The Widow

Chapter 31

Wednesday, 17 September 2008

The Reporter

KATE WATERS WAS fuming over her desk breakfast. ‘We could’ve had this,’ she told anyone who would listen as she turned the pages of the Herald. Across the newsroom, Terry Deacon heard, but carried on typing his news list. She abandoned her brown toast and honey and walked over. ‘We could have had this,’ she repeated, standing over him.

‘Of course we could, Kate, but she wanted too much money and we’ve already had three big interviews with her.’

He pushed back his chair, looking pained. ‘Honestly, what is new here? Wouldn’t have minded the picture with the kid next door, but the internet slags and the child porn have been everywhere.’

‘That’s not the point, Terry. The Herald is now the official Bella Elliott paper. If Taylor is retried and found guilty, they’ll be able to say they brought Bella’s kidnapper to justice. Where will we be? Standing on the steps with our dicks in our hands.’

‘Find a better story then, Kate,’ the editor said as he suddenly appeared behind them. ‘Don’t waste time on this old rehash. Off to a marketing meeting, but let’s talk later.’

‘OK, Simon,’ she said to his retreating back.

‘Bloody hell, you’ve been summoned to the headmaster’s study,’ Terry laughed once his boss was out of earshot.

Kate returned to her seat and cold toast and began searching for the elusive better story.

In normal circumstances, she’d just ring Dawn Elliott or Bob Sparkes, but her options were vanishing fast. Dawn had decamped and Bob had mysteriously disappeared off the radar – she hadn’t heard from him for weeks. She’d heard from the Crime man that there’d been a bit of trouble over interference in the Bella review and Sparkes’ phone seemed to be permanently off.

She gave it another try and gave a silent cheer when it rang. ‘Hello, Bob,’ she said when Sparkes finally answered. ‘How are you? Are you back at work yet? Guess you’ve seen the Herald?’

‘Hi, Kate. Yes. Quite a bold step for them, given the verdict. Hope they’ve got good lawyers. Anyway, good to hear from you. I’m fine. Had a bit of a break, but back at work. I’m in town, working with the Met. Tidying up some loose ends. Up near you, actually.’

‘Well, what are you doing for lunch today?’

He was sitting in the expensive, tiny French restaurant when she walked in, dark suit and black mood stark against the white tablecloths.

‘Bob, you look well,’ she lied. ‘Sorry if I’m late. Traffic.’

He rose and offered his hand across the table. ‘Just got here myself.’

The small talk stopped and started as a waiter brought menus, offered suggestions and water, hovered for the order and poured the wine. But finally, with matching plates of magret de canard in front of them, she began in earnest.

‘I want to help, Bob,’ she said, picking up her fork. ‘There must be some line of inquiry we can look at again.’

He didn’t speak but sawed at the rosy meat in front of him. She waited.

‘Look, Kate, we made a mistake and can’t unmake it. Let’s see what the Herald’s campaign produces. Do you think he’ll sue?’

‘It’s a dangerous game, suing for libel,’ she said. ‘I’ve been there. If he does, he’s got to go in the witness box and give evidence. Will he really want to do that?’

‘He’s a clever man, Kate. Slippery.’ He was rolling bread into beads of dough between his fingers. ‘I don’t know any more.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Bob. You’re a fantastic copper – why are you giving up?’

He raised his head and looked at her.

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to nag. I just hate seeing you like this,’ she said.

In the lull, while both sipped their wine, Kate cursed her haste. Leave the poor man alone, she thought.

But she couldn’t. It was not in her nature.

‘So what’ve you been doing with the Met today?’

‘Loose ends, like I said. Sorting through some stuff from a couple of joint investigations – car thefts, that sort of thing. Actually, there were also some bits and pieces left over from the Bella case. Early stuff, when we first picked up Glen Taylor.’

‘Anything interesting?’ she asked.

‘No, not really. The Met went to make sure the other Qwik Delivery driver was at home while we drove up from Southampton.’

‘What other driver?’

‘There were two drivers in Hampshire that day – you know that.’

She didn’t, or she hadn’t remembered.

‘The other one was a bloke called Mike Doonan. He was the one we went to see first. Perhaps his name didn’t come out at the time. Anyway, he’s crippled with a crumbling spine – could hardly walk – and we never found anything to pursue.’

‘Did you question him?’

‘Yes. He was the one that told us Taylor was also making a delivery in the area that day. Not sure we’d have found that out without him. Taylor did the drop as a favour, so there’s no official record of it. The case-review team went to see him, too. Nothing added, apparently.’

Kate excused herself from the table and went to the Ladies’, where she scribbled down the name and put a quick call through to a colleague to find an address for Doonan. For later.

When she got back to the table, the detective was putting his credit card back in his wallet.

‘Bob, I invited you,’ she said.

He waved away her protest and smiled. ‘My pleasure. It’s been good to see you, Kate. Thanks for your pep talk.’

She deserved that, she thought as they walked out in single file. On the pavement, he shook her hand again and they both headed back to work.

Kate’s phone began vibrating as she hailed a taxi and she waved away the cab to take the call.

‘There’s a Michael Doonan in Peckham, according to the electoral roll – I’ll SMS the address and the names of the neighbours,’ the Crime man said.

‘You’re a star, thanks,’ she said, raising her hand for another taxi. Her phone rang again almost immediately.

‘Kate, where the hell are you? We’ve got a buy-up with the ex-wife of that footballer. It’s up near Leeds, so get on the next train and I’ll email you the background. Ring when you’re at the station.’