Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “And I’m invited?”

  “Yes. The head wants you to explain what’s going on.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Mrs Giles says you’re involved with them and know more about the details than she does. The parents don’t feel these people can be relied on to guarantee the safety of their children.”

  “It’s hardly the fault of these people if someone else is setting fire to their building.” Marnie tried to sound reasonable.

  “That’s the point. The place seems to be out of control.”

  Marnie sighed. “What time is it being held?”

  “Quarter to four.”

  “Thank you.” Marnie looked at her diary. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good bye.”

  Dial tone.

  *

  It was going to be a quiet evening. Marnie and Anne had supper on Sally Ann and afterwards went up to Anne’s room to watch a video, Anne propped up on the bed with pillows, Marnie nestling on the giant beanbag on the floor, leaning back against the bed.

  Marnie laughed when Anne produced bags of popcorn, and they settled back to enjoy the film, with Dolly curled up on the duvet behind her head, punctuating the film soundtrack with intermittent bouts of purring.

  After the first hour of the video, they had a break while Anne got up and made mugs of hot chocolate. She tried to tempt Dolly into bad habits by offering her a piece of popcorn, but the cat had too much sense, especially when it stuck fleetingly to her nose as she sniffed it amid more laughter. Marnie was glad to put their cares aside for one evening at least and enjoy simple pleasures with friends.

  When they parted at the end of the evening, Marnie noticed that Estelle’s car was absent and remembered that she and Luther had gone to Leicester to spend the evening with one of Luther’s friends from the university. A film plus dinner, she recalled, hoping that they would have as pleasant an evening as her girls’ night in.

  *

  “What time do you make it?” Estelle yawned as she steered the Golf into a roundabout.

  Luther automatically pulled back his cuff to check, but in the darkness he could not see the watch face. He looked down at the instrument panel.

  “Eleven forty-four precisely. You’re tired.”

  “I knew it was a mistake to go back to their place for coffee.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded if we’d gone home straight from the restaurant,” said Luther. “If you’d only said …”

  “I know.” She reached across and ran a hand up and down his thigh. “But it was a good film and a good meal, and I didn’t want to be a party-pooper. Mind you, I hadn’t realised they lived north of the city. It’ll be midnight before we get home.”

  “We can have a lie-in in the morning. No need to rush.”

  “Mm. That’ll be nice.” Estelle was almost purring at the thought. “Another advantage of not having to commute to work. Can we get to the motorway from here? It isn’t showing up on the road signs.”

  “Not sure. I expect so. Why not just go into the city? There’ll be hardly any traffic and we’ll soon pick up directions to the M1.”

  “Good idea.”

  *

  Marnie was missing Ralph, realising how she had become accustomed to having him around these days. It was one thing to devise a semi-detached way of life in which they accepted the inevitability of temporary absences, but it had its drawbacks. She really needed him to be there, able to talk through the strange situations confronting her and Anne. There was nothing for it but to make do with late-night conversations that lasted on that particular night – a night that was to be a turning point in so many lives – until the battery on Ralph’s mobile ran out.

  “Ralph, tell me something. Is the conference going OK? Anything earth-shattering you need to tell me about?”

  “Nothing like that, but it’s going fine. We had an interesting paper today on the imminent turn-down in the US economy. What’s on your mind? Something wrong?”

  “I don’t want to ignore your news, but I want some advice.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Marnie told Ralph about the second fire-bomb attack on the community centre and about the arrival of the strange boat. She explained about Anne going on board yesterday while the owner was there and how he had surprised Anne today into taking flight. She mentioned the swastika emblem that Anne had seen on the car in the photograph.

  “The boat’s moored opposite Thyrsis, and he’s still there?”

  Marnie was sitting on the bed in the sleeping cabin. She reached over and moved the curtain aside with a finger.

  “The boat’s there, but it looks as if he’s out. The bike isn’t in its usual position on the roof.”

  “Okay. And you think the situations are somehow linked, the race problems, the arson attacks and this man turning up?”

  “That’s how it seems to us, but we may be making a connection that doesn’t hold up.”

  “Is his behaviour in any way suspicious?”

  “You don’t think the swastika might be a clue to something?” said Marnie.

  “There are plenty of people who like those cars, Marnie. Classics from a Golden Age. There was even a British driver in the Mercedes team in those days, and I’m sure he wasn’t a political appointment.”

  “Well, there is another thing. Anne thinks he was lying in wait for her this afternoon.”

  “Really? How would he know when she was going to be there? I would’ve expected her to keep away. Didn’t you say it was a spur-of-the-moment decision on her part to go and take another look at the boat?”

  “Yes. I told her it was probably just coincidental.”

  “I think you were right. Also, I don’t think it was unreasonable to say something to Anne when he caught her snooping on him again. That’s how he’ll have seen it.”

  “But he scared the wits out of her.”

  “You said he only spoke quietly.”

  “Ye-e-s.”

  “I’m only giving you an objective opinion, Marnie. On the evidence you’ve quoted, there doesn’t seem to be much cause for suspecting this chap of being some kind of fascist mastermind. Or is there more to it than that, something you haven’t told me?”

  “No. You’re making me have second thoughts. I just wanted to do something to make Anne feel better. But the more I think about it … although …”

  “What?”

  “There is the boat itself. It does look strange – menacing, even – and it does have an odd name.”

  “Marnie, your signal’s breaking up. I think my battery’s fading. Do you want me to phone you when I get back to the hotel? They always eat so late in Spain. What’s this odd name?”

  “Don’t worry about phoning later. I’ll probably be asleep. The boat’s called X O 2. What do you make of that?”

  “X O what?”

  “X O 2. Does that make any sense? Does it mean anything to you?”

  For the second time that day she was listening to air. She put the mobile on its charger and had one last look out of the window. No bike. Restless, her mind filled with colliding images of flying glass, incendiary bombs and U-boats, she found it impossible to relax and for a long time sat up reading a design magazine. Eventually her eyelids began to droop shut, and she dropped the magazine onto the floor, turned out the light, pulled the duvet up over her shoulders and closed her eyes. It was ten minutes to midnight.

  *

  “If we go much further on this road, we’ll be out of town heading south.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Luther. “It’s not far now to our turn-off. I think I recognise this area.”

  He swivelled his head to read the name of the road. They were in a mixed neighbourhood with shops and restaurants on both sides. Most of the restaurants were from the Indian sub-continent, but that was true of much of Britain, and Luther was becoming less certain of exactly where they were. Nevertheless, he was convinced they were pointing in the right general direction. They were on a wide r
oad, a one-way street with three lanes, travelling down the middle to pass parked cars, and no other traffic in sight.

  “Traffic lights up ahead,” said Estelle. “There’ll probably be a sign. It might be where we turn.”

  “Could be.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time to check. Marnie says the lights in Leicester are programmed to change to red when they spot a car approaching.”

  “There’s the sign, and you were right. It’s our turn. You want to pull over into the right-hand lane.” Luther laughed. “And Marnie was right, too.”

  The lights changed to amber as they drew near. Estelle moved over and braked, bringing the car to a halt at the crossroads with the dual carriageway, ready to turn right. She glanced down at the clock at the very moment when it changed to eleven-fifty. She was strumming her fingers on the top of the steering wheel when suddenly, above the sound of the engine idling, the night erupted with an enormous crash. They both jumped in their seats.

  “What the hell!” Luther began, twisting in his seat towards the source of the noise.

  “Christ!” Estelle gripped the wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

  The sound came from the left and slightly behind them. The crashing exploded again. In the streetlights they could see a small group of figures on the pavement. They seemed to be dressed entirely in black, with balaclavas covering their heads, so they looked like macabre puppets. Each one was hurling stones or bricks at a building the size of a large house. Every window was smashed, and glass was showering down onto the pavement. In seconds the assault was over. One of the puppets ran forward gripping a container. He swung it with both hands, forwards and upwards, releasing it at the top of its arc. Liquid flew out through the air to hit the wall high up with a splash, a dark stain spattering a large area and running down the façade like blood from a deep wound.

  Estelle and Luther were transfixed in their seats, mesmerised by the spectacle. It was unreal, like a film or a piece of theatre, and nothing in their past experience prepared them with a reaction. Everything was over so quickly that they barely had time to close their mouths before the puppets were leaping into a car parked a short distance behind the action. The car was already screeching away, the puppets slamming their doors, before Estelle and Luther realised it was roaring across the road directly at them.

  They gasped as it veered away at the last instant, almost hitting the nose of their car, engine roaring, tyres smoking, blasting across the junction, where the lights were still red, and racing away into the distance. They breathed out audibly and slumped back in their seats.

  “Dear God,” said Estelle, panting for breath. “What on earth’s going on? What do we do now?”

  Luther shook himself. “Drive!”

  “What? Shouldn’t we report this or something? Dial 999?”

  “Drive!” he yelled. “Just do it!”

  Absurdly, Estelle looked up at the traffic lights. They changed to red and amber, and she signalled, put the car in gear and accelerated uncertainly across the junction, turning right. She drove on auto-pilot.

  “Are we doing the right thing, Luther? I mean, we witnessed something dreadful happening. We ought to notify the authorities.”

  “Sure. But first we get away from the scene. You’d better put your foot down.”

  “Why?”

  “What if they’ve thrown a bomb in there? We don’t want to be their next victims.”

  “Oh God, yes!”

  “Damn!” Luther hit his knee with his fist, making Estelle jump again. “I was so stunned, I didn’t get the car’s number.”

  “Never mind. We’ll stop down the road and ring 999.” Estelle looked in the rear-view mirror. “No bomb so far.”

  She was looking for a place to pull over when a flash of light in the mirror caught her attention. Momentarily she thought it was a bomb, but a second look told her that a car with a flashing blue light on the roof was overhauling them rapidly. They heard its siren wailing on the night air as it flashed past.

  “Looks like someone rang them first,” said Luther.

  “Yeah. The people living near that house. I wonder why they attacked it.”

  “It wasn’t a house, Estelle. It was a mosque. There was a sign on the wall. That was the target for the paint, or whatever it was.”

  “What else could it have been?” she said.

  “It looked like blood.”

  Estelle grimaced. “I’ll pull up as soon as I find a side street. We’d better ring the police and report what we saw.”

  The road made a sweeping curve to the left and as it straightened out, they could see flashing lights ahead. They were the first car to reach the road block, and they generated a high level of excitement. Two policemen wearing flak jackets and carrying guns waved them to the side, pointing their weapons to emphasise their meaning. Others rushed towards them, and one officer shouted that they should get out of the car with their hands in the air. Nothing that they had ever seen in the cinema prepared them for the feeling of having real assault rifles loaded with live ammunition aimed at their chests, with very animated cops screaming orders at them.

  14

  Marnie felt Thyrsis rock as she was swivelling out from under the duvet early next morning. She had had a disturbed night, and it had been a long time before she dropped off. The movement of the boat meant that another craft was travelling past, and she split open the curtains with one finger to see if X O 2 was leaving. But nothing was passing, and the only boat in sight was the motionless dark grey shape on the opposite bank. She was registering the fact that the bike was still absent from its roof when she heard knocking on the stern door. Grabbing her dressing gown, Marnie went along to investigate. Before she reached the stern she heard a familiar voice.

  “Marnie, it’s me.” There was an urgency in the tone.

  She quickened her pace and unlocked the door to let Anne down the steps into the passage. The girl was breathless and looked as if she had dragged on jeans and a sweatshirt in a rush before diving into sandals and running through the spinney.

  “Hi, Anne. What’s up?”

  Anne gathered her breath, hand on chest. “It’s on the radio … there’s been more trouble in the night … someone was killed … places smashed up … it’s terrible …”

  Marnie held Anne’s arms. “Where was this? Try to tell me slowly. One word at a time will do.”

  She led Anne through to the saloon and sat her down.

  “Put the radio on,” Anne gasped. “The news is full of it.”

  They sat and listened together as report after report came in from all parts of the country and as they listened, each story seemed to be a repeat of the one before. A pattern was emerging of attacks on buildings belonging to ethnic minorities. Mosques were a prime target. Dozens of them had had their windows smashed. In some cases, fires had been started, in others, red paint had been thrown inside. Racist slogans had been sprayed on the walls.

  Not only mosques had been singled out for attention. Bars frequented by Afro-Caribbeans had been set on fire, youth clubs vandalised, community centres torched, shop windows shattered. Dance halls and discos had been smashed in a series of assaults that bore the outward appearance of spontaneous frenzy. But this was a co-ordinated offensive, and the radio news presenters and commentators were of one mind. It required a high degree of synchronisation across the whole of England.

  Accounts by local news reporters from north to south, east to west, repeated the same version of events.

  … and the first explosion was heard just before midnight. Neighbours were awakened by a loud blast and saw flames shooting into the sky …

  It was as if the Blitz had started all over again, said Mrs Muriel Wallace, aged seventy-nine, who could remember war-time London. She had just gone to bed when the fire broke out nearby at about ten to twelve …

  An eye-witness who was walking home from a night out with friends saw a car racing away seconds before the windows of a mini-market
owned by an Asian family were blown out by a bomb. He noted that the explosion came at exactly ten minutes to midnight …

  “Ten to midnight,” Marnie muttered. “That was the time I put my light out.”

  The broadcast continued with a studio interview involving a Chief Constable and a junior government minister, each trying to sound as if they were taking decisive action to track down the perpetrators. But when the interviewer asked if they knew who was behind the attacks, neither could produce a name with any certainty. The interviewer pressed them on the possibility that the incidents had been organised by New Force, but both seemed reluctant to speculate. When the interview gave way to a discussion with the BBC’s home affairs editor, it became clear that no-one in authority had a clue about what was happening. No group had claimed responsibility. No word had come from New Force. There was no hint, leak or suggestion about who was planning the strategy or how it was being put into operation.

  The report ended with a comment from a retired colonel living, inevitably, in Tunbridge Wells where, inevitably, there had been no disturbances.

  I doubt if the British bloody army would be capable of co-ordinating a mass attack on that scale nowadays. It would take someone like Monty to get the thing off the ground. Makes you wonder who’s running it. Who’s the supremo?

  That question was on everybody’s lips, but the answer would be a long time in coming.

  When the news moved on to other matters, Marnie switched off the radio. Anne was visibly shaken.

  “Did you tell Ralph about our visitor and his boat?”

  “Well, yes, but before we could get very far, we were cut off. Ralph’s battery ran out.”

  “What did he think? Did he get a chance to say anything?”

  Marnie hesitated, wanting to reflect Ralph’s reassurance that the stranger was not necessarily part of New Force, but without giving the impression that he was dismissing Anne’s overall worries as unfounded.