Dominion

by C. J. Sansom

Gunther nodded. He had had a thought about that.

  Gunther went back into the bare windowless cell. The woman was sitting in a chair. She hadn’t taken off her coat although it was hot down here and she looked at him with that same mixture of fear and defiance. She had a strong face, she had probably been quite attractive once but she was beginning to age. She wasn’t trembling now, she was holding her fear in. He laid the file on the desk and sat opposite her, smiling again. ‘I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Hoth, I’m from the German security police. I’m not a soldier, just a detective.’

  ‘Gestapo,’ she said suddenly, with an utter bleakness.

  He inclined his head. ‘That’s a very broad term.’

  ‘I want to speak to a lawyer.’

  Gunther shook his head. ‘You don’t have that right.’ He continued, in the same mild tone, ‘You see, you’re at the embassy, you’re on German territory now. I want to ask you some questions. That’s all, just some questions. Now, your name is Sarah Fitzgerald, yes?’ She just stared at him. ‘Come on now,’ Gunther laughed. ‘It can’t do any harm to answer that one.’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  Gunther guessed that she knew nothing about interrogation techniques or it wouldn’t have been so easy to get her to answer. ‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘And you were born on 17 May 1918.’ She looked startled. He smiled again. ‘It’s on your identity card. Remember, when we took your handbag and got you to empty your pockets, at your house? I’m sorry we frightened you then, by the way. But we couldn’t leave the lights on.’

  ‘You wanted me to walk into your hands. And I did.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She stared at him, uncertainty now as well as fear and anger in her face; she obviously hadn’t expected to be treated so gently. Gunther tapped the file. ‘I see your father was a pacifist in the thirties. Along with you and your sister. Well, I wish your people had won the day then, we’d never have had the 1939–40 war.’

  ‘Where did you get all this information?’ she asked.

  ‘The Home Office have records of people who were active in politics before the war.’ He spoke almost apologetically. ‘But according to the records your family seems to have accepted the status quo after 1940, certainly your sister. And, after 1941, your father.’

  ‘The government must have files on thousands and thousands of people, then,’ she said quietly, almost to herself.

  Gunther spread his hands. ‘With all the trouble from the Resistance, you can see why they think it’s necessary. The violent demonstrations, the bombings, the assassinations. It’s as bad here now as in France. Though I know as a pacifist you wouldn’t be involved in any of that.’

  She did not reply. Gunther smiled. ‘I want peace as well, you know. Germany’s sick of war. I long for the day when the world is at peace.’

  ‘With everyone under your thumb,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘I wish you could understand.’ Gunther couldn’t keep a touch of irritation from his voice. He did wish for peace; this woman, a nice educated woman, pure Aryan by the look of her, should be happily at home caring for her husband and children. He said, ‘Where were you this afternoon, Mrs Fitzgerald?’

  ‘I went out for the day. I went into town, to Blakeleys Stores, to the toy section, I spoke to the manager there. You can check that with him if you like.’

  ‘How do you know the Blakeleys man?’

  ‘I do voluntary work for a charity that sends toys to the children of poor people. Mr Fielding has been helping us.’

  ‘Ah. Something like our Winter Relief in Germany.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not like that.’ Then she thought a moment and said quietly, ‘Or maybe it is.’

  ‘You and your husband have no children?’

  She looked at him. ‘We had a son, but he died in an accident.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gunther said.

  She was clearly surprised by the catch of real sympathy in his voice. ‘Have you children?’ she asked.

  ‘A son, Michael. He is with his mother, out in Krimea. I miss him.’

  ‘Why have you arrested me?’ she asked suddenly. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘In a moment. Now, where did you go after visiting the shop?’

  ‘To the National Portrait Gallery. I had lunch before.’

  ‘It was after eight when you got home, Mrs Fitzgerald. The gallery closes at five. What did you do after your visit?’

  She hesitated. Gunther saw that. ‘I walked.’

  ‘On a cold, dark winter’s day?’ She was starting to lie now, he felt it.

  ‘I sat in a cafe for a while.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Somewhere near Victoria Station.’

  ‘Now why would you do that? Wouldn’t your husband expect you to be home when he returned from work?’

  ‘Sometimes he works late.’ He caught a little bite of anger in her voice. He thought, things aren’t so good at home. She asked, ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look at me.’ Gunther spoke quietly. ‘Look at me. I know you’re keeping something back.’

  She was silent a long moment. He could see she was thinking. Then she said, almost in a whisper, ‘I’ve been afraid my husband was having an affair. I noticed little things, changes in his manner, the way he behaved to me. Our son dying was a bad blow.’

  ‘Who did you think he was having an affair with?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. Women have always found him very attractive.’

  Gunther saw it now. He said, ‘Was the woman concerned named Carol Bennett?’

  Sarah drew in her breath sharply. Her eyes widened.

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘We had information that your husband might be involved in illegal activities. We questioned some people at his work today, those who knew him well. Miss Bennett’s name came up.’

  Sarah said, ‘She wasn’t having an affair with him. She’d have liked to, but he – didn’t. I spoke to her this evening, you see. I went round to see her, that’s where I went. I wanted to confront her.’

  Gunther smiled. ‘I believe you. Tell me,’ he asked, ‘how long have you been married?’

  ‘Nine years.’

  ‘My wife left me after seven. She didn’t like the hours I work.’

  She looked at him curiously. ‘Where did you learn to speak such good English?’

  ‘I studied in Oxford. Then I worked here at the embassy for several years.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re one of those who believes it all, aren’t you? All the Nazi poison.’

  ‘Remember where you are, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ he said, an edge to his voice.

  She gave a little humourless laugh. ‘I’m not likely to forget, am I?’

  ‘Were you expecting your husband to be at home when you returned? From Miss Bennett’s?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve no idea where he is. Nor why you want him.’ She paused. ‘He always told me political action was useless, we had to get along with the system. All these years he’s said that.’

  ‘He was protecting you, perhaps.’ She didn’t answer. ‘The evidence is pretty conclusive, I’m afraid. It seems your husband was part of a larger ring of spies inside the Civil Service. You’ll know his friend, of course, the one he went to university with. Geoff Drax.’

  ‘Geoff?’ There was real surprise in her face.

  ‘Yes. They both disappeared from their offices this afternoon. They were going to be arrested, but somebody warned them.’ Carol Bennett, he guessed, but he didn’t say.

  ‘Why should I believe anything you tell me?’ she asked.

  ‘Why else would we have broken into your house?’

  ‘You’re saying I may never see David again.’ She said it bleakly, a statement.

  ‘You really never knew?’

  ‘No. No, I swear he told me nothing.’

  ‘You swear. Are you a Christian?’ He thought suddenly of the woman he’d c
aught sheltering Jews in the Berlin flat.

  ‘No. I’ve stopped believing in God.’ She looked him in the face again. ‘After all, how could He allow the world to be like this?’

  ‘Maybe this is the world that destiny intends for us. A safe, clean world. And it is the forces of evil and violence that prevent us from building it.’ Gunther smiled wryly. ‘Did you ever think of that?’

  ‘No,’ she answered vehemently. ‘What’s just been done to the Jews, that order came from Germany, didn’t it? What’s going to happen to them now?’

  ‘With respect, Mrs Fitzgerald, you are here to answer my questions, not I yours. Does the name Frank Muncaster mean anything to you?’

  She seemed puzzled. ‘He’s an old university friend of my husband’s. They write occasionally. I’ve never met him.’

  She had a very readable face. He wasn’t sure she had told him the entire truth about this afternoon, though she had told most of it, but he was certain her husband had never taken her into his confidence, and that she knew nothing about Frank Muncaster.

  He left her and went up to Gessler’s office. Gessler was on the telephone, his face angry but his tone deferential. He waved a hand for Gunther to sit while he finished his call. ‘The Home Office can’t just order a Health Department civil servant to release a mental patient. The civil servant would take it to the minister, if we’re involved it would go to the Prime Minister. And you know how unpredictable Beaverbrook is—’

  Gessler broke off and listened to the voice at the other end. Whoever it was seemed to be shouting. ‘With respect, sir,’ Gessler said eventually, ‘it’s only one section of Special Branch who are cooperating with us, and even they’ve no idea what it’s about—’

  More shouting from the other end, a harsh, tinny sound. At length Gessler said, ‘My man who’s been questioning the woman has just come in. Let me talk to him and I’ll call you again – yes, in ten minutes – yes. Heil Hitler.’ He put the phone down. ‘Heydrich’s people,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve told them about the Civil Service spy ring. Will Syme keep his mouth shut?’

  ‘For the present.’

  ‘His superintendent’s attitude is that they need to act soon on the spy ring. They’ll want to do a proper clearout. We can’t keep the lid on this for long. What’s the woman told you?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure she didn’t know what her husband was up to. She suspected him of having an affair. I asked if the name Muncaster meant anything to her, and she said only as an old friend of her husband whom she never met. I believe her.’

  Gessler frowned. ‘The fewer people know we’re interested in him, the better.’

  ‘I asked very casually.’

  ‘So you’re saying she’s a dead end?’ Gessler looked at him accusingly, as though the dead end were Gunther’s fault.

  ‘I wonder, sir, could I make a suggestion?’

  Gessler nodded.

  ‘When we were waiting for Mrs Fitzgerald tonight, I noticed a big lawned area opposite her house, a little park. There’s one of the old concrete air-raid shelters at the other end, two or three hundred yards away. It looks pretty run-down but if we could get a man in there with a radio and powerful enough binoculars, he could watch the house. We could let her go, order her to stay at home, and see who comes to visit. It’s a point of honour for the Resistance people to get agents’ families out. They won’t telephone her, they’ll know the phone will be tapped. If they come for her in a car someone in that shelter could take the number and have them picked up. But if we keep her here they won’t do anything, they can’t get at her. And I don’t think she can be of any more material help at the moment.’

  Gessler looked at him, eyes narrowed. ‘You really don’t want her to get rough handling, do you? It’s all very well to be sentimental about women but spies, well, they’re not normal women.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s a spy, sir. But I think the way I suggest would give us a better chance of getting hold of those who are.’

  Gessler thought again, then nodded. ‘You’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, haven’t you? Picking up Jews and their friends.’ He shook his head. ‘Forgive me, I was wrong to call you sentimental. Your work in Germany certainly wasn’t that, I know.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Gunther replied humbly. He hadn’t thought Gessler a man capable of apology.

  ‘If we do this we’ll have to provide the manpower from the embassy.’

  ‘I think we should do it, sir,’ Gunther pressed, his voice quiet but determined. ‘I think we could get them.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  FRANK WAS IN A PADDED CELL NOW, somewhere deep inside the asylum. The walls, and the floor too, were covered in a coarse, thick material; it was like being inside a huge, stifling mattress. There were nasty-looking stains on the padding, and the whole room smelt faintly of disinfectant and vomit.

  Frank had blacked out after jumping off the chair. When he came round he was lying on the floor of the quiet room with a terrible pain in his throat, attendants gripping his arms and legs. I’m still here, he thought sorrowfully, offering no resistance as they put him in a strait-jacket and hauled him away, his feet dragging on the floor, people turning to look. They had taken off the straitjacket when they put him in the padded room, but told him he would be here for a while and if there was any trouble he’d be restrained again.

  Dr Wilson had come to see him a couple of times. He seemed disappointed, as though Frank had let him down; annoyed, too. ‘I thought you were settling in,’ he said reproachfully. ‘What was so bad you wanted to end your life?’ Frank saw something calculating in Dr Wilson’s look, at variance with his manner. He also seemed, in an odd way, afraid. He guessed Wilson had put two and two together, connected his suicide attempt with the visits from his old friends and the police. Frank had already decided the only protection he had left was not to talk at all, maintain complete silence. He looked away. Dr Wilson was probably involved in the conspiracy too.

  Wilson said, ‘You’ll have to stay in here if you won’t talk, Frank.’ Frank was tempted to co-operate for a moment, doing whatever was necessary to get out of this room. But he knew that even if they let him out of the padded cell they would be watching him, he wouldn’t have an easy chance to kill himself again. But he would do it; he would take the first opportunity that came. Wilson looked at the plastic beaker of iced water on a tray on the floor. He said, ‘Drink as much as you can. It’ll help your dry throat.’ Frank just looked at him blankly, feeling a strange perverse satisfaction in defying him. He was on a double dose of Largactil all the time now.

  That had been days ago. They brought in all his meals on a tray and Frank had to knock on the door and wait whenever he wanted to go to the toilet.

  The staff who brought his meals made sure that he took his pills. But as with the lower dose he found there was a period just before his next dose was due when the effects wore off and his mind was clear; too clear, because his head filled with images of jangling terror. But it was better, safer, to have a clear mind for part of the time. Along with silence it was the only weapon he had left, and he would use it as long as he could.

  Ben brought his supper that night. Frank had been lying on the floor of the padded cell, dozing, his head on the pillow they had given him, when the door opened with its metallic creak. Ben came in with a tray balanced on one hand. There was something different in the way he looked at Frank, sharp and calculating. He smiled his usual cheerful smile, though, and said, ‘Wakey wakey, Frank, dinner time.’

  Frank sat up. He wanted to ask the time but he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t speak. Ben was part of whatever conspiracy was going on, he must be; it was he who had brought David here. His watch been taken away and there were no windows in the cell, only a light in the ceiling protected by an iron grille, which dimmed during the night; apart from that meals were the only way Frank had of knowing the time of day. If it was dinner time it must be around six.

  ‘Another cauld night, at
least you’re warm in here,’ Ben said. He laid the tray on the floor. Plastic tray, plastic plates and utensils, a chunk of grey fish among soggy vegetables, a bowl containing a bright yellow jelly and, in a plastic cup, next to another containing water, his pills. Frank noticed they were different, the same white colour but bigger.

  Ben bent down on his haunches. ‘Come on, pal,’ he said encouragingly. ‘It’s me. Talk to me, Frankie.’

  Frank looked at the pills again. They were definitely different. He remembered the stories among the patients about being given something to drink that would make them sterile. Or was it something else Ben was giving him? He couldn’t ask, he mustn’t speak. He stared up at Ben. The attendant sighed and shook his head. ‘Jesus, Frank,’ he said. ‘That’s some nasty look. It was better when you grinned.’ Frank reached over and picked up the glass of water. He put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them, then opened his mouth for Ben to inspect as usual. Ben frowned. ‘Okay, if that’s the way it is.’ Ben nodded at the tray. ‘Go on, get your dinner.’

  Frank didn’t want it. He went and sat against the rear wall. Ben sighed heavily. ‘Look, Frank,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to eat. Wilson’ll get worried if you won’t eat on top of everything else.’ His look and words were gentle, but there was still something else in his face, too. Frank closed his eyes. After a moment he heard Ben leave. The smell of the fish on the tray made him feel sick. Soon he began to feel sleepy, and his head nodded.

  He woke once and found the main light was off, only a faint glow in the padded cell. It must be night-time. The tray was gone, Ben must have come back and taken it away. How strange he had seemed tonight. Frank remembered David and Geoff coming, how pleased he had been to see David. But he was with the enemy now. He remembered that conversation about appeasement at university, how wonderful it had been to realize that David, that anyone, was actually interested in what he had to say. He felt tears at the corner of his eyes but he was too tired even to cry.

  He slept again, deeply this time. He was jarred into sudden wake-fulness by the sound of the door opening. The light was switched on. Frank blinked, disoriented.