‘I think someone is following me.’
Will’s insides plummeted. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Take a look at the photograph I sent you.’
‘What’s the number there? I’ll phone you straight back.’
Will wrote it down, then hung up the phone and dialled the number. Russell answered it before the second ring.
‘Okay,’ said Will. ‘Let me open this file.’
He double-clicked on the image attachment and the new laptop flickered once before the photograph appeared on the screen.
He sucked in his breath.
‘You see?’ said Russell. ‘Now do you realise how much trouble you’re in?’
The figure on the left of the four in the now-enhanced picture was Ian Rossiter.
Dressed in plain clothes, he appeared uncomfortable about the photograph being taken, but one of the men has his arm around Rossiter’s shoulder, and he seemed to be forcing the faint smile on his face.
A chill ran down Will’s spine as the realisation dawned on him. Rossiter had been shot on purpose, to make him look innocent. It could be the only explanation.
‘There’s more,’ said Will.
‘What?’
‘The original file saved to the hard drive was dated eight months ago. Amy’s been pursuing the story for a year now, at least.’ Will ran his hand through his hair and began pacing the short space next to the desk, the phone to his ear. He coiled the cord around his fingers as he spoke. ‘There must be something else on these files. Otherwise, she could’ve gone to Rossiter with this photograph ages ago. Yet, she didn’t. The photograph alone doesn’t prove anything. It just shows him with some people – he could deny all knowledge of knowing them.’
‘How much further have you got through the files on that hard drive?’
‘About halfway.’
‘You need to get a move on,’ said his friend. ‘I have a feeling you’re running out of time.’
‘What about you? Are you going to be okay?’
His friend paused before answering. ‘I think it might be best if I phone in sick for the rest of this afternoon. I’ve got somewhere I can stay for a few days.’
‘Take the battery out of your mobile, Russ. Just in case.’ Will sighed. ‘I’m sorry – I really didn’t mean to drag you into this. I thought if I came to work rather than phone you, we’d be okay.’
‘Just get the bastard, all right? Whatever he’s done, or doing – stop him. Before he hurts anyone else.’
‘Yeah. Look after yourself. Give me a call tomorrow if you can and I’ll give you an update.’
‘Got it.’
Will stared at the phone for a moment after his friend disconnected, then placed the receiver back in the cradle.
He sank into the hard chair at the desk and pulled the laptop closer.
In the photograph, Rossiter stood beside the three other men, one being Colin Avery, the other Gregory. The fourth man was still a mystery.
He frowned, then pulled up the Internet search engine and typed in Ian Rossiter’s name and the words ‘army service’.
Within seconds, several search results appeared on the screen.
As Will scrolled through them, opening the hyperlinks and discounting one name after another, he came to a conclusion.
Rossiter didn’t serve in the British Army.
Will scratched his chin and enlarged the photograph on the screen.
If Rossiter wasn’t in the army, then what was he doing in a photograph with two men who were dressed in camouflage?
He yawned, checked his watch and was surprised to see the time was past two o’clock in the morning. He leaned forward and began to shut down the computer, flipped shut his notebook and stowed everything into his backpack, before putting the bag next to the bed.
As he lay in the dark waiting for sleep to claim him, he briefly considered going to the police first thing in the morning, before discounting the idea.
Rossiter was too powerful, his press secretary more so, and Will didn’t know how far their reach extended.
If he went to the police they might have contacts there, and any chance he had to work out what was going on and how to expose Rossiter would be lost.
And if he pushed too hard, he’d be putting Amy’s life at risk. He was sure Rossiter wouldn’t be adverse to an attempt on her life, despite the armed guards at the hospital, if he thought his political ambitions were at risk.
He rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers up to his chin as rain lashed the window, the constant hum of the building’s air conditioning lulling him to sleep.
He had to keep going, to find enough evidence that Rossiter wouldn’t be able to deny anything.
Somehow, in the morning, he had to make progress, before he ran out of time.
20
Rossiter hurried along the hallway, then into Gregory’s office and slammed the door shut.
‘Sir Michael is on board,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Not only that, he’s arranging an immediate six figure donation – today.’
He frowned when Gregory didn’t respond with the enthusiasm he’d expect at such news, then realised the man had been sat with his head in his hands since he’d entered the room.
‘What is it?’
Gregory raised his head and dropped his hands to the desk, then gestured to his boss to take a seat. ‘We have a problem.’
Rossiter felt a pang of worry worm its way around his heart as he lowered himself into the armchair. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘What?’
‘My people finished working their way through the hard drive last night,’ said Gregory. ‘Although we’ve got all of the reporter’s notes, they don’t include any of the photographs she said she had.’
Rossiter uncrossed his arms and began to tap his fingers on the arm of the chair. ‘Nothing at all?’
Gregory shook his head.
‘Fuck it.’ Rossiter punched the armchair, and then moved until he was standing at the window behind Gregory’s chair. ‘They’re absolutely sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you plan to do now?’
Gregory turned in his chair and met his boss’s stare. ‘We’ve been tracking Will Fletcher since the press conference,’ he said, then shrugged. ‘We have to assume there’s a second copy of the hard drive – one that has everything on it. He may have some original documents too. Including the one we’re after.’
He didn’t need to mention the exact document to Rossiter. They both knew. They hadn’t found it twenty years ago, and although its presence then was dangerous, in light of Rossiter’s popularity in pre-election opinion polls, it was becoming even more desperate to find it now.
Neither of the men were inclined to chance speaking about it within the confines of the room, despite Gregory’s security team’s insistence that the area was swept for listening devices on a daily basis. Closely-run elections often brought out the worst in the competition, and eavesdropping was commonplace. Hell, even Rossiter’s team had spies in the other parties.
Rossiter nodded to the patio doors. ‘Let’s take a walk.’
‘Of course,’ said Gregory, a false eagerness in his voice. ‘I could do with some fresh air after being cooped up in here.’
The two men strolled across the paved patio area that swept around the east wing of the house, then stepped over a low wall and continued their walk along a gravel path that led away from the building. For a moment, the only sound was that of their shoes crunching over the small stones.
Rossiter slowed his pace as they approached a statue set into a fork in the path, then leaned against the base of it, and turned towards the house, gritting his teeth. He beat an uneven rhythm with his clenched fist against the carved stone, the past week’s events running through his mind once more as he ran a critical eye over the Georgian mansion that had become his house.
Not a home, he thought. Never that. For the past seven years, he’d been carefully planning, making strat
egic decisions that would lead, eventually, to the one residential address he’d be more than willing to call home.
Number Ten, Downing Street.
His attention turned back to Gregory and he rubbed his hand over his chin before he finally spoke. ‘How do you want to do this?’’
‘As quietly as possible,’ said Gregory.
‘How quietly?’
‘I think we begin by having him followed, starting now,’ said the adviser. ‘It’s all very well watching his movements electronically, but I’d like a couple of men out there.’ He pursed his lips. ‘At least then, if anything does need to be done, they’re already in position to deal with the matter.’
Rossiter kicked at a large stone. ‘Is that wise? Won’t there be questions?’
Gregory shook his head. ‘They’re very good at making it look like suicide or an accident, Ian.’
‘Yet you were reluctant to kill the reporter.’
‘It’s a lot easier to deal with someone who isn’t under armed guard,’ snapped Gregory.
Rossiter held up his hand. ‘You’re right, sorry.’ He shifted his weight, trying to ease the burning sensation that had started to crawl over his shoulder once more. ‘How will we deal with the fallout?’
‘All we’d need to do is have you read out a statement at a press conference afterwards conveying your sadness at his passing and suggesting that the shock of his girlfriend being in a coma was obviously too much for him to bear,’ said Gregory. ‘After that, the media will run with it, the public will accept it, and within twenty-four hours the police will have plenty of other crimes on their hands that will warrant further investigation.’ He shrugged, and squinted into the distance.
‘The world will have forgotten about Will Fletcher within a week, I guarantee it.’
21
Will caught movement out the corner of his eye, lowered the newspaper he was reading, and then stood as Erin Hogarth approached his table in the motel’s small restaurant.
‘Good morning,’ he said, pulling out a chair for her.
She acknowledged the gesture with a small smile. ‘Morning.’
As Will returned to his seat, a waitress appeared. ‘The kitchen closes in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘What can I get for you?’
She handed a menu to Erin, and then thrust an identical one under Will’s nose. ‘There’s no more grapefruit juice,’ she said.
Will ignored her and turned his attention to Erin. ‘Have you eaten this morning?’
‘Not yet.’ She closed the menu and handed it back to the waitress. ‘I’ll have a black coffee and the poached eggs on toast, please.’
The waitress arched an eyebrow at Will.
‘Full English,’ he said. ‘And coffee.’
When the waitress had retreated to the kitchen, he propped his elbows on the table.
‘Why did you want to see me so urgently?’ he asked. ‘I was surprised to hear from you so soon.’
Erin played with her paper napkin. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you up.’ She screwed the napkin into a ball. ‘I didn’t realise it was so early until after I put the phone down.’
Will shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. What did you want to talk about?’
Her gaze shifted, and the waitress reappeared.
They waited while she deposited a coffee pot, milk and sugar, and then walked away once more.
Erin leaned forward and lowered her voice.
‘There were some people at the house last night,’ she said. ‘People I haven’t seen before.’
She picked up the coffee pot and filled both their cups.
Will frowned. ‘Your uncle – sorry, Rossiter – is trying to win a General Election,’ he said. ‘I’m sure there are a few people you haven’t seen around before. He must be pulling in everyone he knows to help him win the election.’
She shook her head. ‘No – they weren’t like the usual people.’
‘What do you mean?’
She reached across and tore open a sugar packet, stirring the contents into her coffee. ‘These people arrived just after it got dark. They weren’t wearing suits, or anything else that you’d expect a campaign team to wear.’ She put the spoon down. ‘I don’t know, Will – two men turn up late at night, with equipment cases, and disappear into a room that Gregory has cordoned off so no one can enter it without his permission. What does that tell you?’
‘Rossiter, or Gregory, didn’t want the rest of the campaign team to know what they were doing there?’
‘Exactly.’
The aroma of fried food reached Will’s senses moments before the waitress reappeared with their breakfasts, and they stopped talking while they attacked the food.
After a few moments, once Will’s stomach had stopped rumbling, he set down his knife and fork and took a sip of coffee.
‘I wonder what they were doing there.’
Erin shook her head. ‘I’ve got no idea. I wasn’t staying at the house so it would have seemed odd if I’d hung around any longer. I saw Gregory go into the room after they arrived – he was only with them for fifteen minutes or so, and then went back to his own office.’
‘Did Rossiter say anything to you before you left?’ Will dug his fork into a piece of bacon, relishing the greasy taste as it hit his taste buds.
‘No. I wandered into his study to let him know I was leaving. He seemed distracted, but had a heap of campaign press releases on his desk so I figured he was concentrating on those.’
She pushed her plate away and sighed. ‘I needed that, thanks.’
Will finished his breakfast and topped up their coffee. ‘Do you think they were there because of what Amy was working on?’
‘I do, yes.’
‘Do you know what else she was investigating? I mean, before you contacted her?’
Erin shook her head, her brow creasing. ‘She wouldn’t say – and I don’t think she was being secretive on purpose,’ she said, holding up a hand to stop Will’s protest. ‘She was doing her job – making sure she had all the facts right – before she made anything public. Cross-checking everything, you know?’
Will nodded. It sounded exactly the way Amy worked.
‘I know it was something to do with his past,’ Erin mused. ‘Something to do with how his construction business had been set up in the first place.’
‘What’s the connection with your father?’ asked Will. ‘How do they know each other?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Erin. ‘I lived with my mum until I was seven. Dad reappeared one day and moved back in.’ She looked away. ‘Mum died in a road accident six months later.’
Will reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Not long after that, Dad got a phone call from Ian, offering him some work down this way, and we moved south.’
‘Do you know where your Dad had been?’
‘Northern Ireland.’
Will let his gaze wander round the empty restaurant. ‘So, your father and your uncle worked together over in Belfast, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes. Dad always worked in construction – he was an electrician. I think that’s how they met when they were younger.’
Will tapped his bottom lip. ‘But Rossiter didn’t start his construction business until 2000 here,’ he murmured. ‘So how did they know each other in Belfast if Rossiter wasn’t running a construction business at that time?’
Erin shrugged, and then frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe that’s the angle Amy has been investigating?’
Will opened his mouth to tell her about the hard drive, before he clamped it shut. He still didn’t know whether he could trust Erin and, at the moment, there were some thoughts he wanted to keep to himself – at least until he’d had a chance to finish going through Amy’s files. He leaned forward and rubbed his hand over his face before balancing his elbows on his knees.
‘What are you thinking?’ said Erin.
He shrugged. ‘I’m wonderin
g what to do next.’
‘You might want to go and talk to your mother.’
Will sat up straight. ‘What? What would make you say that? How do you know my mother?’
‘I don’t,’ said Erin. ‘But the last time I saw Amy, she mentioned that she was going to go and see her.’
‘When was this?’
‘About a month ago. We caught up for a coffee when I was in the city for a meeting.’ She sighed. ‘I was getting scared. I wanted to know what she was doing about Rossiter. I wanted to know whether she’d confronted him with what I’d told her.’
When Will raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. ‘She hadn’t – she was still collecting evidence for the main angle of her story. And she wasn’t telling anyone anything that would mean her losing her advantage, either. She wasn’t going to let anyone else near this story.’
Will slumped back into the folds of the chair.
‘She didn’t tell you she went to see her, did she?’ Erin picked up her coffee and stared at him over the rim of the cup, before taking a sip.
Will sighed. ‘No. No, she didn’t.’
22
Will rubbed his hands over his face, and pushed the chair back from the small desk. He’d gone back to the room after Erin had left, the echoes of their conversation filling his mind.
He’d decided to spend the rest of the morning completing his search through Amy’s files and notes before doing anything else.
He’d gone round in circles, trying to find anything that would lead to a clue about Rossiter’s university days, but the search engine results were noticeably thin.
Someone had ensured that the man’s background information didn’t include whatever he’d done in Northern Ireland, or once he’d first arrived back in England.
Will groaned. It would have been incredibly easy to erase any unsavoury history before the internet search engine had really taken off, and that was exactly what someone had done.
He leaned over and picked up the mug of tea next to the laptop, then grimaced as he took a sip and remembered it was an hour old.
He realised he had to catch up with where Amy had got to in her investigation – and fast.
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