The news editor’s nostrils flared with the scent of a good story. Someone somewhere was manipulating the good old DNotice system to suit his own purpose. ‘So there is something in it. And we’re being muzzled.’
‘Possibly, Steve, but anyway I’m not sure this is for us. People are sick of hearing about peace talks recently — this is just one more.’
‘Even when their bombs are devastating our city?’ came the rather tart reply.
But the editor was unmoved. ‘I’m not certain revelations by us about any secret peace talks or whatever are going to help the situation. Rather the reverse, I’d have thought.’
‘You’re asking me to drop it?’
There was a shake of the head. ‘Just be a bit discreet. Put it on the back burner so we don’t get left behind if the story breaks. But for the time being if there’s going to be a first move, leave it to the nationals.’
The news editor drew a large dagger through the doodled sketch on his pad.
‘By the way, the decision” to lead with the Mullins girl’s piece on Seven Dials yesterday was a masterstroke,’ the editor said in an effort to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Wonderful spot of firsthand feature reporting. Not a dry eye in the house.’
It was the turn of Billy Billingham, the jocular and flamboyant features editor, to bask in some reflected glory. He was never more pleased than when scoring points off the news desk. ‘My pleasure to oblige. Just remember us next time you need some real talent, Steve.’
The news editor ignored the barb. ‘I was wondering whether we ought to get some coverage of the bomb-disposal man’s funeral. After Casey’s story he’s being treated as something of a national hero. Television and this morning’s papers are going overboard.’
The editor grimaced. ‘We must be the only nation in the world that celebrates failure more than success — Dunkirk, Arnhem, Bravo Two Zero — Was he a Londoner?’
‘No, Scottish. He lived near Dorking. I imagine that’s where the funeral will be.’
‘Well, about time we had a hero, failed or not. It’ll be a nice tribute, but no doorstepping the widow or telephoto pictures of weeping kids ‘
‘Of course not.’ And get bollocked if another paper gets better shots, he thought.
‘Tell you what, Steve, why not let the Mullins girl cover it.’
Billy Billingham grinned.
The news editor sighed. ‘She’s features.’
The editor said decisively. ‘But she was personally involved. Nice touch that.’ He placed both hands firmly on the table in front of him, a sure sign that the meeting was concluded. ‘Anyway, give it some thought.’
The news editor shoved back his chair in a fit of pique, more certain now than ever that Eddie Mercs had an unlikely rival for the affections of Casey Mullins in the editor. It really would not do at all, he decided.
As he left the conference room he found himself passing Mercs in the corridor and updated him on the editorial decisions.
‘Sorry about the funeral, Eddie. I had you earmarked for that.’
Mercs shrugged. ‘Not bothered, old son. I’m sure Casey can handle it. It’s this business about the talks that peeves me. Defence Advisory Committee, I ask you. There’s something big in the air and it’s not going to go away.’
‘What do you mean?’
Mercs drew to a halt. ‘Look, there’s been a sudden rash of London bombings over the past three weeks. This is the first time we’ve been on the inside track and heard about secret talks. Even if this is the first time the Provisional have mentioned it, then no doubt other papers have been called.’
‘And presumably have also had deputations from the Defence Advisory Committee.’
‘But people will talk, Steve, especially if the bombing campaign continues and they know it’s connected with these mystery talks. They won’t be able to keep the lid on if it’s that important. If it doesn’t break here, it’ll appear in one of the European papers for sure. It’s the best potential scoop since I’ve joined you and now I’m told I can’t run with it.’
‘Perhaps you should have joined one of the rags, Eddie.’
The reporter grimaced. ‘You were the only one who’d have me.’
‘Yeah, I prefer spotting talent on the way up, not pissheads on the way down. Anyway, don’t back off completely. Keep digging, but gently. If the story does blow, then we might not be first, but at least we could be the best informed.’
That was of little consolation to Mercs. He wandered off towards the coffee machine to drown his sorrows in caffeine and sugar.
Meanwhile Billy Billingham was breaking the good news to Casey Mullins. ‘Looks like your star’s in the ascendant, my little Yankeedoodle.’
Casey cringed at the excruciating nickname he insisted on giving her and glanced up from the article on Herbal Remedies for Hayfever she was tapping into her terminal. ‘Pardon me, BB?’
The permanent grin was wide on his freckled face. With his unruly mop of red hair, he always reminded her of a sort of bloated carrot. ‘The editor was much impressed with your feature yesterday.’ ‘Really?’ She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or irritated. Under the tragic circumstances, it seemed like a hollow victory.
‘So much so he wants you to cover that poor bomb man’s funeral.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Her eyes flickered with uncertainty. ‘Well, I’m not sure about that…’
‘It’s quite an accolade,’ BB assured. ‘Not often the big white chief interferes with editorial decisions at this lowly level. You should grab it with both hands.’
‘You think so?’
‘Your second byline in a week.’
That was a thought. Establishing her byline with a big story had always seemed so important, yet she’d forgotten the significance of it in the trauma of the past twenty-four hours. ‘Do you know when and where the funeral’s being held?’
‘No, but then you always told me you wanted to be an investigative journalist ‘
Casey beat him to it. ‘So investigate!’ As he turned to go, she said: ‘By the way, BB, I wonder if I could take the rest of the afternoon off. I’d like to visit a friend of mine injured in yesterday’s bombing. And I’m anxious not to leave my daughter alone too long, she’s still very upset.’
‘Of course, I take it you’re clear on anything urgent?’
She nodded towards the calendar. ‘Unless you’d like me to write something on the Fourth of July?’
He looked momentarily bewildered.
With a smile she said: ‘But then you folk don’t seem to celebrate that holiday, do you?’
‘A signal from London,’ CATO said. ‘The Home Office is requesting assistance from us over the new bombing campaign that’s started there. I thought you were the best man for the job.’
Tom Harrison stared at the GO AWAY! sign pinned to the front of Colonel Gareth LloydWilliams’s desk. Perversely its message of bluff humour made ‘Top Cat’ all the more approachable to his staff. Harrison’s own relationship with ‘Tall Lloyd Williams was excellent, each man willingly standing in for the other as situations demanded. It was a mutual trust and respect as well as friendship. ‘That’s a bit unusual, Colonel. What’s the Met’s Explosives Section going to say about it?’
The Chief ATO allowed himself a sly smile. ‘The initial request came from Al Pritchard, if you can believe that.’
‘I can’t.’ *
‘Under pressure from on high, I imagine, after the Seven Dials fiasco.’