Belfast Confidential

by Bateman, Colin

  'Why don't you go out for a jog?' Patricia asked eventually.

  'Why don't you go yourself, porky?' I said.

  She slammed the lounge door on her way upstairs. I went out for a drive. I was gone about an hour, just driving, thinking, then I went home to apologise to her. I came through the door with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine, already saying, 'I'm really sorry—' but Trish was nodding across the room. May Li was sitting there. She was wearing a red silk shirt and black jeans and her long black hair was tied up in a pony tail. She smiled at me and said, 'Hello, Dan.'

  Patricia said, 'I'll just make a cup of tea.' She moved into the kitchen and slid the divider closed after her. I didn't hear her filling the kettle or getting cups, just a slight scrape as she pulled a chair out from the kitchen table.

  'So,' I asked, 'howse it hangin'?'

  There are certain phrases that Linguaphone haven't gotten around to yet. May Li's brow furrowed slightly. 'I asked to speak to you alone. Patricia agrees as long as I don't ask you to do something stupid. I agree because I want to speak to you alone, and believe that stupidity is open to interpretation.'

  'That's what I always say.'

  We both smiled. I sat down opposite her.

  She clasped her hands in her lap and said: 'You were Mouse's best friend, but you don't know me from a mad man.'

  'Adam.'

  'Adam?'

  'Adam is the expression. You don't know me from Adam. Although I think it dates from a time when there were a lot more people called Adam.'

  She nodded. 'I think this will be a lot quicker if you don't point out all of my linguistic shortcomings. I have only been in Belfast a few months – you can't expect me to talk like a nigger.'

  'Native,' I said.

  'I know,' said May Li. 'That was a joke.'

  'Politically suspect,' I said, 'but otherwise right on the button.'

  'Button?' asked May Li. We smiled at each other again. 'Mouse always said you were a smart cunt,' she observed.

  'Alec,' I corrected, but she stood her ground.

  'My husband has been murdered, and the police are investigating, but they do not inspire me with confidence. In my country, many police are corrupt, and if they are not corrupt, they are lazy and stupid. Is it the same here?'

  'It's pretty much universal,' I said.

  'I thought so. This is not my country, Dan, I do not have friends or relatives here, and my instinct is to go home, to sell off my husband's business interests here.'

  'That's understandable.'

  'But also – my husband loved this country. He loved the people and he loved the fact that he had become successful through his own efforts. Part of me feels that I would be betraying him if I allowed Belfast Confidential to be sold or to founder. Do you understand that?' I nodded. 'I don't know why he was killed. Perhaps to prevent publication of some fact or other, perhaps to gain revenge for some perceived slight, or perhaps it was some business disagreement. I don't know, Dan, but if I leave or sell without finding out, then I feel I will have dishonoured the memory of the man I loved.'

  'You wouldn't be – but I know what you're saying.'

  'And do you also know why I am here, and what I am going to ask?'

  'Not exactly, but I'm starting to get palpitations.'

  'Why?'

  'Because I've had enough trouble and shite.'

  'I want you to run Belfast Confidential for me.'

  'I've been threatened and shot at and my life made a misery at every turn.'

  'I want you to finish researching the Power List and I want you to publish it the way Mouse intended.'

  'My son lost his life and I almost lost my wife.'

  'I want you to find out who killed him and why, and I want that person brought to justice.'

  'We've only just pulled ourselves out of that black hole, we have no desire to throw ourselves back into it.'

  'In return I will give you a fifty per cent share of Belfast Confidential. My husband's accountants have valued the core business at more than six million pounds.'

  'It's not about the fucking money.'

  'I know that. But I am a woman, and we must address practical matters.'

  'Yes, we must,' said Patricia. I had not heard the divide open. She was standing with her arms folded, looking at May Li.

  'Trish,' I said, somewhat defensively, 'I haven't agreed to anything.'

  'I know that.'

  May Li produced a folded copy of Belfast Confidential from her handbag; she flattened it out on her lap, then smoothed the cover further with her hand. 'Mouse had finished this when he . . .' She took a deep breath. 'We got it to print and it'll be in the shops tomorrow. We're about halfway along with next week's issue, but we need someone to hold it together, to make the right decisions. I'm not a journalist, I'm not . . .'

  The words trailed away. She smoothed the cover down again.

  I started talking without really knowing where I was going. 'Look – May Li, I know how much you must be hurting. Believe you me, we've been there, and what happened to Mouse, it just makes us sick to our souls. But he's gone and he's not coming back and nothing we do will change that. And yes, the police are corrupt and stupid, but there are some good ones as well and I think that sooner or later, whether by design or accident, they will find out what happened and someone will be, as you put it, brought to justice. You should, you know, let them get on with it. You should go home, get on with your life, you should . . .'

  She stood abruptly. Her eyes flamed angrily. 'Perhaps you should think about your great friend. He has been murdered and you are content to sit there and do nothing?'

  'No, May Li, I'm—'

  'You are content to let whoever killed him get their way?'

  'No, I'm not saying th—'

  'You are happy to have his memory insulted by doing nothing?'

  'No, please, just sit—'

  'And I offer to make you very rich indeed and you just throw it back in my face!'

  'I didn't throw—'

  'You are not his friend!'

  I looked desperately to Trish. She remained in the doorway, her arms folded, an odd look on her face. 'Where's the fucking support?' I snapped.

  'Well, I think May Li has a point.'

  'She has a lot of fucking points!'

  'Mouse was our mate, and we should do something about it.'

  'When you say we, you mean me, don't you?'

  'Well, obviously, yes, but you'll have my moral support.'

  'Trish! This goes against everything you've ever—'

  'Dan – it's for Mouse.'

  I looked from one to the other. I slumped back in my chair. Shook my head. 'It's all right for you two, you can just hang back. What if they lock me in the office and set fire to me as well?'

  'Well,' May Li began somewhat hesitatingly, 'at least we will have established a pattern.'

  I couldn't resist that one. I smiled. She smiled.

  And that, as they say, was that.

  Later, when May Li had gone, all smiles and thanks and solidarity and support, I cornered Trish in the kitchen. She had a bottle of wine open and was making me a ham bap for dinner. I had a can in my hand and a befuddled, bemused, confused and perplexed expression on my face, which was enough expression for a whole family of faces. In short, I didn't know what the hell she was playing at.

  So I asked. 'What the hell are you playing at?'

  'I'm not playing.'

  'Then what's going on? You want me to get involved?'

  'Yes.'

  'But it contradicts every—'

  'Dan.'

  'What?'

  'We went through years of hell after Stevie. We split up, for Christ sake, and then we got back together and it still wasn't right. Because we let it fester.' She put her glass down; she wiped her hands on a drying cloth. She came towards me. Put her arms around me. 'We only got back on an even keel when you dealt with it. You went out to Florida and you dealt with it.'

  'That was
n't me, it was—'

  'It was you, and you came back a changed man. A better man. Still an arse from time to time, but a better man, and we're a better couple.'

  'Then shouldn't we preserve that? If I get involved in this . . .'

  'I know you're a shit-magnet, Dan. But that's just how it is. And I know you. You might tell yourself you don't want to get involved, but it'll eat away at you.' She lowered her arms and gave me a playful poke in the chest. 'You'll make yourself miserable, you'll make me miserable. You have to do this. For you, for me, for May, for Mouse.'

  I half-laughed. 'For fuck sake, Trish. You just keep surprising me, do you know that?'

  'Well, isn't that how it should be?'

  'Up to a point.' She has me wound round her little finger. I am aware of it. 'Right,' I said wearily, 'okay. Whatever you say.'

  'Good. And do you know what else I say?'

  'Christ no.'

  'I say come upstairs with me, right now.'

  'Right now?'

  'Right now.'

  'For . . . ?' I asked. She raised a suggestive eyebrow. 'You're getting awful horny in your old age,' I tutted.

  'It's that whiff of danger. It's a bit of a turn-on.'

  'Are you serious?'

  She rolled her eyes. 'Will you just hurry up?' She turned for the stairs.

  'What about my bap?'

  'Fuck the bap, Dan.'

  I blew air out of my cheeks. 'I love a woman who talks dirty.'

  She smiled, and began to take the stairs two at a time.

  But still I hesitated. 'Trish?'

  'What?'

  'It's not about the money, is it? I mean, she's virtually giving us three million quid. Tell me you're not thinking I could just arse around with the mag and pretend to investigate and there's not a bloody thing she could do about it.'

  She gave me a look. 'Do you think I could possibly be that cynical?'

  I put my hands on my hips. 'Will my answer in any way affect the chances of me having sex in the next few minutes?'

  She smiled.

  I smiled back. 'There's not a cynical cell in your entire body,' I said, 'and just in case there is, I'm going to launch a search and destroy mission for it . . . right now.'

  12

  I recognised a few of their faces from the funeral, but for the most part they were complete strangers casting curious looks my way. May Li had called a staff meeting in a disused computer showroom we were going to use as a temporary office. It was more or less opposite the burned-out shell of Belfast Confidential. According to the books there were six journalists, a Deputy Editor, two photographers, three designers, two receptionist/secretaries and six advertising staff on the magazine. Only about half of them had turned up. May Li introduced herself first, because she'd only visited the magazine twice, and made all the right noises about being fully behind continued publication, about providing additional security and about not giving in to terror. I could have pointed out that half of our staff already had, but it didn't seem right to start on such a negative note. Then she introduced me, and I wasn't exactly overwhelmed by the warmth of their welcome.

  I've never been one for standing up in public, unless it's to make a tit of myself, but I realised the importance of this first meeting. Trish had sat me down and settled my nerves and made me do the speech for her. She'd nodded positively throughout, then got up and gone to the front door and said, 'I'm not working for a pretentious wanker like you.' So we worked on the speech a little more, and a little more after that, and then I tried it again and she said, 'Not bad, but maybe you'd be better just being yourself.' We looked at each other then and laughed heartily, and went back to work on the speech.

  So I delivered it, sitting on the edge of a desk, looking them in the eye, and I talked about Mouse and what a friend he'd been, and how he'd turned his life around, and how he loved Belfast and thought it was the equal of any place on earth, that there was as much talent here, as much creative energy as any city in Europe, and he wanted Belfast Confidential to reflect that. He believed that Northern Ireland had emerged as a better, stronger place for what it had been through, but it was important to always be aware that it could slip back into the abyss, and that was what Belfast Confidential was about as well, exposing the cheats and the charlatans and the recidivists, and that if Mouse was here today he would be urging us to get right back to work, not to give up, but to face the future with determination and bravery and also to crack a few jokes.

  Or something like that.

  When I finished there was a desultory round of applause. I hadn't expected to be carried on their shoulders down to the pub, but I'd hoped for a slightly better reaction. I heard someone say, 'Wow, just like Braveheart,' but it was heavy with sarcasm.

  Virtually nothing had been saved from the fire, so May Li had splashed out on a new computer system, photographic equipment and all of the little things without which an office cannot work. Like coffee and staples. I let them choose their own desks. When that turned into a mad free-for-all I cancelled that plan and assigned them individually. Then I asked Mouse's Deputy Editor to meet me upstairs in my own office, which was, understandably, the best in the building. It was a perk. It looked directly across at the old offices, which was another one, a useful reminder of why I was there, and what could happen.

  I walked May Li back downstairs to her car. She said, 'Good speech,' and I laughed. 'No, really, I mean it.' She put a hand on my arm. She was wearing a black shirt and a short black skirt. Patricia could have told me what designer labels they came from, I just knew that they looked good, but not as good as May Li did, with her black hair worn long and her warm fingers pressed into my freckled arm and her smile-with-a-hint-of-sadness which just made you want to pick her up and hug her.

  I am a happily married man, and I have been known to be distracted in the past, but I wanted to do this Belfast Confidential thing, and I wanted to do it properly. I wanted to prove that I could do it properly. Prove it to everyone, prove it to Trish, prove it to myself.

  'May Li,' I began.

  She put a finger to her lips and said, 'Shhhh. I know what you're going to say. That you want to run Belfast Confidential your way, that you don't want me calling in every five minutes giving my opinion on how it should be done, or plaguing you every day to see how the investigation is going. I understand that. It was the same with Mouse. Strictly hands off.'

  'Actually, I was just going to say, "have a nice day".'

  She smiled. She was a good five inches shorter than me; she went up on her toes and kissed me on the cheek. She smelled of Imperial Leather and Colgate. At this time of the morning Patricia still smelled of last night's Lambrusco and quite often went to work with a Rice Krispie stuck to her cheek. It was easy to see how a man could be distracted by a woman like May Li. Not me, fortunately, as I had a world to put to rights.

  Brian Kerr was waiting in my office. There wasn't much to him – a scrawny-looking soul, about forty years old, with thinning hair and wire-framed glasses. It's usually best not to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes you can, and I have found quite often that my first instinct about someone is the correct one. Brian looked like a whiner.

  First thing he said was, 'She's gone and bought state-of-the-art computers. We were working on this cheap old crap, but at least we knew how they worked. It'll take us a good couple of weeks to get up to scratch on these'uns. How long are we delaying publication by?'

  'We're not.'

  He smiled. 'No, seriously.'

  'Yes, seriously.'

  'You're fucking joking.'

  'I'm fucking not.'

  'It's impossible.'

  'They said Everest was impossible.'

  'Hundreds of people died before someone conquered Everest.'

  'Well, it's a good thing we don't have hundreds of people.'

  I smiled. He didn't. He said, 'Well, we have more than this, but they're scared of coming in.'

  'Scared of what?'

  'Getting bu
rned to death.'

  'Can you call them and tell them it's okay?'

  'Is it okay?'

  'Well, I don't smell smoke. Will you call them?'

  'Some of them are freelance, they'll have taken other work.'

  'Well, try them.'

  'And if I tell them you're sticking to the schedule they'll laugh in my face.'

  'I think you should call them.'

  'We can't do it. I mean, Jesus Christ man, this is Monday – we're due at the printers on Thursday.'

  'Yup. That's the plan.'

  He rubbed at his weak chin. 'Well, half our guys are working on the Power List issue – if we pull them off that and concentrate on just getting the usual magazine out, maybe we can do it. Scale down, cut back on the pagination, bump the Power List for six months.'

  'The Power List appears as normal, three weeks from now.'

  'That's impossible.'

  'They said Everest was impossible.'

  He looked at me. 'You obviously haven't edited a magazine before.'

  'That's true.'

  'It's not like a newspaper.'

  'I'd noticed that.'

  'It's not just about getting stories, you can't just phone it in.'

  'I think I'm aware of that.'

  'We've lost everything, we'll be starting from scratch.'

  Behind his head, out of the window and across the road, firemen were hauling down the burned-out Belfast Confidential sign. He saw where I was looking. 'Are you not scared at all?' he asked. 'Of ending up like Mouse?'

  I shrugged. 'Who do you think did it?'

  'I've been through it all with the police.'

  'I'm sure you have. Nevertheless . . .'

  'I find it's best not to speculate.'

  'Brian, you're a journalist, you're paid to speculate.'

  'Well, to be strictly accurate, I'm a Deputy Editor. I pay other people to speculate.'