by C. J. Sansom
David took up a magazine. ‘Better than the stuff my nephews read, war comics about the fighting in Russia.’
‘Nothing in the desk,’ Natalia said. ‘Just bills and some letters from a lawyer about his mother’s estate. Oh, and these.’ She handed David a bundle of envelopes, neatly tied in a rubber band. David was surprised to see his own handwriting. It was the letters he had sent Frank over the years. He opened one.
21 August 1940
Dear Frank,
Sorry I haven’t written earlier in reply to your last, but it’s all been a bit hectic. They discharged me from the nursing home last week (so no more pretty nurses, sad to say) and the old feet seem to be okay now. It’s felt so silly, recovering from frostbite in summer! I’m staying with my dad for the moment, starting back at the Office next week.
Well, what d’you think of the Berlin Treaty? I must say we’ve come off pretty lightly, given the way Adolf trounced our army. Pity we’ve got to give up the air force…
Natalia was looking at him curiously. ‘He kept your letters,’ she said. ‘Almost like a lover.’
‘There was never anything pansy about Frank,’ David answered sharply. He thought of the pornography, but he wasn’t going to tell her about that.
‘Did you keep his letters to you?’
‘No. But then I had other friends.’ David looked round the dismal room. ‘Exactly what happened here? What was it all about? Edgar came to visit. He was drunk; he said something that pushed Frank over the edge. After all these years of holding everything in.’
‘It could have been something personal,’ Geoff suggested. ‘Some family thing.’
‘Possibly,’ Natalia agreed. She replaced the papers in the desk.
David picked up the letters. ‘I think we should take these with us.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. That might be best.’ David stuffed the packet into his overcoat pocket. Natalia wiped her dusty fingers on a handkerchief. She smiled at David, her wry smile. ‘You English hold your feelings inside yourselves; it is not surprising sometimes you crack up.’
‘Sometimes there’s a lot to hold in.’
They all jumped and turned quickly at the sound of a key in the door. Natalia’s hand went to the pocket of her coat; now David knew she had a gun in there. She stood in front of the desk as the hall door opened, and a little old man with white hair, in an old cardigan and carpet slippers, came in and stared at them. He shuffled into the lounge.
‘Thought I ’eard someone in ’ere.’ He had a high-pitched voice with a Birmingham accent. He peered at them short-sightedly, quite unafraid. ‘Who are you?’
David said, ‘We’re friends of Dr Muncaster, we’ve been to visit him in hospital.’
‘Do you live in one of the other flats?’ Geoff asked.
‘The one above. I’m Bill Brown.’ The old man looked around the room. ‘It were me called the coppers, last month. You’ll know all about it, if you’re friends of Dr Muncaster.’
‘Yes.’
The old man shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it, screaming and shouting then that window going. I looked out and there was that poor man lying on the ground, I thought he were a goner.’ He stared at them, bright-eyed. ‘And Dr Muncaster yelling and raving, smashing things up. Thank God me daughter got me to have the phone put in, I dialled 999 straight off. I can do without things like that at my age. I’m eighty, y’know,’ he added proudly.
‘Who boarded the window up?’ David asked.
‘I got the freeholder to do it. He’s a spare key to all the flats. He left one with me.’ Bill stared at him with watery eyes that still had a sharpness to them. ‘A house with a broken window’s a magnet for burglars. How is Dr Muncaster? Is he coming back?’
‘Not in the near future.’
The old man nodded. ‘Are you family?’ He looked round at them.
‘My friend and I were at school with him.’ David didn’t give their names. ‘We’ve come up from London to see him. We heard what happened through someone at the university. We came over to check everything was all right here.’
‘’Ow’s Dr Muncaster’s brother?’
‘He’s safely back in America,’ Natalia said,
‘Broken arm, the police said.’ Bill looked round the chaos again. ‘’E were always very quiet, Dr Muncaster. Polite. Never thought he’d go off his head like that.’
‘No,’ David said. He added conversationally, ‘Apparently he was shouting about the end of the world.’
‘He were that. Never ’eard anything like it. This has always been a quiet house, I’ve lived here since my wife died. Fifteen years. Gor, the way he was raving, yelling. How the world was ending.’ Bill looked at Natalia. ‘Are you German, miss?’ he asked suddenly.
‘No.’
He held her gaze for a moment, then asked, ‘What are they saying at the hospital?’
David answered. ‘They don’t seem to know much. When we saw Frank he was very quiet.’
‘Bartley Green loony-bin, isn’t it? A man I worked with had a sister in there once. Said it was a miserable place. Of course once you’re in somewhere like that often you’re there till they bring you out in a box.’ Nobody replied. ‘Like I said, I’d nothing against him. Though that funny grin of his used to give me the willies.’ Bill looked at the photograph of Frank’s father. ‘That his dad?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doesn’t half look like him. I lost me son at Passchendaele.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Geoff said.
Bill turned to him. ‘We were fighting the wrong enemy then.’ His eyes brightened. ‘Have you ’eard about the Jews?’
‘What about them?’ David asked.
The old man smiled. ‘They’re being rounded up, all over the country. It was on the news: Mosley’s to broadcast on TV about it later. They were all taken away this morning.’
‘Where to?’ David asked.
‘No idea. Isle of Man, Isle of Wight? I think it’s best to turn ’em over to the Germans.’
‘Are you sure about this?’ Geoff asked.
‘’Course I am. I told you, it was on the news. Surprise, innit? I never realized how many Jews there were in Brum till they made ’em wear those yellow badges. Good riddance. Glad I won’t be seeing them badges any more, they gave me the creeps.’ Bill looked between the three of them, then said sarcastically, ‘Still, you sound like educated people, mebbe you don’t see it that way. Well, I’ll leave you to it.’ He glanced around the flat again. ‘If ’e’s not coming back, maybe this place should go on the market.’ He nodded at them, smiled maliciously, then shuffled out, shutting the door behind him.
David turned to Natalia. He said, trying to keep the shock from his voice, ‘Looks like you were right. About the Jews having no future.’
She didn’t answer. Geoff said, ‘It’ll be part of some deal with the Germans, Beaverbrook will have got something in return.’
Natalia said, ‘I think we should leave. There’s nothing here.’ She frowned. ‘The end of the world. What did he mean by that?’ She looked around the room again, took a deep breath. ‘Come on, we should find a telephone box, ring Mr Jackson.’
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.
