Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “We nicknamed it the U-boat,” said Anne.

  “Yeah. That’s good! That was the idea, something purposeful, something different.”

  “And the name?”

  “It’s a pun on the Greek word exodos, like Exodus in the Bible.”

  “Why? I don’t get it.”

  “It’s my way out. Exodos is Greek for the Latin word exit.”

  “I still don’t … ah, yes, I think I do. You’ve dropped out. Is that right?”

  “Not out of everything.”

  “No. You’re still attached to your family.”

  “I’ve just dropped out of a university course. It wasn’t right for me, so I decided to take some time off to re-think my direction. My uncle’s illness has been another complication.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. Look, I think I’ve encroached a lot on your space this evening. We can talk again some time if you want to, if you’re going to be around much longer.”

  *

  The group walked down the field track in the still evening, chatting companionably, with dusk gradually descending on the countryside. Estelle and Luther waved a cheery good-night on their doorstep and went in. Marnie glanced up and saw the light in the window slit of Anne’s attic room.

  “Ralph, I’d like to pop in and see how Anne is. Do you mind if I follow you back in a few minutes?”

  “Sure. You’ve been thinking about her all evening, haven’t you?”

  “And I thought I kept it well hidden.”

  “You did. I’ll go and have my shower.”

  “Great. And if you’re in bed before I get back, remember what Mae West said.”

  “What was that?”

  “If I’m late, start without me.”

  He laughed and set off towards the spinney.

  Anne had only just come out of the shower and put on pyjamas when Marnie called up the loft ladder. They sat on the bed, and Anne related her conversation with Donovan.

  “So that’s what he’s been doing.”

  “I feel such a fool,” said Anne. “There I was, suspecting him of being some kind of far-right terrorist or mastermind, when all the time he was up all night sitting by his uncle’s bedside in hospital.”

  “It was a reasonable conclusion, Anne, not foolish at all. Did he say anything about what Ralph called the Nazi connection?”

  “Not really. I figured I’d been there long enough and I didn’t want to pry into his private affairs any more than I had already. It was an uncomfortable kind of conversation. But …”

  “What?”

  “Come to think of it, he did say something about his grandfather – the German professor – being denounced.”

  “Denounced? For what? Who denounced him?”

  “I didn’t get that far. But I think he said he’d been denounced twice.”

  On the way back to Thyrsis Marnie tried to fit all their thoughts about Donovan into a coherent pattern, like a jigsaw puzzle. Seeing his boat moored on the opposite bank, with lights in its portholes in the gathering darkness, it no longer seemed quite so menacing. But at the back of her mind there were still some unanswered questions niggling away. Why was he hanging round in this area? Could it be a coincidence that the European by-election was taking place with a high-profile far-right candidate? What was Donovan’s Nazi connection? After all, he may be a dutiful nephew, but even Hitler had a family. And what was this business about his grand-father being denounced?

  Standing on the bank between Sally Ann and Thyrsis, Marnie breathed in the night air, scented by vegetation and cool water, and made two silent vows. The first, was that she would resolve all the questions about Donovan, and she would do so quickly. The second, was that she would think no more of him that night. Talk of Mae West had put other ideas in her mind.

  In the attic room, Anne was sitting up in bed reading magazines, her attention wandering. She was thinking that Donovan was still a mystery, and although he was an interesting character, his convoluted style of conversation was wearying. Marnie had seemed reassuring about him, but Anne knew from past experience that that did not mean she was totally convinced all was well.

  When she put the magazines aside and turned out the light, Anne was thinking of what she had held back from Marnie. She justified it to herself on the grounds that she was not entirely devoid of doubts about all that had taken place on X O 2 – Exodos – that evening. She had reported most of what had been said, but on one matter she had stayed silent. That shadow in the drawer, if it was a shadow. That was something she had not mentioned. If the chance ever arose again, she would check it out. But as she tried to drift off to sleep, she could not get the image out of her mind. Was it just imagination stoked up by anxiety, or had she really seen it lying there at the back of the drawer, behind the box of medals and the Iron Cross – the unmistakeable shape of a Luger pistol?

  18

  It was shortly before seven on Monday morning. Marnie blinked a few times and looked over at Ralph, still asleep beside her. She began lifting the duvet to slip out of bed without disturbing him, when the mobile on the shelf above their heads started warbling. Marnie reached up and grabbed it, pressed the green button and rushed out towards the saloon.

  “Marnie Walker.”

  “It’s me. Are you listening to the radio?” Anne.

  “No, not yet. Why?”

  “Turn on the news. It’s Garth Brandon. Someone tried to kill him last night!”

  “See you!”

  Marnie’s first reaction was to pull the curtain open to look for the bike on the roof of Donovan’s boat. It was there.

  “It’s a good job no boat’s passing.” Ralph, standing in the doorway in his dressing gown, smiling.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re standing at the window in full view of the world, stark naked.”

  “What? Oh, yes. Can I squeeze past you?”

  “Now there’s a question for a Monday morning.”

  “The question should be – who was that on the phone and what did they want?”

  Ralph produced Marnie’s bathrobe from behind his back and held it out. “Sure. I’ll ask that instead, but it’s much more boring.”

  Marnie pulled on the bathrobe. “It was Anne. Apparently someone tried to kill Garth Brandon last night.”

  Ralph looked towards X O 2.

  “He’s there,” said Marnie. “Let’s put on the news.”

  For a relatively obscure item about a failed attempt at murder on a minority party candidate in a by-election in which little interest had so far been shown by the media – or anyone else – the story did well to make third place in the news round-up.

  … Police in Northampton are investigating an incident in the early hours of this morning, involving Garth Brandon, formerly a junior minister in the government of Margaret Thatcher, now a candidate in the European parliamentary by-election for the Britain First Party. Returning from a meeting in London, Mr Brandon was attacked in his car when it pulled up at traffic lights in the town centre. It appears that the attacker was armed with an axe or other heavy weapon which he swung at Mr Brandon, smashing his car’s windscreen. Before the assailant could strike any further blows, Mr Brandon accelerated away and made his escape. The police are appealing for witnesses to come forward.

  When Anne arrived for breakfast, Marnie asked if she had heard anything else.

  “Only what you heard after the headlines.”

  “There’ll probably be another report coming up later,” said Ralph. He was right.

  Now, more on that story of the attack on Garth Brandon last night. Our local reporter, Tricia Roberts, has been speaking with the police. Tricia.

  Well, Martin, it seems that someone must have been following Garth Brandon’s car, waiting for the opportunity to strike. He was alone at the time and said he had no intimation that anyone was near him. The attacker suddenly ran up to the car and tried to pull the door open. Finding it locked, he took a swing at Mr Brandon with what seems to have been a ha
nd-axe. He only managed one blow before Mr Brandon was able to drive out of danger.

  What were conditions like, Tricia?

  It was between one and two o’clock in the morning, and there was no other traffic about at the time. The incident took place in an area of light industry, and there seem to have been no witnesses.

  Have you spoken to Garth Brandon?

  No. He drove straight to the central police station to report what had happened. The police have kept his car in their compound, and he was driven to a secret location, for obvious reasons.

  Have the police issued a statement?

  Not yet. Our news desk received an anonymous call shortly after the attack took place. I understand the police will be making a statement after speaking with Mr Brandon again this morning.

  Thanks, Tricia. We’ll return to that story as soon as we have further information.

  *

  Marnie’s feeling of resentment was increasing. All she wanted in life was to get on with building the business and completing the works to develop the Glebe Farm complex. It was to be her Utopia – if such a thing was possible, which she was beginning to doubt – but the pressures from the outside world, and all its hideous repercussions, were intruding at every turn. As they opened the office and tried to settle down to a normal working day, she found it difficult to concentrate. She made a determined effort, but it was to be in vain.

  “Walker and Co, good morning.”

  Marnie heard Anne across the room. She had not even been aware of the phone ringing. A glance at the clock; barely eight-thirty. Probably a builders’ merchant.

  “Oh, hi! Do you want to speak to Marnie? … Sure … No, it’s fine. We’re always in the office from quite early. She’s right here. Hold on.” Anne pressed buttons, and Marnie’s phone rang. “It’s Serena, Marnie. I think she’s in her car on the mobile.”

  Marnie picked up. “Serena, hi! How are things?”

  A sound of traffic noise in the background. “Marnie, can I see you this morning?”

  “Of course. Is it urgent?”

  “I’m on my way to see Dorothy Vane-Henderson at her house. Could I look in on you?”

  Hanford Hall was five minutes from Knightly St John.

  “I’ve got a meeting at ten, but it’s internal. I could alter it.”

  “Are you free now?”

  Marnie looked at the pile of letters waiting to be read, the list of jobs and phone calls from Anne, the Umbria design that she wanted to study before seeing Estelle, a new client’s brief. She hesitated.

  “It’s probably inconvenient,” said Serena. The disappointment in her voice was clear, even on a mobile in a car.

  “No, that’s all right. How long will it take you to get here?”

  *

  Marnie barely had time to deal with her two most urgent calls and instruct Anne on the rest before Serena swept in. She was wearing a pale grey trouser suit that was meant to look serene. The wearer was not living up to her name. Anne drew up a chair for her and went to put the kettle on.

  “What’s happened?” said Marnie. “Don’t tell me it’s the community centre again. There can’t be that much left to burn down.”

  “Worse, if that’s possible. The police have started rounding up young blacks on account of this Garth Brandon thing.”

  “The usual suspects, presumably?”

  “Yeah. It’s ridiculous! The whole thing is ridiculous. You heard about it on the news, didn’t you?”

  “I heard the report on the radio, yes. They said he’d been attacked with an axe, someone tried to kill him.”

  Serena was highly agitated. “Who said so?”

  Marnie thought about it. “I dunno. The police, wasn’t it? I just listened to the report, got the basic facts.”

  “Huh!” Serena snorted. “Facts! What facts?”

  “Like I said, this business with the axe, the police, the car damaged. Serena, why are you here? Has something happened, something we haven’t heard about?”

  Serena barely noticed the cup that Anne put on the desk in front of her.

  “Good question, Marnie. Doesn’t it strike you as odd? Brandon’s car is supposedly hit with an axe. Who says it was? The police aren’t issuing a statement until they’ve been able to interview Brandon, right?”

  “That’s what I heard on the news.”

  “So if not the police, who told the news people? Think about it. You think they have reporters hanging around Northampton central police station through the night in the hope there might be a story?”

  Marnie sat back in her chair. “There must be some explanation. Maybe the police press office contacted the local radio. It’s hot news.”

  “Before the police issued their official statement? You think they’d leak like that? It’d be too easy to trace.”

  “Serena, I don’t know the answer to your questions. I just don’t know how these things work.”

  “No great mystery, Marnie. Brandon – or his gang – have put out a statement. They’ve grabbed the headlines with this so-called assassination attempt. He disappears to a secret place to recover, yeah?”

  Marnie thought about it. “And no-one can question him or challenge his version of the story. Is that what you’re saying? But what about the attack? That must’ve happened.”

  Serena raised her hands, palm upwards. “A blow to the windscreen. Who says it was an attempt on his life? He does!” She counted on her fingers. “No witnesses … no evidence … no proof. And then the police start arresting suspects.” Serena shook her head. “You’ve got to admit it’s pretty neat, Marnie. Brandon gets front page publicity; the public hear that blacks are being treated by the police as suspects – no smoke without fire; the Afro-Caribs are outraged, all for the price of a new windscreen on Brandon’s car insurance. Meanwhile, he hides away for a few hours while the story does the rounds unchallenged.”

  “Doctor Goebbels and the Big Lie technique,” said Anne.

  “You’ve got it.”

  “You’re really convinced the whole thing is a fabrication?” said Marnie. “The young men picked up by the police … they’ll have alibis? Do they have records of violence?”

  “They’re pussy cats, Marnie. They swagger about in the baggy trousers and the cool-dude shades, like all kids of their generation, looking cool, listening to rap music on their Walkman. And who the hell has an alibi for where they were between one and two in the morning?”

  “But presumably there won’t be any evidence, so the police will have to let them go.”

  “Of course, but by then the damage is done. The point is, what are we going to do about it? How can we fight back?”

  “What’s all this fighting talk?” Ralph in the doorway.

  Anne headed towards the rack of mugs in the kitchen area while Marnie filled him in on the latest news. As she outlined the story, Serena gave little snorts of indignation in the background. The steam was coming out of her ears. Ralph listened attentively without interrupting.

  “A cunning plot, my lord,” he said quietly when Marnie had finished.

  “What do you mean?” Serena looked suddenly wary.

  “Just a turn of phrase. The incident is meant to look like a spontaneous outburst, when really it’s all carefully planned and premeditated. Is that what you think?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what it is. And we’ve got to find some way of turning it round before people start believing it really did have something to do with the black community. This could ruin all our work, all our plans for the summer. We’ve got to persuade people that black doesn’t mean criminal. We’ll have to put out our own statement, try and accentuate the positive.”

  “By George, this is clever stuff,” said Ralph. “Whatever you do, it’ll seem as if you’re in denial. And this is just for openers. Brandon’s election campaign hasn’t even got off the ground.”

  “What did you say, Ralph?” said Marnie, staring.

  “Well, it’s obvious. It’s Brandon’s way of ge
tting maximum publicity and wrong-footing the opposition from the word go.”

  “No. Before that.”

  “About it being pre-meditated?”

  “No. Just a turn of phrase. I wonder …”

  Only Anne showed no sign of surprise. Marnie grabbed the mobile as she made for the door, calling out to Ralph that she would be back shortly, telling Serena to ring Dorothy Vane-Henderson and warn her she would be a little late for their meeting, and putting Anne in charge of the office.

  Serena remained in her seat, baffled. “What’s going on?”

  “Not sure,” said Anne. “I’ll work it out. Meanwhile, Serena, I think you’d be well advised to make that call.”

  “It was obviously something I said,” Ralph muttered. “What do you think, Anne? You can usually read the runes.”

  Anne craned her neck. “She’s over at Estelle’s cottage.”

  Ralph wandered towards the window. He laughed. “She’s using the phone. Perhaps the doorbell isn’t working.”

  Serena was totally bemused. “Is it always like this round here? I guess I’d better do as she says.”

  She reached for the phone.

  *

  Marnie guided the Discovery up the field track, skilfully avoiding the bumps and ruts. Nobody drove that trail as fast or as smoothly as she did. Beside her, Serena held on to the passenger handrail, no wiser than before.

  “Marnie, what is going on here? Will you speak to me?”

  “Hang on. Gotta concentrate.”

  “Where are we going?” Serena was clearly agitated. “And what has this got to do with what Ralph said about a cunning plot?”

  “Nothing at all. Just a sec.”

  They halted in the gateway to the field. Marnie looked both ways and began accelerating into the village street.

  “Nothing?” said Serena. “But you said –”

  “It was when he said By George … that’s what made me realise.”