by Anne Coates
“Come on Hannah, be fair. She only turned away for a moment to pay the shop assistant.”
“That’s all it takes…”
“Christ you’re bloody judgemental today. Have you never looked the other way, made a slip?”
Hannah’s eyes welled up and her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… You should write a piece on it. What it feels like for a mother to…”
“You must be joking.” Hannah looked aghast.
“No I’m not. Use it Hannah. It could be cathartic. Also it would justify your retainer. Judy would never be able to do the story justice.”
“You’re serious aren’t you? Did George put you up to this?”
Rory had the grace to look embarrassed. “She did mention it.” Hannah had always wondered just how much Georgina Henderson knew about Gerry Lacon and his attack on her. They had never discussed it. After Hannah’s story about him and his clinic had been spiked there had been a news blackout. Certainly his attack on her had never been made public. Hannah’s stomach tightened. She was having her strings pulled yet again and it was not a pleasant feeling.
“Wish I’d never signed that bloody contract.”
“Well you did so you’d better make the most of it. Come on Hannah you’ve got to play the game.”
“And if I don’t?” Even to her own ears Hannah sounded petulant.
“Why make life difficult for yourself? Want another?” He pointed to Hannah’s almost empty wine glass.
“No thanks. Better get going.”
“But you didn’t finish your story. How did you meet Simon Ryan?”
“He contacted me. He’s in London to be with his brother and staying at the vicarage. Apparently he’d been tied up by some high profile case he’d been working on–”
“That’d be the Druffield case. A witness suddenly withdrew his evidence and the trial collapsed. Conveniently.”
“Why d’you say that?”
“A lot of people had reason to be glad there was no conviction.”
Hannah, none the wiser, finished her drink. Rory had gone to the bar and returned with two more drinks.
“I didn’t…”
“I know this is medicinal. You’re going to drink this and relax and I’m going to book a car to take you home. Deal?”
Hannah raised her glass in a salute. “Deal. Anyway going back to Simon Ryan… at least with him on the scene I won’t feel responsible for his brother.”
“Why should you?”
“Oh because… all sorts of reasons. His link to Liz, I suppose.” She had never told Rory about the blackmail threat. In spite of what Rory thought, she was learning to play the game. She might not be able to write for other newspapers but that wouldn’t stop her feeding another journalist any info she had. As long as she didn’t take any payment for it she assumed she wouldn’t be deemed to be breaking her contract. She could just let a few facts slip during a conversation or just point someone in the tight direction…
“So this is where you hold your briefing meetings, then.” Judy Burton’s syrupy tones interrupted Hannah’s thoughts. As usual, Judy looked stylish and glamorous in her Donna Karen dress and jacket, making Hannah feel distinctly shabby in comparison.
Rory, ever the gentleman, stood up. “What can I get you, Judy?”
Hannah hoped she’d say she was meeting someone but the woman she’d least like to be with sat down next to her. “Red wine, as you’re in the chair, Rory. Thank you.”
Hannah watched her settle herself and take her cigarettes and lighter out of her bag. She certainly made the best of herself, Hannah had to concede. She was really rather pretty if you weren’t at the receiving end of her barbed comments. Her highlighted hair always looked freshly washed and blow dried and there were never any tell-tale roots. Hannah imagined she must spend a fortune – just on her hair.
“So, how’s life with you Hannah?” Judy made a performance of lighting her cigarette. “Any updates on your friend’s murder?”
“You probably know more that I do.” Hannah concentrated on her wine.
“I’d have thought your little inspector friend could have pulled a few strings for you.”
Hannah looked at her blankly. She couldn’t be refering to Claudia Turner.
“What’s his name? Tom Jordan.”
The smile Hannah commanded her face to wear almost covered her agitation. “He’s in the US at the moment but I’m sure you know that Judy.”
Judy exhaled a long shaft of smoke but away from Hannah. “Not really that interested to be honest. I was just making conversation.” She studied her nails, painted a deep red and looking like a bird of prey’s talons to Hannah. A bird of prey who’d just mauled its victim.
“Did you know I’m seeing Paul Montague?” When she looked up Hannah could see the look of defiance combined with what seemed to be an entreaty in her eyes.
“I had heard.” Hannah sipped her wine.
“I had no idea… really Hannah I didn’t…”
“Nothing to do with me who you or Paul see. He’s nothing to me Judy.”
“But he’s…”
“Charming, good looking and amusing company.” Hannah smiled. She would never give Judy the satisfaction of knowing her true thoughts. It crossed her mind that Paul had put her up to this.
Judy inhaled the smoke from her cigarette. “I think he may be using me… to get at you.”
Hannah stared at her indisbelief. “But I haven’t had anything to do with him for nearly two years.” Never had she seen herself in the role of reassuring this woman who had made it her business to be so unpleasant to her. “I really don’t think so, Judy. He probably just likes you for who you are.” Hannah did not mention Paul turning up at her home or making a claim on his daughter. But just for once she did feel a bit sorry for Judy. She wasn’t dense…
“Thanks Rory. I needed this,” Judy said. “Cheers.” Rory had also bought drinks for himself and Hannah. She was about to protest when he gave a little shake of his head towards Judy. Maybe he thought this was a useful bonding session.
“Don’t worry, I’ve booked you a car, Hannah. It’ll be ready when you are.”
“Oh the hard life of a freelance, eh?” Hannah assumed this was another barbed comment but Judy’s face actually looked friendly. Miracles, it seemed, did sometimes happen.
THIRTY-SIX
Much to Hannah’s astonishment, The News published her story on FGM. As her contract dictated she offered anything she wrote to the newspaper first, and she had done so with little expectation of them using it. She even wondered if they’d take it but not publish. Another spiked story. She was wrong. Under the title of “The cruellest cut of all”, Mia’s experiences and Hannah’s description of them were treated sympathetically and respectfully.
Rory told her that Georgina was emphatic that it should not be sensationalised. The story, she said, spoke for itself. Mia’s identity had not been revealed in Hannah’s copy and Georgina hadn’t asked her for it.
Hannah was amazed and confessed as much to Rory when they were having lunch in the pub.
“George’s not such a dragon you know. Anyway I don’t think any woman – or any man come to that – could read that article and not be moved. It’s horrendous, Hannah. Unimaginable for most of us. Well done you – you’ve done it again.”
Hannah smiled. “Yeah I know, not bad for a woman’s mag journo.”
Rory raised his glass to her and look a long drink of beer. “So how’s all the other investigating going?”
“Lots of dead ends, I’m afraid.” Hannah was wary of what she revealed. She liked Rory and he was being supportive but – there was always a but. “Liz had to be murdered for some reason – otherwise nothing makes sense.”
“One of life’s imponderables.”
“What is?”
“Does anything every make sense?” Rory smiled. He knew Hannah was holding back but was prepared to wait. It was the long game.
The day after pu
blication Hannah received a card depicting the Madonna and child through the post. Inside was written: Thank you so much, Mia x
James also rang her. “Didn’t realise that rag actually had a soul. Thank you Hannah.”
“What for?”
“For treating the subject so sensitively and being so respectful of Mia. Anyway must go that’s my bleep. See you soon.”
I hope so, Hannah thought. She hadn’t seen James since he’d brought Mia to see her. What was the real relationship between the cousins? She tortured herself with the obvious possibility. It had never occurred to her that James may have been or was still involved with someone else. What an idiot she was for thinking he was there waiting for her to beckon him to do her bidding. And Mia seemed such a lovely woman.
THIRTY-SEVEN
“Hannah, good morning. I’ve been doing some digging about this charity your friend Liz was working for. Thought it might have some bearing on Patrick and I think it would be a good idea to get together and run through it.”
Strangely this was the second call of the day that Hannah had received about WelcAf. The first had been from Rory and he’d biked over a whole ream of cuttings some from quite obscure – to her at least – publications. “Bike will be quicker that faxing this lot,” Rory had said.
It never ceased to amaze Hannah how much money the journalists had at their disposal for couriers and cash incentives. “Remember, this story is ours Hannah,” he meant The News – “I think we may be on to something. Catch up soon.”
“Would you mind coming here?” Hannah asked Simon. “It makes it easier with the childcare.”
“Of course. What time suits you?”
“Shall we say four this afternoon?” That way Hannah would have a cut-off point at six when Janet left. She knew Janet had a date that evening and would want to leave on time.
“Perfect. I have your address. See you then.”
Hannah opened the envelope containing the cuttings. Whoever had done this trawl had been efficient indeed. Hannah started at the top and worked down in date order.
An hour later Hannah was begining to see a pattern emerging. None of the cuttings was totally condemnantory of the WelcAf outposts in Somalia. No publication made outright accusations but there were undercurrents of criticism. Read in isolation you’d probably think nothing was amiss. However reading them en masse like this, Hannah saw a body of complaints – and they all implied that some of the charity employees, if not actively involved in trafficking young girls, were at least complicit in what was going on. They were turning a blind eye to young girls going missing.
Hannah was appalled. No wonder Liz came home if she had these suspicions. But why hadn’t she shared this with her. Unless she was protecting her. It was beginning to seem increasingly possible that she was murdered to silence her.
And Patrick would have been dead too, but for the intervention of one of the homeless people from the Bull Ring. Who had that been? Sherlock and his strange behaviour towards her came to mind. It was as though he had seen through her disguise but she wondered now if he was warning her off for her own good. He didn’t blow her cover for whatever reason of his own. There was also a suggestion that he knew far more than he was letting on. He had mentioned someone asking questions and nosing around the day before Liz died.
The phone rang and Hannah picked up the handset distractedly.
“Hannah?”
“Yes, sorry.”
“Simon Ryan.” There was a pause before Hannah registered her caller.
“Oh hello Simon. Sorry I was miles away. What can I do for you? I thought you were coming here this afternoon.”
“Well, I was but I’m now at St Thomas’s. Patrick is conscious and would like to see you. The police are here obviously but he’s made it clear he won’t say anything before he’s spoken to you.”
“I see. I’ll need to make some arrangements for my daughter and then I’ll join you. How is he?”
“Not good. I’m not even sure he can remember anything or knows where he is but the doctors assure me it’s okay for you to visit. The police – well DI Turner to be exact – aren’t too pleased as you can imagine. And I don’t suppose it will be long before the archdeacon knows what’s going on.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Hannah phoned Nicky to see if she could have Elizabeth. Fortunately the bad weather had kept her indoors as well as Janet. Hannah explained that Janet should take Elizabeth to Nicky’s if she hadn’t heard from her by 5.30 then she booked a cab and was on her way to St Thomas’s hospital.
There was a commotion outside Patrick Ryan’s private room. DI Turner was shouting into her phone while the nasty sergeant she’d met before was having a battle of wills with the archdeacon who had arrived before her and was demanding to see the priest. The constable on duty outside the room was the only one who seemed totally calm.
Hannah bypassed the others, showed the officer her passport as ID and went into the room. Not knowing what to expect she was taken aback by the scene which confronted her. Father Patrick looked as deathly white as she sheet which covered him. He appeared gaunt and confused. His brother, the picture of health, sat beside him holding a clipboard which had some scribbling on it.
A doctor introduced himself. “Don’t look so worried – all this looks worse than it is. After all that time on a ventilator and having a tube down his throat, Patrick is finding very difficult to talk. He is trying to write but that is difficult for him too at the moment. Speech and coordination will improve day by day.”
Hannah walked over to the bed and sat in the chair opposite Simon. She touched his hand. “Hello Patrick. Welcome back.”
Patrick made an unintelligible sound as he stared into Hannah’s face then turned and jerked his brother’s arm. Simon moved the clipboard in front of Patrick and guided a pen into his hand. All Hannah could see was a page of scribbles. The only word she could just make out with difficulty was her own name that Patrick kept jabbing at with the pen. The fear in his eyes seared into her. She could feel it, taste it, almost touch it. Fanciful as it seemed.
She leaned towards him. “Patrick, do you know why Liz was killed?”
He nodded. “Tra… traf… traff-ick-ing.” Hannah wasn’t sure that that was what he had actually said or what she had assumed he would say. He looked as though he had totally exhausted himself by uttering just one word.
Hannah looked across the bed to Simon. He inclined his head slightly.
“It’s okay Patrick you’re safe now,” he said as though to a young child.
The doctor came over and checked the montors still attached to his patient. He smiled down at Patrick. “You’re doing really well, old chap. Your voice will get stronger very soon. But you need to get some rest now.”
Hannah took this as her cue and stood up. “Goodbye Patrick. I’ll come and see you tomorrow.”
Simon also stood and walked her to the door. “There’s no way I’m letting the archdeacon or DI Turner in here today. I won’t have Patrick distressed; it could set him back.” He lowered his voice, “We’ll have to have that talk another time. I don’t want to frighten you but please be on your guard in every sense.”
Hannah could feel a cloak of fear descend upon her. “Do you think it will be okay to come back tomorrow?”
“Yes, please do. I’ll phone you in the morning.”
As she closed the door behind her she was aware of three faces turned towards her. “Well?” said Claudia Turner.
“He needs to sleep.”
“I’d have thought he’d done enough of that for now,” sneered the sergeant earning him a glare from his DI.
The archdeacon stared at her. “I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that this was none of your business, Ms Weybridge. The diocese…”
“The diocese can wait their turn.” Hannah matched his stare. “He needs to speak to the police first.” She turned to Claudia. “I think Patrick might need a bit more protection, Inspector.”
The DI nodded to her sergeant. “Stay here until I organise some more cover.” She turned to the archdeacon. “I suggest you go back to doing whatever it is you do and we’ll call you once Reverend Ryan has agreed to see you.”
Hannah admired her stance but could see that the Venerable Andrew Fawshore was not impressed. He looked furious. “I shall have words with the Chief Inspector,” he said. Mustering all his dignity, he strode down the corridor.
“May I offer you a lift home, Hannah?”
Remembering Simon Ryan’s warning, Hannah felt her usual resistance dissipate. “I’d love one, thank you.”
They left the hospital together and made for the car park. Hannah was surprised that Claudia got into the driver’s seat and opened the front passenger door for her.
“Lost your driver?” Hannah settled herself and fastened the seat belt.
“Like to keep my hand in.” Claudia smiled. “You look shattered.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean. I gather Patrick Ryan wasn’t up to much?”
“No his voice was very weak and his handwriting on the clipboard they’d given him was all over the place. Virtually illegible apart from my name. Which is presumably why his brother rang me.”
“I wonder if he has anything relevant to say.”
“Well at least we’ll know that soon. As a matter of interest, do you know who rescued Patrick and got him to the hospital.”
“No I don’t.” This was said rather too quickly. Hannah glanced at the inspector and wondered how much she really knew.
“Well he saved Patrick’s life, that’s for sure.”
They had hit the traffic on the Walworth Road and the car was crawling along. “I’m going to take the next left and get us out of this.” Claudia indicated and they were soon going through a warren of back streets.
Hannah yawned then remembered her instruction to Janet. “Excuse me, I have to make a call,” she said as she dialled her home number. Janet answered and Hannah told her to stay there as she would be home soon. “Could you phone Nicky and let her know?”