Dominion

Chapter Twenty

GUNTHER AND SYME DROVE ON TO Birmingham, the windscreen wipers working against the misty rain. Syme looked preoccupied, lighting cigarettes one-handed. He was suspicious, Gunther guessed; having seen Muncaster he couldn’t believe he could be a man with dangerous political contacts. He knew something else was going on.

‘How long since you visited Berlin?’ Gunther asked, to begin a conversation.

‘Five years. I bet it’s changed a lot. They hope to have all those huge new buildings ready for the 1960 Olympics, don’t they?’

‘Yes. But there are problems with building such huge structures on sandy soil. They are still digging the foundations. They will be finished in time, they hope.’ He smiled at Syme. ‘The centre of Berlin is always so dusty. Lots of people have chest problems these days.’

‘Do you have a house there?’

‘Just a flat. My wife and I had a house but it was sold in the divorce.’

‘Maybe if I do a spell in the North I can earn enough for a mortgage on a decent-sized house. Then I might look round for a nice girl who doesn’t mind the hours.’

‘Yes. There is nothing like a house and family.’ Gunther spoke regretfully. ‘I hope to visit my son in the spring. In Krimea.’

‘Any problems with Russian terrorists there?’

‘Not in Krimea. We cleared the natives out of the peninsula ten years ago. There are only German settlers there now. So it is safe, though there have been attacks on the trains coming from Germany. Fewer now, we’re concentrating more on protecting the lines.’ He paused. ‘Russia is vast; I think it will be another generation before we control it completely. This is the greatest war of conquest in history.’

Syme turned to look at him. ‘They say Speer and the army would like to do a deal with the Russians, let them keep the country east of Moscow. Goebbels too, I’ve heard.’

‘No,’ Gunther said firmly. ‘What we have started we will finish. Squash Jewish Bolshevism for ever.’

Syme laughed, his good humour restored. ‘Well, we’re doing our bit here now, with what’s happening today. What times to live in. Bleedin’ exciting, eh?’ He slipped back into Cockney for a moment.

Gunther thought, yes, I know, you like your bit of excitement, while I am starting to feel old and tired before my time.

As they drove through the countryside there was little sign that this was anything other than a normal Sunday. Once, though, they passed near a railway line where a freight train of closed boxcars was moving slowly south. For a moment Gunther thought he heard faint cries coming from inside, but he wasn’t sure and Syme didn’t seem to notice anything.

It was mainly quiet on the outskirts of Birmingham, too, although Black Marias, their klaxons shrilling, occasionally sped past. Once, looking down a suburban street, Gunther saw two parked outside a house where some sort of struggle seemed to be going on. But he couldn’t see clearly; it was too misty.

They drove into the city centre, full of big Victorian Gothic buildings dark with soot. There weren’t many people around but quite a few Auxiliaries were on patrol; Gunther noticed several outside the closed doors of a church, arguing with a little group of people, one in a white clerical collar.

‘I told you the churchy types would be a nuisance,’ Syme observed. ‘Not far now, Birmingham Special Branch HQ’s just round the corner, in Corporation Street.’

They turned into a wide commercial street and pulled up beside a door with a blue lamp above it. Several other cars were parked there. Gunther saw a queue of people straggling down the steps of the building and along the street. Two Auxiliaries stood by the door and two more walked up and down keeping an eye on the queue. As Gunther and Syme got out one of the Auxies in the doorway came over. He was very large, but young, a rash of pimples round his mouth. His expression was hostile until Syme showed his warrant card.

‘Is Inspector Blake in?’ he asked.

‘I think so, sir. He’s very busy, though, you know what’s been happening today?’

‘We heard.’

Gunther looked along the waiting queue. No-one seemed to be wearing the yellow badge, though many looked anxious and some angry. One young man had grabbed the arm of an Auxiliary and was pleading with him, almost in tears. ‘It’s my wife’s brother. I need to know where they’ve taken him.’

‘Just wait your turn, sir,’ the policeman replied, his voice bored. ‘They’ll tell you at the desk.’ An elderly couple, faces rigid with grief, came through the swing doors of the police station and walked down the steps, holding each other tightly.

‘These are friends of the Jews?’ Gunther asked the Auxiliary.

Catching his accent, the man looked at him with interest. ‘Are you from Germany, sir? An observer?’

‘Just a visitor. I am in the Gestapo, though.’ He nodded towards the young man in the queue who had asked about his wife’s brother. ‘You are exempting Jews who have married Gentiles?’

‘I’m not sure quite what the rules are, sir.’ The boy looked embarrassed. ‘We were just given the names and addresses of those to be picked up.’

Gunther looked at the sad queue, the rain pattering down on them. ‘We made some exemptions at the beginning. Too many: it just causes trouble for everyone later.’

The young man said uneasily, ‘I feel a bit sorry for them, to be honest.’

Gunther nodded. ‘Yes. It affects us, it’s hard on us. But it needs to be done nevertheless.’

The Auxiliary took them into the building. More people were standing at a counter, behind which policemen riffled through typed lists many pages long. ‘I’ll see if Inspector Blake is available,’ the young policeman said, opening a flap on the counter. Gunther heard snatches of conversation, familiar from police stations in Germany long ago.

‘They’ll be held outside the town for a while, till new accommodation is ready for them—’

‘Winter clothes will be provided. They’ll be quite comfortable—’

‘No, we can’t tell you where they are. National security—’

‘No visits—’

‘Well, can’t you take their dog into your own house—’

Gunther looked at Syme, who grimaced, a half-amused, half-contemptuous look. The young policeman came back. ‘The inspector is free now, sir, but only for a few minutes. You can see what it’s like here.’ He opened the flap for them and they went through, passing plain-clothes men working at desks, and down a dark little corridor to a small room with a half-glassed door.

Inside a plump, tired-looking middle-aged man in a rumpled suit was sitting at a desk working on papers, smoking a pipe. The air was blue with the smoke. He leaned forward and shook hands with them unsmilingly, introducing himself as Inspector Blake. Syme introduced himself and Gunther. ‘Nice to meet you, sir,’ Syme said smoothly. ‘We’ve spoken on the phone.’

Blake was looking at Gunther. ‘I didn’t know the Gestapo actually had a man over here on this case. That loony of mine must be important.’

Gunther responded politely. ‘We are concerned he may have certain political contacts in Germany.’

‘He’s British. We can handle him,’ Blake grunted. He gave Syme an unfriendly look. ‘Even we provincials.’

Syme spread his hands. ‘It’s what the commissioner wants. We’ve been up here today visiting Muncaster.’

‘Find anything?’ Blake looked curious now.

‘Nothing definite,’ Gunther answered. ‘But enough to make us want to investigate further.’

‘As we’re here,’ Syme explained, ‘we thought we’d like to take a look at his flat. We understood you might lend us a locksmith to get in.’

‘We would be very grateful,’ Gunther added.

Blake laughed. ‘You’ve picked the worst possible day. We’ve got locksmiths out all over the city securing the Jews’ houses. We’ve already had some trouble with looters trying to get in and take stuff, even some of our own people have been trying to lift things.’ He looked at Syme. ‘Can’t you just bash the door in?’

‘We don’t want to attract attention,’ Gunther said. ‘And we would like to leave the place secure.’

Blake frowned. ‘Just what is it you’re looking for?’

Syme said, ‘Evidence of foreign affiliations. I’m sorry we came today, I didn’t know about the Jews until this morning. The Gestapo would be very grateful if you could help us.’

Blake shook his head wearily, but picked up the telephone and asked someone if they could find him a locksmith. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the work’s starting to wind down now, but it may be an hour or two before someone’s free. Can you wait?’

‘Of course,’ Gunther said.

‘How’s it gone today?’ Syme asked.

Blake leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over a large stomach. ‘Not too bad. Most came quietly, though there was a bit of a ruck with some students at the university, and one or two made a fuss elsewhere when they were picked up. From what I hear it’s much the same story all over the country.’ He smiled wearily. ‘Take everyone by surprise, that’s the way.’ He looked at Syme, his attitude more friendly now. ‘I know you’re an old Blackshirt like me. We should have done this years ago.’

‘You can say that again. Where are they all being taken?’

‘I can’t tell you.’ Blake shook his head. ‘That one’s embargoed. We don’t want people turning up and making trouble. We’re getting some stick from the church people; the Bishop’s threatening to hold a demonstration on the Town Hall steps tomorrow. We didn’t expect that, we thought he was with us. We’re going to have to get roadblocks ready in the town centre tonight.’

‘Arrest the bugger,’ Syme said.

Blake shrugged. ‘I agree. But the high-ups haven’t made up their minds yet. They’re still bloody soft about arresting bishops.’ He looked at Gunther. ‘Have you any idea why the Jews are being rounded up now? We’ve had contingency plans for years but the green light came through while Beaverbrook was in Germany.’

‘I don’t know,’ Gunther said.

Blake’s eyes narrowed. ‘Looks to me like it’s the price for closer alignment with Germany. Now Stevenson’s won the presidential elections we can expect a cooler relationship with America. Well, suits me, America’s run by Jewish capital.’

‘I suppose they make some good films,’ Syme said.

‘Propaganda. Hollywood’s run by the Jews, too.’

‘It is,’ Gunther agreed.

‘Well, I can give you an interview room to wait in, until the locksmith comes. Though we may have to turf you out if there are problems in the city and someone needs a going-over. I’m sure we could have handled your loony for you,’ Blake added, the resentful note back in his voice, ‘but the commissioner knows best.’

It was dark by the time they left the police station to drive to Muncaster’s house. The locksmith was to meet them there. The misty city was quiet. They drove out to the suburbs, parked outside the house and walked up the path. Gunther looked up at the boarded window. There was no sign of the locksmith. Then, to his surprise, the front door opened and a little old man in a cardigan came out. He looked at them with keen interest. ‘Inspector Syme?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Syme answered abruptly. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Bill. I live on the second floor. I saw your locksmith waiting about outside and let him into Dr Muncaster’s place. What about the Jews, eh?’ he asked excitedly.

‘Yeah,’ Syme answered non-committally.

The old man led them upstairs and into a shabby flat. Through the open door of the kitchen Gunther could see smashed crockery and dented tins. In the lounge a grey-haired man in a long brown coat sat in an armchair, nursing a cup of tea the old man must have brought him. Gunther surveyed the chaos. Strange to think of that frightened-looking man, Muncaster, doing this.

‘Looks like you won’t be needed,’ Syme said curtly to the locksmith. ‘You can get off.’

The man rose. ‘Right-oh. But I’ll still charge for the callout.’

‘He’s been telling me he’s been securing some of the Jews’ houses,’ the old man said. ‘Gor, I bet there’s some valuable stuff in there.’ He accompanied the locksmith to the door, chattering away happily. ‘You still see a few blackies around. Get them next.’

‘Britain for the British,’ the locksmith agreed. He left, but the old man, Bill, stayed, hovering. ‘Where’ve you taken ’em?’ he asked Syme. ‘The Yids?’

‘Watch the TV later. Mosley’s broadcasting.’

‘What do the police want here, eh?’ Bill pressed; he seemed unembarrassable. ‘Dr Muncaster wasn’t a Jew, was he?’

‘None of your business, mate.’

‘Suit yourselves. Only it’s funny, nobody comes to this flat for weeks and then two lots of visitors in one day.’

Gunther turned, giving Bill a look that made him step back a pace. ‘Two lots? Who were the others?’ he asked sharply.

Bill happily told them about the earlier visitors, the two men who had known Dr Muncaster at school and the foreign woman. Syme became suddenly friendly, complimenting the old fellow on his memory and his patriotism in helping them. Gunther added a few questions. Realizing he was German, Bill looked at him with a fascinated, half-fearful awe. He told him how he’d heard Muncaster shout out, ‘Why did you tell me?’ at his brother, and something about the Germans. He looked at Gunther with narrowed eyes and said, ‘It sounded like “they mustn’t know”.’

‘Know what exactly?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Bill replied. He had become respectful. ‘I didn’t tell those other visitors that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Didn’t like them. Hoity-toity, they were. Posh voices. You could see they weren’t pleased when I told ’em about the Jews.’

Gunther smiled. ‘That was wise.’

‘Don’t tell secrets to people you don’t trust,’ Bill said. ‘It’s a good rule.’

At the end Gunther thanked him courteously for his help, and asked him to contact Syme at once if anyone else called. Syme nodded agreement.

Bill asked, ‘Is this about the brother? Was he injured worse than I were told? He hasn’t died, has he?’

‘Let’s just say he’s not very well. Now, I’d like you to let me have the key to the flat.’

Bill looked disappointed. ‘It’s the freeholder’s.’ Gunther wondered if Bill was planning to have a nose round when they were gone. Syme held out a hand and, reluctantly, the old man retrieved the key from his cardigan pocket and handed it over.

Syme led Bill out; the old man turned in the doorway for a last curious look, then left. Gunther went over to examine the photographs of Muncaster’s father and the university group. He looked up at Syme. ‘We’d probably have bumped into them if we hadn’t been waiting at the HQ.’ He smiled grimly. ‘And I wonder what might have happened then. Some excitement, perhaps. So, these visitors had a key. Now where did they get that?’ He studied the college photograph. ‘I spent a year at Oxford, you know. Over twenty years ago.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I hated it.’ Gunther looked at the row of faces. ‘Born to rule.’ Then he frowned. ‘Someone’s picked this up and looked at it. See those fingerprints?’

‘The old man?’

‘Why would he do that?’ Gunther considered. ‘School friends coming to visit. Nearly twenty years after they all left.’ He shook his head. ‘University friends, though, whose picture you kept . . .’

‘You think that’s who they might have been?’

‘Possibly. The old man said they were the same age as Muncaster.’

‘But why lie?’ Syme asked. ‘If they’re Resistance, Special Branch need to be involved.’

‘I don’t know who and what they are yet.’ Gunther studied the photograph carefully. ‘There he is, that’s Muncaster. Look at that grin. Easy enough to contact the college and find the names of all these other people.’

‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’ll have to talk to my superior and he’ll get in touch with yours.’

‘Why am I getting uneasy about this?’ Syme asked. ‘The brother is an American scientist. What did he tell his brother that the Germans shouldn’t know about?’

‘I don’t know. I promise you, if there is a Resistance angle to this your people won’t be kept in the dark. Now, I am going to have a look round this flat and then we’re going to see the old man again and ask if he handled the picture, or recognizes either of the men who came here in it.’

‘Want some help?’

Gunther hesitated, then said, ‘Yes. Yes, thank you.’

They did a methodical search together. They found nothing except the dirty magazines under the bed, but Gunther soon saw that the flat had already been searched; there were fingermarks in the dust everywhere, the signs of busy hands looking for something. When they had finished they stood in the lounge together. Syme looked up at a cobweb. ‘Miserable place, ain’t it?’

‘Let’s talk to the old man, show him the photograph. Then get back to London, see what they make of all this at the embassy.’

He went over and took the two photographs, Muncaster’s father as well as the university group, slipping them under his arm as they left the flat. Then Gunther switched off the light, plunging the room with its blocked window into total darkness again.

The old man’s flat was almost as messy and decrepit as Frank’s. However, he had a large new television set, which was showing a police serial, square-jawed officers trapped by American spies in a cellar filling with water. Gunther showed him the photograph and asked if he had touched it.

He shook his head. ‘No, why would I?’

‘No reason,’ he answered reassuringly. ‘Perhaps it was these visitors. I know they said they were old school friends, but could you look at the photograph, see if you recognize either of the men here?’

‘All right.’ The old man answered cheerfully, clearly pleased at the prospect of helping. He fetched a pair of glasses and peered at the photo. ‘Gor, it’s a grainy old thing, innit? And they’re all much younger.’ He pointed at one of the students. ‘That one, the fair one, that could have been one of them. Yes, yes, I think it was.’ He scanned the photographs again, then pointed at a dark-haired, good-looking boy in the back row. ‘The other one could’ve been him. But I’m not sure.’ He looked up apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have my specs on when I saw them.’

‘That’s all right. You’ve been very helpful,’ Gunther said, and smiled.