by Anne Coates
“None at all.” Mr Rogers’ smile looked practiced as though at some time he had stood in front of a mirror working out the most appropriate expressions to mould his face into for each and every occasion which arose.
“Fine. So who are the trustees?” Hannah knew how rude she sounded but was unable to temper her irritation.
“I am and the other is a Dr James …”
“James! James knew about this?” How typically snide of Paul.
“Well yes, of course. He had to, as an executor.”
Furious at what she saw as James’ betrayal, Hannah stood up to leave. “If there’s nothing more, Mr Rogers?”
Neville Rogers stood facing her. “I’m sorry this has all been a terrible shock for you. For all of us. I was a friend of Paul’s – we have, had, known each other for years and it never occurred to me that he would …”
“Supposing he didn’t.” Discretion had given way to Hannah’s fury.
“Didn’t what? Kill himself?” He looked confused.
“Perhaps he was killed to stop him giving evidence and it was made to look like suicide?” Hannah regretted her outburst immediately but wanted to see this man’s reaction.
“That is a possibility,” Rogers said very slowly. “I did wonder… Please sit down, Ms Weybridge, there’s something else.”
Reluctantly Hannah sat, as did Neville Rogers. “I also have an envelope addressed to you which I was instructed to hand over to you personally.”
He gave her a manila A4 envelope. On the front in Paul’s handwriting was inscribed: To Hannah Weybridge. Please open in the presence of Neville Rogers.
Hannah stared at the envelope and then at the solicitor. She remembered the letter she’d been given from Liz sometime after she’d died. The terrible revelations that had led to… She breathed deeply before opening the envelope with trembling fingers.
Inside were two more envelopes: one addressed to her, the other to the solicitor. Plus a sheet of paper instructing her not to open hers until Neville Rogers had opened his. She handed it to him without a word and waited as the lawyer scanned the handwritten pages and then began again reading more slowly.
Hannah watched the changing expressions on his face. When he’d finished he went over to a side table and poured two glasses of brandy. He handed one to Hannah before sitting back at his desk. “You might need it. I do.”
Hannah was furious at the way Paul was manipulating her. Why did he have to arrange such an elaborate charade? Hannah opened her letter. On first perusal there didn’t seem to be anything unusual. Except…
She read through it again. She had always assumed that DI Turner had interrogated Paul after he was arrested. Claudia had never mentioned he had been interviewed by someone else before her. But here it was in black and white. He had been ‘interviewed’ by MI5. At least that is what Paul had assumed. Hannah wasn’t so sure. That person had debriefed him. Told him what to say and what not to say. As Paul was being escorted from the interview, he caught a glimpse of another man going into the room via a different door. That person was the same nameless person who had threatened him with bankruptcy and worse if he hadn’t agreed to their plans!
Hannah could feel the bile rising. The people ultimately responsible for Liz’s death – and Patrick’s – were still at liberty. And if the chaplain and Mike Smith were to be believed it would seem that they had organised for Paul to be killed in a way that looked like suicide. Or perhaps a different party had arranged that. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“When did Paul give you all this, Mr Rogers?”
Neville Rogers took a swig of his brandy. Hannah did likewise. As the solicitor had predicted, she needed it.
“At our first meeting after he had been arrested. When he spoke to me on the phone he requested paper and envelopes. I was present while he was writing but was unaware of the contents. He sealed everything as you saw and told me only to open it if anything happened to him. I thought he was being melodramatic but agreed.” He took another gulp of brandy. “When the prison governor rang to say that Paul had committed suicide, I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that I had to contact you. Now…”
“Now we need to protect ourselves.”
“If I can be of any assistance at all. Anything.”
“Thank you. I need to make some photocopies of these papers. I’ll courier them to people who can be trusted not to open them and will keep them safe. I would be grateful if you would keep a set here.”
“Of course.”
They photocopied six sets. Hannah sent one envelope to Rory at The News with a note asking him to keep the enclosed envelope, addressed to her, safe. Two other sets were sent by courier to Rev John Daniels in Essex and James at the Hammersmith. She kept two sets for herself. “I’ll pass these on personally,” she said by way of explanation.
Neville nodded and escorted her to the front of the building where he hailed her a cab. He looked exhausted. “Take care and let me know if there is anything else you need me to do.”
She shook his hand. “I will,” she said hoping she could trust him as Paul obviously had. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Joe stood up and waved to her as she entered the bar. Hannah had been disappointed that they weren’t going to be meeting in one of the Members’ Bars in the House of Commons but assumed Joe had his reasons for the change of venue. Monday lunchtime wasn’t too busy and he had secured a table with a bottle of white wine and glasses ready. As they hugged, Hannah noticed how tired he looked. His smile was still as engaging but he looked unbearably sad. Presumably the death of his party leader had been a terrible shock. At least John Smith’s demise was from natural causes, she thought uncharitably. The meeting with Neville Rogers had left her feeling raw and vulnerable.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Joe, ever sensitive to her moods said nothing but looked askance. “Really I am. I was shocked by Paul’s death, of course. But he hadn’t been a part of my life for a long time.” She didn’t mention going to see the chaplain or his solicitor. Or the revelations in Paul’s letters.
“But he is – was – Elizabeth’s father.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean? He’s never been involved in her life. She doesn’t know him.” Hannah glared at him.
“Sorry. I was just really shocked when I got your message.”
“No, I should apologise.” She thought about telling Joe what she had learned. That he didn’t actually kill himself. He had been got at in jail. Meaning there were still people with enough influence to organise that. But Joe looked as though he’d heard enough bad news for the time being.
“How about you? Being an MP looks as though it’s already taken its toll.”
“Thanks.” He poured her some wine and raised his glass to her. “Don’t get me wrong. I love being in the thick of things – if you can call being a lowly constituency MP that.” He drank some wine. “John’s death has left us all in a state of shock. Obviously there’ll be some jostling for positions now. Margaret Becket is brilliant, of course, but she won’t stand for leadership.” He stared into his glass before continuing, “However I didn’t invite you hear to talk about party machinations. I have a special reason for wanting to see you.”
“Oh yes, the obvious delights of my company not a good enough reason?” Hannah nudged him playfully. They had known each other such a long time but she still hadn’t met his new partner – well he was the only real partner Joe had had, as far as she knew. And she found this hard to accept. Joe had finally come out when he went before the selection panel so he must be more relaxed about being a gay MP now.
Joe placed a warm hand over hers. “This is probably not the right place to be discussing this. But I’ve heard some rumours –” Hannah could feel an icy tingle, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. Surely this wasn’t …? “Not about you,” he said seeing her face pale and her eyes widen – “or anyone connected to you.”
“Do you know anything about my constituency?” The question seemed arbitrary.
“Streatham West? Not particularly, should I?”
“No, I suppose not. It’s a culturally diverse area with a high proportion of Asian residents. Most of those in our age group are second generation but there’re still a good number of relatively new immigrants. They tend to cluster as far as housing is concerned. Although many are really well integrated some are less so. Especially the women, many of whom have difficulty with English. Their children who are in local schools often act as their interpreters.” He paused, aware he was beginning to sound like a constituency leaflet, to pour more wine. “Shall we order some food?”
“Yes please – any recommendations?”
They both ordered fish and chips, apparently a speciality of the house.
“Why were you telling me about your Asian constituents?”
Joe looked uncomfortable. “I can’t be sure about this but listening on the grapevine there’s still a lot of arranged marriages with underage girls going on and it seems that some are going missing if they dissent or won’t agree to a marriage.”
“So how do you know this?”
“I’m a governor at a local school. There have been a couple of incidences there that have worried the head teacher.” He stopped talking as their food arrived, smiled and thanked the waiter.
“Plus I received this in the post.” He passed an envelope to Hannah. “Don’t read it now. Eat your food before it gets cold.”
They ate in silence for a while.
“It’s a bizarre coincidence but I’m doing some research on this at the moment. One Asian girl was murdered in Peckham Rye Park –”
“Yes I saw your article. Strange that it was made to look like a suicide.”
“Common in India apparently.”
“What is?”
“Suicide by drowning, or so I was told. That case is more complicated than it looks. But I was going to say that someone has asked me for help with finding another girl who has gone missing. Linda has some concerns as well with a pupil at her school.”
Joe looked thoughtful. “How about I come over to yours to discuss this? We could have a takeaway and you can tell me what you think. The House won’t be sitting late this evening after …”
“Sounds good. Two meals I won’t have had to cook in one day.” She finished her food and pushed the plate away. “So how’s life on the domestic front?”
On the way to The News offices in the taxi, Hannah took the letter from the envelope Joe had given her. Written on what looked like paper from a school exercise book, she read:
Dear Mr Rawlington,
I am writing to you as my MP but I don’t really think there is anything you can do. I am 14 years old and yesterday my dad showed me a photograph of the man he said I am to marry. It was a not very clear passport sized photo but I could see he is a lot older than me.
My dad told me his name is Hardgave and he lives in India.
I am to be sent out there to marry him. That’s not what my dad said but I’ve heard other girls talking at the temple. That’s what happens.
I am too young to get married. I want to complete my studies but my brother told me there is a lot at stake and I have to get married or I will bring shame on my parents and on this man and his family.
I have tried to talk with my mother but she just says I must do as my dad tells me. They had an arranged marriage and it worked for them, she says. But they are about the same age. This man is at least twice as old as me and he is a complete stranger.
I can’t have any letters sent to my home as they would be opened. I go to a local school but I couldn’t have a letter sent to me there. It would be strange.
I really don’t know what to do. Sorry. I read in a newspaper that people can take problems to their MP so I am bringing mine to you. Maybe I can get to your regular surgery.
Pila Patel
When she got to The News she went straight to her desk. She glanced at the messages left for her then read Pila’s letter again. Poor kid. What a horrible situation to be in. There must be some way she could help.
Rory hadn’t been at his desk but when he returned he went straight over to Hannah. “The envelopes you couriered are safe. The meeting room is free, shall we have a coffee in there out of the way?”
Hannah nodded and followed him out of the open plan area.
“So what’s going on?” Rory made a face at his coffee – he was trying to cut down on his sugar intake – and sat at the conference table.
“To be honest, I’m not sure. All the info I sent from the solicitor is to do with Paul and his involvement with the perpetrators of the Somali girl trafficking ring.” Said like that Hannah managed to distance the story from the personal. “I think it would be better if you went through it before we say any more. But it is confidential.”
“Okay – I’ll take that as a compliment that you trust me.”
Hannah looked appalled. “If I can’t trust you, then …”
Rory laughed. “You should see your face. Of course you can trust me.”
Hannah exhaled slowly the way she had been shown by the doctor. “Also, the Asian girls story is taking off. Lots of different angles but I need to do some more research first.”
“Great I’ll look forward to your first article then.”
“Any feedback on the Amalia story?”
“Not yet – maybe you need to write a follow-up?”
Hannah nodded and followed him out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“So how many secondary schools are there in your constituency?” Hannah was placing mats on the dining table ready for the Chinese takeaway that was due to be delivered.
“Five.” Joe poured the wine. “And one of them is a boys’ only school and one a co-ed.”
Hannah smiled. “Well that narrows it down. Piece of cake really.”
Joe handed her a bulky folder. Inside was information on each school, their demographic, numbers, latest local authority inspectors’ reports and reviews, staff lists, governor names and addresses.
“Gosh this is impressive. I can’t imagine that I’ll need most of this.”
“No, I know, but I set it as a task for my research assistant as the importance of education was something I fought the by-election on. So you can take from it what you will.”
Hannah separated the papers into five separate piles – she could ignore the fifth, the boys’ school. The research had also included a map of Joe’s constituency with the schools clearly marked.
“So what do you suggest?”
Hannah was silent. As time was of the essence, it would be too time–consuming to write to each school and offer her services as a speaker for any careers sessions they might have.
“Could you visit each school – you know on a sort of fact-finding, getting to know my constituency type of thing? Maybe all five schools in one day? Or over a two-day period?”
“Five schools, but…”
“It would look odd if you missed out the boys’ school.” Hannah drank some wine. “I could come with you, as an aide or something.” One of the things Hannah had been grateful for was that The News never used a photo of her with her by-line. Most people would have no idea what she looked like. Even when she had been a target – twice – her image had been kept out of the news stories and she’d done no on camera interviews.
“You could,” Joe replied just as the doorbell rang. Hannah checked the entrance camera. The Chinese food had arrived.
“How d’you get on with all this security business?” Joe asked as they opened the containers and sat down to eat.
“It was a bit weird at first but it does make me feel so much more secure. God knows what the neighbours think about it all. The woman at number nine has been wetting herself to
get in here.”
Joe laughed, almost choking on some sweet and sour chicken.
“At least that’s something I don’t have to worry about.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I don’t have to concern myself about home security – yet.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Yet?”
“We live in hope for the next general election.”
“And in government you’d –”
“Serve in any capacity asked of me. Assuming I get re-elected, that is.”
Hannah smiled. “Oh you will.” She had helped out once or twice on Joe’s campaign during the by-election and he was definitely the people’s choice. Still a lot could happen before the next election. Much would depend on the direction of the new leadership.
“So how do you feel about me accompanying you on a school inspection?”
“What do you think that would achieve?” Joe didn’t look convinced.
“We might smoke out the writer of your letter. There’s no guarantee the name she gave is the correct one and Patel is a common surname. But we could ask about attendances and check if there is an overall discrepancy with Asian girls of a certain age.”
“Couldn’t you do all this with your journalist’s hat on? Without me?”
“No, it would take too long. And there’s no guarantee the schools would agree to meeting me and if they did, they might be wary. Besides it would give you an opportunity to meet the staff and future voters.”
“Always an eye to the main chance eh?”
“Yes. Come on, you can charm them and I can ask discreet questions.”
Joe smiled and Hannah knew she’d won.
“So,” he asked, “how’s the transatlantic romance?”
Hannah pulled a face. “Tom turned up unexpectedly last weekend and we stayed in Brighton for a couple of nights.”
“So all’s well then?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Because?”
Hannah took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I can trust him.”