Wolf Schneider sat back in his chair and favoured the assembled group with a high-voltage smile of easy charm. It was an inclusive smile and he particularly focused on Enver, giving him a millisecond longer and a couple of extra watts of charisma. It was as effortless as turning up the central heating a notch. It was also equally effective, a highly calibrated instrument. It was as if he were trying to make up for Hübler’s intense rudeness. He didn’t look like a right-wing racist demagogue, he looked like an affable entrepreneur with the confidence that only a healthy bank balance and good looks can bring. Corrigan guessed that he was in his forties. He had blond hair and an outdoorsy glow to his features. His background had been in construction and he still had the powerful physique of a builder mixed with an amiable can-do toughness. He could see that Schneider’s appeal would be to attract people who were alienated by the political class. He wasn’t an intellectual or a businessman, he was an ordinary Joe, telling it like it is, telling it straight.
‘I’m sorry I’m giving you all so much trouble, particularly you, DI Demirel. I’m a great fan of the Turkish people.’ He raised a hand as if to ward off any criticism. ‘I know that you’re British, but my message is really one of tolerance and acceptance.’
Oh, God, thought Corrigan, he’s about to make a speech. Schneider had a kind of messianic look on his face; four or forty thousand, the numbers were immaterial, he was determined to get his message across.
‘In an ideal world, we would have no racist problems. Sadly though, our world is very flawed. I want a multicultural Europe, a multicultural Germany, a multicultural Britain and by controlling numbers of Muslims to a certain percentage and winnowing out the extremists, we can achieve that.’
Point made, he smiled winningly. Hübler looked at him admiringly.
Corrigan sighed. I’ll make a speech too, he thought. Time to cut him off. He leaned forward and coughed, looked stern. It wasn’t a hard look to pull off, Corrigan was a hard man, people tended to be frightened of him. He was used to dominating meetings.
‘We at the Metropolitan Police are committed to protecting the public whatever their shades of opinion, sir. However, what we are not prepared to do is have the manner of our policing dictated by those we are seeking to protect.’
‘I absolutely agree,’ said Schneider with shining sincerity.
Gower frowned. ‘I gathered from your colleague that you had reservations—’
‘Oh, not at all,’ Schneider interrupted him. ‘Christiane, as my head of staff, was natürlich, sorry, naturally, concerned that after the horrific murder of Gunther Hart, being on the same hit list I might be sensitive to the proximity of Muslims, but nothing could be further from the truth.’
‘So no objections to DI Demirel being with you?’ Gower stepped in swiftly, anxious to have his original plan restored.
‘No, but not visibly,’ said Schneider.
‘I beg your pardon? Not visibly?’ Corrigan was confused. Then angry again. Presumably Schneider thought that it would be bad for his image if he were seen to be accompanied by a Muslim, who instead of trying to kill him was keeping him alive.
‘I would like to suggest a compromise, like we had when I was in France recently when I went to visit Marine Le Pen, and we did the same in Holland when I shared a platform with Geert Wilders.’
The name-dropping was so pointed that Corrigan nearly smiled. ‘Look at me, look how important I am,’ was the obvious message. He’d be getting his phone out soon, showing them his selfies: ‘Here’s me in front of the European Parliament, here’s me at the Hague…’ It could not be denied, though, that Schneider was a seriously important politician.
Corrigan had, as always, done his homework. ‘So, what did the French and Dutch police provide?’ he asked sceptically. Schneider was a much bigger deal on mainland Europe than he was in the UK.
Schneider smiled and fiddled with his phone and gave it to Corrigan to look at. I knew it, he thought. He scrolled across the images and passed it to Gower without comment. Photos of Schneider and politicians; next to Schneider in France a dark-haired woman, in Holland a blonde. The uniting fact, hard faces, watchful demeanour. Corrigan and Gower could smell a cop even on the screen of an iPhone 6.
The message to Schneider’s followers: a man popular with women. A tough man who did not need bouncer-style bodyguards.
Vote for me.
‘I will level with you, Commissioner Corrigan.’ Schneider opened his hands to demonstrate his sincerity. Corrigan could feel his charm. It was a mix of intelligence, sincerity and a kind of everyman quality that politicians usually lacked. Schneider had it. You trusted him. If he wasn’t exactly the guy next door he was the kind of man you hoped that the guy next door would be.
‘I very much do not wish to be beheaded like those unfortunates in Syria or Iraq, and I do not want my throat cut like Gunther. Those are worst-case scenarios.’ That vote-winning smile again. ‘What is much more likely is that I will be pelted with eggs or flour or jostled.’ He shrugged charmingly. ‘Well, I’m used to that, but I’d rather it didn’t turn ugly. If I could have a woman protection officer it would defuse tension. I don’t want to strut around like a tough guy, I want calm, calm is good for rational debate. A female presence soothes people, in my experience.’
And she’ll look good in your attempt to woo lady voters, thought Corrigan. Fine then, politics is the art of the compromise, of the possible. Since Schneider didn’t object to Enver per se, he’d keep him on the team but in a back-door role, one where Schneider wouldn’t have to face the indignity of being visibly protected by the sort of person he wanted to exclude from Europe. Honour would be satisfied on both accounts. And since he wanted a woman officer, then that was what he could have.
‘Fine,’ he said.
‘That easy?’ asked Schneider, slightly taken aback by Corrigan’s ready agreement. ‘You have someone in mind? Can I meet her first?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Corrigan.
‘Is she tough?’ Schneider looked slightly worried. He wanted someone feminine enough to look attractive on his media pages but hard enough to deter aggressors. He wanted a Twitter/Facebook/Instagram decoration. Someone who appealed to his demographic support, who would attract both women and men voters. A difficult juggling act.
Corrigan smiled. ‘That you can judge for yourself.’