The Talk Show: the gripping thriller everyone is talking about

by Harry Verity

  There was one positive anyway: no more media appearances. The executives at the channel had told him he was to keep a low profile, no more getting up at 5am and dancing like a monkey. For a few days at least he no longer had to pretend that he liked those insufferable forty-year-old hags who insisted on interviewing him at ridiculous hours in the morning for their breakfast shows or that he had even the slightest flicker of sympathy for those pathetic, talentless morons who turned up to audition in front of him, expecting him to make them millionaires overnight because their parents had filled their heads with delusions of grandeur from the moment they had been born.

  He should have counted his blessings. But of course, he couldn’t: there was a much bigger problem. What to do about Edward Lewis and what he’d seen. It was, however, a problem that looked as if it was about to get a whole lot worse.

  When he got back to the studio and to the dressing room that had been a sanctuary in the past few weeks, one of the few places where a tabloid journalist couldn’t point a long-lensed camera, his phone rang. It was a London number.

  ‘Is that Michael O’Shea?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’ he said, grumpily.

  ‘Hi, Michael. It’s DS Mackintosh from the City of London police.’

  ‘Bill?’

  Michael did a double take.

  Bill Mackintosh had been one of the detectives he’d followed on the documentary series he’d made about crime. They’d been on a crusade through London, closing down drug dens and then camping out in the houses, waiting to catch unsuspecting punters in the act. Michael and Bill had become fairly good friends and he was supposed to be taking him for coffee to discuss a follow-up show… until all this shit had come about.

  ‘I’d like to talk to you. It’s just a formality; I’ll do my best to be discreet of course. When’s best for you?’

  ‘What’s this about?’ Michael asked. It didn’t sound like a social call. ‘Look, I’m free this afternoon,’ Michael added before the detective had time to reply. ‘How discreet are you talking?’

  ‘I’ll come in plain clothes, on foot, through the back entrance.’

  ‘Fine,’ Michael said, ‘I’ll let you in through my garage, what time can I expect you?’

  ‘Five o’clock sharp. I presume today’s show is cancelled?’

  ‘Yes, until further notice.’

  Michael put down the phone and closed his eyes. He had to act cool: ride it out… because if he didn’t, who knew what could happen.

  As far as Michael could grasp, the press hadn’t picked up on the officer. He might have been dressed in plain clothes but if he had come through the front entrance then there was always the chance one of the crime hacks would recognise him.

  Michael invited the detective into his dressing room, offering him a seat on the sofa.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve got to go through the formalities first, Michael,’ the detective said. ‘I hope you understand. Can you tell me your full name and date of birth?’

  ‘Michael Matthew O’Shea, MBE, 18th July 1975’

  ‘And I do need to tell you that you do not have to say anything but anything you may say can be used in evidence.’

  Michael stood up, his blood boiling. ‘You’re arresting me?’ he snapped. ‘You said this was informal.’

  ‘I am not arresting you,’ the detective said. ‘I have to give that caution to everyone we interview. It just means that if you said anything relevant, anything that might help us catch whoever kidnapped those girls, we can use it in court.’

  Michael gave him daggers.

  ‘Look, Michael, we don’t think you’ve done anything. But…’

  ‘What?’

  Of course, Michael had hoped it wouldn’t come to this but now his worst suspicions had been confirmed.

  ‘Your researcher Edward, basically what he’s saying is that he walked in on you and you had your hands around one of the girls you had on the show. I take it that’s…’

  ‘Well yeah, that’s utter bullshit,’ he lied. ‘I have people on my show because I think I can help with their lives. What would be the point in having them on if I screwed them up even further?’

  ‘But Tiffany Roe did come to your dressing room?’

  ‘Yes, she wanted to get my autograph, a lot of guests do. My other researcher, she dropped her off there. Why would I go assaulting someone if I knew my researcher could come back any minute to pick her up?’

  ‘Sure,’ the detective said, sympathetically. He seemed to be buying the story, so far. But just as Michael was thinking about a way to plant an idea into the detective’s head that would not only exonerate him completely but destroy those two scumbag researchers, the detective did his work for him and asked a question so obviously pointed, so clearly loaded, Michael had to try very hard not to smile.

  ‘So, why do you think your researchers are making these allegations?’

  ‘I think they’re panicking.’

  ‘Panicking?’

  ‘Yeah, making up anything they can think of to turn the spotlight off them.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘You tell me, officer. But why don’t we stop and look at the facts for a minute? Two girls on my show go missing in a short space of time and everyone assumes it’s that taxi driver. You find the taxi driver and realise the only people who could have done it are people directly involved with the show. And at the exact moment you announce this our number one researcher attempts to dish the dirt on me. I know who I’d be wanting to talk to if I was you, detective.’

  A smirk had grown over Mackintosh’s face. Michael knew he’d won.

  ‘And one more thing,’ Michael said. ‘If you want to find these scumbags, I’d suggest paying a visit to my brother.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘My brother is a liar and a fantasist. The spastic twat has always been jealous of me. Edward and his cokehead slag of a girlfriend will know about this – they read all the papers – and they’ll be trying to put words in his mouth to stitch me up.’

  ‘Well,’ DC Mackintosh said, ‘looks like the net’s closing in on our prime suspects.’

  ‘And if I’m right, don’t you forget who gave you the tip, yeah?’ Michael could not resist a smirk.

  ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘Not at all…’

  ‘We will keep you informed. And, as a way of thanks, maybe we can see about getting you even better access for your next documentary with, say, the commissioner?’

  ‘Apology, most certainly accepted,’ Michael said.

  And the detective saw himself out.

  The stage was set.

  26

  Had it not been for a text message from Violet, reminding him of his appointment at The Blackfriar, he would have been in danger of forgetting the horrific scene from the day before that the police had been so disinterested in.

  ‘I had a feeling this might happen,’ Violet said, rubbing her nose, which hadn’t gone unnoticed by Edward.

  ‘You do, you do believe me?’

  ‘Yes, if you think it matters…’

  ‘It matters because those girls deserve justice.’

  Violet shook her head, exasperated. ‘Spare me the crusade…’ She necked back a drink.

  ‘How can you say that? It’s like you don’t care.’

  ‘Get real, Edward. You did your bit. You told the police. Up to them if they don’t want to listen. But we’re small fish. Do you really think People are just going to hand over their highest-paid star on the hearsay of two researchers? Think of the scandal, the lost money. If someone has to take the fall for this, it will be us. If you stick your head out too much they’ll…’

  ‘Cut it off?’

  ‘If you want to pursue this, be my guest… I want another job at the end of this.’

  Edward changed tack. ‘And what about your cocaine addiction?’

  Violet closed her eyes, momentarily. ‘Addiction? Stop being so dramatic. We all do what we have to do to get by. You s
hould try it…’

  Edward fumed. The very idea that he should try drugs.

  Violet’s phone buzzed. She flicked through it and started to watch something. Edward was intrigued, Violet invited him to look over her shoulder.

  ‘…in his first interview since the scandal broke, Michael O’Shea pulled no punches,’ said the reporter as establishing shots of his plush London home played over her words. Then the cameras cut to the interior of Michael’s home. He was sat by the fireplace, with a concerned look on his face, his model wife, Karen, beside him, clutching his hand.

  ‘…the channel didn’t want me talking to the press.’

  ‘So why have you decided to break your silence?’

  ‘Because everybody knows me and respects me for telling it how it is, for offering the viewers the truth. I can’t hold my tongue on such a serious issue.’

  ‘Isn’t it best to let the police do their job?’

  ‘The police are doing a very good job but there’s a cloud of suspicion that is hanging over this show, hanging over me.’

  ‘And how have you been coping with it?’

  ‘I’ve barely slept. The idea that kids that were on my show were abducted in that way. I feel for the parents and I’ve offered as much support as I possibly can. I’m in contact with them. We also have the highest standards of care and support after filming is finished, but we can’t be held responsible for what happened. The disappearances, the murder of that taxi driver, folks at home have to understand that we all make choices, the only person or people responsible for these horrific crimes are those who carried them out.’

  ‘And you mentioned that the police are doing a good job. Do they have any idea if they have any suspects lined up?’

  ‘Yes,’ Michael said. ‘They have a suspect and they are gathering evidence. I think they’ll be making an arrest any day now. Personally, I think two people are responsible for this crime. A double act.’

  ‘And who do you think they might be?’

  ‘This might shock you and viewers at home – and I know the police have a job to do – but I’m going to tell you who I think abducted those girls and killed that taxi driver.’

  The reporter was out of shot but Edward could tell she was hanging on to his every word as everybody watching this exclusive was.

  ‘I think it was the two researchers on the show. Edward Lewis and his girlfriend Violet Dearnley.’

  Edward began to shake and was suddenly aware of everyone else in the pub who’d no doubt soon see this interview. Even Violet looked shocked by what Michael had just said.

  ‘You’re right – that is a shocking allegation to make. They could sue you for slander and the police could arrest you for interfering with their investigation.’

  ‘I’m well aware of the risks but I think it’s important for me to speak out, to let viewers know several facts about this case. That two days ago Edward Lewis came to visit me, drunk, in my dressing room, and admitted to being behind a plot to frame me, that he was jealous of my success. His whereabouts have yet to be accounted for, it’s clear that he knew the route of that taxi and so did the girl he is currently dating, Violet Dearnley.

  ‘We have suspected for a while now – though we gave her the benefit of the doubt – that she has a major drug problem and that she has been regularly taking cocaine at the workplace. The police are investigating them, but I’m not convinced that they are doing enough. My only concern here is for the girls’ families. They deserve justice, to know what happened to their beautiful young daughters. And they will never get those answers unless Edward and Violet do the right thing…’

  ‘Do you have a message for them?’

  ‘Do the right thing, buddy. I don’t know what motivated you, whether you were jealous of me and you murdered those girls to frame me or you murdered them and thought you could scapegoat me, but you’ve worked on my show long enough to know how I operate. You know you did the wrong thing. Come clean, give yourselves up, it’s the only way.’

  There was a stunned silence between Edward and Violet as she turned off the phone. Edward looked around him furtively, wondering who else in the pub may have seen the interview. Everybody seemed to be enjoying their drinks, as if nothing had happened.

  Violet looked pale.

  ‘I don’t know who to believe anymore…’ she said. ‘What’s to say you didn’t admit to all of this in his dressing room? That you’re the liar.’

  Edward closed his eyes.

  ‘I…’

  ‘I need to think very carefully about my next move,’ Violet said.

  ‘We need to run. In a few hours, by the time everyone has seen this, we’re going to be the most wanted people in the whole country.’

  ‘You will be but I won’t be… not if I turn you in.’

  ‘You know I didn’t do it. You know it wasn’t me.’

  Violet closed her eyes in resignation. ‘Give me your phone.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give me your phone, Edward.’

  He reluctantly handed it over, wondering whether to trust her and then Violet took out hers.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said and left her pint on the table, slipping out onto the main road. It was cold outside. ‘Keep your head low, downtrodden…’ They walked for a few moments before they reached the banks of the river Thames. She threw both phones into the sea without warning. Then she dragged him by the hand until they reached a cashpoint. There was no time to question her.

  ‘Take out as much as it will let you,’ she instructed.

  ‘Why? Violet, what’s happening?’

  ‘The police are going to make a choice,’ she explained, ‘us or the great Michael O’Shea. And since Michael just turned most of the country against us, what do you think will happen if we walk around like normal? We need to get as far away from here as we possibly can.’

  Edward did as he was told and took out three hundred pounds in cash. She did the same.

  As they headed off down streets, through alleyways, past landmarks he recognised and some he didn’t and eventually into Stepney Green Tube station, Edward tried to piece everything together.

  ‘This is mad,’ he said; an understatement if ever there was one. It was all so wrong. They weren’t the ones who should be on the run. ‘What about Tiffany? She could be in danger.’

  ‘Michael won’t do anything to her while there’s so much attention… another body would not look good,’ Violet said. ‘It would look too suspicious.’

  ‘Tiffany could be the key. If we could just get hold of her and convince her to go to the police.’

  ‘You have such a naïve view of the world,’ Violet screamed.

  The few people in the Tube were staring at them. Edward lowered his head, frightened at the thought of how many of them had seen that interview.

  ‘But we have to trust the police. What if we had blown the whistle on the show before? Complained about the way Michael exploits all the guests? Then maybe he would never have abducted the girls, killed Mallaky.’

  ‘Oh, please! Do you really think if we’d gone to the police earlier it would have solved all of this? They would have laughed at us, charged us with wasting police time…’

  ‘Not the police then, maybe the independent regulator…’

  ‘Independent regulator.’ Violet laughed. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Nobody wants to know. It doesn’t matter how many regulators or how many officers we go to, unless we have evidence nobody is going to investigate. Michael is too powerful, too famous, too rich.’

  The Tube doors opened, the train whizzed off down the tunnel and then there was silence; there was no one on the platform and Edward had nothing left to say.

  27

  ‘Where are we going?’ Edward whispered. They had arrived at Victoria Coach Station.

  ‘As far away as possible from London.’ Violet was studying the departures board, looking for a particular coach.

  She l
ed Edward to the end of the station where there was a coach about to leave for Edinburgh.

  ‘What are we going to do about Michael? Minnie, Jessica? Other girls?’

  ‘Nothing. We’re going to lie low and forget about all of it.’

  ‘What? We can’t! Michael, he’s a…’

  Violet shrugged. ‘We told the police, didn’t we? Did our bit.’

  ‘We have to investigate!’

  ‘Investigate what? The only way to prove Michael has done this is to persuade Tiffany to testify and that doesn’t prove anything about the other girls…’

  The coach was about to leave.

  ‘Are you coming?’ the driver asked.

  Edward thought about letting Violet go but then sighed and joined her.

  Some people were travelling alone and had already plugged their phones into the power sockets, others were chatting between themselves, some were reading books, but all of them seemed to have not a care in the world as Edward sat down next to Violet. And as the coach passed through Marble Arch several minutes later and headed out of the city, Edward wished more than anything that he too could empty his mind of all that he had witnessed in the last few weeks. Instead, he did the only thing he could and nestled down into the window, trying desperately to fall asleep.

  By the time he awoke, groggy-eyed, they had reached the motorway and were well on their way up north. They were not due to arrive until the early hours of the morning. If he had still had his phone then perhaps he could have booked a hotel in advance but Violet had put an end to that.

  ‘We’ll have to take whatever is available, I guess. Don’t you have any friends that way?’ Edward asked.

  Violet shook her head. ‘I’m not that well connected. Don’t you have any friends up north?’

  ‘No, I grew up in Kent.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  The bus was pulling into the station. The time for small talk was over.

  As they jumped off out into the unknown, Violet led the way and up the steep sloping streets.