Trail of Poison

by M. J. Richards

  “Okay,” Helen said, nodding in approval. “Let’s go make a fool out of Jonathan Hunt.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  RECEPTION WAS THROUGH a set of double doors and past a second security guard, who searched their bags and checked their badges. The receptionist, a dark-haired woman with a polite if slightly aloof smile, signed them in and asked them to take a seat. By the time Jonathan Hunt arrived ten minutes later, Emily’s anxiety had worked its way into her limbs, making them shift from one uncomfortable position to the next, and prompting Helen to put a firm hand on her shoulder.

  Jonathan Hunt was in his mid-fifties, tall, with a shock of peppery hair slicked to one side. His expensive suit had been well-tailored, tucking in at the right places to disguise his paunch. As he approached, his stern face broke into a measured smile. There was nothing genuine about it, Emily noted; it was just part of the show.

  “Mr. Hunt,” Helen said, an equally disingenuous smile spreading across her lips as she shook his hand. “Helen Carlson. Star News Chronicle. Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me.”

  “Oh, the pleasure’s mine, Miss Carlson.” His voice was solid, confident, like a man well-rehearsed in dealing with the press. Until he eyed Emily. “And who’s this?”

  Confusion momentarily rippled across his face, and Emily realized he’d had no idea Helen would be bringing company. It was a bold move on Helen’s part, she thought; one that could end the interview before it had even started. Again, she silently wondered if involving her had been the wisest choice.

  “This is Meryl, our intern,” Helen said. “My apologies, Mr. Hunt. I should have phoned ahead and asked if I could bring her along, but in my excitement, she completely slipped my mind.”

  Jonathan Hunt’s eyes were fixed on Emily’s own. The temptation to look away was overwhelming, but she returned his stare and smiled.

  “She’ll just be sitting quietly, taking notes. Or if it’s too much trouble, I’m sure Meryl won’t mind waiting in the car.”

  The CEO’s gaze shifted back to Helen.

  “There’s no need for that. We all have to start our careers somewhere.” He leaned in and inspected Emily’s ID badge. “Isn’t that right, Miss Silkwood?”

  “Of course.” Emily nodded, then mentally recounted her new name over and over, as Jonathan Hunt led them past the reception desk and through a labyrinth of corridors. Outside his office, they were greeted by his personal assistant; an attractive young woman who smiled as they approached.

  “Tanya, I’m in a meeting now for the next forty minutes. Take any messages. And would you mind bringing some coffee?”

  “Of course, Mr. Hunt.” The PA eyed the women as they were ushered into his office.

  Hunt gestured to a sofa and armchairs. It was a large room with a view of the marshland. In the far distance, the Thames estuary wound its way toward the North Sea.

  Now seated, Emily pulled out her notebook and pen, while Helen removed a digital voice recorder from her bag and placed it on the coffee table.

  “A recording and notes. Is this an interrogation?” Mr. Hunt said, a teasing smile on his lips.

  “It’s a good opportunity for Meryl to practice her Teeline shorthand. The recording is for me—I would hate to misquote you.” Helen’s finger hovered over the record button. “May I?”

  “Certainly. I do hate being misquoted—you know how journalists can be . . . present company excluded, I’m sure.” Hunt clasped his hands together. “Shall we dive right in? I’m afraid time is against us.”

  “Of course.”

  Coffee arrived. The young PA placed the tray wordlessly on the table, then retreated to her desk outside. Attempting to quell the feverish beating inside her chest, Emily fixed her gaze on the carpet.

  Helen went to work. Her first set of questions covered the evolution of Valence Industries, tracking its growth from a small plant in Illinois to its current status as dominant global empire. Next, she delved into the company’s reasons for implementing a sustainable development department.

  Jonathan Hunt listened carefully, with his head cocked at an angle and his eyes fixed on Helen. Every answer he gave was carefully delivered, as if he were reading from a teleprompter.

  “We were aware of the negative impact the chemicals industry can have on the environment,” he said. “But it was not until we conducted thorough research into the subject that we realized just how destructive that impact was. Yes, advances are being made every day in the field of chemistry toward more environmentally-friendly processes and materials, but the question I ask is: are we doing enough? I, for one, do not wish to bear the responsibility of my grandchildren growing up in a world where crops cannot grow, or water is poisoned, or the very air they breathe is toxic. Which is why I set up the sustainability department.”

  He paused, eyes shifting from Helen to Emily, a fixed, self-congratulatory smile on his lips. Emily returned his smile as she jotted down notes. If Valence Industries was responsible for selling TEL in developing countries, then Hunt was either in the dark about it, or he was a convincing liar.

  Helen nodded. “So, you’d say the environment is something you’ve always been passionate about?”

  The CEO gazed at Emily for a second longer, then turned his attention to the journalist.

  “Let’s say it was a gradual process. I’ll admit I had a lot to learn at first. My daughter will be pleased to hear she was instrumental in opening my eyes to all manners of environmental issues. It was through her that I learned just how much industrial pollution is contributing to the very real threat of climate change.” He paused, eyeing his captive audience. “I want Valence Industries to be a pioneer of change within the chemicals industry. To lead by example. The sustainability department was just the beginning. But it was a good place to start.

  “Within the first three years of the department’s inception, we reduced our greenhouse gas and energy emissions by almost twenty percent, and we introduced water and waste reduction programmes with very promising results. You see, I believe that to tackle a global problem, you must first begin at home. Only then can you extend a helping hand to the Third World.”

  Helen smiled. “All those reductions must save money as well.”

  “It’s an agreeable by-product, shall we say? But the money we save is used to further our research into more sustainable and safer processing methods of our products. And of course, we also invest heavily into other environmental causes.”

  “Such as the Clean Water Project?”

  “Among them, yes.”

  Helen leaned over, making a play of checking Emily’s notes. “Perhaps you’d like to tell us a bit more about the Clean Water Project—how you became involved; who set it up; how successful it’s been.”

  Emily listened as Hunt spent the next five minutes reiterating much of what she’d already learned about the Clean Water Project. Unsurprisingly, there was no mention of Max Edwards. Emily chewed her lower lip, desperate to fire some of her own questions at the CEO. As Hunt spoke, his eyes wandered back to Emily, then moved down to her hands. She had stopped taking notes. Distracting him with a smile, she picked up her pen and began scribbling on the page. By the time Hunt had finished talking, his gaze was like a pendulum, swinging back and forth between Helen and her intriguingly quiet intern.

  “I’m impressed,” Helen said. “It’s refreshing to hear a global company like Valence Industries can act so conscientiously. You and your sustainability team should be commended.” Helen leaned forward an inch, her smile fading. “But there’s one issue that confuses me, Mr. Hunt. I’m sure it’s some sort of misunderstanding. . .”

  Emily’s heart thumped in her chest as she shot a glance at Helen. What was she about to say?

  Jonathan Hunt leaned back in his chair, his charismatic charm momentarily withdrawing enough to catch a glimpse of something hostile beneath.

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  Emily swivelled her eyes back to Helen. Don’t, she thou
ght. Don’t you dare.

  But it was too late.

  “It’s just that we’ve heard rumblings of Valence Industries’ involvement in the processing and exportation of TEL, I believe it’s called. Tetraethyl Lead? Am I pronouncing that right?”

  Jonathan Hunt was unmoving, like a snake eyeing its prey. Emily swallowed and dropped her gaze to her notes. Inside, anger burned its way through her body. The one question Helen was not supposed to ask had just been dumped in Hunt’s lap like a pile of shit. But now the question was out, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would answer.

  The silence in the room grew thick and cloying, like the air before a thunderstorm. Hunt’s expression remained unchanging; a half smile frozen on his lips.

  “I thought we were here today to discuss our positive impact on the environment,” he said at last.

  It was all over. But no one had told Helen that.

  “We are, Mr. Hunt. But don’t you think it’s an issue that should be addressed? The export of TEL to developing countries does seem to conflict with everything we’ve discussed today. After all, TEL has been banned in almost every corner of the world, and with very good reason.”

  Hunt’s left eye twitched once, then was still. “Suddenly I have the distinct feeling there may be an ulterior motive for this interview.”

  “I can assure you there are no ulterior motives,” Helen said. “I’m sure it’s probably some sort of miscommunication. After all, it makes no sense that Valence Industries would be involved in something so unethical—no matter how legal—when your passion for the environment and the health of our children is so abundantly clear.”

  Helen flashed a smile. Unaware she was holding her breath, Emily’s eyes swivelled between interviewer and interviewee.

  “Quite.” Jonathan Hunt smiled coolly. He nodded at the wall clock. “Unfortunately, that’s all I have time for today. If you have any further appropriate questions, please email them to my PA.”

  Standing, the CEO buttoned his jacket, then shook hands with his visitors.

  Helen flashed him one last smile. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hunt. It’s much appreciated.”

  “I’ll look forward to reading your article with great interest.” He walked them out to the PA’s desk. “Tanya, would you mind showing our guests out?”

  Shooting Emily one last glance, he retreated to his office and closed the door.

  *

  “Did you see him squirm? The slimy, lying shit!”

  Valence Industries shrank in the distance as the blue Renault made its way along the private road, back toward civilization. Emily had managed to contain her anger while they’d been escorted from the plant. But now it erupted like a volcano.

  “What the hell have you done?” she hissed. “One question, Helen! That’s all you had to stay away from. But no. You had to let your overinflated ego ruin it all!”

  “Relax, would you? We have him on tape practically orgasming over how committed he is to saving the planet. Did you hear his exact words? He didn’t want his grandkids breathing in toxic air! Do you know how amazing that quote’s going to be right next to a picture of kids sucking on exhaust pipes? Shame on him!”

  “You already had your quote, so why go and mention TEL?” Emily bit down on her lip. She was furious. But more than that, she was scared. “You’re reckless, Helen. And bloody arrogant!”

  Helen slowed the car. They were approaching the security barrier. “Everything will be fine. Now turn that frown upside down and smile.”

  The security guard watched them through the cabin window. Emily looked straight ahead. On the other side of the barrier, a car was approaching; a silver, sporty number that looked like it cost more than Emily’s annual rent.

  “You better hope everything will be fine,” Emily said, with a forced smile. “But I can guarantee that Evan will not be happy.”

  The security barrier was lifting. Helen rolled the car forward.

  “Leave that teddy bear to me. I agree it was a risky move, but it was one I was prepared to make. Sometimes the risky questions get you the best answers.”

  “Well, not in this case.” Emily glanced into the wing mirror and saw the chemical plant in the distance. Valence Industries was making a fortune selling their poison to the vulnerable, and they were creating that poison right here, right behind her. “I hope for everyone’s sake you haven’t just complicated matters.”

  “It’s fine. We have the quote. End of story.”

  Emily shook her head. The muscles in her shoulders were knotted and tight. She was about to tell Helen how it very probably wasn’t the end, when she glanced across at the other car.

  “Shit!”

  “What is it?”

  Emily immediately turned her head. “That’s Tim Marsden!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure!”

  “Did he see you?” Helen pressed down on the accelerator, sailing through security and past the silver car.

  Spinning around, Emily stared through the back window. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Well, let’s not panic just yet. Let’s go meet Evan and figure out our next move.”

  But as they zipped along country roads and back on to the A2, Emily could do nothing but panic. She knew only too well what happened when corrupt men in power discovered you were watching them. It was bad enough Helen had potentially informed Valence Industries it was under investigation, but what about Tim Marsden?

  Emily was now convinced he had seen her. That their eyes had met. But would he tell Jonathan Hunt? It was entirely possible—when she’d met Marsden last week, his loyalty to the company had been resolute.

  Pressing her head against the window, Emily closed her eyes. As London’s cityscape appeared in the distance, glinting in the emerging sun like Emerald City, she counted her breaths in and out, and wondered if they’d just made a terrible mistake.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EVAN HOLT LIVED on the thirteenth floor of a local authority-owned tower block; the kind that all over London were being sold to property developers, who would paint the walls magnolia, throw down laminate flooring, and advertise the property as: ‘modern apartments to rent with panoramic city views’. But Evan lived in a less than desirable part of Elephant and Castle, where most people feared to tread at night, and so the chance of his tower block being snatched up for redevelopment was minimal.

  In some ways, Evan’s apartment reminded Emily of Harriet Golding’s home. Stacks of newspapers and magazines covered most available surfaces, making sizeable rooms feel cramped and claustrophobic. But unlike Harriet, Evan seemed unused to receiving visitors. Emily watched as he picked up journals to make room on the sofa, then spent the next few moments turning in slow circles, attempting to find the journals a new home. Once they were sitting down, Emily and Helen reported back on their visit to Valence Industries. Helen played select extracts from the recording of her interview with Jonathan Hunt. Then she surprised Emily by admitting she had asked Hunt about TEL.

  “It was impulsive,” she explained. “Sometimes you need to ask the risky questions, right?”

  Evan’s pensive expression remained the same. If he was angry, he wasn’t letting on. “Well, it’s out there now, I suppose. The question is, will Hunt do anything about it?”

  “There’s something else,” Emily said. “Tim Marsden saw me as we were driving out.”

  “He may have seen you,” Helen corrected.

  “But if he did, it’s possible he would have mentioned it to Jonathan Hunt. It won’t take more than a few seconds to work out Meryl Silkwood doesn’t exist.”

  Evan surprised Emily by laughing. “Meryl Silkwood? What kind of alias is that?”

  Helen picked up a magazine and pretended to examine its cover. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said. “As soon as I mentioned TEL, alarm bells would have gone off. It won’t take long for Hunt’s people to dig around and find out who I really write for. Then they’ll think they�
�re being investigated by London Truth. So let them.”

  “That puts you at risk,” Emily said.

  “What are they going to do? They must know the truth about TEL will come out eventually. I’m sure they have a whole PR campaign already prepped in the event of exposure.”

  Evan removed a pile of newspapers from a wooden stool and perched on its edge. “Helen’s right. I’m sure they’re fully prepared and briefed. They’ll expect their reputation to take a hit. The environmental groups they’re working with such as E.C.G. will want to distance themselves immediately, and that’s going to cause problems for the projects they’ve been collaborating on. But Valence know they’ll survive this, and they’ll continue selling TEL until the law says they can’t.”

  Emily was outraged at such a notion. But she wasn’t alone.

  “Come on, they wouldn’t dare!” Helen cried. “The press will drag them through the mud. There’ll be a public outcry demanding a change in exportation laws. Eco-activists will be all over them.”

  “And you think that will stop them?” Evan smiled as he clasped his hands across his stomach. “Companies like Valence Industries rule the world. They’re wealthy and they’re powerful. They know they can sell poison like TEL and get away with it, too. If they have a problem, they flash some money and they make it go away. Tell the world about TEL and yes, you’ll hurt them. But the pain will be a bee sting. Soon, it will fade. Some other scandal will grab the public’s attention, and then it’ll be business as usual. The only thing that’s going to stop Valence Industries from producing and selling TEL is if the law changes. Or if we find something incriminating.”

  “Like the death of Max Edwards,” Emily said.

  Evan shook his head. “Bigger than that. I’m sorry, Emily, but the accidental death of a known alcoholic isn’t going to cut it. Regardless of what we may or may not believe about Max Edwards’ death, there isn’t a shred of evidence to prove he was murdered.” He was on his feet again, pacing the room. “But what we do know is that Max found something. And whatever it is, he believed it was powerful enough to ruin them.”