by Leo McNeir
“I see you’ve changed into your studying attire.”
Danny picked up the beach bag. “That’s right. I’ve got my books. I’m going to sit and read by Sally Ann. Dolly’s promised to test me on behavioural psychology.”
“That’s good. Not many cats would do that.”
“I did have to offer an inducement, a tin of –”
The door flew open and Anne rushed in. She slipped two photographs out of the back pocket of her jeans, placed them on Marnie’s desk and studied them.
“Danny, dig out the iced water, will you? I’m running late. Just take the bottle round to the HQ barn. They can help themselves.”
Danny dropped her things and set off for the fridge in the farmhouse. Marnie leaned forward for a better view of the photos.
“So what have we here?”
“It’s the bloke who’s been asking after Donovan.” Anne pointed. “That’s him in profile. I took it before he realised I was there. And that’s a frontal shot. I pretended the camera went off by accident.”
“Asking after Donovan?”
“He asked Dick, but he didn’t mention Donovan by name, just described him. He’s been here before, after Donovan got plastered all over the TV news that time.”
“He looks a bit agitated in the second shot, seems to be raising his arm to … wait a minute. What’s this?”
They both craned forward. Marnie held the photo up to the light.
“Oh gawd, not again,” she muttered. “Look, Anne. There’s a tattoo on his arm.”
Anne groaned, skipped across to her desk and returned carrying a magnifying glass.
“It’ll probably just say, I love Judy, or something like that.”
“I don’t think so.” Marnie turned the photo so that Anne could see it better. “What do you make of that?”
Anne took the photo and steadied the glass over it.
“I wish it did say, I love Judy. Look.”
The tattoo was slightly blurred by movement but clear enough to leave them in no doubt. It was a simple design: a capital N and F joined together. The far right group they had encountered the year before. New Force. Donovan was right. They never gave up.
*
Danny had strained to put up the parasol on the bank of the docking area. She placed the beach bag of books in its shade and draped the towel over a steamer chair. True to her word, Dolly lay down beside her.
When Anne came out of the spinney, Danny hardly recognised her. Anne had changed out of her grubby clothes into a skinny top in primrose yellow, pale blue shorts, a sun hat, sandals and dark glasses.
“Don’t get comfortable there. We’re going for a tootle on Sally Ann.”
“What, now?”
“I’ll explain once we’ve got going. Come on!”
While Danny cast off the bow rope, Anne dug out her mobile.
“Dick, it’s Anne. Listen, if anyone asks after me, tell them I’m around somewhere. Don’t say you haven’t seen me, okay?”
Anne started the engine and reversed the boat out of the dock. She swung round and pointed the bows north towards some of the most secluded stretches of the Grand Union Canal in the county. They were observed only by Dolly, now relieved of her testing duties, sitting on the bank.
*
Marnie was blessed with strong powers of concentration and she used them to the full that afternoon. Alone in the office, she worked almost without interruption on the designs for a Willards hotel, a further scheme for the company’s head-quarters and two private houses.
She could hardly believe it when, at six o’clock, Dick Blackwood stuck his head round the door to let her know the archaeologists were leaving. He had had no further contact with the visitor in the green T-shirt, no more enquires about Donovan or Anne. Marnie followed him out to watch the vehicles departing. She satisfied herself that no-one was hanging around the site, returned to the office and phoned Anne to give her the all-clear.
As Marnie put the phone down it began to ring. It was Ralph.
“Sorry for the short notice, but there’s a dinner in college tonight. I hadn’t thought about going, but Guy Fellheimer has a colleague visiting from Germany, an expert on modern history from Tübingen. It might be worth meeting her.”
Marnie looked at the clock.
“What time is this dinner?”
“You’d need to be here for about seven-thirty.”
“Heavens!”
“I know. I’ve still got my rooms here, so you’ll have somewhere to shower and change.”
“I’m on my way!”
Marnie kept clothes in the wardrobe at the back of the office, away from the smell of the boat. She was choosing a dress when Anne and Danny walked in. She quickly explained the new plan and grabbed a sponge bag from the shower room.
“There’s plenty of food in the fridge. You don’t mind fending for yourselves, do you?”
“No probs.”
*
The road into Oxford was relatively free-flowing, though the traffic on the other side of the carriageway was heavy and sluggish. On the journey, Marnie went through a mental checklist of things she had to take, convinced she must have forgotten something. A thought was niggling at the back of her mind. Was it something she had to tell Ralph, something she’d seen, something she had to do, somewhere she had to go? It was no good, she couldn’t remember.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw the dress lying on the back seat.
Posh frock, shoes, make-up, sponge bag, hair brush. If she had missed anything, that was too bad.
In the city she had to concentrate to find the narrow side street that led to All Saints’ College, one of the smallest, most highly regarded but least known institutions of the university. She managed to swing the Discovery off the main street and ease it down the cobbled lane, through the main gate. Ralph was waiting for her and indicated a reserved parking space.
“You’ve made very good time. Do you have an overnight bag?”
“You’re kidding! I just grabbed some clothes and a toothbrush. It was all a terrific rush. Lead me to the shower.”
“Sorry about that, darling. The thing is, this person I want you to meet is leaving tomorrow. It was our only chance to see her.”
With the dress over one arm, they walked briskly across Old Quad. Marnie paused in the doorway at the foot of Ralph’s staircase and looked back at the quadrangle.
“This is an amazing place. You’d never guess it was here unless you knew it, an absolute gem. I’m really looking forward to spending a night here.”
Ralph smiled at her. “So am I.”
*
Unlike the larger Oxford colleges, All Saints’ did not possess a banqueting hall. Although its dining room could accommodate up to a hundred people, the atmosphere was inviting and intimate, with walls panelled in dark wood and low-level lighting supplemented by candelabra. It was situated in a building known as the ‘New Extension’, which had been constructed in 1629. Here, the ceiling was higher than in the older parts, with clerestory windows set in cream plasterwork above the panelling. Looking up, Marnie saw pale grey clouds drifting past in a blue sky.
The Master had arranged for Ralph and Marnie to sit at his table, and during the first course – a salad of artichoke hearts and mushrooms – he enquired about progress with the renovation of Glebe Farm. Over the main course of roast guinea fowl with new potatoes and broccoli, he asked whether they were finding time to use the boats. As they launched into summer pudding, he mentioned that he had seen snippets about the ‘archaeological activities’ on television and asked if Marnie would be relieved when the ‘activities’ finally came to an end on Saturday.
It was only when the cheese platter arrived that he referred to their other guest that evening, Professor Dr Karin Fleischer, who was sitting at an adjacent table being entertained by the Dean of Studies and a Senior Fellow.
Marnie had been observing her, discreetly she hoped, throughout the meal. Dr Fleischer seemed to be about f
orty and was obviously creating a more than favourable impression on her hosts. The occasional peal of laughter from their table gave Marnie the opportunity to look their way without appearing inquisitive. The visitor was wearing a trouser suit in a very dark green material that looked like velvet. It combined with a closely-cut hairstyle, dark brown with highlights, chunky amber jewellery and artful eye make-up to create an impression of intellectual intensity and sophistication.
When the Master became drawn into conversation with a professor of Roman law about aspects of constitutional government, Marnie spoke to Ralph in a low voice.
“Will I get a chance to talk to Dr Fleischer?”
“Over coffee. It’s all arranged. The Master will introduce us.”
“What do you know about her, Ralph?”
“A very interesting character, apparently, with quite a colourful past.”
“She seems rather young to have a past.”
“She’s known to be politically active on the left of the spectrum, at least she used to be. She may be less directly involved these days. It’s rumoured that she had a liaison with a high-up figure in the SPD, the Social Democrats, the Prime Minister of one of the Länder – you know, the German states – a man tipped to take a cabinet position when his party regains power at national level.”
“So she’s not a sympathiser with the …”
“Definitely not, though I’ve heard it said she’s flirted with quite a few other groups, including the Greens. In her youth there were rumours of a relationship with radical elements. I think that’s all behind her now.”
“You think?”
“I’m pretty certain.”
“Ralph, what do you mean by radical elements?”
“She wrote a series of articles in the press about the Red Army Faction.”
“The who?”
“Otherwise known as the Baader-Meinhof Group. They were anarchists, responsible for bombings, riots, street battles with the police, shootings. She must have had inside knowledge to write those articles. I read that she visited Andreas Baader in the high-security prison in Ziegenhain for one such piece.”
Marnie shook her head. “This is all outside my range. I’ve not really heard of them.”
“They were like the Red Brigades in Italy or Action Directe in France. Basically they wanted to overturn capitalism and, because they were young, some sectors of the press tried to make them look like romantic idealists. The truth was, they killed a lot of innocent people.”
“My God,” Marnie muttered under her breath. “Do I really want to meet this woman?”
“Marnie, Fleischer wasn’t one of them. She was studying them, saw them as a modern phenomenon, tried to understand the dynamics of extreme political action. It’s a legitimate field of study. Jean-Paul Sartre interviewed Baader on one occasion.”
“All right. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Fleischer applied to interview Ulrike Meinhof as well, but she committed suicide before the interview took place. Fleischer was only about twenty-two at the time, and a student.”
“And you think she might know something about the people responsible for the remains in Sarah’s grave? It seems a long shot to me.”
“She has connections, Marnie. She knows – or at least knew – Ingrid Hallgarten. They were students together in Frankfurt.”
“I can hardly wait.”
When the meal ended, the Master led the diners across New Quad for coffee in the library, one of the oldest parts of the college. Ralph steered Marnie to a window near the corner. Through small panes of glass which must have dated from the fifteenth century, they watched the distorted shapes of the assembly processing towards the entrance lobby. On impulse, Marnie turned to Ralph and spoke in a whisper.
“I think you should do most of the talking for us.”
“But you’re really the one who –”
“No, listen, Ralph. I have the feeling this woman will respond better to a man. Gut instinct. Trust me.”
As the distinctive form of Karin Fleischer reached the building, the Master detached himself from the gathering and drew her aside.
“Professor Fleischer, I’d like you to meet my colleague Professor Lombard and Ms Marnie Walker.”
After shaking hands, the Master completed the introductions and withdrew to attend to his other guests.
“I have long wanted to meet you, Professor Lombard. I’m sure you know your books have had a great influence on political thinking in Germany.”
Fleischer had a deep voice and spoke English clearly and slowly, with little trace of accent. All the while, she looked directly into Ralph’s eyes with an expression that bordered on ironic amusement.
“I hope they were a positive influence. I’ve had a fair amount of correspondence with German colleagues over the years.”
Fleischer laughed quietly.
“I wonder if you knew that Andreas Baader had copies of both We’re Going Wrong and Public Need versus Corporate Greed on the shelf in his prison cell?”
“As a matter of interest, Professor Fleischer, how would you know what he had in his cell?”
“One of the questions in my interview with him was to ask for the titles of all the books he had.”
“I read your whole series of articles at the time, though my German is modest, but I didn’t recall that aspect.”
“No. Much of the material was for including in other publications and research papers.”
“Of course.”
“The Master tells me there were some questions that you wanted to ask me. How can I help you? I must warn you, my knowledge of economic theory is probably more limited than your German.”
Throughout this exchange Fleischer did not so much as glance at Marnie. Her eyes never left Ralph’s face.
“I wanted – or rather, we wanted – to ask you about your contact with Professor Ingrid Hallgarten.”
The mention of the name brought an immediate, if fleeting, reaction from Fleischer. Her smile vanished and her eyes narrowed momentarily before she relaxed again.
“Ingrid, ah yes. Well, I haven’t seen her for some time.”
“But you were students together.”
“We were contemporaries, yes, but not close friends. What did you want to ask about her?”
“This will only make sense if I explain to you a situation that has arisen not far from here during an excavation.”
Fleischer nodded and Ralph outlined the events following the discovery of the second body in Sarah Anne Day’s grave. He included the graves of the exhumed witches and mentioned the interest apparently being shown by the far right. He also referred to the incidents the previous summer surrounding the death of Garth Brandon.
During the narrative, Fleischer concentrated intensely. When Ralph ended, she blew air out between her lips as if smoking a cigarette.
“All of this happened on your property? Extraordinary.”
“On Marnie’s property, to be precise.” Ralph inclined his head.
For the first time, Fleischer looked in Marnie’s direction.
“I take it, you are not an academic, Ms … Walker?”
“That’s correct. I’m an interior designer.”
“Of course. You have a much too developed sense of style to be a professor.” There was little warmth in the smile. “So, what is the connection with Ingrid Hallgarten?”
Marnie replied. “We believe Professor Hallgarten’s father was in the intelligence service in the war. He had an agent in this area. His daughter may know something about her father’s work. It’s a very tenuous –”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Fleischer interrupted.
Ralph intervened. “We would like to meet Professor Hallgarten, but we know she doesn’t normally grant interviews about her father. She insists on keeping a distance from elements – shall we say – from the right of the spectrum, who might want to exploit the family name for political reasons.”
“You think I can hel
p you with an introduction?”
“Yes. If you could assure her that we were not –”
“Professor Lombard, I have to tell you that Ingrid Hallgarten and I … how do you say this … fell out? … several years ago.”
“I see.”
“No, I think you do not see, Professor. This was not a question of academic rivalry. It was a personal matter.”
“So you’re unable to help us,” Marnie said.
Fleischer turned to look out of the window. She stared for so long that Marnie thought she was dismissing them. Ralph stood and waited. Eventually she spoke.
“If you obtained information from Ingrid, what would you do with it?”
Marnie was taken aback by the question. She had been compelled by the aim of resolving the mystery for so long that the actual outcome had become an end in itself.
Fleischer persisted. “You must have a reason for wanting to question Ingrid. What is the purpose of your enquiry?”
“A body has been discovered in a grave in our village. We just want to know whose remains they are.”
“And then?”
“If we find out who it is, perhaps we could at least give them a proper burial.” Even as Marnie said the words, she realised how feeble they sounded.
“No, you don’t understand me.” Fleischer turned back to Ralph. “Are you wanting to publish the results of your enquiry? Or is it a matter of the police trying to find a killer? Ingrid would want to know how you planned to refer to her father and in what context.”
“Professor Fleischer,” Ralph glanced at Marnie. “It isn’t that kind of enquiry. There will be no publication. No-one is going to mention Major Hallgarten by name. As Marnie says, we have a body; we need to know what to do about it. Curiosity can be a legitimate motive in itself.”
Fleischer fell silent again, deep in thought. She looked at Marnie.
“No. There is more. You do not come to a college dinner in Oxford and ask the Master to arrange an introduction so that you can find the name of an unknown person buried in a small country village. If you want me to help, you must tell me what you are doing, and why.”
“Professor Fleischer, you’re right,” Marnie said. “Someone is trying to prevent identification of the man whose remains were in the grave.”
