Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'If
I
did
ask
questions
about
you,'
Merchant
said,
but
with
the
same
touch
of
weariness
he
had
shown
when
talking
of
Murray's
past
–
like
a
parlour
trick
he
was
running
through
only
out
of
old
habit
–
'who
do
you
imagine
gave
me
the
answers?
Anything
I
know
about
you,
I
learned
from
your
brother.'
'Yes,'
Murray
said
flatly.
He
could
believe
that.
'Let
me
tell
you
something
then
you
didn't
know
.
Your
deal's
sour.
It's
time
to
get
out
of
it.'
'Have
you
said
this
to
your
brother?'
Merchant
wondered.
'Not
yet.'
'Why
come
to
me?
Why
not
simply
warn
your
brother,
if
you're so
concerned?'
'Because
I
don't
know
whether
he
could
get
himself
out.
You're
the
one
who
can
find
a
way
to
bury
the
bodies
.
I'm
telling
you
that
you
have
to
do
that
-
and
not
just
for
yourself-
for
Malcolm
too.'
'Are
you
threatening
me?
You're
not
being
absurd
enough
to threaten
me
here
?
'
Merchant
glanced
around
the
quiet
panelled
room,
full
of
territorial
certainty
like
a
man
in
his
own
place.
'A
private
detective
…
of
sorts,
not
successful.'
He
bent
his
head
to
his
papers
and
continued
without
looking
up –
'There
should
be
a
licensing
system.
There
seems
to
be
no
way
of
preventing
unsuitable
people
from
going
in
for
security
or
crime
prevention.
Sometimes
I
don't
understand
this
country.'
It
was
a
common
enough
expression –
not
to
understand
what was
going
on
in
the
country.
Murray
had
used
it
himself.
The difference
was
that
Murray
knew
himself
to
be
native
born. 'This
country,'
he
repeated
and
something
in
his
tone
made
the
older
man's
head
snap
up.
'Oh,
that
has
the
real
policeman's
sound,'
Merchant
said.
'You
won't
like
foreigners
.
Blacks.
Jews?
How
do
you
feel
about
Jews?
The
first
election
I
won
in
this
country
was
getting
into
Lairds
Hill
Golf
Club.
My
God,
I
was
pleased.
By
that
time
I
thought
even
my
accent
was
almost
gone.
And
then
by
the
worst
of
bad
luck,
I
heard
someone
boasting
in
the
bar
after
a
round
.
They
didn't
let
Jews
into
Lairds
Hill
–
all
these
years
later,
they
still
don't.
I
handed
in
my
resignation
the
next
day.
I
was
heartbroken,
but
in
those
days
I
wanted
to
make
a
stand.'
'I
didn't
know
you
were
Jewish,'
Murray
said,
and
caught
a
look
of
something
like
contempt
in
response.
'I'm
not
interested
in
the
past.
I'm
someone
who
takes
family
seriously.
I
don't
want
Malcolm
involved.'
'Families
can
be
a
great
embarrassment.
I've
seen
the
wrong
kind
of
family
ruin
a
man's
career –
A
well-meaning
brother,
even
an
attractive
wife.'
Merchant
smiled.
'I've
met
your
brother's
wife
recently.'
'On
Saturday
night,'
Murray
said,
'at
Blair
Heathers
.
I
heard
that
from
a
policeman –
a
real
one.
Since
you
make
me,
I'll
spell
it
out.
The
police
have
targeted
Heathers
.
He's
under
surveillance,
him,
the
people
he
sees.
That
contact
of
mine,
that
policeman,
he
mentioned
you,
he
mentioned
my
brother.
He
even
mentioned
Irene.'
'Blair
was
charmed
by
her,'
Merchant
said.
There
was
no alteration
in
his
voice,
but
Murray
saw
a
sudden
blankness
in
his
eyes,
the
same
absence
he
had
seen
in
the
eyes
of
opponents
in
the
moment
before
they
dropped
unconscious
in
the
ring.
'Your
brother's
wife
is
charming.'
'It
wasn't
even
hard,'
Murray
said,
'once
I'd
been
given
the
tip,
to
work
out
what
the
deal
must
be.
You're
the
politician;
Malcolm
works
for
the
Region.
Which
contract
from
the
Region
is
going
to
make
Heathers
even
richer?
It
has
to
be
something
to
do
with
the
Underpass.'
It
was
the
same
feeling
as
when
the
last
blow
struck
bone
and
the
man
began
to
fall.
'I'm
a
better
detective
than
you
thought.'
'I'm
not
a
Jew,'
Merchant
said
.
He
rubbed
his
fingers
between
his
brows
in
the
same
unconscious
effort
of
recollection.
'When
the
Nazis
came
to
Poland,
they
had
two
plans
for
extermination,
but
only
one
was
for
the
Jews
–
the
other
was
for
the
intellectuals
.
After
the
massacre
at
Bromberg
on
Bloody
Sunday,
all
the
politicals
were
gathered
in
the
camp
at
Soldavo
-
that
was
in
the
winter
of
1939.
I
was
only
nineteen –
a
boy
at
University –
but
I
had
made
the
mistake
of
being
the
President
of
a
left-wing
student
society.
Heydrich
had
personally
ordered
that
the
activists
should
be
killed.
We
didn't
know
all
that
naturally.
We
were
the
victims
.
I
saw
a
guard
kill
a
boy.
I
saw
worse
things
later
but
because
that
was
the
first
I
would
not
forget
him.
It
wasn't
what
he
did
to
the
boy,
it
was
the
noise.
There's
a
noise
a
baby
makes
crying.'