The Judgement Book (13 page)

Father Maguire crossed himself, rather theatrically Dan thought. He felt like the sort of priest a television director would cast for the role. He looked and acted the part.

‘Poor Will and Linda,’ he intoned. ‘Fine people both. May they rest in peace.’

Adam nodded his agreement. ‘Let me start by asking you a couple of general questions about them. I hope that won’t infringe on the confidences of your parishioners.’

Father Maguire tilted his head to one side, said warily, ‘Go on.’

‘Was there anything that seemed to be specifically worrying them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will Freedman first then. You’ll have seen the newspaper reports about the prostitute. Was it along those lines?’

Father Maguire pursed his lips and held a finger to them. He took another glance towards the sky, but gave a slight, sad nod.

Adam nodded too, then asked, ‘Anything else?’

‘Not that’s material to your investigation.’

‘Father, with respect, it’s better if I’m the judge of that.’

‘No!’ the priest snapped. ‘I’m already fighting my conscience in trying to help you as much as I can. Don’t push it, man.’

The lilt of an Irish accent bubbled into Maguire’s voice when he was annoyed. His silver eyebrows arched and jumped, as though they were competing with each other to touch his hairline.

Adam stared silently at him. Dan knew the technique. Quiet was unsettling. The detective was inviting him to fill the void, give something away. It was a tactic Dan himself had used many times in interviews. But the little priest was not to be intimidated. He held Adam’s gaze and said nothing.

‘OK then, Father, how about Linda?’ said Adam, finally. ‘You’re aware she appears to have committed suicide too?’

‘Of course.’

‘Was there anything she was specifically worried about?’

‘Again, I don’t think that’d be relevant to your inquiry.’

‘Father please,’ said Adam. ‘This is vital in catching someone who is ruining lives.’

‘I know that, Breen,’ snapped the priest again. ‘That’s why I agreed to see you at all. I don’t have to tell you anything, as you’re very well aware. I’m bending my faith just talking to you. Don’t try to break it.’

Adam held up his hands in a calming apology. ‘Then let me rephrase the question. Perhaps that would help us both. Did Linda mention anything about blackmail?’

‘No.’

‘Anything about sex?’

The priest closed his eyes.

‘No,’ he barked finally.

‘Anything about work?’

Father Maguire paused, slowly opened his eyes and raised his face to the heavens.

‘God help me,’ he whispered. ‘And on a Sunday too.’ He looked back at them, his eyebrows jumping again. ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘She was worried about her job. Now that’s it. No more.’

Adam waited, then said, ‘Father, we need to know …’

‘No more!’ he barked. ‘None! Not a word. You got that, Breen?’

Adam nodded. ‘All right, Father, thank you. I very much appreciate your help. There’s just one final thing I must ask. May I take you into my confidence?’

Maguire nodded wearily. ‘If you must. Confidences are part of my job. And they’re not always an easy weight to carry, I can tell you.’

Adam managed a weak smile. ‘We think the information the blackmailer has may have come as a result of conversations between the victims and other, unknown, people. Is there any way what happens in the confessional here could be overheard?’

‘No.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes I’m bloody sure, Breen! No one else comes near when you’re in the confessional. We respect it completely. And if your imagination’s running away to listening devices and spy stuff like that, you can forget it. We always check the booth before we use it.’

‘Last question, Father.’ Adam saw the man’s look. ‘I promise this is the last one.’

‘Go on.’

‘Where were you at five o’clock this morning?’

‘Funnily enough, I was in bed.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’

He gave Adam an exasperated look. ‘It’s not very likely, is it? I’m a Catholic bloody priest, Breen. We sleep alone remember? And before you think it, I don’t even bother the choirboys, unlike some of my colleagues. I imagine you’re asking to see if you can take me off your list of suspects?’

‘I can’t lie to you, Father. Yes, that is why I wanted to know.’

‘Well, I was asleep in bed, alone, like a good Catholic boy. I didn’t do it, but I’ll bear the idea in mind the next time the church needs a new roof. Blackmailing people from what you hear in the confessional isn’t a bad thought at all. It beats all these miserable jumble sales and coffee mornings I have to put on a fake smile for.’

Dan studied the ground to hide his amusement. For once, Adam looked lost for words.

‘Well, at least that’s one suspect,’ said Adam as Claire drove them back to Charles Cross.

‘You don’t really think so, do you, sir?’ she asked.

‘Not really. Didn’t feel right, did it? Couldn’t see the motive. Yes, the opportunity might have been there to blackmail Linda and Freedman, but where is it for Osmond? What he said about Linda being worried about her job was interesting though, wasn’t it?’

Claire slowed the car for a set of traffic lights. ‘Could be just that she was concerned about whatever it was she’d done getting her the sack, or disciplined.’

‘Could be,’ replied Adam. ‘But what if she’d made a mess of some case she was handling and that’s what she was being blackmailed for? What if she’d got too involved in something? We’ll have to go through all her current and recent work to see if anything comes up.’

An ambulance screamed past them, its siren wailing. The noise made Dan think of the joyrider’s knife again, its blade glinting in the half-light of the car park. He could have been in the back of that ambulance, gasping for life, a knife handle protruding from his chest.

Adam turned. ‘What was this exclusive you were thinking of for your report tonight then? We’d better get that sorted, if we can.’

‘I don’t know if now’s the right time …’ Dan began, but Adam interrupted.

‘Get on with it. We haven’t got time to fumble around.’

Dan looked at Claire. In his eyes, she even managed to drive elegantly. He must be in deep. He was hoping to have a few private minutes to raise it with her first, but Adam was in no mood for delay.

‘What I was thinking – what I had in mind was this …’ Dan began, and tailed off again.

‘Yes?’ prompted Adam. ‘Come on. Even you can’t have thought of something that bad.’

‘Well, everyone will have the story of the blackmail link between Linda and Freedman and the CCTV of the blackmailer from the press conference. But what I wondered was whether, to make my report different and better, and I know this is asking a lot, but …’

‘Just get on with it, will you?’

Dan hesitated, then said, ‘I’d like to do a tribute to Linda.’

‘Fine,’ replied Adam. ‘Good idea. She deserves it. What’s the problem? Why are you making such a fuss? I’m very happy to say a few words about her after the rest of the media have cleared off. That way you get your beloved exclusive.’

‘Well, that’s the point,’ said Dan, uneasily. He shifted in his seat and sneaked another glance at Claire.

‘What is?’

‘You doing the interview.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, you’ll be doing the news conference attacking the blackmailer, won’t you?’

‘So?’

‘So, it would be good to get someone else to do the tribute.’

‘Why?’

‘Because TV likes variety, and two different faces on the screen always work better than one. Plus you didn’t actually know her very well, did you? I’d like to talk to someone who can give me an anecdote or personal experience of her.’ Dan looked at Claire again, waiting for the reaction. ‘Like someone she’s helped, for instance.’

Adam turned back to the front of the car and drummed a couple of fingers on the dashboard.

‘Fair point,’ he said. ‘But no one really knew her that well.’

‘Some knew her better than others though, didn’t they?’

‘Like who?’

From the driver’s seat Dan heard Claire draw in a sharp breath.

‘Ah,’ said Adam. ‘Like Claire?’

‘Yes. Like Claire.’

Adam folded his arms, gazed out of the windscreen. Dan noticed they were picking up speed. Claire stared straight ahead, her face set. The car felt as if it had filled with storm clouds.

‘I don’t have a problem with that,’ said Adam at last, placing a heavy emphasis on the “I”. ‘I suppose you knew her as well as anyone Claire. What do you think about doing an interview?’

There was a pause, then Claire said tersely, ‘Can I have a few minutes to think about it please?’

For the first time, Dan truly understood the meaning of the phrase “through gritted teeth”. He wondered how much trouble he was going to be in later. He thought he saw a slight smile flicker across Adam’s face.

‘Fair enough,’ said the detective. ‘It’s bad enough being interviewed by Dan when he’s your friend. I wouldn’t want to think what it’s like when he’s your boyfriend.’

Dan shifted again in his seat. It suddenly felt sticky. He didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet, counted the landmarks. They passed the old Crownhill Fort, its great earth ramparts and gun emplacements part of the Victorians’ attempts to defend Plymouth from a French attack, then turned south, heading into the city, along the Manadon flyover, for once living up to its name and not choked with traffic. He took a couple of obvious looks at Claire and knew she was aware of him doing so, but she didn’t acknowledge him, just kept her eyes set ahead. Dan sighed to himself.

They drove on in silence until the radio crackled with a call for Adam. He picked it up and listened, nodded a couple of times.

‘Good,’ he said finally. ‘We’re making progress. We have another suspect. The teams have found a solicitor who worked for both Linda and Osmond. And the press conference has been arranged for an hour’s time. All the media are going to be there. So then, what do I say?’

Dan looked up from the notes he’d written earlier. ‘It’s quite spicy,’ he said, tearing off a sheet of paper and handing it forwards. ‘See if you think it’s too much.’

Adam read through the scrawled words, emitted a few murmurs of approval. ‘I like it. It should certainly put some wind up our Worm. I might even add a couple of little jibes of my own. Let’s really take the fight to our foe for once. It’s about time.’

Chapter Thirteen

D
AN SAT AT THE
back of the press conference and fretted. He kept picking a snagged nail, smoothing it, then finding another to worry away at. He tried to concentrate, but unpleasant thoughts kept surfacing and nagging. Does she still love me? Or have I blown it? Anyway, what was he doing? Loves me, loves me not – it felt like being twelve years old again.

Claire hadn’t said a word to him in the hour they’d been back at Charles Cross. He’d tried to engineer a couple of minutes alone so they could talk, but there was no time. Adam was buzzing with his speech to the press conference. Every new line he thought of he wanted to test on Dan to see how the media would react. Dutifully, but uninterestedly, Dan had offered his view.

The detective had also agonised about his tie, whether it was too bright for a sombre occasion. Dan had to stop himself pointing out that he didn’t really care, and eventually agreed. Adam was right, appearances were very important on TV. The sprouting red and green flowers would have to be replaced. Semiotics, the unspoken language of film, dictated that they didn’t fit with a story of blackmail and suicide.

A probationer detective was despatched to the city centre and told it was the most important mission he would undertake – not to come back until he’d found a smart, diagonally striped tie, with a mainly navy base colour to match Adam’s suit. It must be silk too, of course. Dan, who usually found his friend’s vanity and fixation with his wardrobe amusing, couldn’t help but feel a growing irritation.

To cheer himself up, he called his downstairs neighbour and was reassured that Rutherford had been fed and was currently running around the garden with a tennis ball clenched between his teeth. Dan smiled. He felt a sudden desire to join his dog. The thrill of chasing the joyriders had long since ebbed and a leaden tiredness was weighing him down again. The memory of the menacing knife was still strong in his mind. The simplicity of being outside, in the spring sunshine, throwing a ball for his stupid dog to sprint after was wonderfully alluring.

But there was no chance of escape. It was going to be a long day and it felt as though everyone wanted a piece of him. There was the press conference to cover, then the interview with Claire, if she decided to do it. A big if, and even then in capitals, italics, and probably underlined too. He’d also have to appease Lizzie, go back to the studios to cut the story, then probably back to Charles Cross to help out with whatever Adam decided they needed to do next. Dan yawned and stretched, tried to force some spirit back into his sullen body.

Eleanor said she hoped she’d be able to reveal the answer to the third part of the riddle later. Dan wanted to be there for that. So far, he hadn’t even had a chance to work on it. “Now tel me this” was the key, she’d said. What did it have to do with last Sunday?

He went to get his copy of Osmond’s blackmail note from his pocket but stopped himself. He didn’t feel up to trying to solve it. His mind was too full of Claire, the press conference, Lizzie, and the story he’d have to write later. That was quite enough.

Beside him, Nigel bent over the camera, checking its focus. The room was full again, snappers, newspaper, radio and TV reporters, many grumbling about being called out on a Sunday. Dirty El was at the front, caressing the long lens of his camera. If Claire was playing it cool, maybe they could go out for a few beers. That would cheer him up. He sometimes thought of El as the court jester in his life. Always up to something comical, but often full of surprising wisdom too.

At exactly two o’clock, the door at the side of the room opened and Adam strode in, wearing his sombre new tie. He sat down at the desk, with the blue and white Greater Wessex Police screens behind him and looked around at the press pack. The rumble of conversation died away.

He apologised for the late notice and for asking the hacks here on a Sunday, then paused, shuffled some papers, and hit them with the story.

‘We believe we have a picture of the blackmailer.’

Adam waited again, let the pack react. There were a few gasps, a couple of whistles and several nudged each other. It was pure theatre.

‘It’s taken from CCTV pictures,’ Adam went on. ‘For those of you in television, I will be making a copy available. For those of you in print, I have a series of stills taken from the video. I have some more information for you, then I’ll take a few questions.’

A uniformed sergeant began walking around the room, handing out CDs and photographs of the CCTV film. Dan noticed El took a handful. He must be looking after several papers and making good money from them. No wonder he wore his trademark sleazy grin.

‘We believe the blackmailer has now claimed their second and third victims,’ continued Adam, his voice grave. ‘I regret to inform you the second was a police officer, one who worked here in Plymouth. Her name was Inspector Linda Cott. Her car was found in a car park on the north Cornwall coast, near St Agnes. We have an eyewitness report of her jumping from the cliff. The identity of the third victim I cannot release to you as inquiries are continuing.’

Adam looked around the room. It was silent, all the journalists scribbling at their notes, the cameramen and photographers intent on their shots. And still the punch line was yet to come.

‘I have one further thing to say,’ the detective continued. ‘This blackmailer is very dangerous. He, or she, is wrecking lives. He needs to be caught before he destroys another. I would appeal for anyone who thinks they might recognise the person in the pictures to get in touch with us and help us put an end to these dreadful crimes.’

The silence returned. Adam caught Dan’s look and gave him a slight nod. It was working perfectly. Now he’d take some questions. They’d hoped one of the hacks would ask the right one, but if they didn’t Dan was ready, just in case.

There were a couple of questions about Linda and her career. A newspaper reporter wanted a photo of her and Adam promised he would get one. Dan silently chastised himself for not thinking of that. A radio reporter asked about progress in the inquiry, and Adam managed to sound upbeat without giving anything away.

The detective pointedly checked his watch. ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, if that’s all?’

‘Keep recording,’ Dan hissed to Nigel, who had stood up from his camera. ‘Go in tighter on him, get us a big close-up. This bit could be good.’

Dan rose from his seat and put up his hand. ‘Mr Breen, just one final question, if I may?’

Adam turned to him and nodded. ‘Go on.’

Dan waited for the whirr of the camera’s motor, zooming in. The closer the shot, the more powerful the image, the tension and passion revealed in each line and motion of the face.

‘What do you think of the blackmailer? What do you believe are the reasons for his crimes?’

Adam looked down at his notes, composed himself.

‘This is what I think,’ he said finally. ‘The blackmailer is clearly sick. He might think he has some grand purpose in what he’s doing, but he, or she, doesn’t. He’s just a common criminal. In fact, it’s worse than that. At least common criminals have the decency to show themselves. This blackmailer hides behind poisonous little notes. That makes him a coward, a pathetic one who can’t make a mark on society in any other manner but to sneak around, looking for ways to have some sordid hold over decent people. As to what drives him to do it, I can only speculate. But I can say this. He or she must be a very lonely, sad and utterly inadequate person.’

When the other hacks had left to file their stories, the door opened again and Claire walked in. She kept her head high and didn’t even glance at Dan, but strode over. He looked at her and tried his best smile. It wasn’t returned.

His efforts at bringing a thaw felt as effective as holding a lighter to an iceberg.

‘I will talk to you about Linda,’ Claire said frostily. ‘But I want to make it clear I’m doing it for her, not you.’

‘Fair enough,’ Dan replied, trying to keep his voice level.

Nigel sat Claire down and clipped a tiny personal microphone onto the lapel of her jacket.

‘What do you want to ask?’ she said.

‘I want to know what kind of a woman Linda was, and if you have any special memories of her. It’ll give the viewers a sense of her personality. Two sound bites will do me fine.’

‘OK.’

‘Recording,’ said Nigel, from behind the camera.

Dan asked his questions and Claire answered, fluently and easily. She’d been rehearsing it, he thought.

‘Linda was a dedicated police officer. She joined the force because she wanted to make a difference to people’s lives. She was a great champion of neighbourhood policing and she wanted to make communities safer and happier places. She wanted people to see the police as friends who they could turn to for help. I think the best way to remember her is someone who achieved that. She really made a difference in the communities she served and she’ll be sadly missed.’

Dan tried not to smile. Good answer. So she was listening all those times I ranted on about how important it is to make an interview vivid and human, not the usual robotic police spiel about “apprehending the aforementioned suspect to assist us in our inquiries”.

He’d never understood why they did it. Officers who were perfectly normal when you chatted to them before the interview suddenly became automatons when the camera was rolling. Not Claire.

He hesitated to think it, but did anyway. It felt good. His Claire.

He hoped so, anyway.

He forced his mind back to the job. ‘And how will you personally remember her?’

Claire clasped her fingers together, gathered her thoughts. Beside him, Dan heard the whirr of the camera’s motor as Nigel zoomed in the shot.

‘Linda was a friend to me in times of need. Even today, it’s not always easy being a woman in the police. In the dark moments, she’d sit down with me and let me pour it out. She told me she’d gone through just the same and that I should stick at it. The bad days passed and good ones came to take their place. It’s always stuck with me. Bad times go and good times come to replace them. It’s what I cling on to now when I’m having a rotten day. She was a great woman. A fine and dedicated police officer and a good friend. I’m proud and privileged to have known her.’

Nigel drove them back to the studios to cut the story. Sitting in the edit suite, Dan had to struggle hard to concentrate. Claire’s face on the monitors was a terrible distraction. For the first time in many years he properly understood a universal truth. Why was it that you only really appreciated what you had when you felt threatened with losing it?

Lizzie was having the weekend off, a rare phenomenon, renowned only to be forced upon her by the demands of her family, but that didn’t mean he could relax. It was an oft-repeated joke that her ghost patrolled the building. Like many journalists’ tales, it was heavily embroidered, but still retained an element of truth. If she wasn’t at work, Lizzie always watched every bulletin from home and had a block setting on her TV system to record them in case she happened to be out.

Dan debated how to start the story. It was a fine call. The two broad rules of television reporting collided on this one. It was generally agreed you should begin your report with the best material you had, and that often came down to a powerful personal story or some striking pictures. He had both, Claire’s moving comments about Linda and the CCTV of the blackmailer.

Dan went back to basics, something he’d first begun doing as a cub reporter, all those years ago. He jotted down the pros and cons for each on his notebook but still couldn’t decide, so he flipped a coin. The CCTV pictures won, so given the luck he’d had lately he went for the human interest.

He began the story with the photo of Linda and explained what had happened to her. They used some pictures of the cliffs where she had jumped, Dan talking about an eyewitness seeing her fall and her car being found close by. Then it was into Claire’s interview. After that came the CCTV, a recap of what had happened to Freedman and Adam talking about what he thought of the blackmailer.

They watched it back. Dan still wasn’t sure he’d got the report the right way around for the TV purists, but, whatever, he knew the viewers would find it compelling and that was what counted. Claire’s words were powerful and Adam’s attack on the blackmailer was captivating. It could well prompt a reaction and give them a chance to catch him. Even better, the story had the exclusive angle that Lizzie so craved.

He could imagine her at home, playing with her kids while watching the bulletin, nodding with the nearest she ever came to contentment. It should keep her off his back for a couple of days longer. The case was fascinating and he didn’t want any risk of being taken off it.

The clock on the wall said it was just after four. Dan realised he was hungry. With all that had happened he’d forgotten to eat. Time to get a sandwich. No, even better, how about a burger from one of the take-aways on Mutley Plain? Claire wasn’t here to nag at him and he deserved a treat. It could even be a small measure of revenge for the way she was treating him. He managed a weak smile at the thought.

His mobile rang, Adam’s name flashing on the display. As Dan answered, he knew his chance of a sly snack had gone.

‘What’s that?’ he said, as the phone buzzed with the detective’s excitement. ‘Really? Wow! That’s two big developments then. OK, I’ll be right there.’

Dan grabbed his satchel and jogged down the stairs to the car park.