The Widow

Chapter 50

Sunday, 13 June 2010

The Reporter

‘HERE SHE IS, our star reporter!’ the editor shouted across the newsroom when Kate walked in the next morning. ‘Brilliant exclusive, Kate. Well done!’ There was a smattering of applause from her colleagues and calls of ‘Great stuff, Kate!’ and she felt herself blushing and tried to smile without looking smug.

‘Thanks, Simon,’ she said when she finally reached her desk and could shrug off her handbag and jacket.

The news editor, Terry Deacon, had already sidled over to bask in any glory being handed out by his boss. ‘What have we got for Day Two then, Kate? Another scoop?’ the editor bawled, yellow teeth bared in triumph.

Kate knew he knew because she had filed the story overnight, but Simon Pearson wanted to put on a bit of a show in front of his people. He hadn’t had much of a chance lately – ‘Bloody boring politics. Where are the exclusives?’ was his mantra – and today he was going to make the most of it.

‘We’ve got the story of the childless marriage,’ said Terry. ‘“Is This What Turned Mr Normal into a Monster?”’

Simon smiled widely. Kate winced. The headline was crass, turning her probing and sensitive interview into a screaming cinema poster, but she should have been used to it. ‘Sell the story’ was another of Simon’s mantras. He was a man for mantras. Brute force and rote learning were his preferred MO with his executives, with none of your poncey creative thinking and questioning. ‘Simon says,’ the execs joked.

The editor knew a good headline when he wrote one and believed it was always worth using a good one more than once. Every week sometimes, when it particularly took his fancy, to be promptly discarded when even he realized it was becoming the source of derision in journalist drinking holes. The question in the headline – ‘Is This the Most Evil Man in Britain?’ – was a classic. It hedged bets. Just asking, not saying.

‘I’ve got some good quotes from the widow,’ Kate said, starting up her computer.

‘Killer quotes,’ Terry added, upping the ante. ‘Everyone was scrambling to catch up last night and we’ve had the magazines and foreign press on already for the pictures. Talk of the street.’

‘You’re showing your age, Terry,’ Simon said. ‘There’s no street any more. Didn’t you know, it’s a global village?’

The news editor grinned at his boss’s rebuke, determined to see it as a bit of banter. Nothing was going to spoil today – he’d brought in the story of the year and was going to go in and get the pay rise he richly deserved and then take his wife – or maybe his mistress – for dinner at the Ritz.

Kate was already looking at her emails, leaving the men to their dick-swinging.

‘What’s she like, Kate? Jean Taylor?’

Kate looked at her editor and saw the genuine curiosity behind the bluster. He had one of the most powerful jobs in the newspaper industry, but what he really wanted was to be a reporter again, elbow-deep in the story, asking the questions, standing on the doorstep, and sending his golden words to the desk, not just hearing about it later.

‘She’s smarter than she makes out. Puts on the little housewifely act – you know, standing by her man – but there’s all sorts going on in her head. It’s difficult for her because I think she believed he was innocent at one stage, but something changed. Something changed in their relationship.’

Kate knew she should’ve got more; she should’ve got the whole thing. She blamed Mick for interrupting, but she’d seen the shutters come down in Jean’s eyes. Control of the interview had switched back and forth between the two women, but there was no question who’d been in charge at the end. Kate wasn’t about to admit that to this audience.

The other reporters were listening now, wheeling their chairs back to catch the conversation.

‘Did he do it, Kate? And did she know?’ the Crime man asked. ‘That’s what everyone wants to know.’

‘Yes and yes,’ she said. ‘Question is, when did she know? At the time, or later? I think the trouble is that she’s been stuck between what she knows and what she wants to believe.’

Everyone looked at her for more and, as if on cue, Kate’s phone began ringing and Bob Sparkes’ name flashed up. ‘Sorry, got to take this, Simon. It’s the copper in charge of the case. Might be a Day Three.’

‘Keep me posted, Kate,’ he said as he marched off to his office, and she moved through the swing doors to the lifts to get a bit of privacy.

‘Hello, Bob. Thought I’d hear from you this morning.’

Sparkes was already standing outside the newspaper office, sheltering from summer rain in the grand portico of the building. ‘Come and have a coffee with me, Kate. We need to talk.’

The Italian café round the corner in a grubby side street was crowded and the windows were running with steam from the coffee machine. They sat down at a table away from the counter and looked at each other for a minute.

‘Congratulations, Kate. You got her to say more than I ever managed to.’

The reporter held his gaze. His generosity disarmed her, made her want to tell him the truth. He was good, she had to admit.

‘I should’ve got more, Bob. There was more to get, but she stopped when she chose. Incredible self-control. Frightening, really. One minute she was holding my hand and literally crying on my shoulder about the monster she married, and the next, she was back in the driving seat. Clammed up and wouldn’t budge.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘She knows what happened, doesn’t she?’

Sparkes nodded. ‘I think she does. But she can’t let it out and I don’t know why. After all, he’s dead. What has she got to lose?’

Kate shook her head in sympathy. ‘Something, obviously.’

‘I’ve often wondered if she was involved in the crime,’ Sparkes said, mainly to himself. ‘Maybe the planning? Maybe it was about getting a child for them both and something went wrong? Perhaps she put him up to it?’

Kate’s eyes were glittering with the possibilities. ‘Bloody hell, Bob. How’re you going to get her to confess?’

How indeed? he thought.

‘What is her weak point?’ Kate asked, playing with her spoon.

‘Glen,’ he answered. ‘But he’s not here any more.’

‘It’s kids, Bob. That’s her weak point. She’s obsessed with them. Everything came back to kids when we were talking. She wanted to know everything about my boys.’

‘I know. You should see her scrapbooks full of babies.’

‘Scrapbooks?’

‘That’s off the record, Kate.’

She tucked it away for later and automatically put her head on one side. Submission. You can trust me.

He wasn’t fooled. ‘I mean it. It could be part of a future investigation.’

‘OK, OK,’ she conceded irritably. ‘What do you think she’ll do now?’

‘If she knew anything, she might go back to the child,’ Sparkes said.

‘Back to Bella,’ Kate echoed. ‘Wherever she is.’

Jean had nothing else to think about now. She’d make a move, he was sure.

‘Will you call me if you hear anything?’ he asked Kate.

‘I might,’ she teased automatically. He flushed and, despite herself, she was pleased to see him respond to her flirty tone. Sparkes felt out of his depth suddenly.

‘Kate, we’re not playing games here,’ he said, trying to get back on a professional footing. ‘Let’s stay in touch.’

They parted in the street and he tried to shake her hand, but she leant forward to kiss him on the cheek.