by Seb Kirby
“Anything more?”
“No. That’s it.”
“You’re going to be all right? Perhaps I should come over later.”
“No, it’s OK. Let’s catch up tomorrow. You’re OK for lunch?”
“Of course. See you then.” She closes the line.
I haven’t told her about McLeish taking me off the Stanley story. Since this is so much at the forefront of my anger, I need to tell her about this face to face.
I resume my walk along Bankside and head for the Pride of London. It’s early. The after-office crowd are not yet massing. Inside, I find space at the bar and order a large scotch with a dash of water. The golden liquid slides down as if it were made for me. My anger dims as the warm glow of the whisky spreads throughout me.
I ask for another and tell myself I should give this one more time.
“Emma! What are you doing here?”
I turn. It’s James Walsh with a glass of whisky in his hand.
I don’t want him to see me like this. Angry. Drinking this early. But here he is.
It’s all I can think of saying. “You’re not still at the Globe?”
He shakes his head. “I was more or less finished. Something told me it was a good time to call in for a drink.” He gives me a warm smile. “And that’s the best decision I’ve made all day.”
I try to smile back but a smile won’t come. “Sorry. But you haven’t caught me at my best.”
“Work problems? We all have them.”
“This is off the scale.”
He gives me a reassuring look that says: go on, you can tell me. A problem shared…..
Maybe it’s the whisky. Perhaps it’s his calm and understanding manner. I find it easy to confide in him. And as I do so, my anger begins to subside.
I tell him about McLeish and how he’s taken me off the story. I tell him about Adam Stanley, the video and how I’ve discovered the identity of the person in it. He doesn’t interrupt until I mention Tony Galbraith.
“Tony Galbraith? It’s hard to imagine he would have anything on a man like Stanley.”
“Then why would he be giving Galbraith all that money?”
“For something personal?”
“Like what?”
He scratches his cheek. “Perhaps Galbraith is blackmailing Stanley about some affair he’s having, threatening to tell his wife. Or paying him for drugs. Could be any one of a dozen reasons.”
I don’t want to hear what James is saying but I fear he might be right. There’s no way to be sure Galbraith is being straight with me. What if he were just a good actor?
“I feel I can trust him.”
“There may be not that many in London who would say the same. As McLeish told you, the man’s a serious criminal.”
“And criminals aren’t capable of telling the truth. Is that it?”
“No. But you shouldn’t be betting your whole career on a hunch like that.”
I have to admit he’s right. The path that led to the job at the Herald wasn’t easy. I’ve sacrificed a lot to be here. I shouldn’t throw it all away now.
We share two more doubles. The more I talk with him, the more the drink seeps in, the more comfortable I feel.
When he suggests we go home early, I agree.
Sex with James is good. Better than it ever was with Mark who now, more than ever, is a fading memory.
My bedroom feels a lot more like home as we lie together in each other’s arms.
DAY 4
CHAPTER 26
I wake to find a space next to me in the bed.
James must have left in the night while I slept.
Without saying a word.
Why have I allowed him into my life in such a reckless way? Was the sex just the result of the drink and the feeling I somehow have to get back at them all?
At Mark. McLeish. Angela Smith. And Stanley and his kind?
Yet, in that moment, it was right. I trusted my feelings for the first time in ages.
And now he’s gone.
Nothing has changed. I feel no different. Why should I expect anything more?
Perhaps, because in him I’ve sensed the beginning of something special.
I glance at the bedside clock. Six AM and it’s not even light. Not yet late enough to have to face the day.
The advice that James gave me plays through my mind. I’d be a fool to throw my career away now over Stanley, no matter how far McLeish pushes me into a corner. Which means turning up at the office, enduring the morning briefing and being reassigned to some nothing story. Well, if that’s what it’s going to take, I’ll swallow my pride. I’ll stay with the Stanley story, just as I’ll continue my work to free Brian Cooper. I’ll just have to be more careful to cover my tracks from the likes of Angela Smith.
My time with James must have helped me because I fall back into a deep sleep and need to rush to get ready for work when the alarm sounds at 7.00 AM.
The morning briefing is a trial.
There is no announcement from McLeish that the Stanley story is now dropped, just the absence of any mention of it. I sit there trying not to let my anger show.
It feels like a conspiracy as McLeish hands out the assignments and sets the deadlines. It’s as if the Stanley video has never existed and no one will admit it ever did.
When McLeish turns to me, he gives me the simplest of tasks. “Emma. There’s a spike in inflation that will hit hardest the living standards of families with children. I want you to get onto the Institute for Public Finances and come back with five hundred words by today’s eight PM deadline. Nothing fancy. Strip away all the economic flab in their report and boil the whole thing down to the bread and butter issues. Get the government response and that of any of the other relevant players. Any problems?”
I shake my head. I want to tell the meeting I’m being side-lined and McLeish is a coward for giving in to pressure from the owner to drop the Stanley story. But instead I bite my lip. “I’ve got it, Bill. You’ll have it by four.”
Across the table, Angela Smith gives a knowing smile.
I smile back. My time will come. Until then, I’ll play the game.
There is a certain consolation in working on the inflation story. A break from the pressing concerns in my life.
I read the IPF report and summarize its findings. Imported foods will cost more in the coming months. That will affect families with children whose in-work benefits are due to be cut, anyway. The result will be to tip another four million below the poverty line unless government policy changes.
Next, I carry out a telephone interview with Emily Bayliss, a spokesperson for the Institute, from whom I extract enough relevant quotations to flavor the story. The comments are critical of the government and I know McLeish will demand balance. To cover that, I obtain denials from Downing Street, saying they are, and always will be, on the side of working families.
By twelve o’clock, I’ve composed and polished the story. McLeish asked for five hundred words and that is what he’ll get. But not yet. I have the rest of the day to return to what is important in my life.
And I’ll start by meeting Sophie at the Tate. But before that, I owe Terry Grant a visit.
If I’m honest with myself, the visit to Hammersmith Hospital is as much about guilt and self-preservation as any hope this will benefit Grant. Guilt that the reason he’s there at all is down to his meeting with me. Self-preservation because I hope he’ll tell me enough about what happened to allow me to understand why contact with me led to the beating. Knowing this will leave me in a better position to stay safe if the same threat comes my way.
In the event, the meeting doesn’t take place. A stern-faced ward sister tells me that Grant can receive no visitors today. Despite every effort to convince her otherwise, the ban remains.
I walk away, none the wiser.
CHAPTER 27
“I don’t get why you’re so interested in this, Steve. Aren’t the killings enough?” DS Lesley struggles t
o keep up with Ives as he bounds up the stairs to Ward 5 in Hammersmith Hospital.
Ives gives her a non-committal look. “I need to be here. Grant is small time, but it’s not who he is so much as who he knows.”
“You’re still obsessing about Tony Galbraith?”
“Let’s not call it that, June. Let’s say it’s more in the nature of an abiding interest.”
The report that Terry Grant was admitted with life-threatening injuries was noted by Ives as soon as it came in. The man is a known associate of Galbraith and that’s more than enough to arouse Ives’ interest.
Ives and Galbraith go back over ten years. It’s common knowledge all across the East End that Tony Galbraith is into drugs, protection and worse. Yet the man is untouchable. Each time Ives pulls him in and there is even the hint he could be placed at the scene of a crime, he produces a viable alibi and leaves the station with a smile on his face. No one will give evidence against him. It isn’t just that he inspires fear, though he resorts to that when necessary, he enjoys genuine respect amongst many for the times he’s helped them with rogue landlords or troublesome neighbors. Ives hates how Galbraith, as a man of the people, places himself beyond the law and he sees it as a duty and a personal challenge to bring the man down.
And now Grant has regained consciousness and is out of intensive care.
As they approach the Ward, Ives stares at a beautiful woman walking towards and then past them.
Lesley gives him a nudge in the ribs with her elbow. “Put it away, Steve.”
He doesn’t apologize. “You don’t know who that is, do you? That’s Emma Chamberlain.”
Lesley stops. “I didn’t recognize her. Can’t imagine what she’s doing here.”
“Now that, June, is a comment worth making.”
They are shown to a bed at the center of the ward that’s screened off in preparation for their visit.
Grant, propped up on three pillows, looks away as Ives and Lesley push their way inside the screens.
“I have nothing to say.”
Ives sits on the edge of the bed while Lesley stands, taking notes.
“I haven’t asked you anything yet, Terry.”
“I still don’t want you here.”
“Why not tell us who did this to you?”
“Did what?”
“Look at you. Battered from head to foot.”
“Fell downstairs. My own fault. Should have looked where I was going.”
“Come on Terry. Don’t you want to get back at them?”
“I told you. I fell.”
Ives gives a wry smile. “There’s a witness who says you were beaten by two men with baseball bats. You’re up to something, Terry. You and Tony Galbraith.”
“It has nothing to do with Tony.”
“So, there is something. Enough to put you in the frame for such a beating.”
Grant shifts his gaze towards Lesley and then back to Ives. “Can’t you just leave now. I’m not a well man.”
Ives looks him straight in the eyes. “Well, take your time and get better. And when you do, make sure to let Galbraith know I’m on his case.”
CHAPTER 28
I’ve been holding back on of the Stanley story with Sophie for too long. I need her help more with Brian Cooper. But so much has changed. Now, as we sit looking down on the Thames from our vantage point at the Tate, it all comes out.
I tell Sophie about the meeting with Tony Galbraith and how he is the one in the video with Adam Stanley. And I tell her how McLeish reacted, taking me off the story.
Sophie holds up her hand. “Wait a moment, Emma. McLeish may have done you a favor.”
I shake my head. “How can you say that?”
“Well, there’s sometimes a good reason for the fight but it has to be one with the possibility of success.”
“You’re saying Stanley is so powerful he should keep getting away with it?”
“No. But you need a chance of winning.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear that from you.”
“It’s because I want you to understand what taking on a man like Stanley means.”
“You’re the second person to warn me off him.”
“It’s good advice, believe me. Stanley has contacts. Not just in politics. Everywhere. In national security. The police. Gangland. I know because of what I’ve seen passing through our law firm. He’s a man everyone seeks to avoid.”
“Sometimes it’s not possible.”
Sophie takes my hand. “Listen. I’m trying to look out for you. Make sure you know what you’re getting into. The sensible way is to forget about Stanley, accept what McLeish has done as a welcome way out. Take this pressure off. Have more time to work on Cooper’s problems, if you like. Stanley will be found out. People like him always are. Meanwhile, you can get your life back together.”
Sophie means the best. It’s true. I am on the edge of losing control. And I’ve been this way for too long. But there is no turning back.
“I’m going to carry on working the Stanley story. Call it a matter of principle.”
“I wish you’d change your mind.”
“I can’t do that.”
Sophie gives a well-meaning shrug. “So, if I can’t convince you, at least tell me about your new man.”
“He’s not my man.”
“Don’t say you’ve not been seeing him?”
I lower my head a little. “Just the once.”
That is enough of a clue. “You’ve done more than see him.”
“Let’s say we’re closer than we were.”
“How close?”
“I’ll let you know.” I try to change the subject. “You said you have news.”
Sophie leans back. “I’ve managed to get access to the prosecution paperwork on the Cooper case. There was a witness who placed Cooper eighty miles away on the night of the murders.”
“And the witness was never called?”
“No. It’s not as uncommon as many suppose. The prosecution should reveal all evidence collected by the police that might be relevant to the defense. But the temptation is always there to bury it. Call it human frailty. Prosecution lawyers want the credit for winning in court. The police want the credit for putting dangerous criminals away. How many times do you see them going on TV after the trial to reassure the public that justice has been done? And, don’t forget, those kind of successes are how careers are made and promotions achieved. There are few rewards for bringing a failed prosecution.”
“So they quietly forget about a witness, even at the risk of an innocent man being convicted?”
Sophie leans closer. “Don’t jump so far ahead. All we can be sure about is the witness should have been heard. We don’t know about the quality of the testimony or how reliable the evidence might have been. That would be for the jury to decide.”
“But the fact is, evidence was withheld. Surely that’s enough to ring alarm bells?”
“Yes, it’s a matter for concern. But nothing more at this stage. Perhaps the prosecution had good reason for wanting to discount the testimony of this witness. We need to question any claims of that kind.”
“So, who’s the witness?”
“Her name is Marsha Kent. Lives in Southampton. Or, at least she used to.”
“You can track her down?”
Sophie nods. “I have a big case coming up and it will keep me in court for more of my time, but I’ll do my best.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“OK.” She pauses. “One thing. When are you next able to talk to Cooper?”
“I have a call booked with him.”
“Then you should ask him why he’s never mentioned Marsha Kent.”
“I will.”
I steel myself for what I’m about to say next. “I’m still not getting past those questions about who I am. It’s causing me so much pain. I need to see the grave. I don’t think I can go to Brompton on my own.”
Sophie gives a reassuring smi
le. “You shouldn’t be worrying. I’ve freed up some time today. Better to get this settled right away.”
CHAPTER 29
Ives meets Lesley to look over the evidence board she’s set up on her screen in the incident room. It displays photographs of the two victims, Alastair Cavendish and William Bishop, both before and after their deaths. And, at this stage, little else.
“OK, June. Let’s take Eliane Bishop’s suspicions at face value. If her husband was killed by someone who’s career in jail he jump-started, then why would the revenge motive extend to Cavendish?”
“Fair point. Cavendish has nothing to do with the legal system as far as we know. He’s been fully involved in finance and the City. And, to date, there’s no indication that the two men knew each other.”
“So, we’re hunting for anything that connects the murders. Other than the similarity in the MO?”
“Except there’s little to link them at this stage.”
“Keep searching. I want to see every single association between the two men, no matter how distant or trivial it might seem.”
“There’s always the possibility that he’s chosen them both at random.”
Ives gives her a quizzical glance. “Correct, June. Quite correct.” He pauses. “Do we have anything more back from Julienne on what she’s found on the bodies?”
“She’s more or less finished with Cavendish and is well along the way with Bishop. She’s still at the early stages. There is evidence. DNA, fibers, hair and dirt particles. Too much of it. But she’s not yet able to link any of this to our man.”
“And we’re now tracking any calls made from the phone used to summon Bishop into the garden?”
“Yes, we have that in place. But nothing’s coming back so far.”
Ives stares at the photographs of the bloodied bodies of both victims, imagining the severity of the attacks made upon them.
“There’s real rage in this, June. All that anger being let out in a fury of stabbing. And then, there’s this something else.”
He points to the two long cuts between the nipples on both corpses. “Just what is he trying to tell us?”
