by Seb Kirby
Brogan scratched his head. “This woman, Joyce Lewis. They must have had a reason. To burn her in public.”
“It was a warning to others. Not to show dissent. Not to deny that the water in the church blessed by the Bishop was holy. When she wouldn’t take back what she’d said, they burned her. To put an end to what they told the world was heresy.”
“So what are you saying? There’s stuff as bad as that in your past?”
“You know what happened to me. When I came round, my body was wrecked and my memory was shot to pieces. I’m recovering physically, but what I can recall now is fragmented, incomplete, as if I’m unable to face up to the worst parts of that past. I’m only going to find my future if I step outside of my comfort zone. I need to be more like the people you see out there.”
Brogan gave a cynical smile. “So, you’re some kind of martyr?”
I shook my head. “Why would you say that?”
“Because that’s the way it always was, when we were kids, when I got the upper hand and you’d be lying there with those pleading eyes saying let me go, I never meant to do you any harm so why do harm to me.”
He looked at me for a long time before continuing. “You see, Tom, I’d like to say I understand. But that’s never going to be easy for me. Our lives separated when Jimmie died. My life went off the rails and every day became a struggle to survive. Since then I’ve never had the luxury of any kind of comfort zone. And what I’ve seen as I’ve travelled the world tells me there are billions out there who don’t have that luxury either. Every day is a one-sided struggle.”
“You’re telling me I’m hooked on seeing myself as being persecuted and that’s why I’m thinking of Joyce Lewis, Edward Wightman and the others?”
“I’m saying if you want to get back out there, if you want to find out what happened to you, if you want to start your life over again, you need to step up. Face up to the fact that the past is imperfect. Your past. My past. It’s a mess that has less to do with making sure everything fits and more to do with damage limitation. Accept the imperfection. Make the best of whatever you can salvage. And shake off the idea that you can get out of your problems by submitting to them.”
I understood where he was leading me. But I needed to summon the courage to believe it deep down where it was still hurting. So, it was right what my sister, Marianne, had been telling me. Something about the position I now found myself in was bound up with the fact that I’d been too set on avoiding conflict. I knew that had to change if I was ever to find myself again.
I determined to move on. “You say we are the connection. Connection to what?”
He smiled. “What happened to Della. What happened to you. They’re connected.”
“And that comes about from the fact that we met?”
He paused to take a sip of coffee. “I believe that back there in Canada One, alarm bells sounded. Two worlds that were never meant to be connected were on the point of coming together.”
“It’s got to be more than a feeling.”
He told me how he found his sister by tricking Tyrone Montague into giving him her contact details, how he’d covered up the break-in that took place in Montague’s office and how he’d come close to being dismissed when he challenged the man after Della’s death.
“They had me reinstated but only so they could keep an eye on me, I’m sure of that. After awhile, when I no longer looked like a threat, the surveillance tapered off. Then, when we met, it started up again. I mean serious stuff like being followed, picking up strange noises on my phone like they were bugging it again. All the stuff they’d been doing suddenly came back after I met you. They had no way of knowing that I knew you, could never have guessed we were childhood friends. They just saw us talking together, at length. So, the alarm bells rang.”
I was trying to piece it together. The mention of Montague’s name had sent a shiver down my spine. “So, you’re saying there was someone out there convinced that if what we each knew was brought together that was a real threat to them. Enough to make them want to kill.” I paused. “That might not be so much of a problem for them now.”
“What’s not?”
“I mean, given what’s happened, I don’t feel that what I know could be much of a threat to anyone.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder. “It doesn’t have to stay that way, Tom. Not if you’re really determined to face the past. Not if you really want to get back at those who did this to you.”
I knew he was right but I also knew it was not going to be easy. “You need to know, Marshall, that it’s going to be a long road back for me.”
He smiled. “I can help if you help me discover what happened to Della.”
He held out his hand and I shook it. Something in the way he offered his hand reminded me of the blood bond we swore as children. Something in the memory of this brought me closer to the strength I needed to face up to what awaited. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that Brogan was in this for his own ends.
This was the moment when we made the deal that shaped the future of both our lives.
I sat up straight in the chair. “OK. So, where do we start?”
He smiled again. “I’ve already started.”
He told me how he had to find a way to discover what happened in Tyrone Montague’s office in Canada One on the night of the break-in. “The computer was on. I thought at the time that they were searching for something, but I know different now.”
“What’s changed?”
“The break-in must have been by someone already in the building. One of the overnight stayers. If anyone had broken into the Tower, there would have been a security alert. But I didn’t track down the culprit that night – I found a picture of Della on Montague’s computer and that meant more than anything to me. But when I did my rounds, I made a list of the stayers. I gave the list to Montague but I kept a copy.”
He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper that he spread out on the table. It was a list of names with one name highlighted in yellow marker.
“Alan Qui. He was once just another of the stayers on my list. I’ve spent time working my way through each and every name. I tracked down Qui to a cheap hotel in Bayswater. He should have returned to China but he’s staying on as an illegal. Said he couldn’t go back and face the shame of having failed. When I told him I’d report him to the Home Office he told me what he’d done. He told me he’d placed a bug in Montague’s computer. When I insisted, he told me who’d paid him to plant it. It was one of yours. Geoff Tunny. Qui told me that Tunny was part of a team investigating OAM and Montague’s role in it. Part of the team you work in. Then, I heard that Tunny had died. Now you can see why I’m here.”
The shiver that had been running down my spine turned into a sudden jolt.
“So, why not take this to Evan Hamilton? He leads the team.”
“I don’t know Hamilton but I do know you. And besides, I have no idea how far this thing goes, who’s involved. But after what you’ve been through, I doubt it’s you.”
My mind turned to Evan Hamilton. How he was close to Tunny. How he was so sure when he visited me that I shouldn’t return to the newspaper before I’d made a full recovery.
Brogan leaned forward. “Think back to what they told you about Della. What you got to know about her. Did anyone ever mention a diary?”
“I’m going to need time.”
“You can do better than that.”
“What’s important about a diary?”
“Della told me she kept one. That someday it would be her ticket out of the escort business. That she had things on people they wouldn’t want the world to know about. But when I was given her things after the funeral, there was a diary but there was nothing worthwhile in it. It was one of those big leather bound books with a metal padlock on. Didn’t take long to open it, but the pages were filled with unimportant stuff. Nothing about what was really happening in her life. Nothing th
at could have been used as insurance.”
“What makes you think I might know about it?”
“She said no one knew that she was writing everything down. Except she told me that if she was going to use it as insurance, to warn people off who were becoming a threat to her, she needed to tell someone about it. Someone reliable. Someone who would reveal the truth if anything happened to her. She told me that person was an investigator of some kind. But she wouldn’t say who it was.”
“And you’re saying that could have been me?”
“Makes sense. The Herald was investigating OAM. Still is. They were aware of Stella DaSilva. As a potential source of information on Montague. She told me as much. And you’re part of that team.”
“Problem is, I don’t recall anything being said about a diary. I’m sure it would have been mentioned if it could have broken the OAM story.”
“Then, do me a favor. Give it some time. Let me know what you get to recall.”
CHAPTER 51
I invited Marshall back to Lombard Street to meet Janet.
It was strange introducing him to her since most of what I now knew about him had come from her.
She was welcoming and keen to get to know him for real. “I never had a childhood like Tom and you. Living in London meant my parents didn’t feel it was safe to let me spend much time out of their sight or out of the supervision of teachers and club organizers. From what I hear, you and your gang roamed wild and free by comparison.”
Brogan looked for a while as if he was set on telling her about the darker side of his childhood but, with a shrug, he said the right things. “Yes, we were a law unto ourselves. Lived by our own rules, well out of sight of the adults. Made lasting bonds. Like with your husband here.” He tried to manage a smile but failed. “Hard to think of him now marauding through the fields, in and out of the hedgerows, jumping from the Bash Tree with the rest of us urchins now, isn’t it?”
Janet smiled back and put her arm round me. “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve always seen a little of the urchin in him. Something he can’t completely hide. Part of his appeal.”
I tried to play along. “I’ve never been able to explain what she sees in me. Now I know.”
Yet Janet didn’t want to ignore Brogan’s loss for too long. “I heard about your sister. It must have come as a shock. Such a tragedy to have been separated from her so young.”
Brogan gave me a knowing look that said: she doesn’t know?
I took Janet to one side and explained that Della had died.
She whispered. “You should have told me.”
I whispered back. “It hadn’t come back, before I met Brogan.”
She turned back to Brogan. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
Brogan replied through clenched teeth. “It’s why I’m here.”
Janet was sincere in her condolences and Brogan relaxed a little.
We talked about why he’d sought me out in Lichfield and Janet listened without comment until Brogan told her about the diary that Della had kept. “I’d pinned my hopes on it providing some of the answers I need but when I got hold of it I was disappointed. It held just trivial stuff that no one would be interested in.”
Janet held up a hand to interrupt. “Wait on. Della was a serious diary keeper?”
Brogan nodded. “Yes, since she was a youngster.”
“And all you found in the diary was just trivia. I bet that diary was one of those expensive looking leather bound books with a lock and key on it?”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s a decoy. Most serious diarists do it. People get to know you’re keeping a secret diary and there’s bound to be an urge to want to see what’s in it. So, if you’re serious about keeping what you write from prying eyes, you set up a decoy. You buy one of those flash looking books and once or twice a week you put your shopping list or doctor’s appointment into it. If anyone discovers your diary, that’s all they’re going to find. Meanwhile, your real diary, your journal, is hidden safely somewhere else, away from those prying eyes.”
Brogan smiled. “That would explain what I found. But there’s no sign of any other diary she might have kept, so I’m no further forward.”
Janet walked over to her computer and called up a program from the screen. “I keep a journal. It’s online and it’s well protected from prying eyes.”
We clustered round the screen as Janet showed us the log in page to her journal. “Pay the monthly subscription and you buy into thirty-two bit, military quality encryption. Password protected, of course.”
I tried to lighten the mood once more. “So, Jan, are you going to log in and show us what you’re keeping me and the rest of the world from knowing about us?”
She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “It’s a secret, Tom. I thought you knew that.”
I saw Marshall smile for the first time since I’d met him. “OK. I get it. But if the book I have is a decoy and Della kept her diary as an online journal, the only way I’m going to find what’s in it is to know which online service she used and to know her password and I don’t have either.”
Janet sent her computer back to sleep. “Difficult but not impossible, Marshall. There are only three or four really popular sites that offer a journal service. Chances are Della was using one of those. As for passwords, all the thirty-two bit encryption you can sign up for won’t get past the simple truth that most people are so concerned they’re going to forget their passwords that they write them down and that’s usually somewhere quite obvious. It’s the distaff side of man or woman and machine.”
“Which is?”
“That however hard machines try to take care of us they’ll never compensate for our innate stupidity.”
Janet had a room ready for guests and, when Brogan was offered it, he accepted.
Later that night as we sat alone together, Janet let me know how little she approved of Marshall Brogan. “He’s had a difficult life and he’s still in there fighting. And I can already see the difference he’s having on you. There’s something about it I don’t like. As if he’s gaining some kind of control over you, playing on that link he has with you when you were kids. And for his own ends.”
“It’s not like that, Jan. True, he wants to find out what happened to his sister, but I know he can help me.” I took a deep breath. “He wants me to go down to London with him. I think I’m strong enough.”
She furrowed her brow. “I’d try to stop you but I get the idea that since you met up with Brogan, your mind’s made up.”
I held her hand. “Janet, I can do this. Someone out there wanted me killed and I need to find out who. They didn’t finish the job and I don’t see that anything’s changed since then. You know what that means? If I don’t find them and stop them sooner or later they’re going to try again.”
CHAPTER 52
These were the days that filled Stephen Ives with dread. And they got no better after twenty years in the force.
It was close to midnight on what was the wettest day of the year.
DS Lesley was waiting at the entrance of Westminster Mortuary on Horseferry Road.
He could tell from her ashen face that this day had been no better for her.
The girl’s body had been found in undergrowth alongside the railway near Dagenham by a man walking his dog. The grave was shallow but deep enough to conceal the body during all these days they’d been searching for her. The dog had persisted in digging into the earth, tracing some unknown scent, and a hand had been revealed.
Ives and Lesley had spent much of the day at the scene, seeking evidence, searching for any sign that might mitigate the inhumanity of what had taken place.
But nothing they could do or say altered the need for the inevitable visit here once the body was transferred to this place.
Ives kept his voice low. “They’re ready for us?”
Lesley replied. “Andrea Julienne is the on-duty forensic pathologist. She’s waiting for the go ahead t
o carry out the autopsy.”
Ives led the way into the cold, clinical space that he disliked so much.
The body was lying on the steel surgical table covered by a sheet.
Andrea Julienne offered no greeting as they came in. She pulled back the sheet to reveal the corpse. “Young female. Dead for over five weeks. So, no way of giving an exact time of death. Looks like she’s been taken and kept prisoner before being killed. Note the ligature marks on her wrists and ankles.”
She used a green laser pointer to show what she meant.
“She’s been sexually abused. More than once. Perhaps many times over the course of her imprisonment. There’s damage to the sexual organs and surrounding skin area consistent with violent rape.”
Again Julienne used the laser pointer to indicate the significant areas.
It was the matter-of-fact nature of it all that dismayed Ives. That, when it came down to it, this was all that was left of a life.
Julienne and her team would use the state of the art technical resources of the mortuary to tease out what, if anything, had attached itself to the remnants of that life – the narcotics, foreign DNA, loose fibers and other physical agents – once the mandatory dissection took place.
Ives nodded his approval. There was a viewing room where they could have stayed to watch but Ives signaled that it was time to leave.
Lesley interrupted. “There’s no doubt about who it is?”
Julienne remained matter-of-fact. “The father identified his daughter an hour ago.”
Cathy Newsome had been found.
CHAPTER 53
Next morning I said farewell to Janet and I travelled with Brogan to London.
As we powered down the M1 through driving rain, I couldn’t help being concerned that he was driving too fast. “No need to take chances, Marshall. It’s less than ninety minutes. What’s a few extra seconds between friends?”