She opened the back door before turning back to him. ‘Come on then, Will Fletcher. I think we need to have a chat anyway.’
Perplexed, Will followed her through the door, and then led the way to his car.
17
Ian Rossiter stalked into the room, loosened his tie, then tore the sling from his shoulder and threw it on the desk, oblivious to the opulence of his surroundings.
The press secretary shut the door moments before his employer exploded, then hurried across the floor and waited for the onslaught.
‘What the hell is Will Fletcher doing in my house, Gregory?’
‘Calm down,’ said the other man. ‘We don’t need the rest of the staff to overhear.’ He ran delicate fingers through his thinning grey hair, deliberately keeping his voice low.
Rossiter glared at him, then moved to the window, clasped his hands behind his back and ignored the burning sensation in his shoulder.
‘You should keep the sling on. Someone could see you,’ said Gregory as he joined him.
‘Bugger the sling.’
Rossiter stared through the panels of glass at the motley collection of vehicles strewn across the pristine gravelled turning circle of his driveway, and tried to calm down.
Beyond the driveway, manicured gardens led away from the house, the lawns a lush green after the week’s rain. Carefully pruned shrubs and trees dotted the landscape, and he watched as one of the gardeners moved a wheelbarrow across the driveway, cigarette smoke clouding away from him as he walked.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’ He turned away from the window and glared at the press secretary. ‘What’s Will Fletcher doing here?’
Gregory placed his briefing papers on the desk behind them, and automatically straightened one of the pages that fell loose.
‘We didn’t know he’d definitely show up,’ he began, and held up a hand. ‘Let me finish.’ He moved around the desk and eased into one of the soft leather armchairs that faced it, and tugged the hem of his trouser leg as he crossed his ankles. ‘He’s been given a press pass by Kirby Clark. One can only assume the man is trying to help Mr Fletcher.’
‘But you approve all the press passes!’
Gregory nodded. ‘And I approved his, earlier this morning.’
‘Why the hell would you do that?’
The press secretary pointed at the vehicles on the driveway outside. ‘Because, right now, one of my security personnel is making sure we know where Mr Fletcher goes.’
Rossiter spun on his heel in time to see a figure stand up and move swiftly away from a blue car parked on the periphery of the driveway.
‘Can he be trusted?’
‘Absolutely. Been with us for years.’
‘What did he do?’
Gregory shrugged, and stared at his fingernails. ‘I don’t understand the specifics – I don’t care to be honest. It’s some sort of tracking device.’
‘Untraceable?’
‘Of course.’
Rossiter turned back to the desk, rolled back his chair and lowered his bulk into the soft material, before leaning forward and unscrewing the cap off a small bottle of pills.
As he shook two into his hand and reached for a glass of water, Gregory frowned.
‘How many of those are you taking a day?’
Rossiter tipped back his head, then lowered the glass and re-fastened the bottle cap. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
Gregory leaned forward. ‘I worry, because I need you to be sharper than ever until this is resolved, Ian. Not in some sort of drugged-up haze.’
Rossiter laughed. ‘The only thing you worry about is your own future.’
‘True. And it’s inextricably linked to yours,’ said Gregory. ‘So, do me a favour and don’t fuck it up. We’re too close.’
Rossiter reached forward and began to wrap and unwrap the sling around his hands. ‘I won’t. I told you not to worry about it.’ He frowned as another spasm gripped his shoulder muscles, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk.
‘How bad is it?’
‘Bad.’
‘He had to do it.’
‘I’d have preferred not to have been shot at all.’
‘It had to look realistic.’
‘Oh, it was realistic all right,’ said Rossiter. ‘For a moment, I thought he was going to bloody shoot me in the head, too.’ He unwrapped the sling, looped it over his head, and shrugged his arm back into it, a pained grimace crossing his features. ‘I’ll never know how that damned reporter didn’t die on the spot like she was supposed to.’
‘An unfortunate turn of events.’
‘Is she going to die?’
‘Too early to tell at the moment, according to the hospital.’
‘Can we hurry it along?’
Gregory’s face paled. ‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s just a thought.’
‘Ian – there’s a limit to what we can do here. It’s not like the old days.’
‘Shame.’ Rossiter glanced at his watch. ‘What time will the vultures start to leave?’
‘In about fifteen minutes. I’ve instructed Rita to move them on as soon as possible – point out you’re recovering and need the peace and quiet.’
‘What’s next this morning?’
‘A couple of telephone calls, one to that chap in the Midlands who’s keen to lend support to your campaign. He could be a lucrative catch if we can stop him from handing over his money to the bloody Conservatives as usual.’
‘All right. Set it up. I’m taking my niece out to lunch at one o’clock, so make sure we’re done by then.’
‘You should get some rest.’
Rossiter held up his hand. ‘Save it. I’ll rest when this is over and I’m Prime Minister, Malcolm. So will you.’
18
Will took his change, then turned and walked back to the armchairs next to the open fire.
Placing the two pints of real ale on the table between them, he sank into the padded material with a sigh, and pushed one of the glasses towards Erin.
‘There you go. Apparently it’s the local one, and everyone else seems to be drinking it, so it must be good.’
Erin smiled and clinked her glass against his, before taking a sip, and taking an appreciative look at the dark amber liquid. ‘That’s not bad. I haven’t been in here for years.’
They’d driven for twenty minutes after leaving Rossiter’s house, the scenery passing the windows in silence. Will wondered if Erin was setting a trap for him, but he was intrigued to know what she wanted to talk about, and so followed her directions.
When she’d instructed him to turn left and the road dipped down into a shady glen, his heartbeat had rocketed, paranoia fuelling the fear that an ambush would take place. He’d sighed aloud when the pub had appeared in view, ignoring the bemused look that had crossed Erin’s face.
Will leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’
She glanced across at him. ‘You go first.’
‘Well, I guess I’d like to know a bit more about your uncle. Seems everything that happened yesterday was because of him, or something he’s done.’
‘Is that why you came to the press conference?’
‘Yes.’ Will sighed. ‘I’m just trying to make some sense of all this.’
‘He’s not really my uncle, you know,’ said Erin. ‘He was a friend of my father’s a long time ago. You know Rossiter made his money in construction?’
Will nodded.
‘Well, my father used to do some work for him, here and there,’ she said. ‘So I ended up hanging around building sites in the school holidays, making cups of tea and that sort of stuff.’
‘How long since you were last here?’ asked Will, easing back into the chair, and resting his pint on the faded green material.
‘About a year now.’ She shrugged. ‘I used to spend holidays down here when I was a kid, before I went away to university at Southampton. Then I moved to Lon
don when I graduated.’
‘I got the impression back at the house that you know Amy?’
‘Yes. I approached her while I was still working in the city a while ago.’ Erin caught Will’s gaze, then explained. ‘I worked for a refugee agency in London since I left university.’
‘But not any more?’
She shook her head. ‘I needed a break. It’s incredibly heart-breaking and frustrating work, in equal measures.’
She took another sip of her pint, and then placed the glass on the table. ‘What about you?’
‘I work in the archives section at the British Museum.’ He glanced down at his hands. ‘Doesn’t sound very exciting, does it?’
Erin smiled, a wistful expression crossing her face. ‘I used to love going to that museum when I was a kid.’
She stopped talking, and turned her gaze to the window.
Will noticed her eyes had turned red, and tears threatened. He leaned forward. ‘Hey, is everything all right?’
She nodded, sniffled, and turned back to him. ‘Yes. Thanks. It’s okay.’
He inhaled the faint scent of her perfume while she regained her composure before speaking again.
‘I’d read some of her work last year – remember that article she wrote about the city banker who was skimming off his employers’ profits?’
Will nodded, and gestured for her to continue.
‘I had some, information, about Rossiter,’ she said. ‘Information I thought Amy might be able to use.’ She held up her hand to stop Will interrupting. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss what that was, sorry.’
‘Did you stay in touch with her? I mean, after you gave her that information?’
She nodded. ‘We probably spoke once a week. I was interested in her progress.’
Will frowned. ‘So this story she’s been working on – about Rossiter – it was your idea?’
She shook her head. ‘She was already researching something about him. I’m not sure what. It was just coincidence that I contacted her at the same time. Gave her another angle to work from.’
Will sank back into his chair and took a sip of his beer, thoughts churning. As he set the glass back on the table, he looked across at Erin.
‘Why would you help Amy write a story that could destroy your father’s friend?’
‘They’re not friends any more,’ she said. ‘Haven’t been close for years. They had a falling out a while ago.’
‘But you still stay at his house.’
‘No – I don’t. I just dropped by when I heard he was going to do a press conference from there. I wanted to hear what he said.’ She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers as she spoke. ‘A bit like you, I suppose. Although I have to say, I didn’t expect to see you there.’
‘How did you know who I was?’
‘Amy told me about you, the first time we met.’
‘Did your uncle know you were there?’
‘Oh, yes – I phoned ahead. I didn’t want to surprise him or anything. He doesn’t like surprises.’ She broke off and checked her watch and scowled. ‘That reminds me. I’m meant to be taking him out to lunch at one o’clock, so you’d better drop me back at the house.’
‘Right, okay.’
Confused at the abrupt end to their conversation, Will stood and took the empty pint glasses back to the bar, then followed Erin out the door to the car park.
He unlocked the car, and waited until he started the engine before he spoke again.
‘Why are you taking him to lunch?’
She stared at him, and then back to the road as the asphalt passed under the car, the green scenery passing in a blur.
‘It’s a case of keeping up appearances,’ she murmured.
Will didn’t know how to respond, so instead he concentrated on his driving, shifted gear and accelerated up the hill.
As they neared the house, Erin held up her hand.
‘Stop here.’
Will swung the car over to the left, onto the dirt shoulder of the road, and applied the handbrake.
‘Why?’
‘Probably not a good idea for you to drive up to the house – in case he sees you.’
‘Won’t he ask where you’ve been?’
‘I’ll tell him I’ve been out for a walk.’
‘Are you going to tell him about me?’
She shook her head. ‘I never saw you.’
Will rubbed his hands over his eyes. ‘This still doesn’t make sense.’
‘It will.’ She unclipped her seatbelt and let the material slide through her fingers. ‘We still have a lot to talk about. Have you got a business card?’
He shook his head.
‘So, how do I get hold of you?’
He turned to face her and scrutinised her features.
Could she be trusted?
He sighed, reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out the motel brochure. He turned it over and pointed out the details of the one where he was staying.
‘You can ask for me here.’
She took the brochure from him, their fingers touching briefly, and then she folded up the pamphlet and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.
Opening the passenger door, she turned to him. ‘Keep your head down, Will Fletcher. I’ll be in touch.’
She slammed the door shut and he watched as she strode up the road and then turned into the driveway of the house.
He sighed, checked his mirrors, then steered a U-turn in the road and headed back to the motel, his mind working overtime.
Somewhere, buried amongst Amy’s notes on the hard drive, were some answers.
He hoped.
19
Will stared at the computer screen, his mouth slightly open.
As soon as he’d reached the motel, he’d logged on and Googled a search for Rossiter’s election team. Under parliamentary law, all of Rossiter’s minions had to be listed, together with the roles they undertook during the election period.
Including the man who had presided over the press conference that morning.
On the screen, a headshot of the man in a similarly well-cut suit stared out at him. The professionally-taken photograph had caught the man with his head at a jaunty angle, and a slight smile played across his mouth that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He leaned forward towards the photographer, almost as if he was eager to please.
Underneath the photograph, his name was set out in large lettering.
Malcolm Gregory.
Will’s eyes skimmed over the biography. It extolled Gregory’s previous role as a marketing and communications expert for Rossiter Enterprises, the construction and development company that the ministerial candidate had owned and managed prior to being elected party leader a year previously.
His work history prior to that was potted, glossed over with words such as ‘consultant’, ‘specialist’, and ‘bespoke services’.
Will shivered, and wondered if those services extended to extortion, burglary and murder.
Did Rossiter know that Gregory was involved in the shooting? Would he know that his media adviser had threatened Will? Did he realise how dangerous the man who was managing his campaign could be?
Will scratched his ear and tried to remember the original quote about keeping one’s enemies close, then shook his head, defeated. There was no use in speculating. Whatever the relationship between the man who threatened him and Rossiter, he had to keep digging to find out the truth.
He closed the internet browser and turned his attention instead to the contents of the hard drive.
Now that he had a name for the caller, he wanted to find out whether Amy had stumbled across any information about him other than his official biography. She had a photograph of him with the two men in army fatigues, so surely there must be something else, given the damage that had been done to the apartment.
He stopped, his finger hovering above the mouse button as soon as the realisation hit him.
Gregory must have had Amy followed fr
om work prior to the shooting taking place.
How else would Gregory know where they lived?
He leaned back, reached out for his mug of tea and blew across the hot surface of the liquid.
If Gregory knew where he and Amy lived, what else did he know about them? How long had he been followed?
The landline telephone on the desk emitted a shrill ring, and Will jerked in his seat, sloshing hot tea over his hand.
Cursing, he banged the mug down and reached out to take the call, sucking on the back of his hand to soothe the burning sensation assaulting his skin.
His hand hovered over the receiver, and for a split second he wondered whether he should answer it, before he remembered giving the motel details to Erin, and curiosity won over.
‘Will?’
Russell’s voice wavered, traffic noise filling the background.
‘Hey – what’s up?’
‘Hang on.’
‘Where are you?’ Will tucked the phone under his chin, plucked a paper tissue from the complimentary pack on the desk, and dabbed at the tea stains on his jeans. He heard a door slam shut on the other end of the line and waited.
‘I’m using the only working public telephone in South-west One. Do you know how rare these things are?’
‘Why didn’t you phone me from the office?’
‘I think we’ve got a problem.’
Will heard the other man take a shaking breath, and clutched the telephone receiver harder in his hand. ‘Russ? Are you okay?’
‘Have you checked your email?’
‘No – hang on. I’ll log in.’
‘I sent something to your online account this morning, not your work one.’
‘Okay, I’m just taking a look.’ Will balanced the receiver under his chin and typed in his login details.
‘Have you told anyone that I copied that image file?’
Will stopped typing and gripped the phone. ‘No. Why?’
He heard the other man take a shaking breath before he spoke again.
Look Closer Page 9
