suspect, more like a victim. His white hair was tousled, his cheek bruised, and dark brown stains on the front of his shirt marked where he’d bled. “Sorry, but I’m looking for Inspector Scutt?”
“Well, you’ve found him, lad. Now what do you want with him?” the older man asked.
“You’re Horace Scutt?” I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice. He looked ancient. Pure white hair and mustache, dark bags under his eyes, and the evidence of a beating added up tosomething other than a Scotland Yard detective. “Inspector Scutt?”
“Some days I wonder that myself. What’s your business here?”
The younger detective flashed a grin, but it wasn’t the friendly type. More like the kind you wear watching someone slip on a banana peel.
“Lieutenant Billy Boyle, Inspector. I was told to see you about the murder of Gennady Egorov, a Soviet Air Force captain.”
“Yes, we had a chap from the Home Office come by and instruct us to cooperate with you. So we must. Have a seat, Lieutenant, and we’ll go over the file with you.” Scutt nodded to the other detective, who went to gather the files.
“You have a rough night, Inspector?”
“Not as rough as it could have been. Half a dozen young ruffians escaped from the remand home at Wallington, then broke into the Home Guard armory at Upper Norwood. Got away with a couple of Sten guns and more ammunition than any sane man would want to carry around. Lucky for us, they fell out over who should have the guns and who were to be the ammo carriers.”
“Looks like they didn’t go down easy.”
“The young ones never do, Lieutenant, not if they’ve had a taste of incarceration.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, Inspector, aren’t you a bit too senior to be running around after armed kids?”
“I do mind, Lieutenant. Cosgrove told us we must cooperate with you, but that doesn’t mean I need to take any guff, now does it?”
“No, sir. Sorry, no offense intended,” I said. Scutt looked ready to jump out of his chair and go a couple of rounds. “Did you say Cosgrove? Big guy, big mustache? Stuffed shirt?”
“I’d say that fits the man,” Scutt said.
“He’s a major. MI5.” Military Intelligence, Section 5, was the British Secret Service, responsible for counterintelligence and security.
“I said he was no civil servant, guv,” the other detective said. “Didn’t I?”
“So you did, lad. Now, Lieutenant, what is your involvement with MI5?”
“As little as possible, sir. I had no idea Major Cosgrove would be in touch with you. I’m on General Eisenhower’s staff, and he asked me to look into this for him.”
“Not the worst answer you could’ve given. Go on.”
“I was a detective myself, Inspector. In Boston, before the war.”
“A bit on the young side for a detective, I’d say.”
“I made the grade just before Pearl Harbor. I’d been on the force for a while, but I didn’t spend much time celebrating my promotion. Next thing I knew, I was working for General Eisenhower.”
“Well, Lieutenant Boyle, we won’t hold Cosgrove against you, unless you give us reason to.”
“All I need to do is review the case, and let the general know if there’s any possibility of trouble with the Russians. I won’t get in your way, I promise.”
“Possibility of trouble with the Russians? Did you hear that, Flack?”
“Quite the joker he is, guv.”
“I guess there’s trouble with the Russians,” I said, wishing I hadn’t sounded like a naive colonial.
“You’ll find out, soon enough. DS Flack will go over the details of the case with you. I’m going to get some fresh clothes and a few hours’ sleep. No rest for the wicked or the young, Flack.” Scutt rose with an agility that surprised me, given his age if not his injuries.
“Roy Flack,” the younger detective said, extending his hand. “Detective Sergeant.”
“Glad to meet you, Roy. As I said, I don’t want to be a pain. I know what we’d think in
“Well, you’ve found him, lad. Now what do you want with him?” the older man asked.
“You’re Horace Scutt?” I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice. He looked ancient. Pure white hair and mustache, dark bags under his eyes, and the evidence of a beating added up tosomething other than a Scotland Yard detective. “Inspector Scutt?”
“Some days I wonder that myself. What’s your business here?”
The younger detective flashed a grin, but it wasn’t the friendly type. More like the kind you wear watching someone slip on a banana peel.
“Lieutenant Billy Boyle, Inspector. I was told to see you about the murder of Gennady Egorov, a Soviet Air Force captain.”
“Yes, we had a chap from the Home Office come by and instruct us to cooperate with you. So we must. Have a seat, Lieutenant, and we’ll go over the file with you.” Scutt nodded to the other detective, who went to gather the files.
“You have a rough night, Inspector?”
“Not as rough as it could have been. Half a dozen young ruffians escaped from the remand home at Wallington, then broke into the Home Guard armory at Upper Norwood. Got away with a couple of Sten guns and more ammunition than any sane man would want to carry around. Lucky for us, they fell out over who should have the guns and who were to be the ammo carriers.”
“Looks like they didn’t go down easy.”
“The young ones never do, Lieutenant, not if they’ve had a taste of incarceration.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, Inspector, aren’t you a bit too senior to be running around after armed kids?”
“I do mind, Lieutenant. Cosgrove told us we must cooperate with you, but that doesn’t mean I need to take any guff, now does it?”
“No, sir. Sorry, no offense intended,” I said. Scutt looked ready to jump out of his chair and go a couple of rounds. “Did you say Cosgrove? Big guy, big mustache? Stuffed shirt?”
“I’d say that fits the man,” Scutt said.
“He’s a major. MI5.” Military Intelligence, Section 5, was the British Secret Service, responsible for counterintelligence and security.
“I said he was no civil servant, guv,” the other detective said. “Didn’t I?”
“So you did, lad. Now, Lieutenant, what is your involvement with MI5?”
“As little as possible, sir. I had no idea Major Cosgrove would be in touch with you. I’m on General Eisenhower’s staff, and he asked me to look into this for him.”
“Not the worst answer you could’ve given. Go on.”
“I was a detective myself, Inspector. In Boston, before the war.”
“A bit on the young side for a detective, I’d say.”
“I made the grade just before Pearl Harbor. I’d been on the force for a while, but I didn’t spend much time celebrating my promotion. Next thing I knew, I was working for General Eisenhower.”
“Well, Lieutenant Boyle, we won’t hold Cosgrove against you, unless you give us reason to.”
“All I need to do is review the case, and let the general know if there’s any possibility of trouble with the Russians. I won’t get in your way, I promise.”
“Possibility of trouble with the Russians? Did you hear that, Flack?”
“Quite the joker he is, guv.”
“I guess there’s trouble with the Russians,” I said, wishing I hadn’t sounded like a naive colonial.
“You’ll find out, soon enough. DS Flack will go over the details of the case with you. I’m going to get some fresh clothes and a few hours’ sleep. No rest for the wicked or the young, Flack.” Scutt rose with an agility that surprised me, given his age if not his injuries.
“Roy Flack,” the younger detective said, extending his hand. “Detective Sergeant.”
“Glad to meet you, Roy. As I said, I don’t want to be a pain. I know what we’d think in
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