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Exposé

Page 13

by Paul Ilett


  Adam nodded his head. “So I understand,” he replied.

  Lackie stared down at Adam. “Perhaps you don’t appreciate how serious these allegations are,” he said sternly, in an attempt to position himself as the authority in the room.

  “Allegations,” Adam repeated back to him wistfully, as though quietly pondering Lackie’s use of the word. “It is interesting,” he continued, “because your two colleagues admitted these allegations were made anonymously. Although, I’m told, the complainants did stay on the phone just long enough to deny they were staff from the Daily Ear.”

  Lackie didn’t respond. He knew he was on thin ice and Barnet and Sly clearly hadn’t helped matters. He sat down at the opposite side of the desk, back straight, hands palm-down on the table top. “I see, I see,” he said, “so you’ve bought into that nonsense, have you? You don’t want to consider that you’re here simply because there are genuine public concerns that you have been breaking the law?”

  With that comment, he had expected Adam’s demeanour to shift. Perhaps there would be a sarcastic smile or a roll of the eyes. Perhaps, being an actor, there might even be a hearty guffaw. But there was no change. Just those dark brown eyes and that sparkling stare. “The truth,” Adam said softly, “is that no one from the Daily Ear is in a position to complain to the police or the courts about what I’m doing, because the public would scream hypocrite. That’s why you agreed to make it look as though these complaints have come from ordinary people.”

  Lackie wasn’t about to relinquish control of the interview so easily, or start to deny accusations. It was his job, as the police officer in the room, to make the accusations, not to respond to them. “For the record,” Adam continued, “my team has used exactly the same techniques to investigate the Harvey News Group as the Daily Ear uses to investigate celebrities. If my team is breaking the law, then so is the Daily Ear. Do you intend to arrest your friend Leonard Twigg, too?”

  “You haven’t been arrested,” Lackie said, defensively. “You haven’t been arrested,” he said again. His heart began to pound in his chest as he realised the two constables had been right to panic. There was a genuine risk the situation would get out of control very quickly, and so he attempted to draw it back down to his own level. “So who is this team? Perhaps I should be talking to them,” he suggested. He hoped Adam would respond like any other suspect, and just begin to answer his questions. But after a moment of silence, Adam replied, “How is that grandson of yours?”

  Lackie attempted to maintain his poker face, but he knew what Adam was talking about and that he had been rumbled. “My family has got nothing to do with - ”

  “I hear his work experience in the Ear’s sports department is going very well. I doubt anyone is aware he’s your grandson, what with him having a different surname, but what an amazing opportunity for the boy. There can’t be many sixteen-year-olds who get a chance like that.”

  Lackie’s poker face was fading. He wasn’t used to this, to losing control of an interview so quickly and so entirely. Adam Jaymes was driving the conversation with accusations and, worst of all, Lackie knew those accusations were all true.

  “And I hope it isn’t made public,” Adam continued, “because it might be seen as something of a personal favour. And that would only fuel all those rumours, wouldn’t it?”

  Lackie didn’t respond.

  “You know, those rumours?” Adam said, smiling. “Because a lot of people think you are, at best, mediocre. A bit of a lightweight in fact, too concerned with image and policy announcements. Or lunch appointments with the WI. And yet you’ve done remarkably well for yourself.”

  “It’s almost as if, over the years, someone has been helping your career. Someone rich and influential, who’s been there at all those crucial moments, nudging you along. Ensuring you got the promotions, even when there were other candidates who were clearly better qualified. And in return you’ve given tip-offs or confidential information. Or you turned a blind eye to complaints of press harassment. You know, those rumours.”

  Lackie leaned forward and knitted his fingers together. He doubted the revelation about his grandson, on its own, would damage his career. But it was a politically sensitive time, what with the inquiry’s spotlight on some parts of the media and its relationship with the police. And Adam was correct; it could fuel enough speculation about Lackie’s personal relationship with the Daily Ear to bring about an investigation.

  And he knew there were plenty of paper trails leading straight back to him. He had sometimes been too quick to ask Twigg for help or, indeed, too quick to help Twigg in return. And, as a result, he had been sloppy and left incriminating evidence all over the place, going back years. His text message conversations with Twigg alone would put him out of a job. And if his wife ever saw them she would probably have a few sleepless nights too.

  “I suspect you were a good man once,” Adam said, leaning forward. “You became a police officer for all the right reasons and probably made a difference. To some degree, you probably still do. But once you get into bed with a man like Leonard Twigg, there’s no going back, is there?”

  Lackie felt like a silly old fool. Yet again, he had allowed Twigg to rush him into another situation and hadn’t given a moment’s thought to the jeopardy he was placing himself in. He hadn’t stopped to consider the possibility that Adam Jaymes might turn his attention away from the Daily Ear for a few moments and focus on the senior police officer foolish enough to get in his way. “Is this why you asked to see me? To threaten me?” he asked.

  “I don’t recall asking to see you,” Adam replied, and reclined back in his chair again. “I remember being very surprised that Assistant Commissioner Lackie took time out of his busy day to come and see me while I was being questioned. I think my seven million Twitter followers. Oh wait ... ”. He pulled his iPhone from his jacket pocket and checked it. “Sorry, my seven point five million Twitter followers would very much like to hear about your visit to the cells.”

  “These aren’t the cells,” Lackie said. He missed the old days, when the police and their friends in the media had control over the flow of information to the public. Now every Tom, Dick and Harry had a Twitter account or Facebook page and could upload anything they wanted, from snotty criticisms to incriminating video clips. Nothing was straightforward any more, he thought. Too much transparency, too much accountability, and too many questions.

  “I was asked if I would attend the station here this morning, voluntarily, to assist you with some concerns that have been raised,” Adam said. “And, of course, I am always happy to help the police with their enquiries. But no one knows I’m here. Nobody. I just came. So what do you think my Twitter followers would think if I were to set foot from this police station and come face to face with, say, a photographer from the Daily Ear? What do you think those seven and a half million people would think about that?”

  “I think, young man,” Lackie said, making one last attempt at sounding authoritative, “that you should remember where you are and the very grave situation you are in. You would do well to avoid throwing around accusations that could land you in even more trouble.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Adam muttered. “You can keep that nonsense for teenage shoplifters.” And then, suddenly, he leaned forward onto the desk again and knitted his fingers together, mirroring Lackie’s position and staring him directly in the eyes. “I’m going to explain something to you now, Assistant Commissioner,” he said, quietly, “and I hope you will listen carefully because, as I’ve said, I am sure you were once a good man. I am represented by the best legal team on the planet. If you do anything to intervene with my project, or take false action against me again, I will make a phone call to that legal team. Just one phone call. And they will rip through this grubby little police force brick-by-brick, email-by-email, padded envelope by padded envelope. By the time they have finished, you will not have a job, reputation or pension worth talking about.”

  And,
right then and there, the reality of the situation smacked Lackie right in the face. After all these years, decades in fact, Leonard Twigg was finally facing someone bigger, richer and smarter than he. And at that precise moment, Lackie wished more than ever that he’d never gotten into bed with him. “You’re free to leave whenever you want to go. You know that don’t you?” he said, defeated.

  “Yes,” Adam replied cheerfully, and stood up. He buttoned his jacket and walked slowly towards the door but stopped. It was likely to be the one and only time the two men would ever meet, and Lackie realised Adam had one final thought to share with him.

  Without turning back to look at him, Adam started to speak, a sad tone to his voice. “Years ago a friend of mine came to you for help. She was being stalked by this man, a really vile and cruel monster of a man. He was everywhere she went. He camped outside her home. He would follow her to work. He would wait for her outside restaurants or shops. Sometimes he would decide that she looked too happy, that he needed to make her cry, and so he would just walk up to her in the street and shout abuse in her face, right into her face, and then take photographs of her crying. And that’s when he wasn’t lying on the ground trying to look up her skirt and take photographs of her vagina. But month after month you sent her away, and told her there was nothing you could do. You told her that the man was ‘just doing his job’, and that it had been her decision to become a famous actress and that she needed to live with the consequences of her decision. Do you remember that case, Assistant Commissioner?”

  Lackie sat perfectly still, staring at the wall. He didn’t do anything to indicate he had acknowledged what was being said.

  “I could have come after you, Lackie. It would have been easy. And I have good reason to. You know I have good reason to,” Adam said and gently pressed down on the door handle. “You should count your blessings.” And, with that, Adam Jaymes was gone.

  Lackie waited a few short moments and then jumped to his feet and hurried out into the corridor where he found Barnet and Sly waiting for him, looking anxious. “Get outside now and tell the photographer from the Ear to come in straight away so I can see him,” he said. “We need to draw a line under this now.”

  His constables hurried after Adam Jaymes, and Lackie returned to the interview room and sat down again. He rested his face in his hands and an enormous sigh escaped from his mouth. Pearl Martin’s suicide had haunted him for years. Even now, he could still clearly picture her ghostly pale face and big, pleading eyes. And he knew he hadn’t done as much as he could to help her. His commitment to Leonard Twigg had come first, and so he had protected the hunter rather than the prey.

  After her death, there had been a public outcry the like of which no one had ever seen before or since. Lackie had taken a step back and allowed Twigg, Valerie, Jason and the rest of the Ear to take all the heat. He had genuinely thought the Ear would fall and that he would never hear from Twigg again.

  And while the Daily Ear had been under attack from all sides, Lackie had busied himself with a few internal reviews. He had been asked to appease concerns that the police didn’t respond strongly enough to complaints of stalking. And without any help from Twigg, he smoothed the whole situation over and managed to keep his job. But once the dust had settled, he realised the Daily Ear was still there. And, before long, Twigg was back in touch. Adam was right, once you make a deal with the devil there was no turning back.

  With a sense of dread, Police Assistant Commissioner Chris Lackie pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and called the editor of the Daily Ear.

  Jason Spade was waiting for Adam Jaymes and pounced the moment he stepped from the police station’s revolving doors. “That’s it, Adam, you know the routine. Just doing my job,” he said, cheerfully snapping dozens of pictures. There was a glee to Jason’s tone and a familiarity to his demeanour, as though he and Adam were old mates who hadn’t seen each for far too long. He then hot-footed it from side to side, trying to capture Adam’s elusive bad angle (no photographer had so far been able to find it). For a man who was morbidly obese, Jason was surprisingly nimble on his feet when chasing a celebrity. But, to his surprise, Adam Jaymes didn’t rush off. Instead he stood still and stared directly into the camera lens. “Yeah, a bit close, Adam,” Jason said. He then lowered his camera and found the star looking him directly in the eyes. After a moment, Adam said, “You were the one who got the pictures of me and my husband on the yacht.”

  Jason grinned, proudly. “Oh yes,” he said, “and I made a small fortune out of those pictures, thank you very much. They were everywhere, nearly crashed the internet when we put them up.”

  “I suppose it must have made a nice change, taking photographs of two gay guys in swimming trunks instead of lying in the gutter trying to take photographs up women’s skirts.”

  “Funnily enough,” Jason said, brazenly, “most of the hits we got for those pictures were in America. Your husband is a lot more famous than you. I bet that hurts.”

  In spite of Jason’s taunting, Adam’s expression didn’t change. There was something threatening about him, Jason thought. Not physically threatening but there was something behind those dark eyes, something that seemed a little too self-assured. And there was the tiniest hint of a smile on that handsome face. It was as if Adam wanted Jason to know that he wasn’t safe. “I’m not scared of you,” Jason said defiantly, his face curled up with hatred.

  “No?” Adam enquired.

  “No!”

  Adam inhaled through his nose. “Do you just always smell of shit then?” he asked. He then continued to his car and was driven away. Jason turned and found Barnet and Sly standing just behind him. “Inside, now!” Barnet hissed.

  Leonard Twigg wasn’t happy. His phone conversation with Lackie had ended badly. He had lost his temper, told the Police Assistant Commissioner he was a failure and then slammed the receiver down. He knew he would call him back at some point, not to apologise but to make things good again. When all was said and done, Lackie was a useful contact and an important part of Twigg’s limited social life. But he also knew Lackie’s argument held water. If the Guardian or the BBC realised Lackie’s grandson was in the Ear’s sports department it could open up an entirely new stream of questions at the inquiry. And things were tough enough as it was. And so Twigg had agreed to drop the story about Adam Jaymes being questioned by the police, but not before he had bombarded Lackie with a barrage of angry insults for not controlling the situation. Twigg knew he would likely send him a text later to apologise for his rant, but for now he was too busy seething. “We just can’t get a break,” he muttered angrily to himself.

  He wasn’t used to this, to not being in charge of a situation. His entire life had been an exercise in control, from taking over the management of his parent’s bank account when he was 12 years old to planning and manipulating the UK’s news agenda for more than 20 years. Everything had to be neat and tidy, boxed and labelled and prepared in advance. This Adam Jaymes situation was messy and that was largely because Twigg didn’t know who would get the next call. He knew the Daily Ear was riddled with scandals, and he doubted he knew even half of them. Whilst he hadn’t been at all surprised to discover Colin had been having an extra-marital affair, the revelation of Valerie’s first marriage had been a horrible shock. It had shown Twigg that even the people he thought he knew best might have secrets that could damage the Ear’s reputation further.

  It hadn’t been all bad news, however. He was happy with Valerie’s interview and that day’s printed edition of the Daily Ear had seen a healthy boost in sales as a result. And although the readers’ comments on the website had remained mostly negative, Valerie had received a fair number of supportive comments too. It wasn’t an overwhelming show of support by any stretch of the imagination, but not as bad as expected. And he was very happy with his ‘Toxic’ story. He hoped it would be remembered as a classic tabloid front page, right up there with ‘Gotcha’ and ‘Freddy Star Ate My Hamster’. He loved th
e idea of it sticking to Adam Jaymes’ reputation for the rest of his life. Whenever anyone talked about Adam, the word ‘toxic’ would be in the back of their mind. Oonagh appeared at his office door, and walked in without knocking.

  “Enter,” Twigg said, to make a point.

  “We have a problem,” she said, and sat down in front of him. “Your ‘Toxic’ story isn’t working. In fact, it’s become something of an embarrassment.”

  Twigg glared at Oonagh. He could tell she was happy to deliver the news, but was going to need a lot of convincing that she was right. “Explain,” he said.

  Oonagh flicked through several sheets of A4 paper she had printed up. “Well, one of the executive producers of Glee tweeted this morning. He’s says it’s completely untrue that they’ve cut Adam Jaymes’ scenes and that the episodes are being broadcast without any edits. In fact, he says they’ve invited him back and hope he will guest star again in the future.”

  Twigg shrugged.

  “Adam Jaymes’ agent has confirmed that he hasn’t been sacked from True Blood and has actually just signed a contract for the new season.”

  Twigg didn’t reply. He just sat and listened and looked increasingly glum.

  “M&S has denied it has dropped Adam from its upcoming menswear campaign and the children’s charity Barnardo’s says he is still one of their celebrity ambassadors. In fact everything you claimed in your story has now been flatly denied. And, to rub salt in the wound, Maroon 5 have announced they are duetting with him at tonight’s Brit Awards and E!’s Fashion Police just named him Best Dressed Celebrity of the Week. Like I said, it’s become something of an embarrassment.” Oonagh relaxed back in her chair, clearly pleased with herself. “So, what now?”

 

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