“And you’re one of those measures?”
“My job is to tidy up, to rectify mistakes.”
“Mistakes like Max Edwards? Jason Dobbs?” Her voice cracked. “Evan Holt?”
The man grinned, showing his teeth. He held out a hand.
Emily stared at the flash drive pinched between her finger and thumb. She held it out. Then drew it back.
“Tell me what happened to Max Edwards.”
The man’s smile faded. He dropped his hand to his side. “As far as I’m aware, Mr Edwards drowned.”
Emily’s fingers closed over the flash drive. “You killed him. First Max, then Jason Dobbs. They knew Valence were onto them. So they met at the hotel in the middle of the night, with a plan to lay low for a while before handing the evidence over to the press. But they were too late. You were already waiting for them, weren’t you?”
The man said nothing.
Emily’s eyes swept the room. “Did you bring Max here? Did you have your men half-kill him with alcohol before taking him for a swim?”
She could picture it with terrible clarity: Max Edwards tied to a chair in the centre of the warehouse, one man holding his head back, while another poured spirits down his throat, filling him up like an empty bottle.
The man in front of Emily raised his eyebrows and surprised her by laughing. “You seem to have it all worked out for yourself, don’t you?”
He stared at her closed fist. But Emily wasn’t done with her questions.
“What will happen to Tim Marsden?”
“Mr Marsden has already admitted the errors of his ways,” the man said. “I’m sure that come Monday, he’ll be back in the office, doing what he does best. But really, Miss Swanson, these are matters you need not concern yourself with. All that’s required of you is to give me what’s in your hand so that I may return it to my employers. That is all. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Emily’s skin burned with anger. She uncurled her fingers and stared at the flash drive. It was such a small, indiscriminate object. Yet it contained enough power to put untouchable men behind bars, to destroy whole companies, to purify the air breathed in by all those millions of children. If she handed it over, the lives of Max Edwards, Jason Dobbs, and Evan Holt would have been sacrificed for nothing. Valence Industries would continue profiting from the sale of TEL. Children would continue to be poisoned. But Anya and Josh would not die. They would go on living, even if it was under the watchful eye of Valence Industries. What other choice did Emily have but to choose the living?
“One day, someone else will come,” she said. “Someone who will find out the truth about Valence Industries, someone who’ll tear them open and expose what they really are to the world.”
The man nodded. “I dare say they will. But it won’t be you.”
Emily held out the flash drive. The man took it between thumb and finger.
“And there we are.” His eyes glinted. “If you’d be so kind to wait just one minute.”
He returned to Josh, then opened up the briefcase that was sitting on top of a crate. Emily moved closer to get a better look. There was a laptop inside the briefcase. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was her laptop. She watched as the man inserted the flash drive. While he waited for it to install, he cooed over Josh like a grandfather playing with his grandson. As soon as the drive was ready, he patted Josh on the head, then turned his attention to the screen. He nodded to himself. Then, satisfied, he removed the drive and slipped it inside the briefcase along with Emily’s laptop.
He stood, staring at Emily. She stared back. Was that it? The transaction made?
“Please remember what I told you, Miss Swanson. Your silence is your guarantee. If my employers were to find out, for example, that copies had been made of the information you’ve kindly returned, then they would be forced to react. And I would hate to see any harm come to you. Or to the people around you.”
The man suddenly wrapped his fingers around Josh’s wrist. Startled, Josh looked up. The man twisted the boy’s arm sharply, lifting him from the ground. Josh screamed.
Emily cried. “Stop it! Please, stop it!”
The man let Josh hang there for a second more, then set him down on the crate. Josh clutched his wrist to his chest and began a long, drawn-out howl.
Emily moved towards him. The man blocked her way.
“No one else needs to get hurt, Miss Swanson. You may leave now.”
Emily remained unmoving, desperate to go to Josh, whose frightened wails grew louder and high-pitched.
The man’s smile was gone. She saw what he was, then. He was cold and inhumane. A brutal man who knew nothing of love or compassion, or of human kindness. Looking into his eyes was like looking into the depths of space. There was only infinite darkness.
Emily hovered, her need to go to Josh pulling at her body. The man stood firm.
“We don’t want Josh to get hurt again, do we?”
Emily’s mouth open and closed.
“Go on, Miss Swanson. I’ll see he gets home safely.”
He turned towards Josh, who skittered backwards, whimpering.
Emily’s feet betrayed her by stepping backwards. She was going to leave him. She was going to leave this child in the hands of a psychopath. He was giving her no choice.
Seeing the terror on Emily’s face, the man called after her. “I’m a man of my word, Miss Swanson. Haven’t you learned that by now? Your silence is their safety.”
He remained quite still, watching Emily retreat towards the door. Behind him, Josh continued to cry and gaze at Emily with terrified, pleading eyes. Emily felt like she’d been shot in the chest.
The door was behind her. Reaching out, she pushed it open. Then, tears spilling down her face, she ran out into the night.
She fled. Past the warehouses. Out of the darkness and into the light of the marina. She kept running. Breaths heaving in and out, she raced over the footbridge and through the car park. She did not look back. Not until she had reached the road and flagged down a night bus. Darkness lay behind her, penetrated by cracks of moonlight, which splashed across the tops of buildings. The darkness seeped into her, choking her lungs and poisoning her heart. As the bus rolled on towards the city, Emily wondered if she had just made the second worst mistake of her life.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
It was still dark when Emily arrived back at the hospital; which was strange because it felt like she’d been gone for two days. She found Daniel still sitting in the waiting room. He stood up when he saw her. Emily braced herself, ready to accept every angry insult he was about to hurl her way. But Daniel did not shout or scream. He merely stared at her with confused, distraught eyes.
“I had to go,” she said. “I had to put things right.”
Daniel sat down again. She slumped in the chair opposite. Suddenly, she was exhausted.
“How is he?”
“I’m still waiting.”
“Still?”
Daniel nodded. The silence spoke for him.
They didn’t have to wait much longer. Soon, a doctor arrived with news. Jerome had lost a great deal of blood, resulting in hypovolemic shock. Fast work by the attending paramedics and an immediate transfusion had prevented his organs from failing. He was now in recovery with over a hundred stitches in his hands and some possible nerve damage. He required rest and further observation, but the overall prognosis was good. Jerome might not be able to play the piano again, but he was alive.
The doctor left Emily and Daniel sitting side by side in the waiting room, relief cleansing them of ill feelings. They waited some more, neither of them wanting to leave until they had seen Jerome for themselves.
Outside, the sky began to lighten. The first rays of sun peeked over the horizon. Morning was on its way.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Emily left the hospital just after nine. Jerome had been asleep when she’d finally convinced the nurses to let her see him. She’d stayed for just a minute, watching his chest h
eave up and down, and feeling overwhelmed by equal measures of guilt and relief.
When she returned to The Holmeswood later that morning, the first thing she did was take a long, hot shower. She thought about sleep, but then changed into clean clothes, and headed out again.
Ninety minutes later, she stood in the street outside of the Copelands’ flat. She needed to know that she had made the right decision; that the man at the warehouse had kept his word.
Mustering courage, she crossed the road and pressed the doorbell. She waited, then pressed again. No one answered. Emily felt as if she were falling. Hot, frightened tears welled in her eyes. She stumbled back to the street and looked up.
Fear turned to relief.
Two silhouettes stood in the window, staring down at her. A mother and her son. Smiling, Emily waved a hand. The silhouettes remained perfectly still, then retreated from the window.
***
“Hello, sleepyhead. How are those pain killers holding up?”
“Liquid morphine is a gift from the Gods.”
Jerome was half-awake, propped up in bed, with his bandaged hands by his sides. He was still very pale and weak-looking, Emily thought. But he was alive.
“Is Daniel here?”
“He’s gone home to get a few things.” His eyelids drooped as he turned to face her. “What was inside?”
“Honestly, Jerome, I don’t think now’s the time to–”
“Hey, I sacrificed my dream of being a hand model to get that envelope to you. What was in it?”
Emily looked away. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d failed. That the evidence he’d risked his life for was now back in the hands of Valence Industries.
“I’m sorry.” She pressed her face into his arm. “It’s my fault. I should never have let you come with me.”
Jerome closed his eyes. “Stop with the attention seeking already. You’re not the one who’s short-term future includes having to have someone wipe your ass.” He laughed then. The painkillers were working their magic. “I just hope whatever it was, it was worth it.”
Emily was quiet. Anya and Josh Copeland were still alive. She’d uncovered the truth of what had happened to Max Edwards; although she was unsure how much of that truth she could tell Diane. The man in the warehouse had been very clear—her silence guaranteed everyone’s safety. As for Jerome, she knew he would ask about the envelope again. She would tell him the truth, eventually. Regardless of his feelings, he could be trusted to remain silent. It was just that, right now, the truth wasn’t going to help his recovery.
“Have they said when you can leave?” she asked him.
“Soon. Mum and Dad are on their way down. They want me to come home with them for a while, until I’m able to use my hands again. Seems best.”
“What about the room in Brixton?”
“I guess Mags will have to find a new housemate.”
“And you and Daniel, will be all right?”
Jerome opened one eye. “Plenty of people have survived long distance relationships. Anyway, this is a very temporary fixture. Just try and keep me from coming back.”
“Well, there’s always the sofa at mine until you find a new place. It might have a few holes in it now, but it’s all yours.”
Emily glanced out of the window, at the car park below. People milled about. She wondered if any of them were here to watch her.
Jerome was drifting off to sleep.
“Emily Swanson,” he muttered. “My hero.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The next morning, Emily woke around nine, feeling heavy and groggy, and certainly not like she’d just enjoyed twelve hours of sleep. She got up, showered, took her antidepressant, then texted Carter West. She’d been thinking about him last night. Even though she still had her reservations about dating, she did owe him a second chance at coffee. Perhaps this time, she would even stay around to answer his questions.
But before she could begin to think of the future, she first needed to put an end to the very recent past.
She arrived at Diane Edwards’ house a little after midday, and was shown into the kitchen. Emily accepted the offer of tea and then sat in silence, drumming her fingers against her knees. When they were both seated and the tea had been poured, she began her story.
She told a version of the truth. Max Edwards had discovered that Valence Industries were engaged in legal but unethical activities that went against everything he believed in. He’d realised that his position had been created not to protect the environment, but to act as a smokescreen. Enraged, Max had attempted but failed to bring Valence’s immoral activities to an end. Emily could not confirm for certain how he’d ended up in the Thames, but what she did know was that Max had been acting for the greater good, just as he had always strived to do throughout his life.
And that was it; the most abridged version of the story she could manage without breaking her silence.
Diane Edwards sat at the table for the longest time, staring at the garden. Autumn leaves were scattered over the lawn, rust on emerald. Birds flitted from bush to branch.
“I’m sorry there’s not much else I can tell you,” Emily said, when the silence became unbearable. Even though she hadn’t technically lied, she felt wretched.
When Diane finally spoke, her voice was cracked and husky, as if she’d just woken from a long, deep sleep.
“Thank you,” she said. She turned back to the garden. Her shoulders stiffened. “What the bloody hell was Max thinking?”
A single tear journeyed down the length of her face. She left it hovering on the contour of her chin, then swept it away. When she looked back at Emily, her expression was strangely neutral, as if she had directed all of her grief into that single tear and cast it from her body.
“I suppose it would explain why he took to drink after all that time,” she said. “Max did hate to be made a hypocrite.”
Emily bit her lip and stared at the table.
“That woman. The one he worked with... Anya Copeland, was her name, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Did they...?” Diane shook her head, then wrapped her arms around her ribs. “Do I even want to ask this question?”
Emily saved her the pain. “They were colleagues. That’s all.”
“Colleagues...” Diane mused.
“Nothing more. I promise you.”
Relief softened Diane’s face. She smiled a sad smile, then reached a hand across the table. Emily took it.
“You’ve gone above and beyond what I’ve asked of you. I can’t expect any more than that. I just wish Max had told me about what he’d found, about what he was going through.”
“I expect he was trying to protect you,” Emily said. “I think that shows how much he loved you, no matter how distant your marriage had become.”
Diane squeezed her hand, then released her.
“Well, thank you again, Emily. You’ve been most helpful.”
Drowning in guilt and uncertain that she’d been any help at all, Emily nodded.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
Across the table, Diane shook her head. “I’m not sure. Get on with things, I suppose. Whatever that entails. Perhaps I’ll start with a walk in the park to think things over. And you?”
“Me?”
“What will you do now?”
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it again. The truth was that she had a very good idea of what she would do next. She was just too nervous to say it out loud. Instead, she smiled and said, “Perhaps, if you don’t mind, I’ll come for that walk with you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The staff of London Truth were shutting down their computers and calling it a day. One of the benefits of working for a fortnightly magazine rather than the daily tabloids was that, unless a story was breaking, no one stayed late on Fridays. No one except for Helen Carlson. Sitting at her desk, she watched her colleagues go. Some were heading to the local pub. Others were going home.
>
Bill appeared beside her desk. “Coming for a pint?”
She didn’t bother to look up from her screen. “Still busy.”
“What’s so urgent?”
“Have a nice weekend, Bill.”
Bill stared at her cuts and bruises, making her feel uncomfortable.
“Fine,” he said, then went to join the others.
“You know you’re not getting paid right now.” Christine strolled up, one arm inside the sleeve of her jacket.
“Half of the hours I put in are unpaid.”
“Then doesn’t that tell you something?”
Yeah, to get a better paid job, Helen thought. She took her hands away from the keyboard and folded them across her chest.
Christine was still staring at her.
“I know you’re angry,” she said. “And you have a right to be. You had a big story at your fingertips—bigger than most journalists will see thirty years into their career, never mind a few years.”
“And Emily Swanson took it from me.”
That was what made Helen angriest—losing the story smarted like hell, but the fact it was Emily Swanson who had stolen it from her, made her insides burn.
“Think of it this way,” Christine said, looking at her with something like pity. “Lives have been saved. There are more stories, Helen. More corrupt companies just begging to be exposed. Valence Industries are not unique. And I can guarantee it won’t be long before their dirty linen is hung out to dry. Secrets like that won’t stay buried forever. Someone will fuck up. You just have to hope you’re in the right place and the right time when they do.”
Helen avoided the editor’s gaze. She didn’t need her pity or her words of advice.
“Have a nice weekend,” Christine said, as she made her way through the doors. “You’ve heard of that, right? A weekend?”
Helen was now alone in the office. She looked around at the empty desks. The stillness of the room felt physical, like an unwelcome embrace. Stretching out the fingers of both hands, she glanced back towards the door. Then, she clicked the computer mouse a couple of times, and sat back, staring at the screen.
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