Songs of Innocence: The thrilling third book in the Hannah Weybridge series

by Anne Coates

  “There’s something we need to discuss.”

  “Okay, I’ll email my copy over and come into the office.”

  “Yes to emailing copy. But I’ll meet you somewhere else. How about The Boating Club? Give me an hour to finish up here?”

  “OK.” Hannah understood the code and replaced the receiver. She picked up her cup of cooling coffee and decided against drinking it. The file that Naaz had given her was in her desk and she quickly went through it making copies of the relevant pages on her fax machine. She had half-an-hour to get to The Ship on Borough High Street and booked a minicab. They’d worked out this plan a while ago. The editor, George, well aware that for some other newspapers Hannah was the story, wanted her to have a safe place away from other journos where they could discuss stories that might be sensitive. Only she and Rory were privy to the details.

  Hannah wrote a note for Janet and left it in the kitchen where she would see it and let herself out of the house just as the minicab pulled up outside. The driver wound down the window. “Hello Hannah, climb in. Where to, love?”

  By using a local minicab firm regularly, Hannah hoped to provide a modicum of security. She got to know most of the drivers and she always tipped well. The actual fare was on account.

  “Rum do, that Paki being found dead in Peckham Park,” the driver remarked as they set off. “Saw your story in The News.”

  “She was British.” Trust her luck to get a racist driver who wanted to talk.

  “Yeah well…”

  “And her family are originally from India not Pakistan.”

  “Same difference…they’re all…”

  Hannah didn’t hear what they all were as her mobile phone rang – Rory just letting her know he’d arrived.

  Fortunately the roads were relatively clear and the driver, taking the back doubles, got her to Borough High Street in record time. She was tempted not give a tip but thought better of it. You never knew when you wanted someone onside.

  ***

  Rory was sitting nursing a pint and got up to buy a glass of wine for Hannah.

  “So what’s this about Joe Rawlington?”

  “You’re not going to like this – his partner was arrested yesterday.”

  “What? That can’t be true.” Hannah couldn’t imagine what a freelance graphic designer would get arrested for.

  “’Fraid so. Gross indecency, allegedly. But if you ask me it looks like a set up. An Asian guy said he was propositioned in the toilets of a bar.”

  “But…

  “He’s seventeen.”

  “Shit.” Hannah was quiet for a moment.

  “I’ve spoken to a duty sergeant I know at that nick. Classic scam. Philip Tyrell went into the gents and our accuser followed him in. Happened to have someone with a camera along too.”

  “But surely Phil didn’t incriminate himself? In a public loo?”

  “No, of course he didn’t. It was a total set up to make it seem as though Philip Tyrell was soliciting.”

  “Well I think someone is trying to warn Joe off. His maiden speech was about Asian girls going missing from school, and the importance of protecting all our citizens and making sure they have equal opportunities whatever their ethnic background.”

  “All very laudable. Anything else you know?”

  “No.” Should she mention the obnoxious smelling parcel delivered to his flat the evening she went to dinner? She decided against it. “I went with him on a fact-finding tour of the schools in his constituency. The attitudes of some of the schools are pretty depressing. And coincidently a friend who teaches is also worried about the Asian girls in her classes. It’s all in the article I emailed.”

  “Ok – haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. So it doesn’t look like a coincidence that it was a young Asian guy. It was a clear message.” Rory looked thoughtful. “There’s a blackout on this news for the moment. Joe has the backing of his party whip. While it suits them. He isn’t the story – yet.”

  “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.” Hannah’s heart went out to her friend. The fear of this was exactly what had kept him out of standing for office in the past.

  “It’s better than nothing, believe me. Now,” he reached for her hand and made to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry I’m not coming on to you,” he whispered into her ear. “There’s a guy over there who hasn’t taken his eyes off you, so play along.” He sat back. “I’ll get us another drink.”

  Hannah smiled up at Rory who planted a kiss on her forehead then made for the bar.

  In the dim light, Hannah couldn’t make out the features of the man watching them. He folded his newspaper, as though he was about to do a crossword, his pen poised. Another man came in, got a drink and then sat at the same table. The first man didn’t acknowledge him but stood and departed leaving his newspaper on the table. Hannah noticed that the second man pulled it towards him. Then he too looked as though he was working on the cryptic clues.

  She wondered if the whole scenario had been acted out for her benefit. Trying to make her feel watched. But why would anyone do that? Paranoia, she consoled herself, it’s contagious. Then she noticed someone else about to leave and the man got up and followed him out…

  Rory returned with their drinks.

  “That man left.”

  “Mm, I noticed.” He swallowed some beer.

  “I know this sounds far-fetched, but I think that was set up to intimidate me. They got to Paul in prison. I’d be an easier target.”

  “Or maybe someone is trying to reassure you. You are being watched to protect you?”

  “Can’t say that makes me feel much better. Shall we get something to eat otherwise this wine will go straight to my head.”

  They ordered some sandwiches and while they were waiting Rory asked, “What do you think about Jane selling up and going to Cork?”

  Hannah stared at a circle of condensation on her glass. “I’m not sure actually. It seemed rather sudden. But with everything that happened after she returned to London, I sort of lost track of her movements.” And she mine, Hannah thought.

  “Rumour has it that Chris was fired from his job.”

  Hannah didn’t say anything. The house on the outskirts of Cork belonged to Chris, left to him by his grandmother. So if he’d lost his job, maybe it made sense to move there and sell up in London.

  “Drugs.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “He was fired for taking drugs while at work. He was…”

  “Wait a minute, how do you know all this?”

  “Jane told me.”

  “Then why ask me about it?” Hannah felt hurt that Jane hadn’t been able to confide in her. She hadn’t seemed unduly worried the last time they’d met. Although she had disappeared soon afterwards. They’d kept in touch, after a fashion, via email. It made Hannah feel even more isolated.

  Rory was studying her face. When their eyes met, she smiled at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Yes, you did. But so what?” The sandwiches arrived. “Tuck in, being hungry makes you irritable.”

  Hannah laughed. “Anyway back to Joe. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Think you know the answer to that one, Hannah. Widen your investigations. Keep digging.”

  “I’ve got the material for the next article. It makes difficult reading.” Hannah finished her wine. “D’you know, that story George sent me on the miracle premature baby who survived? It felt so good writing about happiness. Not digging for incriminating facts and worrying that people are setting you up.”

  “I know – women’s mag stuff.” He winked. “But you’d soon get bored with it.”

  “Maybe. Also, Mike Laurel took the photos. Is he on the level?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He seems a bit sleazy to me.”

  “Hannah, he’s a freelance photographer. He goes where the money is and sometimes it’s in the murkier side of life.”

  “Yes, well, I think he’s cree
py and he asked me out.”

  Rory almost choked on the last mouthful of his beer. “For heaven’s sake Hannah, you can’t hold that against him. You’re an attractive woman. Why shouldn’t he ask you out?”

  Hannah collected her things together. “No reason. Would you take these copies of the info on the safe houses that –” she was about to say Naaz gave me and corrected her slip in time – “I was given?”

  “Sure.” He tucked them into his jacket pocket and they walked to the door. “Try not to worry about Joe. And reassure him if he contacts you. So far he isn’t the news.”

  Hannah hugged him. “Thanks, Rory.”

  Rory watched her walking down the street. He looked across the road and saw the man who had been watching them in the pub…

  He flagged a taxi and once inside made a call. “She’s definitely being tailed.” What was she on to now?

  Joe sat down wearily and loosened his tie. It had been a long session in the House. And then the meeting with the chief whip the previous evening. He’d had no idea why he had been summoned and nearly collapsed when he was told about Phil’s arrest. The chief whip had offered him a drink and had reassured him that he had the party’s backing, but he had been rigorously questioned about his ‘social life’ and Phil’s. There were no skeletons in his closet Joe thought bitterly, but it seemed his security clearance might be compromised.

  He smiled across at Phil who looked haggard. Never should he have doubted him for a second as he had done in the whip’s office. He had hoped they were in this together, for the long haul. Now he wondered if he really could have a private life as a public person.

  “I’m so sorry, Phil, it’s me they’re after, not you. And I won’t be intimidated or blackmailed.”

  “That’s not much consolation.” Phil ran his hands through his hair. After his arrest and subsequent release he’d come home and showered, scrubbing his body trying to rid himself of the stench of the cell he’d been held in. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. I…”

  Joe felt snared in a mesh of sadness. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.”

  Phil looked up, his face furious. “Do you think I’d let those scum dictate how I live my life? I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I do. I just wanted to – oh I don’t know – give you a get-out clause.”

  He thought of Hannah, what she had been through, and wondered not for the first time where she found her strength. “Come on,” he said. “How about a nightcap before bed? You look like you could do with one and I know I do.”

  As Joe poured the drinks, he looked out across the London nightscape. “I am sorry, Phil. You were targeted because of me. But I can’t stop wondering what the hell is really going on? What hornet’s nest have I inadvertently stirred up?” He turned in time to see Phil brushing away his tears.

  “Whatever it is, Joe you can’t stop now or they – whoever they are – will have won.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Hannah’s story on Asian girls missing out on their schooling made page four – the home news. It wasn’t a dramatic piece like Amalia’s story but it was a hare to set off the hounds. Or she hoped it was.

  Her second article in the series hit a more dramatic note, using the facts Naaz had given her and quoting from the young women in the refuge who had escaped from abusive husbands or mothers-in-law. In the hope of finding out more, Hannah had rung Sunita and asked her about her connection to the charity which set up the women’s refuges. She was given short shrift.

  “I have more pressing concerns, Hannah, in case you have forgotten. The police are doing nothing to find my niece’s murderers…”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Don’t I? I have telephoned numerous times but I am given the brush off. And what are you doing? Writing about girls who take time out of school –” Hannah supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that Sunita was following what she was writing but she was stung by her tone. “Wasting your time and newspaper ink.”

  “I’m sorry you think that. I am paid by the newspaper, Sunita, not you.” Thank God, she added under her breath. “I sincerely hope Amalia’s killers will be brought to justice.”

  “A vain hope, I fear. We are invisible.”

  “That is why I wrote about the girls who miss school and go missing. Plus the girls who are forced into marriages. I’m trying to raise public consciousness of their plight.”

  “Well, you do as you see fit.” Hannah could hear the tremble in her voice as she rang off and felt helpless. Frustrated on all sides.

  Unable to get hold of Joe by phone, she sent him an email trying to be as circumspect as possible – she had no idea if MPs emails were scrutinised – but hoping he would read between the lines and know that she was there for him.

  It seemed such a horrible irony that he had taken so long to publicly acknowledge his sexuality only to have it thrown back at him at the first opportunity. Why would Phil have been set up to incriminate Joe? He’d obviously touched a nerve somewhere and it probably had to do with the package that had been delivered to his flat when she’d gone to dinner. Was he being targeted because of his homosexuality or because of his speech in the House on the plight of young Asian girls? Either way it was unacceptable and she hoped the party whip would protect him. Seeing the time, she went and changed her clothes to go to the cathedral. The sun was shining so she decided to get some exercise and walk to the East Dulwich station where the trains ran to London Bridge.

  Making her way across the concourse at London Bridge, Hannah was surprised to hear someone calling her name. She looked round and found herself in the clumsy embrace of Sam Smith – Snapper – Tom’s informer.

  “Hello, Sam. What a lovely surprise.”

  “No surprise really, luv. I transferred here from the Cross.”

  “Oh why?”

  “Too many bad memories. And it’s nearer home.”

  Hannah took in his broad smile and smart appearance. If anything he looked even better than the last time she’d seen him when he’d brought the bag she’d left with him at Kings Cross to a pub in Waterloo. She’d wondered then about his transformation.

  “I thought it would take dynamite to get you away from the Cross, Sam.”

  He laughed. “Well, I think she’s dynamite.”

  Hannah waited for him to elucidate.

  “Marti and I have moved out to Beckenham. Got a little house an’ all, haven’t we. So working at London Bridge makes sense.”

  Marti. Hannah remembered meeting her in a back-street café. She was reading Felix Holt and was initially antagonistic towards her, refusing to answer any questions. But she had phoned later and when Hannah next saw her she was in her ‘working’ mode. She had been stunned at the transformation. Marti had been funding her studies and her child’s private education by working as a prostitute at King’s Cross. The information she’d supplied had helped Hannah break through the wall of silence around the death of sex workers in the area.

  Hannah gripped his hand. “I am so pleased for you, Sam. And Marti.”

  “Thanks. She’s started teaching now. That’s how we got the house.” He looked like someone who’d won the lottery – twice.

  “And what about you? You look tired luv, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “No. I’m fine. I’m just off to Southwark Cathedral. Father Patrick – the priest who was murdered – his ashes are being interred there. His brother Simon asked me to go. No idea what to expect really.”

  Sam looked as though he was about to comment on this then shook his head. “Well, you take care of yourself. Ever need anything you ask me, you hear? You know where to find me now.”

  Hannah nodded. He was one of her links to Tom. One of her few connections to him. And to Caroline.

  Sam looked at his watch. “Better go. Don’t be a stranger, you hear.” And with that he limped off, disappearing into the crowd.

  Hannah followed the directions to Borough
High Street, crossed London Bridge Road and skirted the Cathedral grounds by the railings. The Cathedral had an ethereal quality in the sunlight. Such an impressive building sitting squarely on the south bank of the river. It was one of the oldest churches in London and had only become a cathedral at the turn of the century when the Diocese of Southwark was created.

  Hannah was stunned by its gothic splendour as she walked into the building by the North entrance. There was a sense of peace and tranquillity. She stood still for a few moments absorbing the atmosphere until an usher came over and directed her to a chapel at the rear of the sanctuary. She joined the group of people and an order of service was passed to her. Patrick’s photo was on the front and her vision misted. A hand touched hers and she looked up to see Lucy and Beano. It was almost too much. Her eyes itched with unshed tears and she swallowed hard.

  Someone from the cathedral invited them to sit and she saw Simon Ryan in the front row of chairs, head bowed. She also recognised the archdeacon she’d met. There were a lot of men in clerical collars. Simon had had his brother’s funeral in their home town so that his elderly parents were able to be there with the minimum disruption to their daily lives. This service was for his friends. Hannah wished she had known him better.

  For someone who never attended church she felt she was inside them far too often. Liz’s funeral. Visiting St John the Evangelist in Waterloo; in her mind’s eye she saw Patrick. How hesitant he’d been. What good work he did for people who needed it most, some of whom were here now. She smiled at Lucy and Beano as they rose and followed the priest outside into the Cathedral Garden of Remembrance. A square turf of grass and some earth had been removed in readiness. A priest said a prayer and then invited Simon to empty the ashes into the spot. Another prayer which Hannah, standing at the back, hardly heard as a gust of wind carried his voice in the opposite direction.

  Then it was over and the bishop was shaking hands and saying a few words to some of the mourners. He made a beeline for Beano and Lucy who almost made Hannah laugh by dropping a curtsey.

  “Ms Weybridge, good of you to come.” The archdeacon, standing beside her, broke into her thoughts. His smile looked tired but he seemed sincere, kinder than the last time she’d seen him.