Catalyst

by Michael Knaggs

  He smiled across at the Shadow Home Secretary. Grace cleared her throat expressively, and the two women exchanged frosty glances. Andrew seemed to be enjoying himself, “Anyway,” he said, “I think we can all be pleased with our efforts over the past few months. I won’t delay you.”

  He rose to his feet, prompting the others to do likewise.

  “Could I just borrow you for a minute, Grace?” he said.

  Tom and Jackie left together.

  On the Monday of the first week of the summer recess, both George Holland and Tom Brown separately requested a meeting with John Deverall. The meetings were scheduled for two days later, on the Wednesday, with one immediately following the other. Jad was dressed formally in shirt and jacket, and was wearing a tie, normally not allowed in such circumstances. He was taken from his quarters to a small, windowless meeting room with bare white-washed walls and ceiling, and a metal floor. It contained only a table and two chairs facing each other across it, all three items secured to the floor with steel brackets. He noted when he was left to await his first visitor that the room door was locked but no-one remained outside. He had an eerie feeling of being totally abandoned, as he listened to the receding metallic footsteps.

  The man who stood before him when the door opened again was much smaller than he expected. He had only seen pictures of George’s face and the occasional head-and-shoulders, and his assumption regarding the man’s stature, he realised, had been moulded by his massive impact on the national stage.

  Jad stood and stretched out his hand as the visitor entered and walked over to the chair opposite him. He looked pale, thin and drawn compared to his pictures in the press taken during his tour. They held the handshake for several moments, neither man speaking as if each was in awe of the other. The silence was broken by the voice of the guard.

  “Thirty minutes.”

  He closed the door, leaving it unlocked.

  Jad waved his free hand to the chair, inviting George to be seated, and breaking the silence as he did so.

  “Thank you so much for coming, George,” he said. “It means a lot, you thinking of me at this awful time. I am so sorry about your wife. I can’t… ” His voice tailed off as the words failed him, choked by sympathy and the memory of his own bereavement just a few months earlier.

  “Thank you, John. I know you lost your mother recently. You must still be hurting from that.”

  Jad nodded, and they sat in silence for a half a minute or so, each absorbed with his own grief.

  “I just felt I had to meet you,” said George, at last. “I guess I should be thanking you for seeing me.”

  “Well, you were very lucky,” Jad replied. “When you asked, I’d just got a slot in my appointments calendar – a late cancellation – that allowed me to squeeze you in… ”

  Both men laughed and the atmosphere changed instantly.

  “I promised myself,” said George, smiling, “that I would not ask you anything to do with how you came to be two people. But, seeing as how I’m here and consumed with curiosity, I might just give it a go… ”

  “Don’t even think about it,” said Jad, smiling back. “Just one person now – John Deverall.”

  There were a few more moments of silence, relaxed this time.

  “I guess my main reason for coming was to ask a favour,” said George, becoming more serious. “You spoke so passionately in court on the subject that I guess you know I desperately believe in; the same topic that I’ve been talking about myself for the past couple of months. It just seemed right that you and I should get to know each other. I believe – I know – there is a massive will for change across the country – for looking after the good guy, for protecting the little people. You’re the one who kick-started that, John, and I have to make sure that it happens – I have to – I promised Irene that I would. I mean, I promised myself for her after she… ” He hesitated, losing his thread briefly with the emotion. “So I guess we’re a sort of team, and if what has happened – these terrible events – ultimately leads to something better, then there’s some consolation in that, isn’t there?” The inflection on the last two words made it into a genuine question, as if he were searching for assurance.

  Jad nodded, but George continued before he could speak.

  “What I want to do is get as many people as I can, committed to the cause – to voting in this New Justice Regime. Because that’s what the vote is – what’s coming up next year is a referendum, not an election. It’s the people voting for a revolution – for kicking out the bad guys – not for a new government. Right now, just that one thing is enough.

  “I might have the chance – probably will have the chance now, after the leak and then the official confirmation of the proposals a week ago – to reach around forty percent of voters through this retirement web-com system. If I can get them aligned, into like a block vote, then we can virtually carry this election ourselves. Any day now I think I’ll get confirmation to go ahead, and then… well, who knows?”

  “Wow,” said Jad. “You said something about a favour, but I’m not sure why you need me, or anyone for that matter. You seem to have everything sorted out. That’s a point, actually. Isn’t it in the bag already? From what I read and hear in the press, there doesn’t seem to be anyone actually against this NJR. Nobody who’s speaking out, anyway.”

  “Not at the moment, but right now we’re fifteen months off voting for it. That period might be reduced, but there’ll still be plenty of time for things to change. For a start, there are a lot of human rights issues for the campaigners to get their teeth in to. I reckon they’re just riding out this initial wave of euphoria, and waiting for their moment. I’m not even sure how it will sit with European Law. It seems to fall outside the provisions of at least Articles 3 and 6 of the Human Rights Convention, maybe others as well. This could be just bravado by Donald and Hewlett; they might not be sure they can deliver; might be just jumping on the bandwagon. But if nearly half the electorate are rock solid behind the proposals, they’ll have to implement them – they’ll have to keep their promise.

  “But… there’s an oil crisis just round the corner. People’s priorities will shift very quickly if we get into power cuts and rationing. This government could still save themselves if they deal with that really well – to everyone’s satisfaction. I just want belt and braces… ”

  “… and string and elastic,” put in Jad.

  “… and staples and super-glue,” said George, smiling and relaxing again, drawing breath at last.

  “I’m right there in your corner, George, but I can’t see for the life of me how I can help.”

  “I want to put your name to this campaign,” George replied. “I’d like to call it ‘The Deverall Plan’ or something like that. You’re the one who’s grabbed the public’s imagination. I’d like to be the one to – sort of – carry on your good work. Excuse the cliché, but… ”

  “Hold on, George.” Jad raised his hands in a ‘slow-down’ gesture. “I’m really flattered that you want me to help, but don’t even think of using the name of a convicted murderer as your standard – standard as in flag, I mean. It deserves better than that. And anyway, the Opposition have taken up the cry; I’m not sure you need to call it anything. I’ll do whatever I can to support you, and I really am genuinely touched that you want to include me. So please, let’s think of what I can usefully do – accepting that I’m not likely to be given time off to wander round Piccadilly wearing a sandwich board or carrying a placard.”

  His visitor produced a weak smile.

  “What about this?” said Jad, trying to keep the momentum going. “Why not write a book? You just need to put down on paper and expand on what you said during your lectures and you have a readership-in-waiting of millions – probably tens of millions – out there. If you got your skates on it could be ready for the Christmas rush! Seriously, George, that is something I could help with – proof-reading, research – demographic data, for example – just feedba
ck on the text. I think I really could make a contribution with something like that.

  “And if not a book, then perhaps a series of articles – or both. You’d get into any major newspaper, the letters section at least, but I reckon they’d give you editorial space. What about tapping up this guy Tony Dobson? He seems to have become a sort of groupie of yours, from the accounts of his that I’ve read. Please don’t take this the wrong way, George, but now has got to be the optimum time for reaching out to people; whilst the whole nation is still weeping with you over Irene.”

  George remained silent for a long time, a little uncomfortable at the suggestion that he should exploit Irene’s death. However, he knew it made sense. After all, he had asked for this man’s help; he was only responding with ideas for achieving what they both so passionately wanted.

  “I always fancied writing a book,” said George, rather absently, as if this was suddenly the most important thing he could do.

  “There you go then,” said Jad. “I was joking about the Christmas rush, by the way,” he added. “That’s strictly for celebrities cashing in on their fame. Anything real and meaningful wouldn’t stand a chance batting against those.”

  They both smiled.

  The door opened.

  “Two minutes!”

  Both men got to their feet together and exchanged the same warm handshake and smiles as when they had first met. George stepped outside the room, waiting whilst the guard closed the door, and listening to the footsteps of two people approaching from the world outside.

  David Gerrard was seated in a comfortably upholstered wing chair across the desk from Allan Pickford in the latter’s large, carpeted office on the SLT corridor above the MIT room. The office was in stark contrast to David’s own, with a number of tasteful pieces of free-standing furniture in natural oak and one wall given over completely to shelves in the same wood, filled to capacity with important-looking books no-one ever touched.

  “I know how you feel about these annual meetings, David, but I thought we could use this one – if you agree, of course – to cover off a few issues that I think are perhaps more pressing at the moment. Okay?”

  David did not answer, his silence inviting clarification.

  “Three things, actually,” Allan went on. “Firstly, the situation regarding Deverall; I just want to make it absolutely clear that the case is over. Okay?”

  “Yes. Unless my memory’s playing tricks on me, I seem to remember we won, didn’t we? We caught him and put him away. Case over, as you say. That’s how it usually works, isn’t it? Sir?”

  “Thank you for clarifying the rules of engagement, David, but I think you know what I mean. Deverall’s identity is not our concern. It might be fascinating – tempting even, as a mystery to solve – but we leave it alone. Are we clear about that?”

  “What’s all this about, Allan? You told me this when I got back from ‘oop’ north; after I’d been to see the kid who knew Deverall. Are you implying that I’ve been sneaking around trying to find out more? Because if you are, then you’re totally wrong. Or very badly informed,” he added, thinking the unthinkable, that Jo may have shared his ongoing interest with his boss. He dismissed the thought almost before the words were out of his mouth.

  “No, I’m not saying that,” said Allan. “I’m just passing this on, because it’s been re-affirmed to me only yesterday.”

  “I’ll tell you what, though. I’m not happy about it. I think we’ve been made to look bloody foolish as a result of this. And I would very much like to find out more. I won’t, of course, if you tell me not to. But can I be so bold as to ask why? I mean, if I’m being warned off, can’t someone at least have the courtesy to tell me the reason. I think I’m owed that much.”

  “I can only tell you what Heat-Ray told me,” he said, referring to their Chief Constable, Heather Rayburn. “Her message was very clear. In the interest of national security, we must let alone the reasons for the deception. If, apparently, anyone were to uncover the background to his change of identity, it puts an extremely delicate operation at risk. As far as I’m concerned, David, that’s good enough for me. And it has to be good enough for you.”

  “Well, at least you’ve given me a bit more information than you did the first time – the ‘national security’ bit. That was Jo’s take on it; I guess I knew as well. But it’s nice to be told,” he added, smiling in mock gratitude.

  “DC Cottrell,” said Allan, “that’s the next point. Where are we with her coming back to work?”

  “Well,” said David, trying and failing to fit this into the context of his own performance review, “she’s been off for two weeks, that’s all. She was shattered by what happened; blames herself, like you’d expect her to do. Always prepared to take the blame, uncomfortable with the accolades. You know what she’s like?”

  “I do,” said Allan. “She’s bloody good; in fact she’s more than that. I’m not sure what you said to her but it certainly had an impact. The wrong impact. I never thought I’d see her run away from something like this… ”

  “Now just a minute!” David leant a long way across the desk. “I said to you, very distinctly, that I believed it was not the right time to give her a disciplinary. You as good as ordered me to go against my own judgement, with my own sergeant, and now I’m getting blamed for the outcome? That’s not like you, Allan. What’s going on?”

  The Superintendent raised his hands to calm his colleague.

  “Sorry, David, that’s not how it was meant to sound. I’m not blaming you – if there’s any blame, you’re right, it’s down to me. It’s just that the timing of this couldn’t have been worse. You know – we’ve discussed it – the Chief Super has been monitoring Jo over the past eighteen months or so; taking a close interest. Well, he’s just on the point of promoting her to Inspector, when this happens. Credit to him, he’s more concerned about getting Jo back and promoted than he is about the Enderby thing. Feels it’s just one of those things; error of judgement. And the reason for the urgency?” Allan went on. “Point three on the agenda. Your retirement.”

  “What retirement?” asked David. “When have I ever said I wanted to retire?”

  “What age are you, David – as if I didn’t know?”

  “Well you tell me, then.”

  “You’re fifty-three in two months’ time. You started with the force when you were nineteen. You’ve done nearly thirty-four years; you’ve earned a full pension already. There are lots of other things you can do out there; another life. I just think you should give it some thought, that’s all.”

  “But it isn’t all, is it? If that was all, then it wouldn’t be linked with Jo’s promotion.”

  “Big G Hookway feels that we can’t justify simply adding another Inspector-level position to the MI team at Parkside once Claire comes back off maternity leave,” said Allan. “We’d need to reduce numbers above DS. One way of doing that would be to lose the DCI level position and go with two DI’s.”

  Allan looked agonisingly at David for a response.

  “Understood,” he said, simply. “Not sure why I had to bloody drag it out of you, Allan. I’m not an unreasonable person, am I?”

  “No,” Allan smiled, relaxing. “Not in the least. But it’s not something I really want – you retiring. But I do want to keep Jo. So you see the dilemma? Jo gets promoted to DI and she has to move somewhere else.”

  David looked thoughtful for a few moments before he spoke.

  “Can I just add one small item to the agenda, please,” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “My performance in the job. Forgive me for being naïve enough to think it, but I had just the vaguest suspicion that this was what the meeting was going to be about. Don’t ask me why – it must have been something to do with it being called ‘David Gerrard’s Annual Appraisal’ that triggered the thought… ”

  “David, I… ”

  David held up his hand with a smile.

  “Sorry, Allan, just
a release for my sarcasm. The stuff we’ve talked about is really important. You know I want the very best for Jo – because she deserves it – pure and simple. But are you in any way dissatisfied with my work? I mean, is that a factor in trying to accelerate my leaving?”

  The answer was instantaneous, and reinforced by the shocked look on Allan’s face.

  “Absolutely not!” he almost shouted. “Christ, David, how could you even think that? I can’t think of one single thing I could pick you up on in pretty much all the time I’ve known you. Surely you didn’t really believe that?”

  “I guess not – hoped not. Thanks, Allan, I really appreciate your saying that. Although I could probably help you to identify some things to pick me up on if you thought that might lead to a more balanced view.”

  Allan laughed.

  “So basically,” David went on, “I would need to retire before Jo got promoted – or soon afterwards, or Big G would move her out. Straight away?”

  “Well, I’m not sure about immediately. There might be some flexibility in the timeframe.”

  Both men sat in silence for a while. Allan spoke first.

  “I’ve just thought, you know. I’m coming at this totally from a selfish point of view. Just think about it; Jo will get her promotion whether you retire or not. She might even prefer to move somewhere else, especially after this lot. It might even be the best for her, might get her back to work sooner. So it’s just me, isn’t it? I don’t want to lose her so I’m making the link. Right?”

  “Well, I think you’re wrong about Jo wanting to go somewhere else, because you were right about her not being the type to run away. I believe she’ll want to come back here, or” – he paused, fixing his eyes on Allan’s – “she won’t come back at all. That’s a possibility.”

  “I hope she does,” said Allan, shaking his head sadly, “for her sake more than anything else. How long before we’ll know, do you think?”