by Alex Walters
‘We take whistleblowing very seriously,’ Caulfield went on. ‘First, if there’s any potential substance in what you’re telling us, I can promise you it will be investigated thoroughly.’
‘There’s substance,’ she said. ‘Enough to merit an investigation.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said. ‘You’ve a good reputation, Marie. I took the liberty of looking at your file when you called. So I’m sure you’re not wasting our time. You’ll appreciate that, once in a while, we do get what appears to be a malicious accusation so we have to take care. But I’m sure this won’t fall into that category.’
At another time, she might have felt offended at Caulfield’s innuendo. Now she was thinking; you wouldn’t begin to believe quite how much malice there is in my accusation, Mr Caulfield. Doesn’t make it any less true, though. ‘As I say, Jon, I’m not making any allegations. I don’t think it’s my position to do that. All I’m doing is bringing some intelligence to your attention. I’ll leave it to you to decide how significant or otherwise it is.’ Christ, she thought, can we stop dancing around this? She was beginning to understand why there were so few misconduct cases.
‘I should just spell out a few ground rules,’ Caulfield said. ‘We’ll deal with anonymous allegations, but we much prefer it if people come forward openly as you have. But equally, from our side, we’ll guarantee your confidentiality, if that’s what you prefer.’
‘For the moment,’ she said. ‘At least until you’ve decided whether there’s anything worth pursuing further. If you think not, that’s fair enough. If you think there is, then I’m happy to discuss what you need from me.’
‘So what’s this about? I have to confess I’m intrigued.’
She reached into her handbag and, between her forefinger and thumb, she brought out Brennan’s disc. She’d made another copy before coming out. ‘It’s about this,’ she said, placing the disc carefully before Caulfield.
He looked back at her and raised his eyebrows. ‘And this is what?’
‘It’s a disc that – well, let’s just say that it came into my possession. It contains various files which I think raise questions about the behaviour of a certain senior officer.’
‘And can I ask who the officer is?’
‘Hugh Salter.’
The eyebrows remained elevated. ‘Your manager, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘You’re not mistaken. I’m assuming that’s why the material was sent to me.’
‘And may I enquire about the provenance of this – material?’
‘You’ll appreciate I have to protect my sources,’ she said. ‘Again, at least for the moment. If you decide to take the investigation further, I’ll see what I can do.’ She hoped that this would satisfy Caulfield for the present. She’d found that those who were away from the operational front line tended to have an excessive respect for the security of informants.
‘Understood. So what’s the nature of the material.’
‘There are basically two types of files on the disc,’ she said. ‘First, there are photographs. Photographs which appear to show Hugh – Mr Salter – associating with – well, individuals on our target lists.’
‘But there’s no indication of the nature of this association?’
She shrugged. ‘They’re simply photographs. I recognise Hugh, and I recognise some of the individuals he’s talking to.’
‘But there could be legitimate reasons for him to associate with those individuals?’
‘Potentially,’ she said, carefully. ‘Although it would be odd for someone in Hugh’s role to have extensive direct contact with those kinds of people.’
‘Okay. And the second type of file?’
‘Audio files,’ she said. ‘They appear to be surveillance tapes of Hugh in discussion with others. On the face of it, the content of the discussions appears to indicate that Hugh is involved in dealings which are inappropriate to his role or status.’ Jesus, she thought, Caulfield’s prolix style was catching.
‘And you don’t think the conversations might have an innocent explanation?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I appreciate that it’s all too easy to take snatches of conversation out of context. It’s conceivable that there might be an explanation.’
‘And who are the individuals involved? The other speakers, I mean.’
‘There are names given in the file names. I recognise the names, again as individuals on our target list. I think I recognise one or two of the voices. But I can’t say to you definitively that those are really the people on the tape. As far as I can judge, it does sound like Hugh speaking.’
Caulfield had been languidly making the occasional note as she spoke. Most of them seemed to be little more than one or two words, unreadable upside down. ‘And do you believe the tape to be genuine? From what you know of its provenance.’
‘I’ve no reason to doubt it,’ she said, conscious that her reply fell short of an affirmative. ‘In its own terms, I mean. I think it’s unlikely that the photographs have been doctored or the tapes faked, if that’s what you mean.’ She hoped that he wouldn’t ask her quite why she thought this. For all she knew, the files might be utterly phony. For her purposes, such as they were, that hardly mattered. ‘But, as I say, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a perfectly innocent explanation for them.’
‘Quite,’ he said. He picked up the disc and stared at it for a few moments, as if he might be able to read it without recourse to a computer. ‘No, you were quite right to bring this to our attention. Corruption is always a concern.’ He paused, and she could see that he was thinking. ‘Salter was the chap who was involved in the Welsby case, wasn’t he?’
She nodded. ‘We both were. It was rather a bonding experience, as you can imagine. One reason why I’m finding this so difficult.’
He nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, of course. I suppose the Welsby connection could cut both ways. It’s interesting that he worked closely with an officer who turned out to be corrupt. But equally it could be that there are people who’re out to get him.’ He gazed back at Marie, as if she might potentially fall into either category.
‘That was very much my thinking,’ she said. ‘I’m struggling to see Hugh as corrupt. But then I’d never have guessed that Keith Welsby was bent. That’s why I thought I ought to put it in your hands.’
‘No. Quite right. You’ve done entirely the right thing. I’d rather think the best of our people, and it’s quite possible there’s an innocent explanation for all this.’ He gestured vaguely towards the disc. ‘But, as the Welsby case shows, we have to be vigilant.’ He looked up at her. ‘Rest assured that we’ll take this seriously. If we decide to pursue it, you’ll almost certainly hear from me again once we decide on next steps. If we don’t, we won’t risk compromising your confidentiality by coming back to you about it. So you can assume that silence means we’ve decided there’s nothing to follow up.’
She nodded. That sounded to her rather as if he was intending to file the disc in the bin the moment she left the room. Disappointing, she thought, but not surprising. So much for doing it by the book. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘I hope for Hugh’s sake that it’s the latter outcome, of course.’ May God forgive me, she thought.
‘But we won’t let it lie until we’ve got a credible explanation for what’s on the disc,’ Caulfield concluded. ‘Trust me on that, Marie.’
She returned to her desk, feeling even more deflated and miserable than before. Shit, she thought. That was all they had, and Caulfield was probably even now preparing to use the evidence as a drinks coaster. She was conscious that she’d been channelling all her grief at Liam’s death into her quest to expose Salter. Now she was beginning to feel something close to real despair.
Worse still, Salter was back in his office, sitting gazing at something on his computer screen. As she walked back towards her desk, he caught sight of her and gestured for her to join him.
‘Christ, Marie. What the hell are you doing he
re? I thought I told you to take some time off.’
She repeated the explanation she’d given earlier, aware that it sounded thin even to her own ears.
‘What loose ends?’ he said, and for a moment it felt almost as if he were accusing her. ‘You need to look after yourself. You’ve been through a hell of a lot.’
She could almost bring herself to believe that he cared, she thought. ‘I know, Hugh. It’s just that things would have been hanging over me. I just wanted to make sure I’d cleared the decks before I went off.’
‘Okay. But make sure you take some proper time off now. As long as it takes.’ He paused, and she could sense that he was moving on to the issue that he’d really wanted to raise with her. ‘By the way, Welsby’s asked to see me now. He’s obviously catching up on all his old acquaintances.’
‘Are you going to go?’
‘Why not? Maybe he really does have something to say. Have you done a report your meeting with him?’
‘Not yet. That’s another loose end.’
‘Anything significant come out of it?’
‘Hard to say. He’s resigned to the fact that he’s going to stand trial now, I think. But he clearly feels hard done by.’
‘How does he reckon that? He was caught bang to rights.’
‘You know how it is,’ she said. ‘People can bring themselves to believe anything if it puts them in the right. Or less in the wrong. Welsby accepts that he was bent, but claims he wasn’t the only one and not the worst.’
‘So who else did he have in the frame, then? Me? You?’
Salter’s tone was dripping with irony, but she allowed the silence to extend for a moment before replying. ‘He’s not naming names. Not yet. But he reckons he’ll denounce them all from the witness stand.’
‘Terrific. That’ll go down a storm with the judge, I imagine.’
‘I don’t suppose anybody can stop him though. Could be an uncomfortable process for anyone he does name.’
‘Who’s going to take that slimeball seriously?’
‘But you’re going to go and see him, anyway?’
‘A fool to myself,’ he said. ‘But you never know. I’m going to head over this afternoon. You want to tag along?’
‘Me?’
‘It’s on your way home. I want to make sure you really do leave the site. Besides, it might be useful to have a witness if Welsby starts throwing accusations around.’
She suddenly realised that he was scared. Scared of Welsby, of what he might do or say. He was concealing it well, but she could sense that his usual self-confidence was missing. It was as if he could feel that things were changing, that the ground was slipping from under his feet.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Why not? Like you say, it’ll make sure I get out of here. Be interesting to see what Welsby’s got to say.’ Won’t it just, she thought. ‘What time are you going?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘About an hour?’ He was looking past her to where one of the team, standing outside the glass-walled office, was holding up a telephone receiver and gesturing to Salter. Salter nodded and waited while the call was transferred.
Salter mimed an apology to Marie and picked up the phone. ‘Yes. Well, yes, of course. Does it have to be now? I’ve got one or two things I need to–Well, okay, but I need to be away by two.’
He put down the receiver and then looked back up Marie. His eyes were blank and expressionless, his gaze focused somewhere beyond her. He looked like someone in shock, she thought.
‘Everything okay, Hugh?’
He blinked and looked at her. ‘Yes. Yes, fine.’ He looked back at his watch, as if hours might have passed since he’d last checked the time. ‘Look, Marie. See you at the hospital around two fifteen, okay? Got a meeting first.’ He paused and began gathering papers from his desk. ‘Professional Standards,’ he added. ‘It’s always bloody urgent with them, isn’t it?’
‘What are they after?’ she asked, watching as he bustled at the desk, studiously avoiding her gaze.
Finally he looked up, blinking. ‘Christ knows,’ he said. ‘Christ fucking knows.’
31
At the hospital Marie struggled to locate a parking space, finding herself repeatedly circling the perimeter road, waiting for someone to depart. Finally, she spotted a woman getting into a car in one of the most remote parking areas, and she drew in next to it, waiting for the woman to pull out. An elderly couple who had been similarly searching for a space had spotted the opportunity at more or less the same moment, and she could feel the old man silently cursing her as she pulled forward to assert her rights to the space.
She bought herself a ticket from the pay-and-display machine and looked at her watch. Two twenty-five already. She jogged into the hospital, heading along the corridors to the room where Welsby was located. She wanted to be present when Salter met with Welsby, though she had no idea what might happen.
But when she reached the room, Salter was still waiting outside, pacing along the corridor. The same two prison officers she’d met the previous day – Brady and his apathetic colleague – were sitting outside the door watching Salter stride anxiously up and down.
‘What’s up?’ she said.
Salter looked at her as if he’d forgotten he’d invited her to join him. ‘Welsby’s daughter’s in there,’ he said. ‘Seem to have having some kind of heart-to-heart.’ He paused. ‘Didn’t even know Welsby had a heart.’
Marie peered in through the small window. Lizzie seemed to be concluding whatever she’d been discussing with Welsby. Seeing the two of them together, Marie could see a similarity in their appearance that she’d never have spotted unaided. She didn’t know whether Salter had made any connection between Welsby’s daughter and the woman who had worked for McGrath. If so, he gave no sign.
Lizzie gave Welsby a kiss on the forehead – an incongruous sight, Marie thought, to anyone who knew either party – and made her way to the door. She looked out at Salter. ‘He’s all yours,’ she said. She glanced over at Marie, but her face gave no indication that the two women knew each other.
‘Thanks,’ Salter said. ‘How is he?’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘You know. Up and down.’ She looked again at Marie, and this time the two women’s eyes met. There was something in Lizzie’s expression that Marie couldn’t read.
Salter gestured to Marie. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see what he’s got to say.’
Brady leapt to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Only one visitor at a time.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Salter said, ‘you know who we are.’
‘Even so, those are my orders. Strictly speaking we’re not even supposed to leave the room. If I let two of you in, I won’t have a job to go back to.’
Marie caught his eye for a moment, and detected a spark of amusement there. She had the sense that was extracting bureaucratic revenge for his previous encounter with Salter. ‘I’ll stay outside, Hugh. Don’t want to get anyone into trouble.’
Salter glared at her for a moment. ‘Okay. But I’ll call you if I need you.’
‘I’m sure you’ll cope, Hugh.’ She smiled winningly at Brady, who had signalled for his colleague to fetch her a chair from further down the corridor.
Salter said nothing but pushed his way into the room, letting the door slam behind him.
Brady arranged the seat carefully by the wall and gestured for Marie to sit down. ‘I thought you might be more comfortable waiting out here,’ he said.
‘Too right.’ Marie lowered herself on to the chair and stretched out her legs. ‘Too bloody right.’
At first, Salter thought Welsby was asleep. But as Salter slowly lowered himself on to a chair by the bed, Welsby opened an eye. ‘Afternoon, chum,’ he said. ‘Just like old times.’
‘Not really.’ Salter leaned forward to peer at the older man. ‘I’d like you say you look well, but frankly you look like shit.’ He glanced meaningfully at the saline drip attached to Welsby’s arm, the bank of monitoring equipment beh
ind the bed.
‘You don’t look so terrific yourself, truth be told, old son. At least I’ve got an excuse.’
‘What’s this all about, Welsby? Why’d you want to see me?’
Welsby was fumbling for a control device hanging down from the side of the bed. He eventually caught hold of it and pressed one of the buttons, raising the mattress beneath his head so that he was sitting partially upright. ‘Thought it was time we had a chat, Hughie boy.’ His gaze strayed past Salter to something on the floor by the bedside cabinet. ‘God, this place is a shit heap. Can you pick that up, Hughie? Don’t want anyone treading on it.’ He gestured down to where an apparently used syringe was lying on the tiled floor.
Salter bent down impatiently, picked up the syringe and dropped it on top of the cabinet. ‘Stop screwing me around, Welsby, and cut to the chase.’
‘I thought we should have a chat about you, Hughie. You and your future.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about? Have you brought me out here to waste my fucking time or is there some point to this?’
‘Your future, Hughie. Or the absence of it. Because you don’t have much of a future, do you?’
Salter started to rise. ‘Just fuck off, Welsby. If you think I’m going to sit here–’
‘You’re in the shit, aren’t you? Or at least that’s how it seems to me. You’ve got Professional Standards sniffing round you…’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Salter had involuntarily glanced towards the door when Welsby had mentioned Professional Standards. He was on his feet now, with the air of someone preparing to leave the room.
‘You must be getting nervous,’ Welsby went on. Standards wouldn’t investigate without a reason. Wonder just what evidence they’ve got. And what other evidence might be waiting out there.’
‘I don’t know what game you’re playing–’
