Knife Edge (24 page)

'But how did you get the job in the first place?' The
Daily Shouter
was the most popular tabloid in the country. They could pick and choose who they wanted working for them.

'Sephy, use your brain. Dad is the Deputy Prime Minister. Mother is Jasmine Adeyebe-Hadley. I have connections,' said Minerva. 'Less than I implied at the job interview, to be honest, but still more than most junior reporters.'

'I see,' I said. And I did see.

'Like I said,' Minerva looked at me with defiance, 'I'm ambitious.'

I shrugged. Who was I to argue with her about what she wanted to do with her life? At least she had a purpose, a goal that wasn't wrapped around someone else. 'So what were you going to ask me?'

'You first,' said Minerva after a brief but distinct pause. She smiled. 'Why did you want us to meet up – apart from my scintillating company?'

'I wanted to talk to you about Jude as well,' I admitted.

'Oh! Well, that makes things easier,' said Minerva.

'Did he do it?' I came straight to the point.

'The evidence seems to indicate he did.'

'What evidence would that be exactly?'

Minerva studied me, trying to decide whether or not to part with the information.

'I don't intend to broadcast what you tell me,' I tried to reassure her. 'But I have a good reason for asking.'

'Look, this is all confidential,' Minerva said earnestly. 'I'm not supposed to tell anyone, so you're not to pass this on. Not even to Meggie, OK?'

I nodded.

'The
Shouter
will bounce me straight out of there if they think I'm passing on information I pick up at the paper.'

'Minerva, I get it,' I said patiently.

'Well, all I know is Jude McGregor's fingerprints were found all over Cara Imega's house. He gave Cara a false name but the police know it was him. He called himself Steve Winner when he was going out with her—'

What on earth was she talking about? 'Jude was dating Cara?'

'That's right. They were an item apparently.'

'No way. Jude would never date a Cross. Never in a million years.' I wanted to put her straight on that one.

'Well, I must admit, I thought the same when I heard. But the senior editor got this straight from a friend of his who's a police officer working on the case. Apparently several witnesses at Delany's hair salon where Cara worked have identified Jude as Cara's boyfriend. They've signed sworn witness statements to that fact. And after Cara's death, a number of her cheques were cashed at banks throughout the city.'

'And that was Jude?'

Minerva shrugged. 'It's inconclusive but the police intend to make the case that it was. The
CCTV
footage from the banks shows a nought man cashing the cheques but he invariably wore a cap and sunglasses and kept his head down. The general height and weight match though.'

'But none of the tapes really show his face full on?'

'I don't think so but I'm not sure,' said Minerva after a noticeable pause.

'Did they find any bloody clothing? Any
DNA
evidence?'

'They didn't find any clothing but he had plenty of time to get rid of what he was wearing. He's not stupid. Evil – yes; stupid – no,' said Minerva. 'And he didn't leave much by way of
DNA
evidence but the forensic scientists are still working on it.'

I sat back in my chair.

'Why all the questions?' Minerva asked.

Our soup arrived in teacup-sized bowls. It looked and smelled absolutely delicious but I didn't have much of an appetite.

'In your opinion, is the evidence enough to convict him?' I asked.

'From what I've seen so far – yes,' said Minerva. 'And good riddance.'

'Isn't it all a bit circumstantial – apart from the fingerprints?' I asked. 'And they only prove that he was in Cara's house at some point. They don't prove he killed her.'

'True. But all the other evidence, including the eyewitness statements, seems to indicate that he did. And the police are confident that forensics will turn up more evidence against him eventually.'

'And what does Jude say?' I asked.

'How would I know?' said Minerva. 'I'm not his lawyer.'

'I know.' I couldn't keep the trace of impatience out of my voice. 'But you must have heard on the journalists' grapevine what's going on.'

'Last I heard, Jude's not saying a word. He admits that he knew Cara but that's it. Unless his lawyer surprises everyone by coming up with an alibi or something, I reckon Jude's got no defence.'

'If he's found guilty, will he hang?'

Pause. 'Almost certainly.'

'I see.' I sipped at my soup, which might as well have been wallpaper flavour.

'Why're you so concerned about Jude?' asked Minerva. 'The bastard shot me and threatened you and your baby – remember? And he meant every word. He's dangerous.'

'I know that.'

Minerva scrutinized me. 'Are you going to answer my question now?'

At my feigned puzzlement, Minerva smiled. 'Nice try, Sephy. But I'll ask you once again, why all the questions?'

Prevarication or the truth. I decided I was too tired to beat around the bush.

'I just wanted to know for Meggie's sake. No one will really tell her what's going on so I said I'd try and help.'

'Don't get involved, Sephy,' Minerva warned. 'It has nothing to do with you and if you stick your nose in, Jude will grab it and drag you down with him. And for God's sake, please don't pass on what I've just told you. And it's not as if any of it would make Meggie feel better even if she did know.'

'I just want to help her. She's lost so much already. And ever since Jude was arrested, she hardly goes out of the house and she's barely said a word to anyone – except Rose, her granddaughter. I'm worried about her.'

'Jude's actions are his responsibility, not hers.'

'Meggie lost her daughter Lynette in a road accident. Her husband Ryan was electrocuted trying to escape from prison and . . . and her youngest son was hanged. If Jude were to die, I think it'd just about finish her off. You weren't there when it came on the news that the police wanted Jude in connection with Cara Imega's death. She broke down completely.'

'I'm sorry, but if Jude's guilty—'

I interrupted harshly. 'Her other son was innocent and that didn't get him anywhere, did it?'

Minerva let her spoon clatter back down into her now empty soup bowl. She regarded me speculatively. I didn't flinch from her gaze.

'Sephy, don't make the mistake of confusing one brother for the other.'

'What?'

'Jude isn't Callum. Don't start looking for the good in him 'cause you'll go blind trying to find it. He tried to kill us – remember?'

'I'm not likely to forget.'

'I hope not – for your sake. Callum had his faults but—'

'I'm not here to talk about . . . him,' I dismissed.

Minerva studied me. 'Why are you finding it so hard to even say Callum's name?'

'I'm not finding it hard at all,' I denied.

'Say it now then.'

'Why? What's the point? Because you tell me to?'

'No, but because if you can open up and tell someone how you feel about Callum and how you feel about . . . his death, then maybe you'll be able to move on with your life – and Meggie'll be able to do the same. That way you might both stand a chance.'

'Neither of us wants to live in the past,' I said. 'Meggie reckons we should both move on.'

'Unless you can both fully discuss what happened to Ryan and Callum and then let it go, wherever you move on to, you'll just drag the past behind you. And it'll get heavier and heavier,' Minerva said seriously.

'Studying psychology on the side, are you?' I challenged.

'No. But it's obvious. No one's asking you to forget the past. I'm saying both you and Meggie need to let it go.'

How do I do that? I wondered. 'Out of sight is out of mind' sure wasn't working. Not when every time I looked at my own daughter, all I could see was Callum. At times I almost wondered if Callum's soul had been born into Rose's body. Then I'd tell myself I was being fanciful. But then I'd ask myself – why not? Callum's soul might've entered Rose's body. It was possible. After all, Rose laughed the same way as Callum, she looked more and more like him with each passing day, and her eyes . . . It was so much like looking into Callum's eyes that it scared me. Rose's eyes were a different colour but that was irrelevant. Everything else about them was the same – the shape, the lashes, the way they looked at me with that contemplative stare.

'Are you close to Meggie?' Minerva asked.

I shrugged. 'I guess.'

'Then I'm glad you're going to be there for her,' Minerva said sombrely. 'Because, make no mistake about it, Jude is going to hang.'

The main course arrived. We both picked at our fish in silence. All I could think was that if I didn't try to do something, Meggie was about to lose the only child she had left.

'Your turn now. You still haven't told me why you wanted to see me,' I pointed out.

Minerva took a deep breath. 'I'd like an interview with Meggie.'

'Excuse me?'

'I'd like an interview with Meggie, for my newspaper,' Minerva repeated. 'Can you arrange it for me?'

I stared at her. 'Are you drunk or what? I'm not going to ask Meggie to let you interview her. What d'you take me for?'

'Sephy, I need this interview. If Meggie does this, my future on the
Daily Shouter
is secure.'

'No way!'

'Sephy, I need this job.'

'That's not my problem,' I told her. 'And I don't intend to make it Meggie's either. Didn't you hear a word of what I just said? Meggie is going through hell – again. How can you even ask me something like that?'

'I'll make sure she has a sympathetic hearing in my article.'

'Minerva, which part of NO are you having trouble with? The "N" or the "O"?'

'If you could just ask her,' Minerva persisted. 'Let Meggie make the decision.'

I began to shake my head.

'Please, Sephy. For me. Just ask her – that's all I want.'

I studied my sister, not attempting to keep the disdain off my face.

'It's my job, Sephy,' Minerva said. 'And it means a lot to me. Please.'

'No, I can't. . .'

'I got shot for you,' Minerva said quietly. 'Do this for me and we'll be even.'

My head and my heart went very still at her words. It was as if something inside of me took a step back from her and just curled up into a ball to hide.

I got shot for you . . .

'I see,' I said at last.

'Look, forget what I just said.' Minerva shook her head. 'I don't even know where that came from. I didn't mean it.'

I said nothing.

'Sephy, I'm really sorry I said that. Forgive me?'

I shrugged. 'It's OK, Minerva. I'll do what you want. I'll ask Meggie – but that's all I can do. The decision is hers.'

'That's great. Thank you so much,' Minerva beamed.

'I can tell you now – Meggie will say no,' I warned.

'You'll swing it for me – I know you can.' Minerva was all smiles.

I didn't bother to reply. There was no point. Minerva was convinced that given time and a little pressure from me she'd get her exclusive interview with Meggie. A few choice words on her part and she had me where she wanted me. Her job meant more than the world to her. Which was fair enough. Besides, I had no doubt that once Minerva found out what I intended to do with the information she'd just given me about Jude, she'd change her mind about asking me for anything ever again.

Using people was a two-way street.

'Mr McGregor, I'm on your side – you have to believe that,' said Mr Clooney.

'I don't have to believe a damn thing you tell me,' I said icily. God knows where they dug up the fossil in front of me. He must've been pushing sixty-odd and marking time until retirement. And the man didn't have a clue. He was a doddering old fart of a Cross with short-cut, white-silver hair and a thin salt-and-pepper moustache. We were in one of the three private visitors' rooms in the prison, strictly reserved for prisoners' interviews with their lawyers, conjugal visits and imparting bad news.

'I'm trying to give you the benefit of my experience,' the dagger said as he struggled for patience. 'This is a serious charge.'

'Don't patronize me,' I said. 'I know it's a serious charge. I'm the one with my head in a noose, not you.'

'Then will you let me advise you?'

'Let's hear your advice first.' I sat back in my chair, not expecting much. And that was exactly what I got.

'I think you should plead guilty and throw yourself on the mercy of the court,' said the bloody idiot before me.

'And that's the best you can do?' I said with contempt.

'It's your only chance to escape the death penalty. If you plead innocent and you're found guilty, you'll automatically receive the death penalty,' said Mr Clooney.

Like I didn't already know that.

'And if I plead guilty?'

'You'll get out in twenty-five to thirty years but you'll still be able to have some kind of life.'

Twenty-five to thirty years? Could he hear himself? He might as well have said twenty-five to thirty centuries. I wasn't going to grow old that way, rotting away slowly but surely like some of them I'd seen in this prison. I'd rather hang – and that was the truth.

'And if I say yes?'

Clooney's face lit up like a Crossmas tree. 'I can submit your new plea for the court's inspection and we could have the whole matter sorted out inside of a fortnight.'

'And if I say no?'

Clooney's smile faded. 'Then the trial will probably drag on for months and you'll more than likely be found guilty anyway.'

'Your faith in me just moves me to tears,' I said with disdain. 'I'm all moist!'

Jude's law number two was ringing in my head, with a bit of Jude's law number nine –
The only person you can ever rely on is yourself –
chucked in for good measure.

'I'm trying to be realistic,' Clooney told me.

'You're trying my patience is what you're doing,' I replied. 'And if you're the best I've got in my corner, then I'm in deep crap.'

'I am on your side,' Clooney began.

'Not any more. You're fired.'

'Pardon?'

'Turn up your hearing aid, granddad. You're fired. Your services will no longer be required. You can take a hike.'

'You need someone to defend you,' said Clooney.

'I'll do it myself,' I informed him.

'I really wouldn't advise that.'

'I don't give a rat's fart about your advice,' I said. 'Hit the road.'

Clooney got to his feet and gathered up his papers, putting them in his briefcase.

'You're making a serious mistake,' he said.

'Maybe, but at least it's
my
mistake not yours,' I replied.

Clooney looked down at me and shook his head. I stood up.

'You know what I'm looking at?' Clooney asked quietly.

'No. What?'

'A dead man walking.'

And if the guard hadn't stepped forward at that point, I'd've smacked Clooney down for sure. Pompous arse. One thing was certain. Defending myself, I couldn't do any worse.