Dominion (34 page)

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.

S
ARAH MADE THE JOURNEY HOME
in a state of numb shock. Alone in the tube carriage, huddled in Ruth’s duffel coat, she began shivering
uncontrollably. She thought,
I must get home, I mustn’t draw attention to myself
. She hugged her bag close and looked out of the window. It was the same quiet, unremarkable Sunday
scene as it had been on the way in with Mrs Templeman, what seemed like an age ago.

A young couple got into the carriage and began arguing irritably about whose family they would be spending Christmas with. Sarah carried on staring out of the window, trying to control her
trembling. When the train stopped at Wembley she thought of Mrs Templeman’s husband, at home probably, awaiting her return, and had to put a clenched fist to her mouth to prevent herself
crying out.

When Sarah got back to the house she took off Ruth’s duffel coat, laid it on the sofa and stood looking at it. David wouldn’t be back for hours. She thought in sudden panic,
I
should get rid of it, if they come after me it could incriminate me
. She tried to remember if anyone at Friends House had seen her leave with Mrs Templeman. She didn’t think so, but she
wasn’t sure. She was in danger, they might be looking for her, David and her family could be caught up in it all. Her heart started pounding wildly and she took deep breaths to try to calm
herself. Then the image of Mrs Templeman falling back onto the road returned to her and she cried out, ‘She’s dead, she’s dead!’ She put her hands over her face and sobbed
convulsively in a way she hadn’t since Charlie died.