by Stan Mason
Frank nodded, holding a glass of whisky in his hands. ‘Yes,’ he related. ‘Dennis Rose, the merchant banker. Ruined by the unexpected arrival of the auditors at the bank one day. They discovered a large hole in the bank’s finances. Rose had turned to gambling losing a considerable sum at a London casino. Someone ‘phoned the paper to say a man was standing on a ledge on the twelfth floor of a city building. They sent Tim, but I went along as well.
Bellamy seemed surprised. ‘I thought it was John Mac who went with him.’
‘No, it was me. But if we’re talking about the truth you should know the facts?’ We took a photographer with us. When we got there, Rose stood rigidly against the wall of the building at a very great height. His feet rested on a narrow ledge. If he slipped, fell or jumped, he was kaput. I soon realised he was terrified of falling... too scared to take his own life. Tim left the photographer in the street, ready to capture the man in free-fall if he came off the ledge. Boy, how Tim wanted that picture! We went upstairs where the police were waiting for the fire-brigade to arrive with a long ladder. Then he went out on the ledge close to Rose. I would never have gone out there... not in a million years!’
‘He thrived on danger.’
‘There was a strong breeze making it difficult for them to keep their balance. They hung there like two flies on a wall. I could hear the sound of the fire engines coming closer. Tim knew they’d be there soon to rescue the man. I heard him say: “Jump now or they’ll drag you and your family through the Courts. For their sake, end it now. Keep them from disgrace!” Then Rose fell, and the Daily Globe got a scoop with a clear photograph of him passing the fourth floor on his way to the Pearly Gates.’ He walked towards the window. ‘Mary’s by the gazebo.’
‘Never mind Mary!’ riposted Bellamy. ‘Finish the story!’
Frank sipped his drink. ‘Rose lay on the ground in a heap. I’d never seen a dead man before. I went over Tim’s words again and again in my mind. As we left, he said: “If you know what’s good for you, Frank, you’ll keep your mouth shut! I tried to save him but he jumped before I could grab him. You saw that, didn’t you!” Well, who was I... a cub reporter... to judge a colleague? What was the point anyway? Dennis Rose was dead. No one could bring him back to life.’
‘If there was a strong breeze and he was out on the ledge, you might have misheard him. His face would have been turned away from you. You must have been mistaken.’
‘Nice try, Bellamy, but I was looking out of the window directly at his face... only two feet away. I heard what he said. If he hadn’t, why would he warn me to keep my mouth shut? Tim wanted a story. He didn’t care how he got it!’
Bellamy shook his head. ‘I can’t believe he told the man to jump!’
‘That’s the problem, Bellamy. You could never see anything wrong in what he did. I tell you it was all or nothing with him. But worse was to come with the Rose incident. Are you sure you want me to go on?
‘Don’t let me stop you in your flow, Frank!’ The comment bordered on sarcasm.
‘The inquest had to decide whether it was an accident or suicide. Rose left a widow and three young children. He’d lost every penny gambling. He’d even lost the deeds of his house. But there were life assurance policies, each one containing clauses which let the insurance company off the hook if he committed suicide. It all depended on Tim’s evidence. He was the one on the ledge with him at the final moment. Did Rose slip or jump? In Court, the widow looked at him and pleaded with her eyes. Tim knew the score. It was no skin off his nose if he claimed the man’s death was an accident, whether it was or not. Yet he calmly told the Coroner that Rose took his own life. Afterwards, I told him he’d condemned a widow and three young children to a life of poverty and hell, but he didn’t care. He was a cold, callous, ruthless bastard, devoid of compassion.’
At that moment, the telephone rang and Bellamy answered it. ‘Hi, Laura,’ he said in a dull tone. ‘Yes, I heard the news. Frank’s with me now. What do you mean? How can anyone go to the funeral? It’s right in the middle of a war in some goddamn country crawling with revolutionaries. They’ve probably buried him in a mass grave with hundreds of others! Look, I’ll see you in the morning.’ As he replaced the receiver, the doorbell rang. ‘Damn! I’m not going to get any peace today, am I?’
‘It’s O.K.,’ said Frank. ‘I’ll go.’
In a few moments, Janice entered on her own. ‘Morning, Bellamy, the front door was open. Frank’s gone to speak with Mary.’
‘If you’re here about Tim’s death then bad news travels fast. Help yourself to a drink.’ As she went to the cocktail cabinet, he continued typing the obituary, talking it through as he wrote:
“Collier was a devoted family man with two teenage children. At one period of his career, when his wife was seriously ill, he tendered his resignation to his editor relinquishing his job as a reporter to take care of his ailing wife. Sadly, after an illness
lasting three months, she died. Three years later he remarried...”
‘What are you doing?’ interrupted his visitor.
‘Tim’s obituary. What else?’
‘I didn’t know you were dedicated to the realms of fiction?’
‘Fiction? What are you talking about?’
She stared at him with the drink in her hand. ‘You were the only one to see him through rose-coloured glasses.’
‘He had enemies. A lot of people were jealous of him.’
Janice laughed out loud. ‘Jealous? Jealous of what? Not everyone in the profession wants to get to the top. Most of us enjoy the work in our own macabre way. That’s all we want to do! We’ve no intention of clawing away at each other to get ahead. And we’re moral and ethical in what we do. It helps us to sleep easy in our beds at night.’
‘So you didn’t like Tim. Big deal! But it’s people like him who helped to keep the paper alive and popular with the public.’
‘What a load of crap! The Globe will survive without him... and it’ll be just as popular!’
He stared at her in a new light. ‘I didn’t know you hated him that much. I mean, the man’s just been murdered in cold blood and all you can think about is rubbing his name in the dirt.’
‘I’d hate to glorify his name with a glowing obituary. I mean, none of it would be true! Listen to your terminology! “Tendering his resignation because his wife was ill.” “Relinquishing his job as a reporter to take care of his wife.” Who are you kidding? Poor Elsa. She suffered a long time with that awful disease. They gave her drugs and therapy causing her hair to fall out. The kids were only four and five years old at the time. And there was the great Tim Collier with all his ambitions, faced with a problem. Should he follow his career or stay with his wife who had only a short time to live? He told everyone he loved her very much and it was more than he could bear to watch her waste away. What a load of crap!’
‘Come on, Janice! It wasn’t like that at all. He hired a nurse to look after her!’
‘Oh yes, he did that. Even Fletch, the coldest, hard-headed editor in the business insisted he took time off but Tim had a career to pursue. “She’s only got a few weeks to live,” he said. “But my career needs to continue after she’s gone. It’s a matter of priorities. Elsa understands!” Instead of accepting short-term office work to get home to her daily, he went after assignments which kept him away for days on end. Elsa never once complained. She knew him only too well. He would never change. Not for anyone! Then she was gone. He was on an assignment in Scotland. He didn’t return for the funeral. Too busy career-wise. When he came back he told me he couldn’t wait for her to die. She was interfering with his work and his career. The selfish, callous bastard!’
Bellamy was unmoved by her tirade. ‘Did you really hate him that much, Janice?’
She paused for a moment. ‘Hate him? You don’t know much about women, do you. I loved him.
.. more fool me! But then many women who came and went loved him. He was good-looking, rugged and ruthless and he didn’t care a fig for anyone. That’s the kind of man most of us fall for. I wanted him with all my heart and soul. At the same time, I hated his guts! Men find that hard to understand.’ The doorbell rang and she inhaled deeply. ‘That’s probably Jonathan. He drove me here. If you want to know the intimate details about Tim he’s the one you should ask. I mean, if you’re writing his obituary at least let it be the truth.’ She set her glass down on a table and moved to the door. ‘I want a word with Frank anyway.’
She left the room and shortly afterwards Jonathan entered. ‘What the hell did you say to Janice?’ he began. ‘I’ve never seen her so close to tears before.’
‘She said she hated Tim but, at the same time, she was in love with him. Don’t ask me what she was talking about.’
‘She said I should tell you about Vietnam.
Bellamy gave a wry laugh. ‘It seems everyone’s unstoppable today.’
‘I was out there with Tim but if you don’t want me to tell you it’s O.K. by me.’
‘What bugs me is that now Tim’s dead everyone has a bad story to tell about him. Why didn’t you spill the beans when he was alive?’
Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. ‘These stories existed when he was alive. My lips are sealed but Janice feels it’s important for you to know.’
Bellamy shrugged aimlessly. ‘Well feel free! Don’t let me throw a spanner into the works.’
‘Well after Elsa died, Tim was promoted. He married Jenny and six months later we flew to Vietnam. War had taken the country by the throat and was squeezing the life out of it. There was a shortage of food, medical supplies, and everything else that mattered. The main source of income came from prostitution. Women came in all shapes and sizes, aged between ten and seventy.’
‘I really don’t want to hear this, Jonathan!’ declared Bellamy in anguish, but the other man ignored him. ‘We met Kim Li in a bar in Saigon. She was a very attractive oriental. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “What about a woman for my pal?” asked Tim. “No problem,” she told him. ‘You come wi’ me!” I mentioned Jenny but he laughed and said: “What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t know!”’
Bellamy gave him a jaundiced look. ‘Lots of men are unfaithful to their wives. I don’t have a problem with that. Get to the point!’
Jonathan went to the cocktail cabinet and poured himself a drink. ‘Kim Li took us to a hovel. It was just large enough to hold two single beds and a small chair. Her wardrobe was the dress she stood up in. In one of the beds was a girl about ten years’ old. I stood there like a green teenager waiting for Kim Li to fetch my woman. Then it dawned on me it was the child in the bed. Kim Li noticed the look on my face. “S’okay!” she said. “She my daughter. She fresh... clean. She know how to give good time.” Tim lit up like a Christmas tree. His eyes burned with excitement. I swear he forgot I was there. “Wow!” he shouted. “Mother and daughter at the same time. Now that really turns me on! Wake up the kid and then undress me. Undress me slowly. I want the three of us in bed together. I’ll take the kid first. And I want you to watch me. Man! This is going to be fantastic!” “Money first!” she demanded. He took out his wallet and gave her the equivalent of fifty U.S. dollars. “Oh, man!” she told him excitedly. “I give you real good time! I want you come back many times!” She woke up the kid and they put the two beds together so the three of them could snuggle down.’ He sipped his drink.
Bellamy glowered at him. ‘Go on. I’m listening!’
‘We hadn’t booked a hotel room, so I stayed and sat on the chair. At first I tried to look away, angry at being left out of it. Then I found my eyes attracted towards them, locked in some kind of fascination, watching their naked bodies move together in harmony as the passion ran through them. He told me to keep my mouth shut and that I was never to mention it to Jenny. But the incident in Saigon was one of many. He told me he played the field wherever assignments took him. He had cheated on Elsa and now on Jenny. He use to laugh saying: “Always remember, Jonathan, use it or lose it!” Well, it was none of my business. If he wanted to be a lecherous lout with a perverse sexual appetite, it was up to him.’
Bellamy pointed to a photograph on the wall. ‘He gave me that photograph of the two of you in Saigon. He wrote so beautifully I had to frame it.’ He rose and took it off the wall to read it aloud.
“It was announced in Washington today there has been a lull in the fighting in Vietnam. U.S. forces carried out offensives in the Mekong Delta but the Viet Cong confined their operations to shelling and ambushes. The number of Americans killed was the lowest for any week of the year. The U.S. Command announced yesterday its decision to abandon the Khe Sanh base. A military spokesman said that forces south of the demilitarised zone have increased from six to eight divisions enabling large-scale attacks to be made at the same time from different strategic positions. Therefore, fixed bases such as Khe Sanh were unnecessary. Meanwhile, fighting continues along the southern front.”
He paused momentarily to return the photograph to its place on the wall. ‘The man was a brilliant reporter!’
‘No one challenges his ability. That was his talent. But talent has nothing to do with acting like a human-being. I kept clear of him after Viet Nam. No doubt Charlie can tell you more about your precious friend.’
Bellamy stared at him in suprise. ‘Charlie! How does he come into it?’
‘He knows more about Tim than all of us put together.’
‘What a pity Charlie’s not here to put in his two-pennyworth!’ muttered Bellamy cynically.
‘But he is. I left him outside waiting in the car.’
‘Well bring him in and let’s get the whole thing over and done with!’
‘Fine!’ He left the room and called out in a loud voice. ‘Charlie! Bellamy wants to see you!’
Charlie entered shortly with a sad expression on his face. ‘Sorry to hear about Tim,’ he muttered.
‘It’s very much like Mark Antony’s speech in Julius Caesar,’ commented Bellamy. ‘”The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones.” What do you have to say about him now he’s gone?’
Charlie paused for a moment. ‘There’s a couple of things I’ve wanted to get off my chest for a long time, Bellamy.’
‘We go back a long way together, Charlie. Other than Tim, you’ve always been my guide and mentor. If you’ve got something to say I’d like to hear it.
Charlie sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘They say it’s wrong to talk about the dead but some things ought to be brought out into the open. Do you remember the first story you wrote when you went over to the international side of the paper? The man-eating Bengal tiger which racked up a total of fifty-eight human lives.’
Bellamy’s face broke into a smile as he recalled the incident. ‘How could I forget? It was my first assignment abroad. In India! I tracked down that beast with the Rajah and he killed it. What a story that was!’
‘Tim was ill when it happened, wasn’t he? You were the only newspaper reporter in the hunt.’
‘Yes. I was the only one out there. So what?’
‘As soon as he got back to the office, he pleaded that the story should be credited to you. He insisted it was your story.
‘Well it was my story and I got the credit. What are you getting at?’
‘Don’t you see! It had nothing to do with him. He was making himself a martyr to senior management at the newspaper. He stole the credit, pretending it was his story which he gave to you as a favour.’
‘Oh, come on, Charlie! It was only one story!’
‘Only one story, eh? Remember the twins thrown clear of the car crash in Cornwall. The earthquake near Baku, causing disaster and a tremendous loss of life. The shelling of Be
irut in the Lebanon caught in the grip of three militias. The killer shark off Monterey in California. The meteorite which landed in Chile worshipped by natives who thought it was a message from the Gods. There were lots more. He took the credit for all of them but asked the chief editor to score them under your name, making sure it was assumed to have been his work. Fletch looked on you as just a hack writer under the wing of a noble friendly super-reporter.
Bellamy licked his lips thoughtfully. ‘You’re putting me on!’
Charlie stared at him bleakly. ‘Give me a good reason why I should tell you if it’s not true! Why do you think Fletch promoted him but kept you down all these years? Tim took advantage of you behind your back. He also arranged for assignments to be kept from you.’
‘I don’t understand. What assignments?’
‘Why do you think he got all the best ones?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! How can anyone know which are the best and worst assignments?’
‘He paid Donald Vine to give him the advantage. Vine was promoted as PA to Fletch. He realised he could make extra money by selling the best assignments. Tim made sure you got all the lousy ones. You were often sent to some God-forsaken backwater to cover minor issues. He got the cream and the reporter-of-the-year awards. I’m surprised you didn’t twig it.’
Bellamy started to become upset. I don’t want to hear any more of this, Charlie. The man is dead. A man who was my best friend.’
‘Get one thing straight, Bellamy,’ countered Charlie. ‘He was never your friend! For years, you acted as his assistant and he wrote your annual report. Did you ever see those reports?’
‘Of course I did. They were good. Excellent. I even framed some of them.’
‘Then you were a fool! The reports he showed you were fakes. He fooled you. They weren’t the ones he submitted to Fletch. I’ve got copies of the real reports. He put you down badly. How does this grab you? “Doesn’t work well under pressure.” “Needs guidance to achieve professionalism.” “Too easily influenced by less-important factors.” “Has difficulty assimilating facts”. Do you want me to go on?’
