The Loyal Servant (24 page)

32

The hand-dryer roared for a few moments, the door clanged shut and Caroline exhaled. She’d been hiding in a cubicle in the ladies’ loos on the lower ground floor for the best part of an hour. She checked her watch for the hundredth time. Her colleagues would all be long gone by now. She decided to wait another few minutes, just to be safe.

At 6:50pm she made her way back up to the fourth floor, flicking off the overhead fluorescents whenever she passed a light switch, relieved to see the office was deserted.

She took a few deep breaths and waited for her heart to stop repeatedly hurling itself against her ribs. The long line of filing cabinets stretched from one end of the room to the other. There was no way she could check them all. Instead, she decided to head straight for the procurement section and the drawer labelled
T-Z
. She pulled it out slowly and flinched as it squealed against its rollers. Automatically, she glanced around the office, checking again she didn’t have company. She blew out her cheeks and flipped through the hanging files until she reached the V’s. The swinging cardboard folders went straight from Vancouver Holdings to Vulcan Structural Engineers. Nothing for VL Construction. She slammed the drawer shut and tried to remember another company from the spreadsheet, but the only names that came to her were those of the men who had died at Pete’s firm. Since she’d found out about them, she felt like she’d been grieving, even though she knew nothing about them. But each man would have been someone’s son, probably someone’s sweetheart.

She paced up and down the narrow aisle of carpet between the cabinets and the row of desks, hoping the physical activity would help jog her memory. Something beginning with… D. She turned towards the beginning of the alphabet and opened the
D-F
drawer. She flipped through the D’s, hoping a name would jump out at her. None did, but in the process she remembered
Davis Electricals
from the first column of the spreadsheet. There was no file for that company. Reluctantly, she reached into her bag for the mobile phone Tate had given her. The journalist answered after a single ring.

‘Tell me you got your computer access sorted.’

Caroline took a breath. ‘I haven’t spoken to anyone about it yet – I don’t want to draw attention to myself.’

‘Then why are you calling?’

Caroline quickly explained where she was and what she was doing, and Tate, after recovering from her initial disappointment, read out the names of another half dozen companies from the beginning of the list. Sure enough, the corresponding files were missing from the cabinets.

‘It looks like they got to the records before me,’ Caroline said, slamming another drawer shut.

‘They?’

‘Whoever. Files don’t just get up and walk.’ She turned towards her desk and spotted a collection of three or four confidential waste sacks heaped up next to the photocopier. ‘I really feel as if…’

‘What?’

‘It feels like it’s all slipping through my fingers.’

‘I’m still working through the first batch of documents you gave me – I’m sure I’ll find something useful soon.’ Tate was obviously trying to sound upbeat.

It wasn’t working.

‘But that won’t get us any closer to finding out what happened to Martin.’ Caroline walked over to the cluster of orange sacks by the copier and prodded one with a toe. A rectangle the size and shape of a folder appeared under the thin layer of plastic. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘Sorry for disturbing you.’

The tops of the sacks were tied in half-hearted bows. Caroline quickly loosened one of them and plunged a hand in. She pulled out a slim hanging file and opened it. Empty. She checked a second, and a third. They too had lost their contents. The other three bags contained more empty files. She was too late. The censors had got there ahead of her.

In the gathering gloom she glanced up at Prior’s office. He had to be behind the cleansing operation. But who was giving him his instructions? First the computer surveillance, now the office clearout. Authorisation must have come from higher up the food chain. For a moment she thought she glimpsed movement behind the glass. She froze, just watching, holding her breath. Then exhaled. There was no one there.

For God’s sake, get a hold of yourself.

She swallowed and shook her head. She should leave before paranoia properly set in. She glanced round the office again. The packing crate lying on her desk was open. When she’d left it the flaps had been closed. She dumped her bag and checked inside the crate. All her stuff seemed to be there, but it had definitely been disturbed. She slammed the lid shut. Someone had been poking through her things. Pam? Prior? She dragged the crate onto the floor and stacked another one on top. As she leaned on the desk to get up she spotted Tracy Clarke’s forgotten cardboard box shoved right underneath the adjacent desk. Given Tracy’s stuff looked like junk, if Caroline didn’t pack it into a crate for her it would doubtless end up in the crusher with all the other rubbish.

She got to her knees and scrabbled under the desk. As she reached for the box, the sudden memory of Tracy’s ashen face emerging from Prior’s office stopped her in her tracks. A spasm of guilt jabbed like a stitch beneath her ribcage. She took a deep breath and waited a moment for it to pass then grabbed a corner of the box and heaved it onto the desk.

Still nestling in the corner of the box, just where Caroline had shoved it, was Tracy’s pen pot. She lifted it out and found the Post-It note with Tracy’s login details. She snatched the yellow square of paper, screwed it into a tight ball and shoved it in her pocket.

A faint squeal sounded from another part of the office. Caroline strained to listen, holding her breath. The noise stopped as abruptly as it started. It was impossible to tell what direction it had come from. She stood motionless for a few more seconds, but there was nothing to hear.

Bloody paranoid
.

She dragged a plastic packing crate across the floor and decanted Tracy’s stuff until all that remained right at the bottom of the box was a hairbrush, matted with Tracy’s frizzy hairs, and an old copy of
heat
. Caroline screwed up her nose and, pinching the very end of the brush between finger and thumb, threw it quickly into the crate. As she picked up the magazine something fell out and clattered back into the box. It wasn’t like Tracy to leave a freebie inside a magazine. Caroline grabbed the CD case and angled it towards the window to catch the last of the daylight filtering through the blinds, expecting to discover it was some awful compilation album. But the CD inside was blank except for a handwritten line in black marker:

Primary & secondary pre-Ofsted:
Pupil records
CONFIDENTIAL

Caroline edged closer to the window and read it again. It was Tracy’s handwriting. She’d circled the word
confidential
. Caroline swallowed. The missing CD-ROM. Tracy must have had it for the whole of her maternity leave. Caroline quickly slipped the CD-ROM back into the pages of the magazine, shoved the magazine in the crate and stepped back.

She stared at the crate, unable to move.

The squealing noise sounded again, louder this time. Caroline glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the noise. It stopped again. Her gaze was drawn magnetically back to the contents of the crate and the magazine resting on top.

If she presented Prior with the CD-ROM now, how would she explain where she found it? Tracy was already in enough trouble because of her. But she couldn’t just leave it there, pretend she knew nothing about it. Before she had time to consider her actions, she scooped up the magazine and the CD-ROM and shoved both in her handbag. Then she flipped closed the lid of the packing crate and hurriedly slapped on a label and scribbled Tracy’s name on it in block capitals.

She stepped back and gazed down at the crate, already questioning whether she was doing the right thing. Her heart was racing; she could hear it pounding in her ears.

Then she heard another noise, just a little way behind her: the phlegmy rattle of congested breathing. She stiffened, unable to turn around, not wanting to know who was there.

‘Well, well, well.’ Ed Wallis’ voice crackled in his throat.

Caroline exhaled slowly as she turned, relieved it wasn’t Prior. ‘Hello Ed.’ She forced a smile.

‘We must stop meeting like this.’ He was holding a fat arm over his enormous belly, the other arm resting on top, clutching a mobile phone. He shook his head. ‘Still burning the midnight oil?’

‘Actually I was just off home.’

‘What have you been up to?’

‘Up to?’ Automatically Caroline glanced towards her handbag on the desk. ‘Oh you know the sort of thing – last minute packing. It’s like going away on holiday, isn’t it? There’s always something you remember you’ve forgotten at the last minute.’

Ed was staring at her handbag. ‘I thought Bishop’s were coming in to do all the packing for you.’

As ever Ed was the most well informed security guard in the whole department.

‘Oh, you know us girls – we like to fuss over that sort of thing ourselves. It’s just nicer to pack your own stuff.’

‘Is that what you were doing?’

Caroline nodded.

Ed shuffled over to the crate she’d just labelled. ‘This is your stuff is it?’ He lifted a flap and peered inside.

‘No!’ She took a breath and lowered her voice. ‘No – I was just doing Tracy a favour. She’s not back for a couple of weeks yet.’

Ed shut the flap and turned back to her. ‘You haven’t heard then?’

‘Heard what?’ Caroline took a step closer to her desk. Ed mirrored her movements and sidled sideways, somehow managing to manoeuvre himself so that he was within reaching distance of her bag. ‘She’s up for a disciplinary. Breach of the Code of Conduct.’

Disciplinary
?
Dear Christ, what have I done?

‘On what grounds?’

‘That I don’t know.’ He slipped his mobile into a pocket. ‘I’m surprised no one’s told you anything about it though.’ He took another step sideways and glanced around the office. ‘Seems like you’re in the dark all ways round.’ He chuckled.

‘Yeah – well, that wouldn’t be a first.’ She took a step towards her desk and reached out a hand for her bag. ‘If you’ll excuse me – I really do need to get going.’

‘Not sure I can, as it goes.’ He quickly spread his arms and legs, completely blocking access to the desk.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She took another step and stopped. Any further and she’d collide with his stomach. ‘Stop playing silly buggers, Ed.’

‘Does your boss know how hard you’re working, how many extra hours you’re putting in? Do you think I should mention it to him?’

Caroline drew in a sharp breath. ‘Oh – I wouldn’t bother. Doesn’t cut much ice with Jeremy. You’d be wasting your time.’

‘So you’d rather I didn’t tell him about this evening?’

‘What about it?’

‘Doing your own packing. Poking through Tracy’s stuff. Should I keep quiet about that then? Not mention it? Just keep it between ourselves, shall we?’

‘I didn’t “poke through” anything – I was doing Tracy a favour. You can tell Prior whatever you like. Right now, I’d like you to get out of my way.’

‘Really? Tell him anything, can I?’

Caroline shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you think you saw, but you can tell Prior anything you like, and I’ll explain whatever I need to.’

‘You’re sure?’ He twisted and reached an arm behind his back, his hand on her bag. ‘Maybe I could find something in here to back me up.’ He lifted the bag. ‘What do you ladies keep in your handbags? This thing weighs a ton.’ He opened the bag and peered inside.

‘Take your fucking hands off my bag!’ Caroline screamed at him.

‘Language!’ He reached in a hand.

Caroline lunged towards him, both fists ploughing into his chest, at the same time drawing up her knee as rapidly as she could, hard and fast, right into his crotch. He let out an animal wail, dropped her bag and doubled over, clutching his balls. She scooped up the bag and staggered backwards.

‘Don’t threaten me, Ed.’ She secured the shoulder strap across her chest and clung on tight to her bag. ‘You start talking to my boss and maybe I’ll report you to yours.’ She backed away, towards the exit.

‘Fucking bitch!’ The words came out of Ed’s mouth in a high-pitched squeal. ‘I’ll fucking get you!’

‘I’d think twice about that, Ed. It’s a dismissible offence… sexual harassment.’

33

‘I haven’t got long,’ Caroline said. ‘I need to get home.’

‘I’m sorry I’m late. You didn’t really give me much notice. I had to—’

‘Don’t bother inventing some excuse.’

Angela Tate collapsed onto the stone bench outside the Royal Festival Hall and squeezed Caroline’s arm. ‘Are you all right?’ she said, fixing a smile on her face that seemed to Caroline like an afterthought. ‘You look a bit weird.’

‘Shall we get on we this?’

‘OK.’ Tate glanced up and down the river. ‘It’s bloody freezing sitting here. Let’s walk and talk.’

With some effort, Caroline levered herself to her feet.

‘West or east?’ Tate pointed first towards the London Eye and the Palaces of Westminster beyond, then in the opposite direction towards Waterloo Bridge.

Caroline had no intention of going back to Westminster. She’d had more than enough for one day. ‘East,’ she said.

They’d got as far as the painted yellow steps leading up to Queen Elizabeth Hall when Tate’s mobile started to ring. She answered the call and shrugged an apology at Caroline.

Caroline lengthened her stride, forcing Tate to pick up speed. They reached the tables of second-hand books outside the NFT by the time Tate finished her call. The traders were packing up for the night. Tate shoved the phone back in her bag and picked up a dog-eared copy of
Scoop.

‘I haven’t read this in years.’ She inspected the cover, front and back. ‘It was hysterical. Have you read it?’

Caroline prised the book from Tate’s hands, placed it gently back on the table and steered the journalist away from further distraction.

‘Did you manage to find out anything else about the contractors on the spreadsheet after I spoke to you?’ Caroline glanced left and right, not entirely sure what she was expecting to see.

‘Actually I did – I made a few calls, called in a few favours.’ Tate looked her up and down. ‘I thought you had something you wanted to tell me?’

‘I will, later. What did you find out?’

‘It seems each firm has a parent company registered at Companies House, but they’re just empty shells. Is that even legal in government procurement?’

‘Not my area of expertise.’

‘I’m guessing it’s some tax evasion scam.’

‘And are the companies linked in any way?’

‘Why? Should they be?’

Caroline shrugged. ‘Is that all you could find?’

‘That’s quite a lot. It took a fair amount of digging around to come up with that much – especially this late in the day.’ She pulled her raincoat tighter. ‘I did find out that most of the contractors have been getting steady work from the Department for Education for a couple of years.’ She shoved her hands under her arms. ‘And other government departments before that. The Department of Health in particular. And before that Transport.’

‘Health and Transport?’

Tate nodded. ‘Why?’

Caroline sucked in a breath. ‘You’ve not made the connection?’

‘What connection? I only found out half an hour ago.’

‘Those are the departments where William King held ministerial posts before he came to the DfE.’

‘Bloody hell, you’re right. You’re a genius.’ Tate reached out her arms then quickly drew them back. ‘Is it possible Fox made the connection too and threatened to expose King?’ She pulled a notepad from her bag and scribbled down a few lines.

‘There’s something else you should know about those companies,’ Caroline said quietly.

Tate stopped writing.

Caroline tried to moisten her lips with her tongue, but her mouth had gone completely dry. ‘I need a drink.’ She headed towards the entrance of the NFT. Tate caught her up as she reached the door.

Caroline tried to get comfortable on a hard bench at a table by the window while Tate went to the bar. She kept her handbag on her lap and hooked an arm through the strap.

Tate came back with two large glasses of chilled white wine. Caroline took a tentative sip, then a large gulp.

‘Well?’ Tate said.

Caroline gazed out at the last of the booksellers loading their wares into large plastic crates. Immediately she pictured Ed in the office, stranded in a sea of brightly coloured crates, bent double, cursing her between agonised breaths. She took another big gulp of wine in an attempt to wash the memory away.

‘You really did need a drink.’ Tate smiled at her.

Caroline put down her glass and leaned towards the journalist. ‘Those contractors…’

‘Yes?’

‘They may have something else in common.’ Caroline picked up her glass again, suddenly uncertain how much she should divulge. Would telling Tate incriminate Pete? She couldn’t do it to him.

‘Come on, Caroline. If you’ve got something to say – something that might help us find out about what really happened to Martin… it’s your duty to tell me.’

Is it? What would you know about duty?

Caroline got up quickly. ‘This was a mistake.’

‘What?’

‘It’s all gone too far.’

Tate put a hand on Caroline’s arm. ‘You’re right, in a way. But
it
hasn’t gone too far.
We
have. We’ve
come
too far. Too far to turn back. We can’t just stop. Not now.’

‘But the evidence has vanished. It’s all been magicked away. And besides…’ Caroline screwed up her eyes.

‘What is it?’

‘I think my boss suspects something. If he doesn’t right now, he will by tomorrow.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘You don’t need to know.’

Tate gently pushed Caroline back towards her seat. ‘Sit down. Finish your drink at least.’

Caroline opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. What could she say? She stared into Tate’s eager face, her eyes searching Caroline’s. It took Caroline a moment to recognise that look.

It was hunger.

She let out a stuttering breath and cleared her throat.

‘I feel like something big is about to happen,’ she finally said. ‘The pressure’s building. Not only on me.’

‘The election’s just over a week away – that’s the big something. If you’re right and the department is being cleansed of evidence, that’s probably happening right across Whitehall. Everywhere that King has been. All the surfaces he’s left his dirty paw prints on are being decontaminated. He’s making sure he presents a blemish-free version of himself to the electorate next Thursday.’

Caroline gulped another mouthful of wine without tasting it. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘There are two things I want you to know. One needs more investigating. The other you have to handle exactly the way I tell you.’

Tate raised her eyebrows, but picked up her notebook and pen without a murmur.

‘Those contractors… it might be nothing… but I know at least one of them is owned and run by Larson’s.’

Tate’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re sure?’

Caroline nodded. ‘Certain. VL Construction is run by Valerie Larson. It’s quite possible others might be owned by Larson’s as well. It’s worth checking them all out. Call in a few more favours.’

‘If some of the other companies are owned by Larson too… that means…’

‘A possible connection between King and Larson and the likelihood of some very dodgy dealing in the procurement process.’

‘But what if King knew about the health and safety record too? That’s got to do serious damage to his campaign.’

‘Yes – good luck with proving any of that.’

‘We have the spreadsheet.’

‘That may not be enough.’

‘It’s a bloody good start.’ Tate scribbled down some notes for a few moments then stopped suddenly. She stared into Caroline’s face. ‘You said there were two things. What’s the second one?’

‘You have to promise me you’ll do exactly as I say.’

‘If I possibly can, I will.’

‘You’ve got to do better than that. If this isn’t done properly, if you don’t work it for all it’s worth… then the diabolical position I’ve just put myself in will have been for nothing. Promise me.’

‘Christ, Caroline. What’s happened?’

‘Promise me!’

‘OK – whatever it takes – you have my word.’

Caroline wasn’t sure what Tate’s word was worth. But right now she felt as if she was running out of options. She reached into her bag and left her hand inside. She stared into Tate’s eyes. They were bloodshot. ‘My way and my timing.’

Tate nodded and looked down at the bag.

‘I’m going to give you something, something that’s damaging for the department… damaging for the government, potentially.’

‘Is this to do with the contractors?’

‘It’s something else.’ She pulled the CD-ROM from her bag and glanced up at a frowning Tate. ‘This disc has been missing for a while –months, most probably. Three weeks ago I was given the task of locating it. And I’ve spent the last three weeks getting absolutely nowhere. We’d pretty much given up any hope of finding it.’

Tate seemed transfixed. She couldn’t take her eyes off the disc.

‘I found it by accident this evening. It contains the personal details of over 150,000 pupils. It wasn’t until someone in the department went looking for it that they discovered it had disappeared.’

‘Where did you find it?’

‘That you don’t need to know.’

Tate pursed her lips.

‘So here’s all this information and it’s floating around.’ Caroline waved the CD-ROM in front of Tate’s face. ‘No one knows where it is. The powers that be are petrified it’s going to turn up in the back of a cab, or left on the tube, or in a car boot sale.’

‘Well it wouldn’t be the first time that happened.’

‘The first time it’s happened this close to an election.’

Tate shifted in her seat. ‘What kind of personal details? Address? Age?’

Caroline nodded. ‘Free school meal and SEN status too.’

‘SEN?’

‘Special Educational Needs.’

‘So much for child protection.’ Tate kept her eyes on the CD-ROM in its plastic case.

‘I haven’t had a chance to wipe it,’ Caroline said.

‘Wipe it?’

‘My fingerprints will be all over it.’ She pressed it into Tate’s hands. ‘Make sure you clean it really well then handle it as much as you can.’

‘You want me to handle it?’

Caroline nodded. ‘Get some colleagues to handle it too. I don’t know anything about DNA, but I would have thought the more people who handle it, the more difficult it becomes to analyse whatever traces are found.’

‘Who’s going to be interested in doing a DNA analysis?’

Caroline shrugged. ‘I’m just trying to protect myself. Although I have a feeling it’s a bit late for that.’

Tate held the CD-ROM at arm’s length and squinted at it.

‘I want you to write a story about the department losing such important information. I want you to write about the large amount of resources wasted looking for it. Ask questions about how the department could have such a casual attitude to data protection.’ Caroline looked at Tate’s pad and pen lying on the counter next to her glass of wine. ‘You’re not making notes.’

‘And you’re not going to tell me how to write a story.’

Caroline sighed. ‘OK – but you must do at least one thing for me.’

‘Must I?’

‘Please, Angela – this is really important.’

‘What is it?’

‘I want you to say you received the CD-ROM through the post. But you never thought to keep the envelope.’ Caroline bit her bottom lip. ‘You need to make something up about it being mislaid in your office somewhere – to explain your delay in making it public. Say that you made a note of the postmark at the time it was originally received – say it was posted from Cambridge on 25th March.’

‘A month ago? It really did get mislaid. Any particular type of envelope I carelessly discarded?’

‘A padded one.’

‘I was joking.’

‘You need to say there was no letter with it. Just a Post-It stuck to the front of the CD case with a short note scrawled across it.’

‘Which I also threw away, presumably?’

‘I’ll leave that to you – any way you want to spin it.’

‘That’s very generous, thanks.’

‘Can you get the story in tomorrow’s paper?’

Tate rocked back in her seat. ‘That’s a bit of a tall order.’

‘Front page.’

‘You don’t ask for much.’ Tate flipped the package over. And what did the note say? Do I at least know who posted it to me?’

Caroline filled her lungs and exhaled slowly. A nerve in her right cheek started to twitch.

‘You do. And you must make that a major part of the article.’

‘And that person would be?’

‘Martin Fox.’