Dominion

by C. J. Sansom

  Gunther said, ‘I understand your point. I think I should speak with Standartenführer Gessler.’

  ‘All right.’ Syme smiled again, meanly now. ‘But I believe the Special Branch Commissioner may already have spoken to him.’

  When Gunther went up to Gessler’s office the Standartenführer looked drawn and exhausted, too tired to shout and curse. The Special Branch Commissioner had indeed spoken to him on the telephone about Fitzgerald, and they had reached a compromise: Fitzgerald as a civil servant should be jointly questioned by Gunther and Syme. Serious issues of domestic security could be involved. ‘And the Health Department is still making problems over Muncaster,’ Gessler said. ‘Someone from Berlin is going to have to speak to the minister, but there’s a hold-up there. I don’t know what’s happening to everyone in Berlin. If this goes wrong you know who’ll get the blame.’ He looked at Gunther with a touch of his old fierceness. ‘Well, the deal with the commissioner is that you and Syme go to Whitehall, ask this man Fitzgerald’s superior about him. Alerting the Dominions Office to the fact they may have a Resistance man in their ranks would be a feather in the Special Branch cap.’

  ‘Help them in their turf war with MI5?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Gessler smiled sourly. ‘And we in the embassy know all about turf wars, don’t we? After that, if you still feel he’s the man you want, the two of you can arrest him for questioning.’

  ‘Where?’ Gunther asked quietly.

  ‘Here, in Senate House. But by both of you. That’s as far as I could get the Special Branch Commissioner to go.’

  Gunther said, ‘If Fitzgerald knows whatever secret it is that Muncaster is carrying, then Syme will get to know, too.’

  ‘Then, as I told you before, Syme will have to be dealt with. If you bring Fitzgerald back here take a gun to the interview,’ he concluded brutally.

  ‘But how would we explain shooting Syme?’

  ‘That’ll be Berlin’s problem,’ Gessler answered brusquely. ‘They’ve been quite definite. Any information Muncaster has is for us alone.’

  Back in his office, Gunther told Syme about the joint questioning. There was a new cockiness about the inspector; the relationship between them had changed, or at least Syme thought it had. Gunther accepted that it might, now, be necessary to dispose of him. Well, the man was trying to play off German and British agencies against each other; he had told his commissioner about the Civil Service angle without mentioning it first to Gunther. He should have realized where that might lead. He’s blinded by arrogance, Gunther thought.

  ‘So we’re off to Whitehall,’ Syme said. ‘They all go home at five, so I’ll get the Branch to make an appointment with Fitzgerald’s boss first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Gunther gave him a long, hard look. ‘Tell him to keep it strictly confidential. Don’t mention Fitzgerald’s name.’

  Syme grinned. ‘We’ll see to that.’

  ‘What will my role be? A silent sergeant again?’ Careful, he thought, don’t show too much annoyance.

  ‘No. We thought it might be useful to say the German police are helping us on overseas aspects of the case.’ Syme smiled, provokingly.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  EARLY ON FRIDAY MORNING SYME drove Gunther to Whitehall, along the busy central London streets. It was another cold day, the sky blanketed with grey cloud. Gunther asked, ‘Have you worked on investigations involving government departments before?’

  ‘No. It’s MI5 territory still. Though there haven’t been any spy cases in Whitehall since that Resistance group in the Home Office a few years ago; and they were double agents. The Whitehall bosses weeded out anyone potentially unreliable years ago. Or thought they had.’

  ‘Who is it we’re meeting?’

  ‘Fitzgerald’s Head of Department. Hubbold. Time-serving old fart heading for retirement, my boss said. Hubbold sounded apprehensive when he got the call. I don’t think he’ll give us any problems.’

  ‘What’s he been told?’

  ‘Just that there’s some suspicion about one of his department’s staff. It’s all right, we didn’t give Fitzgerald’s name.’

  They drove down Whitehall, past the Cenotaph, stopping on the corner of Downing Street. Going up the steps of the Dominions Office, Gunther looked up at the frieze outside, the Africans and Indians and Imperial figures, all covered now in soot. Syme gave his name to the old janitor at the reception desk, saying they had an appointment with Mr Hubbold. The old man telephoned his office and told them a clerk would be down in a minute to take them up. He asked them to sign a visitor’s book; Gunther made an incomprehensible squiggle. They stood watching the brown-overalled messengers, civil servants in their black jackets and pinstriped trousers. Syme said quietly, ‘What a crew. Look at those fusty clothes.’

  Gunther smiled. ‘Some government servants still look like that in Germany. Though not so many now.’

  A young clerk appeared and took them upstairs in an ancient, creaking lift. Looking through the grille Gunther saw partitioned rooms, cubbyholes, long, dark passages. They were led to a door with the name Mr A. Hubbold picked out in gold letters. The clerk knocked, and a deep voice called, ‘Enter.’

  Syme introduced himself and showed Hubbold his warrant card. Then he introduced Gunther as a German colleague. Hubbold started visibly.

  ‘I didn’t know the German authorities were involved here.’

  Syme said, ‘Our information on this matter comes from Germany. We are working with our German colleagues.’

  Hubbold swallowed. ‘Has the Permanent Secretary been informed?’

  ‘All in good time,’ Syme replied firmly. Gunther had to admire the way he took control. ‘For now, sir, you are to keep this matter entirely confidential. As the commissioner told you last night, under the Special Powers Act the security organizations have power to direct any citizen—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Hubbold said quietly. ‘I cannot believe one of my staff could be involved in – treachery.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Who is it? Who are you investigating?’

  ‘His name is David Fitzgerald.’

  Hubbold stared at them, eyes still with shock behind his glasses. ‘Mr Fitzgerald has an exemplary record,’ he spluttered.

  ‘How long has he worked for you, sir?’ Syme asked.

  ‘Three years. He has always been hard-working, diligent, quiet. A settled family man.’

  ‘Do I detect a “but” in there, sir?’ Syme asked, with a little smile.

  Hubbold looked down at his hands, which were small and delicate. His jaw worked slightly, then he looked up. ‘There has been a question raised recently, a problem. Mr Fitzgerald is – well, potentially involved. But only potentially, it’s a problem in Registry, which isn’t under my control.’

  Hubbold told them then about the memorandum that had unaccountably appeared in the secret file. He spoke to Syme but the eyes behind the thick glasses kept wandering to Gunther’s impassive face. ‘It’s been my duty to help make enquiries. But it’s a Registry issue as I said, the Head of Registry is speaking to the woman officer –’ a momentary distaste entered his voice – ‘in charge of the restricted files room. But the open file, from which the extraneous document came, has been through several hands.’

  Gunther said, ‘And Mr Fitzgerald has clearance for that file, but not the confidential files in Registry.’

  Hubbold turned and looked at him with his wide, blank gaze. ‘Correct.’

  ‘What was the secret file about?’

  Hubbold sat up, clenching his slim-fingered hands together. ‘I can’t say. Not without clearance from the Permanent Secretary—’

  ‘Could we have the Head of Registry up here, and the woman officer, see what they have to say?’ Gunther spoke quietly and politely, playing soft policeman to Syme’s hard one. ‘Then perhaps we might talk to Mr Fitzgerald.’

  ‘Now?’ Hubbold asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Syme said. ‘And perhaps you could have Mr Fitzgerald’s personnel file br
ought up, too.’

  Gunther added, ‘I take it, by the way, he is at work today?’

  ‘Yes. I came up in the lift with him this morning.’

  Gunther turned to Syme, and said mildly, ‘Perhaps the janitor on the desk could be asked to detain Fitzgerald if he sees him going out.’

  Syme nodded, and gave Hubbold his nasty smile. ‘Could you do that, sir? Make those phone calls, now?’

  ‘This is some mistake. Fitzgerald—’

  ‘The phone calls, sir.’ Syme spoke sharply; he was enjoying bullying the old civil servant. Hubbold picked up the telephone and spoke first to the porter’s desk, then the personnel office. Finally he asked Dabb to come up and bring Miss Bennett. A slight tremble had appeared in his deep, even voice.

  They waited. Hubbold stared at his hands, clutched together now on his blotter. Faintly, from outside, came the sound of workaday voices. Hubbold reached into his pocket, took out a little silver case, and to Gunther’s surprise emptied two little pyramids of brown powder onto the back of one hand. Syme leaned forward. ‘What are you doing, sir?’

  Hubbold stared back at him. ‘Taking some snuff. Do you object, officer?’

  Syme shrugged, laughing. ‘I thought that went out with the ark.’

  ‘Not at all. Much better for you than cigarettes.’ Hubbold sniffed up the powder with a snort. He frowned for a moment, then said, ‘Dabb, the registrar, will tell you that Fitzgerald is rather friendly with this woman officer, Carol Bennett. Just friends, I’m sure, but – well, I should mention it.’

  There was a knock at the door and a clerk appeared with the personnel file. Hubbold took it and, after a moment’s hesitation, passed it across the desk to Syme. He opened it. Gunther bent forward to read. Works well with colleagues but displays a certain reserve. Rather a lack of ambition. As well as the wife, Gunther saw, there had been a child, too, but he had died. Fitzgerald’s mother was also dead, and his father was in New Zealand. There was a photograph of a young man in military uniform, the same erect pose as in the university photograph. It was typical of the British not to have updated Fitzgerald’s photograph since 1940.

  Gunther memorized Fitzgerald’s home address and looked up to see Hubbold staring at him. ‘All this is –’ Hubbold struggled for a word – ‘distasteful.’

  ‘Treachery is pretty distasteful, sir,’ Syme said. Hubbold winced.

  There was another knock and two people came in, a thin-faced, intelligent-looking woman in her thirties and a stooped old man in an old-fashioned wing collar. Hubbold invited them to sit and they drew up chairs. He introduced Gunther and Syme as being from Special Branch. The old man’s mouth set in a firm line, and he gave the woman a quick, angry look. Her eyes widened with fear.

  Hubbold spoke first. ‘This is about the – ah – extraneous paper in that secret file.’

  Dabb looked aghast. He said, sharply, ‘How has this become a police matter? The internal investigation hasn’t finished yet.’

  Hubbold shook his head wearily. ‘I can’t say. Only that full cooperation is required of us.’

  All at once the fight went out of Dabb. He slumped in his chair, then said, with quiet, angry intensity, ‘All these years, nothing like this has ever happened in my Registry. People don’t follow procedures as they should, reprimands have to be issued. But a secret file under my control mishandled. Never!’ He shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘You’re in overall charge of the confidential files, then?’ Syme asked brusquely. ‘This separate room?’

  ‘I have supervision of the Registry,’ Dabb replied hesitantly. ‘But I have to trust my staff to be competent, not to make – gross errors.’ As he spoke he looked accusingly at the woman. She stared back at him, breathing hard. They’re trying to shift the blame onto her, Gunther thought.

  ‘Have you any comments, Miss Bennett?’ Syme asked.

  ‘I don’t know how the Kenya document came to be in the secret file. I’d never seen it before.’ She spoke clearly and levelly. She wasn’t a particularly attractive woman, Gunther thought, but she was striking, obviously bright.

  ‘So how do you think it got in there?’ Dabb asked wearily. ‘I suppose it decided to go for a little walk.’

  ‘I don’t know. I swear to that.’

  Gunther thought, that’s true, but there’s more to it.

  ‘Can’t be many women doing your sort of work,’ Syme observed. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it was a woman’s job, not like teaching or nursing.’

  He was trying to provoke her but she answered evenly. ‘I’ve worked in the service for thirteen years. I have full security clearance. I don’t think Mr Dabb has ever had cause to complain before.’ She flashed her superior a spirited look.

  Dabb made a quick, angry pout. ‘You’re compromised,’ he said bitterly. ‘Compromised.’ He looked at Syme. ‘I can’t believe it’s just coincidence that the file this document came from was handled by an officer Miss Bennett is known to be very friendly with.’ He looked accusingly at Hubbold. ‘Your subordinate. Mr Fitzgerald.’

  So Dabb had made that connection too, Gunther thought.

  ‘Several others had the file,’ Hubbold replied, suddenly tetchy.

  Carol looked at Syme. ‘Mr Fitzgerald has been a friend of mine for years. But only a friend.’

  ‘Men and women can’t be just friends,’ Dabb snapped. ‘It’s not in the nature of things.’

  ‘Something in that,’ Syme agreed, raising an eyebrow at Carol. Her face was reddening now. He asked her bluntly, ‘Do you have an improper relationship with David Fitzgerald?’

  She answered firmly. ‘No.’

  ‘They sometimes go to concerts,’ Dabb said. ‘It’s been department gossip for ages.’

  Syme’s smile became a leer. ‘Where do you go, eh? Little hotel somewhere?’

  ‘We go to lunchtime concerts, that’s all we’ve ever done,’ Carol answered. Her voice was trembling. ‘Enquire as much as you like, ask David – Mr Fitzgerald. You’ll find nothing improper. Nothing. Ever. He’s a married man.’

  Gunther heard the undertone of bitterness and thought, you wish he wasn’t. He said, ‘A friendship. Just so. But would Mr Fitzgerald have had the opportunity, through this friendship, to gain access to secret material?’

  Carol looked at him, swallowed, then took a deep breath. ‘You’re German, aren’t you? Please, how are you involved in this?’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ Syme said, harshly. ‘He’s working to me, that’s what matters. Answer the question.’

  ‘I can’t think of any way David could have got access to the file room,’ she said. ‘I never discussed my confidential work with him, I wouldn’t, ever. And he didn’t ask me to.’

  Gunther asked, ‘What about the keys to the room where the files are kept? You never gave him access to those?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she answered, her voice desperately sincere. ‘I always have the keys with me in the office, and if I go out I leave them at the front desk.’ She looked at them steadily. ‘It’s not fair, you wouldn’t be asking these questions if it was a friendship between two men.’

  Syme laughed. ‘I could tell you some stories on that subject.’ Hubbold and Dabb glanced at him with distaste.

  Gunther thought, the keys, people find many ways of making copies of keys. He said to Carol, ‘So, the fact one of the few people who had access to this file is a friend of yours – that is just a coincidence?’

  ‘I don’t know what it is,’ she answered vehemently. ‘I don’t understand it.’

  ‘Did you and Mr Fitzgerald ever discuss political matters?’

  ‘No,’ she answered heavily.

  ‘What would you say his politics were?’ Syme asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And yours?’

  ‘I don’t have any.’ Her voice sounded weary now. ‘I’ve a sick mother to look after, my job to do. I don’t poke my nose into politics.’

  There was silence for a moment. Gunther looked
at Syme, then said, ‘I think that’s all we need from Miss Bennett for now.’ He stood up, and the others followed. Gunther smiled at Carol. ‘Thank you, Miss Bennett.’

  She looked at him uncertainly, then went out. When the door had closed, Dabb said to Syme, ‘I’ve taken her off her usual duties. I’m looking after the secret files myself for now. Is that in order?’

  ‘I think so. For now.’

  ‘The Permanent Secretary should be told. At once. Police in the office.’

  ‘We’ll deal with that.’ Syme looked at Gunther. ‘I think he can go too, now?’ Gunther nodded agreement again. Syme grinned at Dabb. ‘Off you go then, matey.’

  Dabb made a sort of choking sound, then went out quickly. They were left with Hubbold. ‘Well?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Do people here ever work outside normal hours?’ Gunther asked. ‘At weekends?’

  ‘When necessary.’ Hubbold hesitated, then added, ‘Mr Fitzgerald deals with the Commonwealth High Commissioners’ meetings. There’s been a lot to do these last few months. He does come in at weekends. I’ve twitted him about it occasionally, said he shouldn’t be leaving his wife alone at home so much.’

  Gunther said, ‘I think we’d like to see Mr Fitzgerald now. On his own. Could you leave us for a while?’

  ‘This is my office,’ Hubbold answered with unexpected stubbornness.

  Syme said. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you go down and get Fitzgerald for us? Fetch him from his desk?’

  Hubbold set his lips, then stood up. He clenched his hands, as though he would have liked to strike them, then said, ‘Very well,’ stiffly, and left the room.

  When the door shut Syme said, ‘There’s something fishy between Fitzgerald and that woman. I can smell it.’

  Gunther said, ‘I don’t think she gave him access to that room. But I think he got access through her, got hold of her keys though I can’t work out how.’