Erin tore it open, her face distraught.
‘You’re here,’ she whispered and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the room.
Will let the backpack slide to the floor as she ran her fingers over his cheeks, tracing the tears that now flowed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
She pulled him to the small sofa and sat with him, cradling his head on her shoulder as he wept, his whole body shaking with the grief that wracked him.
Somehow, he’d thought Amy would survive. She’d always been the tougher of the two of them, no matter what life threw at her. She’d simply pick herself up, dust herself down, and return stronger. Except this time, Rossiter had well and truly broken her.
‘What am I going to do?’ he whispered.
‘We’ll figure something out,’ soothed Erin, stroking his hair. She pressed her lips to his forehead. ‘We’ll find a way.’
‘He’s too powerful.’
‘We’ll find a way.’
Will sniffled and eased away from Erin. ‘I should check my messages,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get a chance at the hospital.’
He pulled the phone out of his bag, inserted the battery, and a new message icon blinked on the screen. He dialled his voicemail service, and then frowned as the female voice told him the message was from a withheld number.
He nearly dropped the phone when the message began.
‘It’s him.’
‘Put it on speaker.’ Erin drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. ‘I want to hear it.’
Will laid the phone on the dresser and pressed the ‘play’ option on the display.
The voice of the likely heir to the Parliamentary throne filled the room, his haughty tone belying his rough origins.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘You have been busy, Billy Fletcher, haven’t you? Come a long way since your dad disappeared, eh?’
Will dug his fingernails into his palms as he paced the room.
‘Now, listen to me, Billy.’ Rossiter’s voice lowered to a dangerous pitch. ‘I’m sorry about Amy. I really am, but she was sticking her nose in places she shouldn’t have been. Maybe I can get her some specialist help, depending on how well you assist me.’
He paused, and Will imagined the man shrugging as he delivered his condolences, before continuing.
‘And now I have the same problem with you.’ There was another pause, and the sound of a glass being moved on a table. ‘Except you’ve been smart, Billy. I don’t know where to find you. And you have my niece with you. Lovely piece of skin, isn’t she?’
Erin jumped up from the sofa and covered her mouth with her hand, before moving to the window and stared out into the night.
Will focussed on the phone, and the voice that consumed him.
‘So, what’s a man to do, Billy, eh? I’ll tell you what he does. Listen to this.’
Will heard a scrambling sound on the line, muffled voices, and then Mack’s voice rang out.
‘Don’t pay any attention to him, Will! You get that information to the right people—’ His voice cut into an agonised scream.
Will leapt forward and turned the volume down on the phone, his insides curdling.
Mack’s scream subsided to a sob, and Rossiter returned to the phone.
‘Did you hear that, Billy? Did you hear him scream?’ he said. ‘Want to know something? Your dad screamed louder than that when I got my hands on him.’
‘Yeah, but he kept his mouth shut about his secret!’ Mack shouted in the background. ‘He was a hero, Will!’
There was a grunt, and Mack fell silent again.
‘He wasn’t a hero,’ hissed Rossiter. ‘He was a lying bastard. Same as you, Mack.’
The elderly man screamed in the background, and Erin let out a sob, before running to the bathroom. The sound of her vomiting reached Will’s ears as he picked up the phone.
Rossiter cleared his throat. ‘Now, Billy, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to bring all the information you’ve got on me, including the hard drive – I’m presuming the bitch had another one – and the photograph. You get it to me before nine o’clock tomorrow morning, or Mack dies. If he dies, it’s because of you,’ he continued. ‘And if he dies, then you and Erin are next. Don’t fuck about, Will. There are no second chances.’
Will switched the phone off and threw it onto the bed, before leaning against the wall and sinking to the floor, his legs shaking.
The bathroom door opened, and Erin appeared, her face pale.
‘He means it, doesn’t he?’
Will nodded, his head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling. ‘I can’t let him torture Mack,’ he said. ‘I can’t. This has to end.’
Erin sank onto the bed and leaned her elbows on her knees. ‘We can’t let him win,’ she said. ‘We have to do something.’
‘You heard him. Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’ Will checked his watch. ‘It’s ten o’clock now. We’ve got eleven hours to hand everything over.’
‘Surely there’s a way?’ Anguish creased Erin’s brow. ‘Even if you hand over the photograph and all the files, Will, he’ll destroy us both, don’t you see? This will never end.’
Will rubbed his hand across his eyes and got to his feet. He ran his fingers through Erin’s hair, her green eyes red-rimmed, pleading with him.
As Erin’s voice fell silent, Will’s mind began to work.
He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and tried to concentrate, his thoughts jumbled up with his grief.
Then it hit him.
With Amy dead, Rossiter no longer had a way to blackmail him. Maybe it was time to turn the tables.
His heart lurched as another thought began to go round in his head.
Rossiter didn’t know Amy had died. If he had, he’d never have risked leaving such a voicemail message.
Will’s gaze fell to the external hard drive plugged into the laptop, its single green light blinking on the side of its black surface.
What Amy had uncovered was volatile; the hard drive on the desk was a bomb waiting to explode. All he had to do now was set the timer.
He chewed his lip, then reached across and switched his phone back on.
If Rossiter was going to play dirty, then it was time to raise the stakes.
The number he wanted was already in the recent calls list.
‘Kirby? If I drive to your offices right now with an exclusive story about Ian Rossiter, how soon are you able to print it?’
37
‘Okay, Will. What’s this all about?’
Kirby Clark closed the conference room door and gestured to an empty seat.
Will lowered himself into the chair and hugged his backpack to his chest. ‘Who are all these people?’
‘To your left, Mike Tate, who’s our in-house counsel, Stephen Reeves, our operations manager, and Jeannette Ryder, one of our senior political journalists. Jeanette works with Amy, but they follow their own leads. I think she’ll be the best one to help us with this, given her background in following the UK political climate on a regular basis.’
Will shook hands with each person as they leaned across the desk to him.
Kirby raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’
‘It’s about the story Amy was working on,’ said Will. ‘And the reason why she was targeted in the attack on Ian Rossiter’s car earlier this week.’
A hush fell on the room as four people stared at him, in varying states of shock.
‘Go on,’ said Mike eventually.
Jeanette opened her notebook to a fresh page, popped the lid off her pen, and began to write.
Will unzipped his backpack, pulled out the hard drive, his notes, and his mother’s bible and took a deep breath. ‘Amy was shot by people employed by Rossiter to silence her,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Because she had evidence to support her theory that Rossiter was directly involved with an organised criminal gang in Belfast between 1999
and 2000,’ he said.
He went on to explain the events of the past few days, through returning to the flat to find it ransacked, then discovering Simon’s death. He told them about his theory concerning the hit and run accident involving Russell.
‘He’s silencing everyone that ever came into contact with this information,’ he said.
‘Will, this is all very well,’ said Kirby, ‘and of course we’d like to take a look at that hard drive with you to see what Amy discovered, but,’ he held up his hand to stop Will interrupting, ‘so far, what you’re telling us is all circumstantial. Do you have any hard evidence that Rossiter was involved in a criminal gang?’
‘Try this.’ Will slipped the photograph from where he’d tucked it between the pages of the bible and slid it across the table, keeping his fingers pressed to the corner.
He watched as Mike’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
‘Where the hell did you get this?’ he demanded. ‘Are there copies?’
Will shook his head. ‘This is the only one. You’ll understand if I insist that it doesn’t leave my sight.’
Kirby leaned forward. ‘All right. You’ve got us interested. What else do you have? Why am I at work at one o’clock in the morning?’
Will pulled the photograph back towards him. ‘Rossiter has a friend of mine held captive. I think at his house. Unless I hand over everything you see here before nine o’clock this morning, he’ll kill him. Just like everyone else.’ He raised his eyes to Kirby. ‘And then he’s going to kill me.’
He lowered his gaze to the photograph between his hands. ‘I figured if I could persuade you to publish the truth – what he’s done – before the deadline, then Rossiter will be exposed for what he really is. And maybe my friend will be safe.’
‘Why come here first?’ Why not go straight to the police?’ asked Mike. He waved at the papers Will had spread out on the table. ‘You’ve got some compelling evidence here.’
‘I don’t know if I can trust the police,’ said Will. ‘Through all of this, Rossiter’s managed to keep up with me, tracking my movements.’ He looked around the table at the faces staring at him. ‘How has he managed to do that if he hasn’t got help on the inside?’
‘Are you sure this isn’t a personal vendetta?’ Mike swung his chair round and stood, pacing the length of the room. ‘Your girlfriend’s in a coma, and two of your friends have been killed. Isn’t this just your way of circumventing the justice system to go after Rossiter?’
Will folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. ‘If you don’t want the story, say so. I’ll go to the Guardian or something instead.’
Kirby held up his hand. ‘We didn’t say we don’t want the story,’ he said. ‘Mike has to make sure that you’re not bringing this to us to simply seek revenge on Rossiter. We need to know what your intentions are.’
Will snorted. ‘My intentions? How about bringing a corrupt businessman to justice for what he’s done to people before he becomes our next Prime Minister? Is that enough justification for you?’
The room fell silent.
Mike gestured to Kirby and the two men stepped out of the room, closing the door.
Will watched through the frosted glass as they talked, then he began to gather the photographs, news cuttings, and his mother’s bible off the table and stuff them into his backpack. As he zipped up the bag, the door re-opened. Kirby stood to one side to let Mike into the room, and then sat.
‘All right, Will,’ he said. ‘Mike’s agreed to let us go ahead and write the story.’ He turned to the senior reporter. ‘Jeanette – I need you to sit with him, punch this out as quickly as you can.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I need you to have this ready for review within the hour, okay?’
The woman nodded and flipped open her laptop computer. ‘No problem.’
‘Stephen – come with me. I need to go over the layouts for the morning edition, see what we can pull out to fit this in.’
‘Okay,’ said Jeanette, as silence returned to the room. ‘Let’s start at the beginning. From when you saw the news report. You talk, I’ll type, and I’ll tell you if you need to slow down or clarify anything. Sound good?’
‘Sure.’ Will reached across the table, filled two glasses with water, and passed one across to the reporter. He took a sip, and then began.
As he spoke, she peppered him with questions – why did Amy go ahead with the interview if she believed her life was in danger? How did she trace Rossiter? Where did she find the photograph? On and on until Will had told her the story several times, from several angles, until she was happy.
Will rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn as Jeannette finished typing her report.
The water jug stood in the middle of the table, empty, and he drained the last of the contents in his glass. His throat hoarse, he realised he’d have to go through it all again with the police, and glanced at his watch.
‘Now what happens?’ he asked as Jeannette emitted a sigh and closed the laptop.
‘Kirby will read through it, make any changes he wants to, then it’ll go to Mike. He’ll check it for any contentious issues – anything that could land us with a libel case if we printed it. Once they’re both happy, it’ll go to print.’
Will moved to the window, stretching his back.
Across the cityscape, people slept, oblivious to what he’d been through for the past four days. He traced the bright lights that shone through the cold air beyond the glass, before he leaned his forehead against the pane as his eyes found the illuminated London Eye, the huge wheel dormant and waiting for its paying public to return.
On the opposite bank of the river, the Palace of Westminster loomed out of the metropolis, and he wondered what it would be like to be in the building when the newspaper story went public in a few hours’ time.
He jerked away from the glass at the sound of the door handle turning, and Kirby’s team walked back in.
Jeanette wore a pensive expression, her eyes tired from the evening’s activities. While Mike sat down, she leaned against the wall of the conference room, nibbling a fingernail.
Will caught Kirby’s eye and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’
The older man nodded. ‘It’s good, Will. But Mike has to check it yet. Let him read it through, and then he can let us know.’
He turned as Stephen joined them, a tray of coffee in his hands. ‘Thought everyone might appreciate this,’ he said and placed it on the table.
As one, the team launched themselves at the steaming mugs, adding copious amounts of sugar and milk before returning to their seats.
The aroma of freshly ground beans struck Will’s senses, and his stomach rumbled. He tried to remember when he’d last eaten, then dismissed the thought. He’d have time to eat when this was all over.
Will drummed his fingers on the desk as Mike read through the report, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He glanced down at a light touch on the back of his hand.
‘Keep still,’ said Jeannette. ‘Let him concentrate.’
After another ten minutes, Mike removed his reading glasses and placed them on the document in front of him.
‘Well?’ said Kirby. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’ve got a story,’ said Mike. He held up his hand as Will exhaled and leaned back in his chair. ‘The police aren’t going to be happy about it, but the phrasing is such that it won’t land us in court.’
He pushed the paperwork across the table to Will, who grabbed them and began to read.
His brow furrowed. ‘Hang on,’ he said, holding the pages in the air. ‘This isn’t all of it.’
‘That’s the printable part,’ said Mike. ‘Once the story breaks, we can start to release the rest of it.’
‘But…’
‘Will,’ said Kirby, ‘this is the way it has to be. If you want us to help you, we have to do it like this. Otherwise, Rossiter will sue us and no one will ever hear your story.’
‘But he’ll come up with excuses,’ sai
d Will. ‘He’ll deny everything.’
Mike shook his head. ‘Not unless he wants to be charged with perjury,’ he said and pointed at the envelope next to Will’s hand. ‘That photograph is irrefutable evidence. If he does deny what we print this morning, he’s going to look an idiot by the time we’re finished with him.’
‘A dangerous idiot,’ said Will.
Mike shrugged, but remained silent.
‘Okay,’ said Kirby. ‘Mike, to confirm – you’re happy for us to go to print with this now?’
The legal counsel nodded and began to pack up his notebooks. ‘I am. I’ll be in my office if you need me for anything,’ he said as he moved towards the door. ‘I have a feeling we’re going to be in for a busy day.’
Jeanette gathered up the pages Will had scattered across the desk. ‘Good luck, Will,’ she said, then followed Stephen out the conference room, the operations manager already on his mobile phone, barking orders to the printers.
‘What will you do now?’ asked Kirby.
Will put his empty coffee mug onto the boardroom table, picked up his backpack, and turned towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder.
‘How long have I got?’
The editor looked at his watch. ‘The printing will be finished in two hours,’ he said. ‘We’ll publish on the online version the moment the papers are distributed.’
‘How long, Kirby?’
The older man sighed. ‘I can give you four hours.’
‘Then I’d better be going.’
‘Good luck.’ Kirby held out his hand.
‘Thanks,’ said Will. ‘I think I’m going to need it.’
38
Will concentrated on his breathing, fighting to stay calm.
He’d pulled DCI Lake’s business card from his pocket as soon as he’d returned to the motel and told Erin his plan, and now he sat on the end of the bed while the dial tone buzzed in his ear.
‘He’ll be asleep,’ said Erin, who had perched on the edge of the desk, her hands gripping the surface.
‘I know.’
‘What are you going to tell him?’
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