I flipped through the pages. "At least they haven't got wind of my break up with Donna yet. That's something to be thankful for I guess."
Karen rose from her chair and went over to the reception desk. "I'm going to ring round and see what I can do about getting some temporary staff."
She delved into a drawer under the desk and produced a battered address book. "If we're going to be swamped by reporters, I'm going to need all the help I can get."
"Christ. I hope it doesn't come to that. The last thing we need is a media circus coming to town."
"In your dreams." She pulled the desk phone towards her and picked up the receiver.
While Karen made her calls, I checked the paper to see if the press had picked up on any negative aspects of my personal life. I was relieved to see I was in the clear. So far.
While I was scrutinising the reported details of my biography and separating fact from fiction, the outer door opened. If it was another reporter, I was out of there. I wasn't in the mood for yet another sycophantic lets-be-friends busybody delving into my private life.
It was Nathan.
He was suited and booted - a dark-grey flannel suit with a white shirt and sober red-and-grey striped tie - so I guessed he was on his way back from the local station.
His open raincoat was wet and he stamped on the floor to shake the rain from his shoes.
I wasn't sure how to deal with him after the way our last meeting had ended. A hearty hail-and-well-met greeting didn't seem appropriate somehow. So I waited for him to speak first.
Karen put down the phone and called out to him from behind the desk, "Hey. How's my second favourite policeman?" She crossed towards him.
He smiled, took her in his arms, and hugged her close. "So, I've been demoted, eh? That's the last time I introduce you to one of my men."
She laughed, pulled away and slow-punched his arm. "Too late now," she said.
It was the first time I'd seen him smile that way since we'd renewed our acquaintance. This was the old Nathan. The easy-going one. The one who enjoyed light-hearted banter with friends. I'd forgotten how his cheek dimpled on one side when he smiled. And the way he held you when he took you in his arms. I turned away unable to look.
"Mikey." The warmth had gone from his voice.
I looked up again. "I take it this isn't a social call. So I presume you have some news for me."
Karen interrupted. "I'll leave you two to talk. I'll be in the back office. Give me a shout before you leave, Nathan."
He smiled at her again and she departed, leaving us together.
"You may as well take a seat," I said. "You can dry out while you talk."
He sat in the armchair on the other side of the hearth and unbuttoned his jacket.
"I won't keep you too long," he said. "I wanted to bring you up to date. We've got some feedback from the South Yorkshire force about Black's family. His daughter hasn't heard from him. And, apparently, they haven't been on speaking terms for years. He doesn't have any other family so his message appears to have been a lie." He must have caught my puzzled look. "What?"
"Just seems strange, that's all. If he's going to lie, why not come up with something that isn't so easily disproved?"
"In my experience, people don't always think these things through."
"Maybe. So what happens now?"
"We put out a call for Black. We need to find him as soon as possible. He's now our prime suspect for your father's murder. Which is why ..." he paused for a moment, and I knew bad news was on the way "... I'm calling a press conference for tomorrow."
I voiced my objections. "Have you seen the evening paper? Have you seen how they're handling it? You'd think murder was sensational enough without the need for embellishments."
"You're well-known enough for the investigation to get a lot of national coverage. And the sooner that happens, the sooner the public will be on the lookout for Black."
I didn't respond. Much as I hated to admit it, he was right.
"And besides" he said, "once we get attention focused on Black, it takes the heat off you. That can't be a bad thing can it?"
"You wouldn't like to take any bets on that would you?"
"We've already had enquiries from the media. And the BBC are sending a crew down in the morning. We might as well make good use of them."
He rose to leave. "The conference is set for one. So have an early lunch and I'll send a car round for you. Best not to drive in yourself while the press are here."
He called out to Karen as he headed for the door and she appeared from the back office.
"Are you off duty now?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm on my way home."
"In that case why don't you join us for some supper first. It's a long drive back to Charwell."
He shot me a backward glance. "It's best if I don't. I'll catch up with you later," he said. And was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I was glad of the lift to the police station the following day.
A group of media hacks were already there, huddled beneath the canopy at the main entrance, sheltering from the light drizzle. Most of them were chewing the cud or taking the opportunity to enjoy a last cigarette before going inside. A camera crew were setting up their equipment on the forecourt.
I slouched down in my seat to avoid being seen, much to the amusement of my driver, and we drove around to the restricted compound behind the station.
Nathan met us there and briefed me on how the conference would be conducted. He would address the Press, give them a progress report of the investigation so far - not that there was much to tell - and ask for their help in locating Black.
For the moment, Black wouldn't be identified as a suspect but as someone who may have been one of the last to see my father alive and who might have valuable information. Though the Press would make their own assumptions anyway. Then they would be invited to ask questions. That's where I came in.
Nathan said, "Whatever they ask, just stick to what you know. They'll try to get you to speculate about motive and possible suspects, but hold firm. If they get too heavy, I'll intervene."
I accepted his advice and Nathan led the way into the meeting room. My stomach churned and my throat was dry. The sooner this was over, the better.
Elders Edge Police Station was an old Victorian conversion with a modern glass and metal extension built onto the front to make it more attractive to visitors. This room, however, was a large one at the back of the old building. It looked as if it might once have been a factory. Built more for function than aesthetic appeal, it was stark and oppressive. Rows of small windows were set high up around each wall and exposed pipes ran up to the ceiling in three corners. Two larger windows opposite the door looked out onto the courtyard behind the building. Everything was painted white to brighten the room, a failed attempt to make it more appealing.
Cameras clicked as I followed Nathan to a row of three metal-framed chairs against the wall to the left of the door and a murmur ran around the room. Sgt Lowe was already seated in one of the three chairs and a middle-aged stern-looking woman with scraped back hair sat in a separate seat nearby, a notebook in her lap. Nathan took his place in the centre seat and I sat down on the other side of him.
Four rows of metal-framed chairs faced us. Obviously set up especially for this conference. They were filled by members of the Press, some of whom I recognised from earlier encounters. I tried to look as if I was pleased to see them.
Nathan leaned over and spoke with Lowe in a whisper and then turned back, looked around the room, and seemingly satisfied that everyone was ready, called the conference to order.
He addressed the waiting members of the Press, thanked them for coming and told them of the circumstances of the investigation.
He said. "At the moment, we have no suspects but there are a number of people we need to interview."
He told them of Black's involvement and that a search was underway to establish his whereabouts.
<
br /> "We're going to need your help in finding him. Any information members of the public can give us will be invaluable."
He fed them some details about the medical examiner's report which confirmed that my father had been strangled and then opened the floor to questions.
A young reporter asked. "Is Black a suspect?"
Nathan said, "No, not at the moment. But we do believe he can give us vital information which will help our enquires."
"And what about Mr MacGregor there? Is he a suspect?"
A ripple of laughter went around the room. I opened my mouth to protest but Nathan took control of the exchange. "Mr MacGregor is not a suspect in this case." He spoke in his usual moderate tone, as professional as ever.
"But it was you who found the body wasn't it, Mikey?" This shouted out from the back of the room.
"Sgt Lowe here ... ," I tilted my head towards Lowe, "... was with me. We found the body together." That was one avenue of idle speculation closed off.
Another reporter. This one I recognised. John Chesterton from the Daily Echo. A hardened hack and a major slime-ball if ever there was one. "You don't live down here, Mikey?"
"Not any more, no. I've lived in London for the past twelve years."
Chesterton again. "What brought you down here? Just visiting? I see you didn't bring your family with you."
I couldn't see where he was going with this. Was this leading up to speculation about my relationship with my father? I had to stop him. "It was meant to be no more than a brief visit. A friend who lives locally raised concerns about my father's whereabouts and naturally I was worried about him. I drove down to check up on him."
"So what now? Will you be staying down here?"
"I'll be here for the foreseeable future. Sorting out my father's estate may take a while."
John Chesterton again. "Will your wife be joining you?"
Too late I saw what he was leading up to. He knew about the breakup of my marriage. How much he knew was anyone's guess. I hoped my solicitor had managed to persuade Donna about the need for discretion in the private affairs of those in the public eye.
"I don't see how this is relevant, Mr Chesterton. Perhaps we should stick to the facts of the investigation itself."
He wasn't to be dissuaded. "Is it not the case that you and your wife recently separated following your affair with another man?"
My chest tightened. Clearly, my solicitor's powers of persuasion were sadly lacking.
The room sat in silence, waiting for a response. A draught found its way in through one of the windows and rattled the metal blind.
"May I remind you," I said, "that this press conference was called to ask for your help in finding my father's murderer. In the circumstances, speculation about my private life is neither helpful nor appropriate."
"You're a public figure. The public are going to want to know."
"I've given you the only response you're getting."
"Isn't it also true you've had a number of liaisons with other men during the course of your marriage? And that your, er ... shall we say ... unusual lifestyle was the cause of a rift between you and your father?"
Nathan intervened. "With respect, could you please make sure your questions are pertinent to our investigation." He sounded annoyed, the professionalism no longer evident.
Once their attention had been deflected from enquiries about my private life and further attempts to elicit additional personal information were thwarted, they must have realised that this particular area of discussion had been closed off and the assembled members of the Press once again turned their attention to the investigation itself, addressing their questions to Nathan.
I barely heard it. All I could think of was the coming storm and the total destruction of my public reputation.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nathan stood with his back to me. Not speaking. He stared out through the rain-splattered window into the compound beyond, legs apart, hands behind his back, fists clenched.
Never one to readily show his emotions, he rarely gave himself away. But I had known him for a long time and even after all these years, I could still read the telltale signs that betrayed his darker moods; the silences, the turning away, the rigid stance.
And all the signs were there. He was angry. I didn't need to guess who with.
We were in Lowe's office. It had seemed as good a place as any to keep out of the way of the Press.
I was slumped down in a chair by Lowe's desk, still worrying about the unwarranted exposure of my personal life and trying not to think of the consequences.
In the corridor outside, people passed by as the press conference broke up. The hum of conversation and occasional burst of laughter contrasted sharply with the uncomfortable silence in the room. Nathan was not in a speaking mood but I needed to break the spell.
I said, "Are you angry with me or them?"
He grunted without turning. That answered my question. Just as I thought.
I snapped at him. "What do you have to be so angry about? I'm the one who took a hammering in there. Not you."
My carefully nurtured public reputation had been shattered, the broken remains of my private life exposed to anyone who wanted to pick over the pieces. He was the one who had subjected me to this. And yet I was the one being made to feel as if I had done something wrong.
"I'll tell you why," he said, turning to face me. "I'm angry because this sort of crap takes the focus away from the investigation. And that's what this press conference was for. Not to air your questionable personal habits in public."
"You think I wanted this?"
He snorted. "Well, no self-respecting person would that's for sure. You I'm not so sure about." He turned away and stood with his back to me again.
My face flushed. That stung. It shouldn't have mattered what he thought but it did. For once, I had nothing to say. No riposte. And so we lapsed into silence again.
Lowe had been helping to usher the press out of the station and eventually returned to let us know that the coast was clear. If he was aware of the strained atmosphere in the room, he didn't let it show.
"There are still one or two reporters hanging around," he said, "but most of them have moved on."
Nathan acknowledged this and said, "See if you can find a driver to take Mr MacGregor home."
He couldn't wait to get me out of there.
I opened my mouth to speak, hesitated, and then said, "I don't want to impose on you any more than necessary but would you mind if I hung on here a bit longer. Most of the press are staying at the Fairview. They'll be in the bar at this time of day and I'm not up to facing them yet."
I resented having to ask but the Fairview was the last place I wanted to be right then.
Nathan growled and muttered something under his breath.
It was hard to read his expression. I couldn't tell if it was one of pity or contempt.
"Wait here," he said and strode from the room. Lowe followed him, looking embarrassed, and closed the door behind him.
I rose from my chair, crossed over to the window, and stared out into the fading light. The day was as grey and miserable as my mood. Everyone seemed to be taking shots at me over the last few days. It was wearing me down and, right now, another barrage from the press was the last thing I needed.
Some minutes later, Nathan returned. "I called a friend of mine who has a holiday home in Fleming Road off the Esplanade," he said. "He's given his permission for you to stay there till the heat's off. The press aren't going to leave you alone any time soon so I suggest you take advantage of the offer. Okay?"
I accepted. It seemed the sensible thing to do. "That's very generous of him. Thank you."
"I don't want your thanks. It's my duty to protect you from this sort of unwarranted attention. Get your things and let's go."
God forbid he should appear to be doing me any favours.
"And keep your head down as we leave the yard," he said. "We don't want to be followed." He w
as already making his way out of the door.
I grabbed my coat from the back of the chair and hurried after him. He led the way through to the courtyard and we were soon on the road, heading towards the Esplanade in Nathan's Astra, having made it out of the compound without being spotted.
On the way, I made one or two feeble attempts at conversation, trying to ease the tension. Nathan wasn't buying it. Every time I opened my mouth, I provoked a grunt in response. The only sound inside the car was the relentless scrape of the wipers across the windscreen. And it grated on my nerves.
A few minutes of this and I'd had enough. I was worn out, miserable and fed up, and I'd be damned if I was going to take any more.
"For God's sake, Nathan. Ever since I got back you've given me the cold treatment. Either drop the attitude or talk to me about it."
Bad move.
He slammed on the brakes. Hard.
We slewed to a halt, skidding into the kerb. Tyres squealed beneath us. Burning rubber. I was thrown forward in my seat-belt, and then hurled back against the headrest.
The suddenness of his reaction shocked me.
Shaken, I reached out to steady myself against the dashboard and turned to face him.
He stared out through the windscreen into the murky light, his breathing slow and laboured as though he was struggling to control himself.
Perhaps that outburst hadn't been such a good idea after all. I'd provoked him into an even angrier mood.
I waited with trepidation to see what his next move would be.
He switched off the ignition.
Without turning, and in a voice that betrayed his barely controlled anger, he said, "I won't pretend I wasn't hurt when you walked out on me. And okay, I knew you had problems with your family. But we'd spent more than half our lives together and you walked away without a word or a backward glance. And I never heard from you again. How do you think that was for me?"
"Nathan ..."
"Shut up."
I shut up.
He continued, "Well, you know what, Mikey, I came to terms with what happened. We were still young men finding our way in life and I thought maybe my lifestyle wasn't for you. That you'd chosen another path in life. When I heard you'd married, that seemed to clinch it. So I let it go, thinking you'd made an honest choice and you'd moved on. Well, how wrong I was."
The Slow Road to Hell Page 7
