The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  'It's not your fault Frank,' Maggie said. 'I've been a bit of a fool, haven't I?'

  Jimmy placed his arm around her shoulders and held her close. 'No you haven't been a fool, not at all. And anyway, it didn't exactly work out well for them, did it? Backfired big time.'

  Frank, unsure if he had done the right thing, swilled down his beer and stared into the distance, lost in thought. His theory made sense of course, except for two glaring facts that shot it out of the skies. Firstly, why would a government minister go all the way to Moscow just to say 'we're doing what we can to get her put away.' Why not just send a bloody text? And secondly, surely the smart thing would have been to get the world-renowned Dr Khan to shore up the facial recognition evidence, to make it absolutely bullet-proof in the eyes of the court. With his little past indiscretion he's not in any position to say no, so you would think he would write anything he was damn well told. But instead, his report blasted the expert witness's testimony out of the water. Why?

  Yes, it was all the wrong way round, but he consoled himself by reflecting that you often found that in the early stages of a case. Two persons of interest with something to hide, government ministers attending secret meetings in Moscow and an expert's report that wasn't quite what it seemed. That was a decent haul so far. And not to forget a nice-but-average barrister cynically parachuted into a high-profile trial.

  A barrister who shouldn't have shown her ex-husband that bloody photograph.

  Chapter 17

  Penelope skimmed through the opening paragraph one more time then gave a faint smile of satisfaction. Yep, that read just right, powerful but succinct and to the point. It had to be of course otherwise Clark would ask for a rewrite or even do it himself and she hated when he did that, not that he dared do it very often.

  It was a relief to be able to bury herself in work after the unsettling events of the last couple of days. She had never trusted Philip Brooks, a slimy snake of a guy if there ever was one. God, she couldn't stand the man. She had only gone to the bloody dinner because Gerrard had arranged for them to have a yummy overnight stay in a nice Cotswolds country house hotel nearby. A little bit of business, and then it's all pleasure, that's how he had described it. She was happy to go along with it on that basis, and it couldn't be denied that it had been an interesting evening. It was meant to be a celebration of some deal or other that Brooks and Gerrard had concocted, although that guy Khan hadn't seemed in a joyful mood. Which wasn't a surprise once she found out what it had been all about.

  Now Brooks was in a funk, on the phone about a dozen times urging her to keep quiet about everything that was said, wittering that if it got out it would ruin everything and there would be what he called 'consequences'. Ruin everything? What was there to ruin? Stupid little man.

  Forget that, it was time to get on with her work. The first few lines read pretty well, she thought. Barely eighteen months ago, on a cold and wet night in Belfast, Captain James Stewart sent twenty-two-year-old Sergeant Naomi Harris to her certain death. Despite an army cover-up, this paper exposed the truth, and now her parents are demanding justice. They deserve no less.

  She uploaded the document to her email and clicked 'send'. Now the paper's lawyers would review the article and if it passed muster, Clark would concoct a suitably lurid headline and they would be ready to go. Barring the emergence of any particularly big stories in the next day or two, it would make the front page of Saturday's edition, with a two or three-page spread across the inner pages too. Just how she liked it.

  It was her high public profile that had caused the grieving Dawn and Peter Harris to contact the paper in the first place, and she had met with them a few times over the last few weeks as she pieced together the story. Nice enough couple she thought, but a bit stupid. It was tragic what had happened to their daughter of course, but what had they expected when she had decided to join the bloody army? That was besides the point because White knew a blockbuster story when she saw it. Dawn Harris was good-looking like her daughter, sexy even, appearing much younger than her forty-four years, and her husband Peter was dark, brooding and rugged like the hero of a Victorian novel. The photogenic couple were sure to capture the public's imagination, and leaving nothing to chance, the paper had already spent a small fortune on stylists and photographers to help them look their best. The Chronicle just loved a big campaign and what a campaign this was going to be. Rod Clark had already composed the launch headline and for once it met with Penelope's approval. Simple but powerful.

  Today, the Chronicle calls for Captain James Stewart to face court-martial.

  It had everything, this story. The beautiful victim, the distraught relatives, the flawed hero and his link to Maggie Brooks. Then there was Stewart's wronged wife Flora, a classically pretty Scottish redhead, and the stunning temptress Astrid Sorenson, the woman he had left her for. Sorenson's image alone on the front page was enough to sell another fifty thousand copies. Of course, she knew the army wasn't going to court-martial Captain Jimmy Stewart, not in a month of Sundays, but that didn't matter to Penelope. What was important was the story. This was one that would run and run, with endless angles and viewpoints. First, there would be the strident calls for the court martial. Justice must be done and be seen to be done. After a few weeks when it was clear that was not going to happen, there would be the attacks on the government and military establishment, with accusations of cover-ups and of ministers and the military brass closing ranks. Then, when the public was losing interest in all of that, they could focus back on the tragic but attractive parents, crestfallen, defeated and crushed. Yes, this was going to be some story, no doubt about it.

  She heard the faint click of the key in the front door and then the quiet thud as it was closed.

  'Gerrard? I wasn't expecting you this evening my darling.'

  Darling Gerrard. Yes, he was her darling, but strictly in a part-time basis for her, if not for him. He was fun, good company and she very much enjoyed their love-making, but that was it. In truth, relations had been strained since she made it clear she had no intention of marrying him, for it was then he told her he was breaking it off and going back to his dull wife. Such a drama queen. But she didn't believe him, he didn't have the balls, and anyway he knew he couldn't resist her. And just to prove it here he was again, slinking back to her like a love-sick puppy.

  'Gerrard?'

  Still there was no answer from the hallway. Strange that.

  'Gerrard darling, stop mucking about and come through. I want a kiss.'

  Turning round, she caught only a passing glimpse of her assailant framed in the doorway. The figure, wearing the white protective suit, mask and gloves normally reserved for scene-of-crime officers, wordlessly raised the silencer-equipped handgun and with deadly efficiency despatched three rounds from close range. Blowing her head apart and splattering a torrent of blood all over the designer wallpaper of the stylish flat. Satisfied with his work, he retraced his steps back into the hallway and called the elevator. On the way in he had disabled the CCTV system through the simple expedient of taping over the lens, so was able to remove his protective garments unobserved, placing them in the small backpack which he had conveniently left just outside her door. A few seconds later, a discrete 'ping' announced the arrival of the lift, descending from an upper floor. He had factored into his thinking the possibility that the lift might be occupied, which would present an irritating but easily-resolved complication, but fortunately it was empty. Soon the lift glided to a halt on the ground floor and the assassin slipped out into the dark evening.

  Back in Pall Mall, the distinguished member relaxed in his armchair with the Guardian, insouciantly awaiting the encrypted text that would confirm that the first task had been completed satisfactorily. Plan B, up and running.

  Chapter 18

  It hadn't been Maggie's overt intention to pry into Jimmy's private life, but once again she had been unable to sleep, consumed with anger about what Philip had done to her. She couldn'
t be sure, but it now seemed pretty likely that he was involved in some way in her getting the Alzahrani defence brief. We need a crap barrister, that's what they had said, and bloody Philip had suggested her. Such love and loyalty.

  Giving up the struggle, she had risen at 5.30am, arriving in the office well before seven. As she sat at her desk drinking the customary mega-strong first coffee of the day, she found herself idly googling 'Astrid Sorenson'.

  She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Tall and slim with a huge main of blonde curls, piercing blue eyes and a look that radiated an intoxicating sexuality. She was older than Maggie had imagined she would be, going on thirty-five, which might be considered ancient for an up-and-coming pop star, but Astrid's genre was modern country, where a predominately adult audience lapped up syrupy tales of kids and family and home. It was a massive business, and though she had had some hits in Scandinavia before moving to London, it was only since relocating to Nashville that her career had gone stratospheric.

  What's more, Frank Stewart's description of her as the Swedish princess, rather than being the mild insult she imagined it to be, actually turned out to be true. A minor royal admittedly, but nonetheless she seemed to be a favourite of the Swedish tabloids, her every move arousing intense interest and documented in graphic detail. And yes, there she was about four or five years ago dressed in army desert fatigues, in Iraq or Afghanistan on a morale-boosting visit to Swedish troops attached to the UN force. Was it then she had met up with the rugged and handsome Captain James Stewart, kicking off an unlikely and doomed relationship, a relationship that he seemed to now bitterly regret?

  And then Maggie noticed the photograph. It was from The Sun showbiz pages about a year ago and had caught Astrid with Jimmy at some minor awards ceremony, she dazzling in a minimal gold lamé mini-dress and six-inch stilettos, he looking uncomfortable and self-conscious stuffed into formal evening wear. But it was the headline that stopped her in her tracks.

  Astrid boyfriend is Hampstead Hero.

  He had managed to keep that quiet. The army had never revealed the identity of the bomb squad officer involved in the incident for obvious reasons of security, but here it was for all to see in the Sun of all places. Brave Captain saves six-year old Amelia. The veracity of the revelation had neither been confirmed or denied by the army, who stuck to the usual bland statement that they did not publicly comment on operational matters for reasons of security. Whatever the truth of it, there must have been some intense hush-up activity behind the scenes, because as far as she could tell the paper nor any other media outlet for that matter hadn't mentioned it again.

  She was interrupted by the soft vibration of her phone on the desk. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was Asvina again, calling for the fourth or fifth time since yesterday evening, no doubt to talk about Philip's injunction. She had a good idea what her friend was going to say, that it was really serious, and that Maggie would blow even the slim chance she had of having Ollie back in her life if she broke its terms. She knew all that, but really, what could they do to her that was worse than what she had already suffered? Better answer it this time, she thought.

  'Hi Asvina,' she said, sighing, 'yes, I know, it's very serious and I promise to be a good girl.'

  'What? Oh, yes the injunction. Well I'm very glad to hear you're intending to behave for once, but that's not why I called.'

  'Oh? I'm sorry Asvina, I just assumed...'

  'No, what it was is there's been a development in the Saddleworth case. A big one, in fact. Olivia has just phoned to tell me.'

  'And...?'

  'According to her, Gerrard and Penelope White have split.'

  'What?'

  'Yes. Apparently it's all over and he wants to go back to Olivia and try again.'

  Maggie was shocked. 'So does that mean she's calling off the divorce?' Putting her and Jimmy out of work at the same time.

  Asvina had read her mind. 'Don't worry, she's not having him back under any circumstances. She actually sounded quite upbeat when she told me about it. Gerrard told her he was in big trouble and was almost pleading for her help. She said it had been a great pleasure to tell him to sod off. Her words, not mine.'

  Big trouble. So the pressure was getting to them, just as Frank said it would.

  'Well this is unexpected Asvina, but as far as Saddleworth verses Saddleworth is concerned, I guess we still need to track down that money. We'll keep trying as hard as we can, obviously.'

  'Glad to hear it,' she laughed. 'Well best of luck with your investigations, and above all, please, please, please, don't break that injunction. I mean it, I really do. Bye now.'

  It was nearly nine before Jimmy arrived at the office. It had become his routine to enjoy several minutes of flirtation with Elsa in the reception area before settling in behind his desk, but today he walked straight past her without a word, and his mood seemed sombre and downbeat.

  'Morning Maggie, you ok?'

  She was bursting to tell him the news. 'Yes, not bad. Well actually, I'm pretty good in fact. But you'll never guess what Asvina has just told me. Gerrard Saddleworth has chucked Penelope White.'

  'What? You're kidding.'

  'No, it's true.'

  'That's bloody interesting, isn't it? You don't think this could this have anything to do with the Cathedral Close dinner?'

  'More likely the Cathedral Close photograph. I'm thinking Saddleworth must be really spooked by it. But look, I've been awful, I didn't ask how you are.'

  'Aye, well to be honest, I've been better. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something, you being a proper lawyer and all that. I got this letter yesterday morning. From the bloody Chronicle of all people.'

  He took the sheet from his pocket and handed it to her. 'Here, take a look.'

  She unfolded it and began to read, growing more uneasy with each word. The letter, phrased in formal legalise, was forewarning him that the newspaper was about to run a story questioning his role in the Belfast bombing, that the paper was satisfied that everything it was about to publish was truthful and factual, but suggested that nonetheless he might wish to appoint a legal adviser to 'protect his interests,' as they put it.

  'Jimmy, this is awful, it's nothing more than a witch-hunt. Obviously I can help with the legal side but... I don't think it will be possible to stop them printing this. It's ridiculous that they can do this, it really is. And I see this is one of Penelope White's. She really is a bitch.'

  'I know it's not going to be good, Maggie. You know, I understand the pain that Naomi's parents must be feeling. And it was my fault, I should have stopped her.'

  'It wasn't Jimmy,' she said. 'I'm sure it wasn't.'

  'She was scared. It was her first operation, and I played down the danger when I should have scared her shitless. But she just opened the bloody door before I had a chance to stop her. I've asked myself a million times if I could have done anything different but I couldn't. She just opened that bloody door and stepped out.'

  'She was young and inexperienced,' Maggie said. 'It was her mistake, not yours. You can't keep blaming yourself, it won't do anyone any good and it won't bring her back.'

  He gave her a look steeped in regret. 'Aye maybe, but it doesn't make it any better.'

  'You never told me it was you who was there on that awful day, at Ollie's school,' Maggie said, anxious to change the subject. 'When I read about what you did, it was just so unbelievably brave. You saved that little girl's life, it was incredible.'

  He shook his head, a tight-lipped expression on his face. 'You found that bloody Sun story I suppose. It's not something I like to talk about, to be honest, not good memories. Because if you want to know the truth Maggie, I screwed up that day, good and proper, but it was an impossible situation... I mean, you always try for the best possible outcome, work out probabilities, but sometimes...' His voice tailed off, aware of how inadequate it all sounded.

  'I don't expect you know this,' said Maggie quietly, 'but it was my niece that
was trapped under that van.'

  'I didn't know that. I'm really sorry. I heard she died...'

  'She did, but what you did gave her a chance. Her father was with her when she passed, and that wouldn't have been possible if it hadn't been for you. It was important. For all of us.'

  To her surprise she saw his eyes moistening. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...'

  In a moment she was standing behind his chair, wrapping her arms around him, her head nestling on his shoulder. Now it was her turn to be the comforter.

  'Just let it all out,' she whispered, 'remember, that's what you told me. Just let it all out.' And there they remained, locked together in silent grief, united by tragedy and a deep pain that now seemed impossible to bear. Until unexpectedly, he turned and kissed her, softly, gently, his lips barely touching hers.

  'Thank you. Thank you Maggie.'

  And then the moment had passed, evaporating into the atmosphere as if it had never happened. But it had happened, and could not be easily undone.

  Chapter 19

  'I'm just going to go and talk to him, that's all. I've got to do something or I'll go crazy.'

  It was early afternoon and Maggie and Jimmy had been forced to repair to the local Starbucks, the office's in-house machine having suffered a catastrophic failure on account of Elsa omitting to re-order sufficient, or indeed any, coffee beans. The incident of the previous afternoon had not been mentioned, but it was there, evidenced by an uncharacteristic awkwardness between them.

  'Mad woman, that's what comes up on my phone when you call me.' Jimmy Stewart was smiling but his tone was serious, 'and believe me Maggie, that would be bloody mad, total madness. That's just my opinion of course.'

  'But the pig set me up. Have you any idea how that feels, to be set up to be so humiliated by your own husband?'

  She was beginning to realise that it wasn't the action itself that hurt the most, but the fact that his professional opinion of her advocacy skills had been so low. We need a rubbish barrister so we thought of you. That hurt.