Returning from an important case in the Highlands, Monsieur Hercule Poirot
boarded the Flying Scotsman at Edinburgh. At Newcastle at about 23 minutes
before 1am, he awoke to a loud noise from the next-door compartment, which
was occupied by a Caledonian gentleman who styled himself “the prime
minister of Great Britain”.
The conductor asked the prime minister whether everything was all right. The
gentleman explained he had just had another nightmare; they were coming
thick and fast these days. Poirot was later wakened again by a thump on his
door but looking out he saw nothing except the back of a woman in a scarlet
kimono retreating down the passage. The next day Poirot awoke to find that
the so-called prime minister was dead, having been stabbed 12 times in his
sleep. The real identity of the victim was in fact Gordon Brown, a notorious
political faction leader.
Having slicked down his hair, M Poirot cross-examined an ascetic-looking
clergyman whose meek manner was contradicted by a fierce, fanatical flame in
his eyes. This was no ordinary ecclesiastic. He was soon revealed to be
Frank Field, a former minister, knifed by Brown a decade ago for daring to
take seriously new Labour’s purely rhetorical commitment to thinking the
unthinkable on welfare reform.
In the past fortnight Field and Greg Pope, a former whip, had had a series of
meetings with Brown and the chancellor, Alistair Darling, and declared
themselves appeased by concessions on the abolition of the 10p rate of
income tax. Nice Mr Darling, however, was finding it difficult to compensate
the working poor without unravelling his budget. The previous incumbent of
No 11 had left no “rainy day” money in the kitty. Field, refusing to be
bought off with a job, threatened to lead a back-bench revolt again - until
the next meeting. Poirot sharpened his pencil.
The allegedly “right-wing” Mr Field is a de facto ally of the parliamentary
Labour party’s left wing, championed by John McDonnell, another suspect
paraded before the detective. His Campaign Group is talking of voting
against the budget, the first time this has happened since the bad old
left-wing insurrections of the 1970s.
Enter Mr Stephen Byers, a mild-mannered, bespectacled fellow masquerading as a
university law lecturer. In reality he was a former cabinet minister and
associate of a feared figure from Brown’s past, Tony Blair. He was given the
task of putting Railtrack into administration by Brown and was spat out of
government as a fall guy for the ensuing uproar. Poirot flourished a copy of
The Sunday Times, pointing to pages 1 and 23, where an incriminating article
appeared under Byers’s byline.
“My little grey cells suggest,” said the great Belgian detective, “that you
are not only demanding he abandon the abolition of the 10p tax band, which
is hurting the childless working poor, but also that he review long-planned
rises in fuel and vehicle excise duty that will hit middle-class and
low-paid drivers alike.
“Et bien,” M Poirot added, “but to rework those proposals in a mini-budget
would mean tearing up Alistair Darling’s budget. That would also destroy the
government’s credibility and destroy M Brown.”
Byers refused to deny it and had the cheek to reply: “M Poirot, but you missed
out the bit where I accuse an ‘uncaring and distant’ Brown of having taken
all these rotten decisions for ‘tactical advantage’.” Alas, that was the
unkindest cut of all, a charge echoed by many other suspects.
Two Blairite “outriders” and former cabinet ministers, Charles Clarke and Alan
Milburn, turned out to have similar grudges against Brown. Just a ven-detta?
Possibly. But the three had an alibi – they have all consistently and openly
called on the government to pursue reform of the public services and take
the centre ground before the Conservatives seize it.
Then into the compartment came the holy trinity of ambitious young cabinet
ministers: foreign secretary David Miliband, Ed Balls (schools and families)
and James Purnell (work and pensions). They all have a motive.
Last week a No 10 spokesman told me the plan was to get the cabinet young guns
to blaze away in defence of the prime minister: “But the trouble is, you
will say they are only doing it as part of a leadership challenge.” I am
sure this rebuke was not meant personally. After all, I have only “accused”,
if that is the word, Mr Balls of launching a bid to succeed Brown following
a lost general election. But alas, I feel the man from No 10 is right. Every
time they open their mouths, the leadership question is raised.
No sooner had Purnell made a thoughtful speech about child poverty last week
than he was praised or “accused” in The Guardian by a former Brown supporter
of being a potential leader. Next, Miliband outlined his grand green vision
in a lecture honouring his father, the Marxist theoretician Ralph – though
the effect was rather spoilt by a quiet government announcement to shelve
all plans to bring in an annual personal carbon allowance. The poor chap was
also immediately accused of leadership ambitions. His friends then said he
should be made chancellor. I, however, believe No 10: all three are
honourable men, solely devoted to public service and devoid of personal
ambition. Hmm, said monsieur le détective.
Then came the mystery woman Wendy Alexander, the Scottish Labour leader. Like
her brother Douglas, the international development secretary, she was
handpicked by Brown for the job. Had she not betrayed her mentor by calling
for an immediate referendum on Scottish independence? The Scottish National
party leader Alex Salmond wants a referendum held in 2010. A Conservative
victory in the next UK general election (they still loathe Tories in bonny
Scotland), a steady period of SNP government and a feelgood factor born of
high North Sea oil prices, should tip the balance towards disunion, Salmond
calculates.
Alexander and Brown have been in discussions on an early referendum since last
August, and were even talking about the matter a few days before her call to
“bring it on” last Sunday. Perhaps it was a semantic error rather than a
conspiracy. Bring it on - some time - is not the same as bring it on, right
now, after Labour has taken a terrible drubbing in the local elections.
Still, Alexander’s strategy strikes me as principled, if belated. A courageous
early referendum on the Union, still supported by the bulk of the Scottish
people, could have knocked the SNP for six. Yet as her brother Douglas found
when correctly urging an early general election on his master last autumn,
bold strokes have not been the prime minister’s forte.
Two young milords by the name of Cameron and Osborne led in their shaggy
sheepdog, Boris. “No it wasn’t us, you oily little horse-eater. We liked
roughing up Brown in the House but we wanted him kept alive until the
general election - he was doing our party no end of good.” A likely story.
M Poirot then interviewed a lady of easy virtue, Mlle Méchants Media. “I put
it to you, Mademoiselle, you took his favours, you praised him to the skies
and then deserted him at the first sign of trouble.” The false jade replied:
“I do that to all the boys, chéri. It’s my trade.”
The Blairs finally dropped in too. Cherie Blair defended herself by revealing
that at her husband’s request she had pulled all the incriminating (juicy)
bits about Brown from her memoirs. Tony was in any case secretly advising
his successor.
M Poirot arrived at two explanations. First, the easy one. All of the suspects
were guilty.
Poirot’s second explanation was more sensational. Brown, having ducked the
hard choices, made no bold decisions and outlined no vision, thought about
admitting that his unpopularity was all his own fault. “But let us be
serious,” said the detective: “M Brown never admits to error. He dithered,
changed his mind yet again and then faked his murder in order to escape his
enemies.
“Observe, the body is gone,” the detective said, triumphantly curling his
moustaches. “The man who calls himself ‘prime minister’ still lives.” For
now.
Next episode: the train is mysteriously diverted to Crewe.
