,” Daphne said, taking her sister by the arm and turning her toward me, “This is Lieutenant William Boyle. Billy—my dear, sweet, quite impetuous younger sister, Diana.”