The Talk Show: the gripping thriller everyone is talking about

by Harry Verity

  Jessica removed her hands away from her head.

  ‘So come on.’ Liv led Jessica back onto the stage to much applause.

  After several moments of Michael and Liv moralising and trying to get Jessica to realise the effect of her eating disorder on her parents, Michael pounced.

  ‘There is a way for you to get better. It won’t be easy but it’s your only chance.’

  Jessica looked confused.

  ‘But to take it you’ve got to really want to change your life. Is that what you want?’

  Jessica said nothing.

  Liv continued.

  ‘Babe, we’ve sorted the best help for you, it can make you better, get you eating properly.’

  ‘And if you succeed and get back on your feet I will arrange something for you: meetings with producers, some contacts of mine. These people could kick start your career in television. But only if you get better? Is that a deal?’ Michael said.

  ‘Er…’

  Michael and Liv grabbed hold of Jessica’s hands.

  ‘Come with me, then?’

  Mr and Mrs Butler, already in a flood of tears, collapsed in each other’s arms: because they knew what was coming. They got up as well and they, tailed by the cameraman, made their way backstage, through the green room, out into the dark corridor full of wires, past the gallery steps and then out to the garages.

  ‘Open the garage doors,’ Michael said to Jessica, and when she pulled them back, she found a single silver people carrier, waiting to take her away.

  ‘The only way you’re going to get better. We’ve booked you into a specialist clinic by the coast in Cornwall. The treatment will last as long as it needs to. It will be tough. But one thing is certain, these people will make sure you get better.’

  Jessica looked as emotionally exhausted as her parents. She went to them and collapsed into their arms. ‘Will I be able to see them?’ she asked, her voice slightly muffled.

  ‘Not for the first two weeks,’ Michael explained. ‘The first two weeks will be the hardest of your life. They will be made even harder by the fact you will have no contact with anyone, other than a phone call once a night, but I promise you, if you do this, you won’t look back.’

  Jessica continued to stay huddled in her parents’ arms.

  ‘So what’s it going to be?’ Michael snipped.

  It took Jessica several moments to drag herself away from her parents.

  ‘Come on, make the right choice!’ Michael said.

  Finally, she agreed to get into the car and as the doors slid shut, everyone, including Edward, was in tears.

  ‘A brave girl,’ Michael said. ‘A very brave girl, don’t you think?’ He was talking to Liv.

  ‘She’s a tough cookie, she’ll be all right.’

  The cameraman tracked the car as it plodded out of the garage, over the road and across Blackfriars Bridge before it disappeared into the labyrinth of skyscrapers that skirted the Thames. The credits rolled over the scene and the theme tune gently crept in.

  That was, at long last, a wrap.

  But there was no self-congratulatory applause or shakings of hands nor even any sigh of relief. The entire production gallery was silent, dumbstruck by what had taken place before them.

  Even on their way to Blackfriars station to drop off Mr and Mrs Butler, Edward and Violet barely said a word to each other. It was only as they returned to the studio that Violet broke the ice, with one entirely unexpected word.

  ‘Pub?’

  And with barely another word between them, they collapsed onto the bar of The Blackfriar before taking refuge on a table near the back.

  ‘You see it all on this show, don’t you,’ Edward said, sipping his beer.

  ‘Indeed you do,’ Violet said, ‘indeed you do.’

  Edward took more gulps and there was silence for several moments.

  ‘I hope Jessica gets on all right.’

  ‘They’ll look after her in Cornwall.’

  ‘You don’t think Michael and Liv were pushing her too far? Do you think it was all worth it in the end? For getting her into the clinic and making her see sense, I mean?’

  Violet shrugged. ‘It’s not in my job description to think about that, and it’s not in yours either.’

  Edward sighed. He knew he would get no further reaction from Violet and it worried him slightly. How could anyone be so cold, so heartless, so uncaring as to think only about their own position and not about anyone else, however vulnerable? But, he supposed, as she had hinted on so many occasions before, that thinking in those terms was the only way it was possible to do that job. It made Edward wonder…

  ‘Why did you apply for this job in the first place?’ Edward enquired.

  ‘Money,’ she said, ‘stability. Don’t want to be homeless or on benefits. What about you?’

  All obvious and valid reasons, Edward thought. His motives had been similar. Though he wasn’t entirely motivated by the stability and money that the job offered. He had been genuinely excited about the prospect of working on television. Admittedly he hadn’t been a massive fan of the show before he’d decided to work on it, but he had thought that perhaps he could help people, empower them to better their lives. Whether that was true of what they had done today, he didn’t know. Had they truly helped Jessica Butler get help for herself? And was humiliating her on national television a price worth paying… so many moral questions.

  Edward wondered whether to confide in Violet what he had admitted to his friend Cate the previous week. In the end, the drink seemed to make his decision for him.

  ‘I’m thinking about getting out,’ he said.

  Violet barely reacted. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘The job isn’t what I was expecting.’

  ‘What were you expecting?’

  ‘I don’t know but I… I feel as if… as if I’ve lost all of my morals, that I’ve sold out completely…’

  ‘I felt like that too when I started,’ Violet said in a rare moment of candour. ‘It comes with the territory. Just try not to think about it.’

  ‘If you think that, why do you stay?’

  ‘Because I don’t have rich parents to back me up. Because we don’t live in an ideal world. Because if I didn’t do this job somebody else would.’

  ‘So, you think I should stick around for a while longer?’

  ‘I don’t presume to tell anyone anything,’ said Violet, ‘but if you want a good reference, keep your mouth shut, keep out of Mags’ way for another few months and quietly hand in your notice. Do not do what the last few researchers have done and make a big scene before your departure. Now,’ she finished off the last of her vodka and Coke, ‘more drinks?’

  Edward smiled and headed to the bar.

  18

  The journey to Cornwall was a long one. In fact, by the time the car carrying Jessica Butler had crossed into the remotest parts of Devon, the sun was already beginning to set.

  It had taken some speed to catch up with the taxi as it meandered through the empty country lanes even though the driver of the grey saloon was not familiar with the route. The driver of the taxi – a Mr Thomas Mallaky – had been paid a lot of money to make this journey, so far from his usual London patch and down these narrow country roads almost certainly guaranteed to be empty as nightfall set in. But Mallaky would never see the pay cheque, that was for sure. He would have to be killed, obviously, but that shouldn’t be particularly hard. It wasn’t as if he was carrying the President of the United States. His only passenger was a nobody, a haughty adolescent with delusions of grandeur that were about to come crashing down. The tiniest drops of the drug and she would be out, faster than being shot at point-blank range.

  As the night properly began to set in and the last remnants of the day faded away, the taxi came into view. There it was on the horizon, the only thing for miles, tugging along without a care in the world, the driver blissfully unaware that the last few moments of his life were slowly trickling away as surely and as ra
pidly as the setting sun.

  Mallaky leaped into fourth gear and in mere seconds overtook the taxi. Then, almost instantly, with one quick swish from a gloved hand, a smoke grenade broke up the scene. The taxi veered off the road and the driver skidded round in panic until at last, no longer able to keep control of the vehicle, he crashed into a nearby oak tree.

  The taxi had not been overturned and the windscreen had barely been cracked but the airbags had been deployed and the shock had stunned both passenger and driver into a panic. That was all that was needed.

  ‘What happened?’ Mallaky screamed. Jessica was in hysterics. The stupid brat, how on earth did she have it in her to scream so loudly?

  ‘Who’s there?’ Mallaky asked, as he spotted a bright torch amongst the smoke, someone walking towards him. He raced to turn on his headlights but before he could get a good look at just who stood before him, he collapsed. Nobody but Jessica Butler heard the three bullets penetrate his skull, the Cornish wilderness took care of that.

  There wasn’t a moment to lose and the driver was bundled up into the boot of the other car.

  ‘It’s bedtime,’ said the voice of someone she knew yet couldn’t quite place.

  Jessica tried to get away but ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor. How foolish, how stupid to even try when she was so weak. She screamed when she saw that he was holding a syringe.

  ‘Now hush, little girl, we wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbours, not that they can hear you.’ She was lifted gently onto the back seat of the saloon car with her head pressed up against the window. It was as if she had simply fallen asleep of her own accord. For now, at least, nobody would suspect a thing…

  19

  When Edward awoke the next morning, it wasn’t to the sound of bells from the church opposite his bedroom or even his own alarm clock, but to a ringtone. His mobile was vibrating furiously on his bedside table.

  Violet had fallen asleep beside him. She stirred at the sound of his groggy voice answering the call.

  ‘It’s fucking happened again…’ Mags said, practically screaming down the phone.

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘Jessica Butler. Gone, vanished.’

  ‘You mean she’s walked out of her therapy?’

  It took several moments for Edward to establish from Mags’ rant that Jessica had never even made it to the clinic. The car that had taken her to Cornwall had been found smashed up about thirty miles from its destination and both driver and passenger were missing.

  Edward told Violet what had happened and it seemed to defuse any of the awkwardness of the fact they’d both woken up in bed together, somewhat worse for wear. Violet’s perfectly brushed hair was out of place and her make-up had run down her face.

  ‘This is mad. How can she have disappeared? We put her in the back of that taxi, we saw her drive off.’

  ‘She must have gone AWOL,’ Edward decided. ‘Overpowered the driver to try to get out and he crashed the car.’

  At that moment Violet’s phone rang as well and, no doubt because she didn’t want her boss to know where she’d spent the night, she pretended to Mags that she was completely surprised by the news of Jessica Butler’s disappearance.

  ‘We need to head to work.’

  ‘You don’t want breakfast?’

  Violet gave Edward a bemused look. ‘I need a flannel,’ she said.

  Edward nodded, confused.

  She had time to wash the previous day’s make-up from her face and reapply it but not enough for even half a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. Violet returned looking fresher than she had done before and he wondered if anybody other than himself would be able to guess that she had not changed clothes in over twenty-four hours.

  Once Edward had freshened up and changed his suit – something Violet assured him he had only five minutes to do or she would leave without him – they were out of the door and headed for the Tube station.

  As they took refuge in the crowded carriages, thankful to get seats, Edward finally broached the elephant in the room.

  ‘We didn’t…’

  Violet arched an eyebrow. ‘We didn’t what, Edward?’ She laughed.

  Edward stuttered slightly and Violet said nothing more as he followed her through the Tube station, savouring the last few minutes of humdrum before the chaos that was inevitably about to unfold.

  Such was the severity of the situation that by the time Edward and Violet arrived at the studios, the entire crew including the technical team had been summoned to a specially booked-out conference room, complete with white leather chairs and a stunning view out onto The Strand. The channel director Mr Griffiths was due to join them at nine.

  ‘There’s no way around this,’ Mags said, clearly agitated at the fact she couldn’t have a cigarette. ‘This is bad, this is fucking bad.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Edward said, deciding it was pointless sitting in silence, however much abuse he got for speaking his mind. ‘Surely we haven’t done anything wrong? It’s not like Minnie, it’s not as if we could have done any more to safeguard her. We did everything we could, we did all the research and then put Jessica into the car. It’s horrendous, I know, but if she wanted to run off then what more could we have done? We could not have done anything to stop this happening.’

  Everyone but Braithwaite, who seemed even more sheepish than usual no doubt because – legally – it was his responsibility to look after the guests when the recordings were finished, looked at him.

  Mags went to reply but Liv stepped in. ‘Let’s just get a few things straight here – Edward isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, Edward, our show has been the subject of at least two major police investigations. One of them was caused, in part, by your incompetence. Jessica Butler will be all over the papers by the end of the day. Do you think anyone cares about what really happened? All people are going to see is another girl we humiliated in front of millions of people. If you don’t get this cleaned up, it won’t just be you marching out that door, sonny, we’ll all be out of a job. So if you still want to be here tomorrow I suggest you stop making excuses for your own shoddy work, shut your trap and get on with your job. Understand?’

  Edward could do nothing but nod. Liv’s expression, however, completely changed as the door to the boardroom opened and in walked a middle-aged man, carrying an iPad and a leather briefcase.

  ‘Mr Griffiths,’ Michael said, getting up to shake his hand.

  ‘Thank you, Michael,’ and he proceeded to sit down. ‘As you know, we are in an incredibly serious situation. The clinic phoned the police in the early hours of the morning when it became clear the girl was not going to arrive. It might simply be that she ran off because she didn’t want to attend the clinic you arranged for her, which will inevitably lead to serious questions about the integrity of the show and the network. But it could well be that somebody is targeting young girls who have appeared on the programme. There is no evidence that the two disappearances are related at all, at the moment, but it is a possibility. So once again we can expect there to be critical reports in the media when it is made public, later today, no doubt focusing on our failures to ensure guest safety. The episode involving the girl will not be broadcast of course until further notice and it is of paramount importance that the recording is not leaked. We must do everything we can, therefore, to prove that the disappearance of either girl was in no way caused by any mismanagement on our part. I, therefore, propose that we launch an immediate investigation which will review how effective our safeguarding procedures are and whether there was anything that could have been done to prevent this.’

  Everyone around the table had been left open-mouthed.

  It was Braithwaite who asked the first question. ‘What will this investigation involve?’

  ‘I am taking legal advice but it is very much agreed that there will be an independent panel and one of the members of that panel will no doubt want access to the studio on fi
lming days in order to assess for themselves whether our provisions are adequate.’

  ‘This is most distressing,’ Braithwaite was saying back in the gallery. The meeting with Mr Griffiths had gone on for another hour. He had proceeded to explain in horrifying detail how the inquiry would proceed.

  ‘The Butlers rang me up in tears. I feel that we should go round there and…’

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ Mags screamed. ‘There’ll be press swarming over that house. And I know what you’re like. Won’t be able to help yourself, giving quotes, shitting verbal fucking diarrhoea all over The Lion’s backside. You can stay here where I can keep an eye on you.’

  ‘This is bad,’ Edward said.

  ‘You don’t fucking say,’ Mags snapped back.

  Michael and Liv had both been given instructions not to leave the building in the afternoon.

  ‘It’s not over yet,’ Michael said. ‘We’re not finished. The show can survive.’

  It was a horrific situation. For all the humiliation and downright cruelty of Friday’s recording, there had been a sense of relief that Jessica Butler had finally been packed off to get some help. Now Edward was facing the reality that instead of helping her change her life, he could have helped destroy it.

  Michael walked back into the room. ‘The police are officially launching an abduction inquiry and have named the taxi driver – Thomas Mallaky – as a suspect.’

  Nobody, other than Mags, knew what to say.

  ‘I hope for the love of God when they catch him he’s armed, then they can shoot the bastard there and then, no questions asked.’

  ‘We should have checked the driver,’ Edward said to Violet. He was racked with guilt: how could he have let this happen? Why hadn’t he done more to stop this?

  ‘It’s not our fault we didn’t investigate another company’s employee, if indeed he is responsible. Really no point beating yourself up about it.’