by David Carter
The woman glimpsed his head and aimed high. She crashed the heavy dish onto the crown of his skull.
‘Bastard!’ she screamed.
‘Ah!’ stuttered Adam.
He fell to his knees, and flat onto his stomach.
Silence, stillness and surprise.
The woman gaped down.
What had she done?
She stared at the youth in disbelief. His head was bleeding, blood oozing through his hair and running down the side of his face, staining the beige carpet.
‘But....’ she uttered, ‘who the hell are you?’
The youth did not stir. His eyes were shut.
‘Oh Christ!’ she said, and panicked. ‘I am getting out of this. Sorry fella, whoever you are, but this is too much. It’s none of my doing! None of my damn business, sorry.... I’m off! And I’m never coming back! You’ll be all right.... won’t you? Please say you’ll be all right.’
Adam moaned and began moving.
He wasn’t dead. That was a relief.
She stepped over him, fighting herself not to look down at him again. What if he had been dead? Oh Jesus! It didn’t bear thinking about, but he hadn’t seen her, she was sure of that, not yet he hadn’t, so he couldn’t ID her. She must get out of there before he turned his head and focussed and caught her image in his vision, saved to his memory banks forever. She dashed down the stairs and out through the front door, pausing only to pull the door to for it was beginning to rain, and an open door in the rain would always attract someone’s attention.
‘YOU ARE SAYING,’ PROBED Smeggan, ‘that the lad mentioned the Tinbergen Papers, but that you had never heard of them before that?’
‘That is correct, Inspector,’ said Liz; at last feeling they were getting somewhere.
As he did after every question, Smeggan glanced at Hewitt for his interpretation of the LIDA reading. Hewitt nodded encouragingly.
‘Let me get this correct. You had never heard of the Tinbergen Papers before?’
‘Never,’ she said confidently. ‘100%.’
‘And you are also saying that you had never seen this youth before you met him in the railway station waiting room?’
‘That is correct.’
Glance. Nod. Shared half smile between the men. It was a man thing, a party to which she could never be invited.
‘Why would he tell you about that? Someone he had never met before?’
‘I have no idea. Perhaps he needed someone to talk to. Sometimes it is easier to talk to a stranger. Sometimes men like to talk to me, to unburden themselves.’
Hewitt could see that well enough. He’d wager any number of men would like to unburden themselves with this woman. Smeggan remained suspicious.
‘And you do not know where he is now?’
‘Of course I don’t. You don’t think he is at my apartment do you?’
The look on Smeggan’s face told her that they had checked that point, something she had previously imagined. Now she knew it to be true, and she couldn’t let that pass.
‘I see by your face you have already checked.’
‘These things have to be followed up, Miss Mariner,’ said Smeggan, and this was the nearest he was ever going to get to apologising. ‘I’m sure our officers will have been most discreet, and careful.’
She imagined strangers rooting through her apartment, through her personal things, her underwear drawers. The expensive silk stuff that Martin had bought her, the black lace he had brought back from his trip to Paris when covering the last fractious NATO conference. There had to be some perks, he had said, of covering such a bloody tedious meeting. She could almost hear Marty’s cocky voice there in the interview room. In her mind she could see them now, those grubby SPATs officers in her bedroom, and hear their bawdy comments, and imagine the held up displays. It turned her stomach to think of it. She would burn them, the entire collection, those garments, every last one; the moment she arrived home, burn them on the balcony, for they were tainted.
‘Yes,’ she said, forcing a smile, ‘I am sure they are.’
Like hell, she thought. Do you think I am stupid? I know what you are, and who you are, and where you have come from, and where you have been. You disgust me!
‘And you leant the kid your rail ticket because you felt sorry for him?’
‘That is correct. He had no money.’
Glance at Hewitt. LIDA flickered, nothing more, for she had spoken the truth, just about. Hewitt nodded his boss to continue.
‘You do realise that helping a terrorist evade capture is a serious criminal offence, no matter how innocently it may have occurred?’
‘Yes, Inspector. You are right of course, though I did not know he was a terrorist at the time. I have already apologised for that. I did wrong, I know that, and I am truly sorry.’
Her contrite attitude appealed to Smeggan. He felt as if he had won the day, and there would always be more important battles to fight. And anyway, he had more important things on his mind. Perhaps it was time to wrap things up.
‘There is a mandatory fine for such assistance,’ he muttered, glancing at Hewitt.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I thought there might be.’
‘Five hundred pounds, so far as I recall, right Hewitt?’
‘That is correct, sir.’
‘You can expect the fixed penalty notice in the mail within the next ten days.’
‘Yes,’ she said, hoping that the meeting was reaching a conclusion.
‘That’s it for today,’ he said, glancing at his dirty nails. ‘Don’t leave town, as they say, and be more careful in future when picking your friends, you get me?’
‘Yes Inspector, I do. Am I free to go?’
‘Yes, Miss Mariner, for now, you are as free as the flies that pick over the horseshit in the forest.’
Charming words, she thought, though she didn’t reply to him. She gathered her things together and fled the building, Trevor helpfully holding the door open. Out of sight of his boss he chanced his arm and winked at her, a wink she walked through as if she were a blind woman.
Fourteen
Joss Cornelius was called out of class at half past ten. She had no idea why, and rushed through her mind in search of some long forgotten misdemeanour that might have returned to haunt her. She came up with nothing. The door to the headmaster’s study was made of modern walnut, and it took a knock like no other in the school. She rapped on it so hard it hurt her hand.
‘Come!’
Joss went inside.
Mister Kimpton, the headmaster, smiled through his freckles and thinning ginger hair that sprouted in all the wrong places, and stood up and said, ‘Hello Joss, there are two gentlemen here to see you, just a little talk about your future, that kind of thing, I’ll leave you to it, and you can have a private little chat.’
‘But who are they?’ said Joss, glancing uneasily at the two middle-aged men who were eyeing her up.
‘One is a policeman, and the other is down from London. I am sure they will tell you all about it. I really must dash. I’ll catch you later, and we’ll swop notes then,’ and with that, the mild mannered Mister Kimpton left the room, a relieved man, she thought.
The men sat at either end of the large desk and forced a smile, as she glanced at them in turn, as if she were watching a moving tennis ball at Wimbledon. The black haired one spoke first.
‘Josephine Cornelius, isn’t it?’
Joss nodded.
‘There is nothing to worry about, Josephine,’ he said, ‘it’s purely routine; all students have a brief induction interview prior to commencing their EW programme.’
‘Oh that,’ she said, non-too politely.
The brown haired one spoke next, standing up and grabbing a chair that he placed in front of the desk.
‘I am Sergeant Tomkins of the local police,’ he said, ‘I tag along for the ride.’
Police she thought, suddenly alarmed. What the hell were they doing here? While she was thinking of that, h
e was still talking, ‘Do sit down, Joss; this is Mister Granger, who has come down from London especially to see you. Mister Granger is a National Government official,’ and Sergeant Tomkins glanced across at the black-haired man and then back at Joss, and forced a smile in an effort to become friends, she imagined. ‘He is a very important man,’ he rambled, ‘you should be honoured he has come all this way just to see you, well you, and two or three others.’
Joss sat down. ‘I see,’ she said, when in truth she didn’t see at all.
The black-haired man, the Mister Granger, also attempted a smile; though it would have frightened the cats.
‘Hello, Joss, I am pleased to meet you,’ he said, and he reached over and offered his large hand.
She reluctantly took it and immediately wished she hadn’t. It was clammy and nervous, she thought, if a clammy hand can be nervous. The hand totally enveloped hers, it squeezed; an action she did not reciprocate, preferring to retrieve hers at the earliest moment.
‘Now then, Joss,’ he said, ‘you are up shortly for the EWP, a big step for you, for any young girl, and an important step too. Are you looking forward to the big adventure?’
Joss hesitated. ‘I don’t know, I’m not really sure, I don’t know much about it,’ and then she glanced at Sergeant Tomkins, and back at Granger and said, ‘Er, why is he here? The Copper. Why are the police involved?’
‘It is just routine, my dear,’ said Granger. ‘The law states: I am not allowed to interview you alone; the law dictates that a local policeman should be in attendance. Just routine, that’s all; it is for your own protection, your benefit. You know what the government is like. It likes to take great care of all its citizens, especially the bright young things, like you.’
That awful smile again. Yuck. Creepy. Worse, Joss didn’t have a clue what he was going on about, or what the government was like, and neither did she care, just like the majority of her contemporaries. Fact was, but for the advent of the EWP, she wouldn’t have given it, them, the government, a second thought, about anything.
Sergeant Tomkins attempted another smile, an action that irritated her so much she wanted to slap him.
‘It is a little like joining the armed forces, going away on the EWP,’ continued Granger. ‘You could look at it as a service you are personally undertaking for the good of the country. It is an honour to serve in this way. You should be proud that you have been called to the flag, so to speak. It isn’t everyone who gets the opportunity.’
‘Really?’ she said, ‘I thought everyone had to go.’
‘Not everyone,’ said Granger thoughtfully. ‘There are certain exceptions.’
‘I see,’ she said, imagining that he was talking about nurses and doctors and police staff, and all that lot.
‘But it is tough,’ he said, ‘the EWP. It is designed that way, to instil a sense of discipline in all those partaking, and three years can seem like a lifetime, especially at your age, seventeen, don’t you think, Sergeant Tomkins?’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ said Tomkins enthusiastically, ‘I remember when I was seventeen and I....’
Granger brusquely interrupted, ‘Yes, well I am sure Joss doesn’t want to hear all your reminiscences from long ago. Do you Joss?’
Tomkins fell silent, slapped down in front of a kid.
Joss kind of nodded and shook her head at the same time.
‘So,’ said Granger, ‘you are looking forward to going away?’
‘Not really,’ she said, ‘if I am honest. I am not looking forward to it at all. I will miss all my friends so much.’
‘And your family?’ said Granger. ‘The family is so important; they must come first, surely?’
Joss took a moment to reply, and then said, ‘Yeah, them too, I suppose, but it will be my mates I’ll miss the most.’
‘Your mates, yes quite, well perhaps you will meet some of them on the programme. You never know.’
‘I do hope so.’
‘Anyway, as I was saying, it will be quite tough, long hours, tough work, not much rest or relaxation, little time off, that kind of thing. Do you think you are up to it all, Joss?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t really know what it involves. The way you are talking, should I be worried?’
‘No,’ he said, in a drawn out way. ‘No, not at all, you look as fit as a fiddle to me. I am sure you will cope admirably.’
Joss nodded without conviction.
Granger looked down at an open file before him that sat on the desk, a file she hadn’t noticed before. She tried to read it upside down. She couldn’t make out a thing, except for the three large words across the top. Josephine Haley Cornelius. It was a government file, on her. The girl shivered.
‘You are not a member of the Party, I see?’ he said, studying the papers.
‘No,’ she said, ‘not yet. But I have been thinking of joining. My boyfriend, well he’s not my boyfriend really, just a kid at school I know, Frank Preston, he is a fully paid up member, and he’s been trying to talk me into joining for some time.’
‘Yes, Frank Preston,’ he said, ‘we have been getting very good reports on our friend, Frank, a big boy apparently?’
Joss smiled, impressed that they should know so much about her Frankie.
‘Yes, he is a bit, big, I mean.’
‘Surely an intelligent girl such as yourself shouldn’t have to be talked into, as you put it, serving your country, serving the government, serving the Party. You should consider it an honour, your duty even, not something to be undertaken reluctantly, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Well yes, I suppose so, I hadn’t really thought about it that way.’
‘That’s understandable, Joss, at your age, there are so many distractions, I understand that perfectly well. But take my advice, join the Party, girl, and do it sooner rather than later. There are enormous advantages in becoming a Party member; advantages that someone of your age could not even begin to guess at, and the earlier in life you join in the fun, the better. Imagine it as a gigantic escalator, the sooner you jump aboard, the higher you will rise. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Well yes, I suppose so,’ she said, not at all sure she had understood what he was prattling on about. In any event, he wasn’t to be deterred.
‘Yes,’ he said, glancing up from the file, and looking her in the eye. ‘For example, some important young members of the Party are excused EWP service altogether.’
Another silence as she stared at him, at both of them, through wide eyes, and then she said, ‘Really?’ with a large outward-bound breath.
‘Yes, honestly, it can happen, it can be done. It could be arranged.’
‘Well.... but.... how?’
‘Well, for example, young Party members who carry out important work on behalf of the government, confidential work that no one else knows about, they might well be considered grounds for exemption. Don’t you think, Sergeant Tomkins?’
‘Oh yes, sir, most definitely,’ he said, right on cue. ‘Every time.’
‘Really?’ she said again, now becoming slightly more interested.
A brief silence followed, as Sergeant Tomkins shifted in his seat and uncrossed his legs, and re-crossed them the other way.
‘Your father,’ said Granger, ‘Colin Cornelius, he works for The Messenger newspaper, I understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said naively, ‘he does. How did you know that?’
Granger ignored her question and pressed on.
‘An important man in his own right.’
‘Yes, I suppose he is. I hadn’t really thought of him in that way.’
‘He must know things, and people too, all kinds of important people; he must have his fingers in a few pies, a wide circle of contacts. As a journalist, it goes with the territory.’
‘Oh, he does,’ gushed Joss, ‘he’s always on the phone talking intrigue, or rushing off to meet queer people in queer places.’
Granger and Tomkins exchanged glances.
‘I’ll bet he
is,’ continued Granger, ‘that is the life of the modern journalist, for sure.’
‘I think I’d quite like to be a journalist,’ she said, ‘when I finish my EWP service.’
‘Really?’ said Granger, getting interested. ‘Do you know what, Joss, that could be arranged for you, if you joined the Party of course, and carried out some of the confidential work I mentioned earlier.’
‘Really?’ she said again. ‘Honestly?’
At that moment Joss would have done anything to avoid the uncertainty of the EWP, for the more she heard about it, the more horrendous it sounded.
‘Oh yes, you might be surprised. Anyway, the thing is, if you come across any titbits of information you think the government ought to know about, all you have to do is mention it to young Frank. That’s all. You would be doing the country a great service, and it wouldn’t do you any harm either, if you get my drift,’ and he half left his seat and reached over, and playfully punched her on the shoulder, all the while smiling his hideous smile.
Her Uncle Gordon did that sometimes, playfully punch her like that, when he was teasing her, he always had done since she was wee, and it had always brought a smile and a giggle to her face, and she couldn’t stop smiling now. It seemed to impress Granger too, for he smiled broadly again, for the first time more naturally, she thought. He didn’t seem quite so bad after all.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we are coming near to the end of our meeting for today. If you have any thoughts on this conversation, perhaps when you have had the chance to sleep on it, and please do remember this meeting is quite confidential, just between the three of us, you understand. It might be better not to discuss it at home, not until we have had a chance to speak again. If you need to talk to anyone about it, or you have anything else you want to discuss, just mention it to Frank. Understand?’
