Maybe the French will get rid of their Jews now,’ he added thoughtfully, remembering Beaver-brook had stopped in Paris on his way to Berlin.
Syme said, ‘Dockland’s always been crawling with Jews and foreigners. I’ve always hated the lot of them. So did my dad.’ His eyes were shining. He was excited now, worked up.
‘Is that why you joined the Fascists?’
‘Yes. I joined in ’34, when I was a police cadet. Quite a few of us East End police supported Mosley. Having a Party card helped with advancement after the Berlin treaty. Even more now, with Mosley Home Secretary.’
‘It is the same in Germany. Being an Old Fighter, an
Syme looked at him. ‘Are you in the Nazi Party?’
‘I joined in 1930. I, too, was young.’
‘It helped me get into Special Branch, then up to inspector. I’ve led a couple of investigations now, winkling Resistance people out of the woodwork.’
‘I am sure your own talents helped as well.’
‘Trouble is, so many idiots sympathize with them these days, with the depression going on forever. I wish we could find Churchill.’
Gunther looked at the near-empty motorway, the still, cold countryside. ‘I think in England you have left things too long, taken too many half-measures. We rounded up all our enemies at the beginning, took firm control. To make a revolution you must act hard and fast.’
Syme frowned and took another drag on his cigarette. ‘We couldn’t do that. Remember, you let us keep our so-called democratic traditions at the Treaty negotiations.’
Gunther nodded agreement. ‘Yes. It seemed the easiest way to end the war, then.’
‘It’s taken twelve years to get shot of all that. We still allowed an Opposition till 1950. Now we’re getting tough, they’re fighting back. We don’t have your German respect for authority, you see,’ he added with heavy humour. ‘But we’ll beat them. This is the last campaign.’
Gunther wondered if they could. Britain had grown weak and corrupt after so long. Syme continued, ‘I’ve thought of getting a transfer up North. There’s a lot of London boys up there now. Good overtime, and I could do with a bit of excitement. Scotland, maybe. You know we’re arming some of the Scottish Nationalists to take on the strikers in Glasgow. They’ve always had a pro-Fascist wing, they opposed conscription of Scots in 1939 and we managed to split the party, get rid of the woolly-minded liberals and lefties.’ He smiled at Gunther. ‘We learned that from you, recruiting local nationalists against the Reds. Promise them some goodies in return.’ He laughed. ‘Beaverbrook’s promised to return the Stone of Scone to Scotland – it’s some slab of rock the Scottish kings used to put under their throne. And road signs in Gaelic and vague promises about Home Rule at some time.’
‘Yes. We have used the Flemings and the Bretons. Offered them baubles in return for fighting the Reds. And the Croats – setting them against the Serbs; they have been a big asset. It is a useful tactic. But this Stone of Scone, do not underestimate the importance of ancient symbols to a nation. Reichsfuhrer Himmler has a whole organization, the Ahnenerbe, dedicated to uncovering the origins of the Aryan race.’ Gunther’s voice took on an enthusiastic note; it was a subject that interested him. ‘Recently we found what were definitely swastikas in some caves in Poland, proving the Aryan race was there first. It is part of our ancient heritage.’
‘Yeah?’ Syme wasn’t interested. ‘Fighting the Reds up North, that’s what I’d like, I could do with a bit of excitement. The Irish have offered to help us, you know, De Valera’s people. Put spies in the Irish community here – lots of Reds there. But he wanted a stake in Northern Ireland in return, so we turned them down. The Ulster Unionists would go berserk.’
‘Yes,’ Gunther agreed. ‘He offered Germany help too, on similar terms. But Ireland is one nationalist conflict we do not want to get bogged down in.’ A bit of excitement, he thought with distaste, there were so many in the Nazi Party who spoke of the things they had to do like that. He was always uneasy around such men, they tended to be wild, unfocused. But Syme seemed focused enough.
‘What’s your job in Germany now, if there aren’t any troublemakers left?’
‘Oh, there are always some. I look for Jews, William, and the people who shelter them. There are very few left now. Some in Poland.’
‘So there’s still some action?’
‘Action is not what I am looking for,’ Gunther replied seriously. ‘We are trying to make Europe safe for future generations, William, cut out the Jewish-Bolshevik cancer. We have to be serious, totally serious.’ Syme didn’t answer, and Gunther realized he was sounding pompous. There was silence for a few moments, then he asked, ‘Have you family in London?’
‘Nobody that matters. I was engaged a few years ago, but the girl broke it off. Said between the job and the Blackshirts she never saw me.’
Gunther smiled sadly. ‘My wife left me for similar reasons. She took my son to Krimea.’
Syme gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I’m sorry. That’s tough.’
‘Women do not understand the pressure men must live under in these times.’
‘You’ve got that right. The heroic generation, eh?’
‘The generation that must sacrifice everything.’ Gunther looked out of the window. A wet, sleety snow had begun to fall.
Dr Wilson sat behind his desk, fingers laced together, looking disapprovingly at the two policemen. Driving up to the mental hospital, through the wet snow, Gunther had been impressed by the neat gardens, the building’s grand facade, but once inside he was appalled by what he saw: glimpses of crowded wards, patients with vacant or desperate faces. He was glad there was no more of this in Germany.
They were taken to Dr Wilson’s office, where Syme introduced himself as a Special Branch inspector and Gunther as his sergeant. The little fat mad-doctor had waved them to a couple of chairs then sat behind his desk, looking self-important, but worried too. He said, ‘I find it inconceivable that Dr Muncaster could be involved in political activities.’
Syme answered with a wry smile, ‘It’s often the last person you’d think of who is, sir.’
Wilson’s frown intensified. ‘You don’t understand. He is frightened of everything, he finds safety in quiet and routine. I don’t like that routine being disrupted.’ All Wilson’s attention was directed at Syme; he barely glanced at Gunther, no doubt thinking him just a middle-aged sergeant, which was exactly what Gunther wanted. ‘I would ask you to be careful with Dr Muncaster,’ Wilson went on. ‘If you provoke another outburst I’m not responsible. Last time, as you will know, someone was badly hurt.’
Syme’s voice took on a soothing tone. ‘I’ll treat him gently, I promise. I just want to get an impression of him for now. I’ll tell him I’m new to the district, picked up his case and I’d like to go over it with him. You may be right about him not being political, it may not even be necessary to raise that directly. We just want to tie up a loose end.’
Wilson shook his head. ‘It’s not usual to have someone like Dr Muncaster, a graduate, on a common ward. We’d move him to the Private Villa if we could sort his money out. He’s my responsibility. I want to sit in on the interview.’
Syme shook his head. ‘That won’t be possible, sir. I promise you, I’ll try not to upset him. Just a bit of questioning.’ He added, ‘If you’re not happy, you can always phone London.’
Wilson set his lips tight, but did not reply. Syme, Gunther thought, was doing well. Like most people, Wilson was frightened of getting into trouble with the Home Office.
There was a knock at the door, and a middle-aged attendant entered. He held the arm of a thin man with a closely shaved head, in a baggy grey hospital uniform. Apart from his protuberant ears, Muncaster’s face, with its large eyes and full mouth, might have been handsome were he not so obviously consumed with fear as he stared between Wilson, Gunther and Syme. Syme stood up and smiled reassuringly. ‘Frank,’ Dr Wilson said gently. ‘These men are from the police. Inspector Syme here has taken over the case of your brother.’
Muncaster jerked back. The attendant grasped his arm more firmly. ‘Easy, Muncaster, easy.’ He guided him to a chair and sat him down.
Dr Wilson went on, ‘We’re going to leave you with these officers for a few minutes, Frank. It’s all right, they just want to ask a few questions.’ He looked at the attendant. ‘Wait outside, Edwards.’ With a last sharp look at Syme, Wilson left the room, the attendant following.
Muncaster sat on his chair, gripping its wooden arms hard, chest rising and falling rapidly. It was, Gunther
