by Anne Coates
The three of them walked into the sitting room. James sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulder, as Claudia, sitting at right angles said, “There’s been an accident, Hannah, Tom –”
Everything inside Hannah’s body was draining out of it. Her arms felt leaden. Her face flushed. She could feel James gripping her tightly. His hand was actually hurting her shoulder. She winced. “What’s happened to Tom?”
“We don’t know. The intel is that there was an explosion in a café where Tom and a colleague were meeting a source. There were a lot of other people in the place… We’re not sure how many are dead; how many are injured.”
Hannah could feel herself floating away. This wasn’t happening. Her face was tingly like pins and needles around her mouth. Her armpits ached. Breathe through it she told herself. Breathe… it didn’t help. Her throat constricted and she swallowed but couldn’t shift the tightness. Her chest felt heavy. Crushed. In fact her whole body was weighted against her.
She could hear James calling her name but his voice was growing weaker. There was a light but nothing more except – the taste of brandy made her cough.
James was still holding her tightly and Claudia was clutching a bottle of brandy and a glass. Did she bring them with her? Hannah wondered.
“Hannah,” James’s voice was like the sound of a train approaching from a distance, getting louder. “Hannah.”
She turned to face him, eyes unfocussed. Then a loud sob wracked her body. “Why do all these terrible things keep happening to people close to me?”
No one replied.
“As soon as there’s any more news, I’ll let you know.” Claudia hesitated. There was still a wariness between them. The police officer and the journalist. A connection not least complicated by Claudia’s own relationship with Tom.
“I could stay with you, Hannah. That way you’ll know anything as soon as I do. If you’d like me to?”
Hannah nodded. “That’s very kind of you Claudia. If you’re sure?”
“I am. Shall we turn on the nine o’clock news to see if anything is being reported?”
Hannah got up and turned on the television. It was the end of some comedy programme with canned laughter that made her want to scream.
The telephone rang. Claudia nodded as Hannah stretched out her arm to pick up the receiver. “Hannah Weybridge.”
For a few moments she said nothing. “I see. Yes, DI Turner is with me now.” The rumbling deep voice of proprietor of The News could be heard in the room. “Thank you so much for letting me know, Lord Gyles.” There was another pause. “I’d appreciate that. Yes, I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“He obviously has his own sources in Whitehall,” Claudia commented, just as the BBC News broke the story that there had been some sort of terrorist attack on a café in New York.
“So far we know there are numerous casualties and some are feared dead. We will come back to this when we have further news.”
Claudia switched off the TV. James had disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a tray of sandwiches. “This should keep you two going.” He smiled at Claudia and then sat next to Hannah again. “Sorry, but I have to get back to the hospital. Keep me posted won’t you.” He hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead before clasping Claudia’s hand. “Thank you,” was all he said. Then he was gone.
“What did he mean by that?” Hannah asked.
Claudia looked embarrassed. “I had a squad car pick him up from the Hammersmith and it was waiting to take him back.”
“Oh.” Hannah scratched her hand absently. “That was very kind of you, Claudia.”
“He was doing me a favour.” She looked distractedly at the sandwiches and poured them both a glass of brandy. “Such a genuinely nice guy.”
“He is. He was also brilliant with Caroline.”
“Caroline?”
“The prostitute I met when I first interviewed Tom. He was so kind to her and treated her here when she turned up half-dead.”
Claudia nodded. Mention of Tom’s name, the reason she was here, reduced them both to silence.
“We could be in for a long night,” Claudia said at last. “Mind if I tuck in? I’ve learned to my cost that lack of food blunts my faculties … You should eat something too.”
The last thing on Hannah’s mind was food. But she helped herself to a sandwich. The bread stuck to the roof of her mouth and she took a swig of brandy to help her swallow. But Claudia was right, they could be in for a long night and needed to eat.
They were both dozing on the sofas when Claudia’s radio crackled into life. Immediately she was the professional DI. She listened for a few moments then thanked the person at the other end before addressing Hannah. “He’s alive. Tom’s alive. We don’t know the extent of his injuries, but he’s been transferred to a military hospital. We’ll know more when…” Tears poured down her face. “He’s alive, Hannah.”
Hannah sent up a silent thank you. “Let’s hope his injuries aren’t too severe.”
“Yes, but there’s hope now.” She looked at her watch. Two in the morning. More than seven hours since the atrocity. That didn’t bode well if it took so long to reach the injured. But she kept that thought to herself.
“Claudia, can I ask you a personal question?” It was five o’clock in the morning and the dawn chorus had been in full voice for some time.
Both women were awake. There had been an uncomfortable silence between them. A tension that seemed to be magnified in each breath.
“You can ask. No guarantee of an answer.” Claudia smiled. Her face, Hannah thought, probably reflected her own grief.
“What’s your relationship to Tom?”
Claudia stared at her hands. A tear slid down her cheek. “I love him.” She looked over at Hannah whose breathing was so shallow she thought she’d pass out. She leaned forward and clasped her cold hands. “As a friend, Hannah, as a friend.” It was clear from the look on her face that Hannah didn’t believe her.
“When we were at Hendon together, Tom helped me out of a very difficult situation. If it hadn’t been for him… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be in the job I’m in today.” She smoothed her skirt. “He’s a good man, Hannah. Principled. But you know that. That’s why…”
“That’s why what?”
“Nothing. It’ll keep.”
Claudia’s mobile rang. They both looked at it accusingly. Claudia’s tone was business-like again when she answered. “DI Turner.” She listened. “Right I’ll be there for the briefing.”
She stretched her legs. “Sorry something else has come up. Mind if I use your bathroom to freshen up?”
Hannah led her upstairs and offered Claudia her box of samples to choose from. Claudia looked askance. “From my beauty writing days,” Hannah explained. “Still get sent some now and again.” She handed her a towel. “Help yourself to anything.”
Claudia looked remarkable for someone who’d been awake most of the night. She was wearing a fresh shirt, her hair was slightly damp from the shower, and her make-up had been reapplied.
She absorbed Hannah’s questioning glance. “In my job, I’ve learned to carry spare shirts, tights and so on. Always makes me feel more in control. Silly really. I don’t suppose any of my officers care a toss how I look. But it’s a confidence boost.” She donned her jacket and picked up her bag.
“I’ll keep you posted about Tom, Hannah. I promise.” She smiled encouragingly but neither yet knew the extent of Tom’s injuries. However Claudia, from her days in an anti-terrorist unit, knew what damage even small bombs could do.
“Thanks.”
Claudia gave her an awkward hug. “He’s alive and he’ll get the best of whatever treatment he needs.”
Hannah nodded and saw Claudia to the door as an unmarked car drew up to collect her. Perfect timing as ever. Hannah couldn’t imagine the DI ever leaving anything to chance. But you couldn’t prepare yourself for everything. Look at Tom. She went upstairs to take a shower
and sobbed silently as the water mingled with her tears.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Someone gave a theatrical cough and all eyes turned to Hannah who had just entered the room, a little late for the editorial meeting.
For a moment, Georgina, the editor, looked horrified then she stretched a smile across her face. “Come in Hannah, we didn’t expect you this morning and started without you.”
Rory made room for her next to him at the conference table. “You sure you want to be here today?”
Hannah took her seat and nodded. This was exactly where she needed to be. The New York correspondent, Frank Boyd, would have up to the minute information on the bombing, if that’s what it had been.
“Obviously, the US isn’t online yet but overnight we’ve received reports and initial observations from Frank. President Clinton has issued a statement. We have a transcript of that. Apparently there could have been as many as forty-six people in the café. Not all have been identified yet…” Georgina paused and glanced at Hannah, then continued, “All this you have in your packs in front of you. We also have photographs of the scene.”
Hannah splayed out the sheets in front of her. Her need to see the images was almost matched by her abject fear of doing so. She had to know. Knowledge was power. Her imagination could be far worse than reality.
It took her a moment or two to focus on the grainy black and white pictures that had been faxed from the States. At first Hannah found it difficult to make out anything at all… There seemed to be a lot of black smoke against a darker interior where, she assumed, the lights must have been blown out.
Beside the doorway Hannah made out a jumble of limbs that might have made up three or four bodies. It seemed as though an explosion had ripped out part of the floor. Another photo was of a woman hugging another female. She couldn’t tell if either or both were dead. Another photo showed someone carrying what looked like a lifeless body.
There was someone sitting on the kerb outside, head in hands. She scrutinised each image looking for Tom. No one was identifiable.
“The word is that it was a terrorist attack, but no one has claimed responsibility yet. Rumours abound of course but we should be careful not to add to them.” Georgina looked over her glasses at them. “Print the facts and not too much speculation at this stage. We should also start doing some digging – if there were any Brits among the injured get their families’ stories etc. Obviously excluding Tom Jordan.”
Hannah noticed she’d said the injured, not the dead. Maybe that was in deference to her. But the dead would have their stories as well.
“Hannah, I know you’ll want to be kept up to speed – but no need for you to be involved.”
She could feel the bile rising in her throat. Terrorism definitely wasn’t part of her remit. But the human-interest stories were. She swallowed hard and nodded.
“Okay is there anything else in the pipeline we need to talk about? No? Right off you go then. Hannah, if we get any info through you’ll be the first to know.”
Hannah mumbled her thanks and left the room with the others.
Hannah knew the only way to get through this was to concentrate on her work. What she had to do was write another story – not the one Tom was involved in. But about the murdered Asian girls. Work would insulate her for the time being.
Hannah hadn’t forgotten Pilar Patel’s letter to Joe. She rang Jude the social worker she’d met at David and Linda’s dinner party and left a message. Jude rang back within the hour.
“Hello, Hannah, what can I do for you?”
“This is a bit of a long shot but you did say you might be able to help so here goes…” She told Jude about the content of Pilar Patel’s letter. “I just wondered if you might know of anyone on an ‘at risk’ register or – I don’t know really. And I wouldn’t want to breach any confidentiality.”
“No problem. I’ll put an alert out and see what that brings up.” And with that she rang off.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Hannah was at The News offices early, hoping to catch the night editor before he left. She was in luck. He was still in his office next to the one Georgina used. She knocked on the door and pushed it open. “May I come in?”
Terry Cornhill looked up from some copy he was editing.
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure you can do anything really. I just wondered if you had any more information on the terrorist attack in New York?”
“It’s been suspiciously quiet, Hannah. No claims or counter-claims.” He took off his glasses and leaned back in his seat. “How’s that police inspector of yours?”
“To be honest, I don’t really know. Apparently he’s in a special trauma unit but I’m not sure what that means. I’ve been told that his injuries are extensive and could still be life-threatening. But that was a couple of days ago. It’s very frustrating being so far away.”
“Have you not thought of going out to see him?”
Hannah looked down to the floor. “I wanted to but was told he didn’t want me there.”
“Maybe for the best. I expect he’ll be more than happy to see you when he’s well enough to be brought home.”
Hannah wasn’t so sure. To her mind it was not when but if he was brought home – alive.
“The FBI keep their cards very close to their chest. But I do have a couple of contacts. If I hear anything Hannah, I will let you know.”
“Thank you. It’s just that it occurred to me that it may not have been an act of terrorism but of revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“Yes. Whatever Tom was working on he told me that my name had come up on a list. And then there was that man –” she could not bring herself to say the word hitman – “who had been sent over to … to shoot me.”
“I can see where this is leading, Hannah. Let me ask around. See what I can dig up. But you stay clear okay?” She nodded. “Don’t give anyone – and I mean anyone – the idea that you are trying to make connections.”
She blinked rapidly.
“Just keep yourself busy. What are you working on at the moment?”
“Asian schoolgirls. Some are going missing. And another one turned up dead in our local woods. Three apparently motiveless murders.”
The deputy editor looked thoughtful but said nothing and Hannah took that as her cue to leave.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The black car with tinted windows looked strange parked in her road. Especially when two men got out as she approached. They were both smartly suited and looked sinister to her eyes. She felt for her phone in her pocket and Claudia’s card.
“Ms Weybridge? Ms Hannah Weybridge?”
She was tempted to deny who she was and keep on walking but Leah Braithwaite shouted out to her from across the road.
“Excuse me a moment.” She crossed the road.
“Hannah those men have been parked there for …”
“Leah, please do me a favour?” Hannah handed her Claudia’s card. “Please telephone DI Turner and give her the registration number of that car. I can’t talk now.”
Leah folded her arms. “Of course.” She went back inside her house and slammed the door. If Hannah had asked her to play a part, she couldn’t have done better.
“What did she want?”
“Excuse me? Who are you?”
They both flashed their ID. MI5. Hannah scratched her hand.
“She was complaining about your car being parked here. She’s the leading light of the local Neighbourhood Watch…
“Ms Weybridge, would you get into the car please. There is someone who would like to meet with you.”
“And that person couldn’t telephone to make an appointment?”
“Ms Weybridge –” the rear door opened wider and Hannah was guided in. The door slammed shut and they were soon speeding away towards central London.
The first person she saw when she walked into the room was Joe Rawlington. His smile as he walked ove
r to kiss her cheek reassured her. A little.
“Come and sit down, Hannah. This is someone who would like to talk to you about the letter Paul left for you.”
Hannah stared at the man. Never had she been more glad that she had back-up plans and that other people had copies of those letters. She remembered the way Paul had described the man who had threatened him as exuding menace. I had never been more terrified in my life. Hannah was gripped by an icy chill.
“Ms Weybridge, we have the documents that were left in Neville Rogers’ safekeeping.” He paused, waiting for her to take this in. She willed herself to remain calm and not reveal her fear. “I understand you believe Paul Montague did not take his own life but was murdered.”
“Several people believe this to be the case.” Hannah could feel any courage she once thought she had evaporating by the second.
“Well, some people need to be assured that Paul Montague died by hanging himself. No other party was involved, of that you can be certain.”
“And what if I don’t believe you?”
“Oh, I think you will. Or you will find life can be very hard, Ms Weybridge – for you and your daughter.”
Joe had stood up. Hannah had never seen him so angry. “What in God’s name are …”
He didn’t finish what he was going to say as the door opened and DI Claudia Turner and DS Benton plus two uniformed officers marched in, followed by the Home Secretary.
“Read him his rights, Benton.”
“Clive Goodhill, I am arresting you for the murder of …”
Hannah didn’t hear the rest as she was led into an adjoining room where the Home Secretary nodded to an assistant who poured them all drinks.
“I’m very sorry you had to be part of this subterfuge, Ms Weybridge. I knew from a source – actually a person I believe you know, Simon Ryan – that someone in my department had been involved with masterminding the trafficking of Somali girls. But we didn’t have any evidence until news of the letters left by Mr Montague flushed him out …”
