The Balance of Guilt (28 page)

Ali had been to Tamarside Hospital, where John’s body was being kept. Her description of what she found made Dan flinch. The young man’s face had been so badly injured there was little left of the son she had known. Ali said she had collapsed in tears and been led away by a man who was dressed in a suit, but who she suspected was a police officer.

A spy, more like, Dan thought. No doubt John’s body had been released because of their showdown with the spooks and the subsequent decision to charge Ahmed. The news of the funeral would be nicely submerged in the reporting of the charges, any criticism of how long it had taken effectively muted.

He sat with Ali for almost an hour before she asked the question she was obviously preparing.

‘Do you think you could come to the funeral? It’ll only be a very small do and it won’t take long. It’s just that I don’t know how I’ll cope, and having you there – well, you’ve been very kind to me. No cameras, it’s a private event, I don’t want it on the television, just you.’

Dan felt touched. Apparently years of the emotional erosion of being a hack, not to mention a fair portion of the similar experience of a detective’s life hadn’t entirely eroded his soul after all.

‘Of course I’ll come,’ he said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

He would have the argument with Lizzie tomorrow. She’d never got the hang of sentiment and wouldn’t see the point of him disappearing if a story did not duly materialise afterwards. He was owed some time back after all the hours he’d put in on the bombing and would take some of them tomorrow, no matter what his manic editor said. It was the right thing to do.

Dan drove back to the studios and broadcast the story about Ahmed being charged. He added that John Tanton’s funeral would be held tomorrow and then headed straight for the vet’s.

There was still something bothering him, but he couldn’t quite grasp what. It was somewhere in all that Ali had said, but trying to turn the drifting, insubstantial notion into a solid realisation was like grasping for bubbles in the air.

Claire shivered and breathed hard into her hands, the sudden movement bringing Dan back to the surgery. She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘It’s getting cold in here. Perhaps it’s time to call it a night? How about that drink we talked about?’

Dan realised his eyelids were sagging. The insanity of the past few days was coming home. ‘Yes, maybe you’re right.’

He got up and ran a gentle hand over Rutherford’s head. The dog was sleeping easily. It was fine to leave him, really it was. But still, with each step he took towards the door, Dan couldn’t help looking back.

They walked outside. It was another pleasant, but chilly, September night, stars shining in the clear sky. Cars rushed past, the flying headlights chasing shadows.

‘You look shattered,’ Claire said.

‘Yes. I am.’

‘We don’t have to do the drink thing. Why don’t you just get home and have some rest?’

‘Look, I don’t want you to think I’m running away from talking to you. I want to, I do. It’s just that at the moment, it doesn’t … I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right. Not yet, anyway. Not in this state, at least.’

She put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. ‘I understand. But there is one thing I do want to ask before you go. It’s something I need to know.’

Her voice was thinner now, hesitant and filled with trepidation. ‘Sure,’ was all Dan could find to say.

Claire turned away. When she looked back, she avoided eye contact and instead stared down at her shoes.

‘What you said on that last night we talked. About – about hating me, and loathing me, and wishing you’d never met me. The stuff about longing to erase me from your life, so I’d never existed. About detesting me for disturbing your emotional hibernation, and daring to give you hope you wouldn’t always be on your own and you’d finally escape that vicious depression of yours. About longing for me to leave you alone, and letting you be free from feelings so it could just be you, on your own, with your damned dog, and your walks and your beer, with nothing to challenge you, no one to hurt you …’

She choked and took a shallow breath, a respite from the rush of words.

‘Just tell me that wasn’t true, was it? Please say it wasn’t.’

And now, for the first time, Dan understood that it wasn’t just him who had been so very badly hurt by what happened between them.

A wall of brick and concrete, steel and stone, was breached in an instant.

Dan reached out and held Claire to him. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t think twice, just did it. And there was no resistance, none at all.

‘No,’ he said softly. ‘No, I didn’t mean it. God, how I didn’t.’

I
T IS ONE OF
life’s simplest, but most savoured, surprises; to sleep well when you have no expectation of doing so.

Dan had gone to bed with a mind full of everything that had happened that day and an increasing frustration at being unable to identify exactly what it was that was bothering him. Claire edged in to the maelstrom too, the pain in her voice from that conversation outside the vet’s, and the image of Rutherford lying on the metal table was inescapable, a continual backdrop to the meanderings of the imagination.

Despite all that, he slept long and was only awoken by the morning sun, edging its call around the curtains.

Dan’s first thought was to get up quickly, so he could take Rutherford for a brief run before work. Then came the memory. The flat felt empty without the padding of the dog’s feet and the way he would follow his master around, watching as he brushed his teeth, salvaged some unidentifiable breakfast from the back of the fridge and rummaged in the wardrobe for a shirt in a sufficiently passable state of repair to be worn in front of a television camera.

The sombre black jacket and tie hanging on the back of the door reminded Dan of what the day would bring. The funeral was scheduled for eleven. He’d have time to go and see Rutherford, then get down to the church for about half past ten. Ali had asked him to arrive early. She couldn’t bear the thought of being there without someone beside her.

It was just a question of whether to pop into the newsroom to tell Lizzie about the funeral in person, or to do it on the phone. The honourable route would be to go in, the remote means easier.

Well, he didn’t have to decide on that now. First, a visit to Rutherford. The rest of the day could follow.

Dan turned on his mobile. There was a text, from Sarah Jones, sent at just after two o’clock in the morning. The woman didn’t sleep.

Hello stud. Am off to bed and wishing you were here to play with. Come see your favourite tiger again soon. Grrr
 … xxx

Dan shook his head. It was usually a personal maxim that it was better to be in demand than not, but he wasn’t sure he could cope with quite this level of expectation. Sarah’s demands would require a Viagra factory to fulfil. He would answer the message later. With Rutherford still poorly and a funeral to endure, Dan suspected he would hardly fit the billing of stud at the moment.

A wonderful sight awaited at the vet’s. Rutherford was sitting up. He looked a little groggy, his tongue hanging out and his eyes unusually dull, but he was alive and awake and all in the world was suddenly well. He was going to be OK.

Dan knelt down and wrapped his arms around the dog. Rutherford nuzzled into his neck and let out a small whine.

‘Go steady,’ came Cara’s kindly voice. ‘He’s still weak. But I don’t think it’ll be long before he’s back to normal. I’m going to keep him in for another night, maybe two, then he can come home.’

Dan knew his face had adopted a stupid, vacuous smile, but he couldn’t quite shift it. Later, he would stop in at the supermarket, buy the dog some turkey, ready for his homecoming, and get himself a few cans of beer to join the celebration. If the store had one, he would even buy a
Welcome Home
banner. The dog deserved it after all he had been through.

Over the turkey, he would tell Rutherford of Adam’s fine punch for the man who had poisoned him. Together they would have a good chuckle about it.

The impressively long list of numbers on the vet’s bill didn’t even dim Dan’s mood. He handed over a credit card without a murmur of protest.

Rutherford was coming home.

He gave the dog a last pat, said goodbye to Cara and reminded himself to also get her a bottle of some fine wine when he went shopping. She had been magnificent and should know it. Without her prompt action, Rutherford might not have survived. A letter of commendation was in order too. Were it in his power, she would even have a peerage.

He leant back on the side of the car, enjoying the sunshine. It was half past nine. Now Dan had to decide whether to go in to the newsroom to face the editor beast in her lair, or ring. It was too pleasant a morning for a face-to-face row. He fumbled the mobile from his jacket pocket and was about to make the call, when the thought arrived.

That, in fact, was a wonderfully grand understatement. To say it arrived is like describing a tsunami, or an earthquake, as merely arriving. The repercussions tend to be immeasurably greater than the neutral word conveys.

Dan knew what it was that had been bothering him about what Ali Tanton said yesterday. He realised what it meant and what would have to happen now. He understood there would be another confrontation and a great scandal. And he saw that Lizzie would have her story, and it would be one of the biggest
Wessex Tonight
had ever known.

But it was dangerous. It would have to be played out so very carefully. They needed all the evidence they could get. And securing it was going to be particularly unpleasant.

Dan closed his eyes, spun fast through a mental check-list and counted off everything he had to do. First, ring El.

Next, he needed Nigel’s help. And what he wanted was a great deal to ask.

He rang his friend and got the cheery greeting he expected. Nigel was very much a morning person.

‘Are you assigned to any jobs yet?’ Dan interrupted.

‘No. I’m just sitting in the canteen, enjoying a nice cup of tea.’

‘Then make some excuse about having to go out. I can’t tell you why at the moment, just believe me that it’s very important. And make it fast. Then come meet me at Ali Tanton’s house.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I can’t tell you over the phone. Just meet me there as soon as you can and I’ll explain everything. Trust me. Please.’

Dan was tempted to call Adam, but stopped himself. He would need his help too, but it was more than likely that both the detective’s phone and his own were being bugged and he couldn’t afford to give away what he knew. Not yet.

For now, it was down to him. Dan jogged to the car and drove to Ali’s house. He had to stop her before she reached the church.

Finally, Dan thought he understood just how ruthless was their enemy.

It took a couple of rings before she answered the door. Ali was dressed in a black trouser suit. It was obvious she had spent much of the morning crying. Even through the heavy layers of mascara, her eyes were sore and red.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked. ‘I thought you were coming to the church.’

‘I am. Well, I was. I thought I’d pop in on you first, as I was early. Can I come in?’

She led the way through to the lounge and stood watching him.

‘Dan, you look really out of it. What’s happened? Are you OK? What is it?’

For once, Dan was lost for words. He’d never had to say anything remotely like this before. And the effect it would have on the woman standing in front of him, when she had already been through so much … he didn’t want to think about it.

Dan wondered briefly if there was any other way. Perhaps he could explain what he knew to Adam and leave it to him to sort out. Maybe he should just forget the whole thing. How strong sometimes is the temptation to walk away.

No. It was impossible. The consequences of not revealing what he suspected were far worse than doing so. He would never be able to live with the knowledge. It would nag and gnaw until one day it would undoubtedly emerge. He had to tell her, and now.

She must have seen the agonising in his face. ‘Dan – what is it? You’re frightening me. What’s the matter?’

One deep breath and he would tell her. A few more seconds before he let it out.

Dan hesitated. Nigel’s reaction had been bad enough.

‘You want me – to do … what?’ the cameraman had asked. ‘Do –
what
?’

He sounded more appalled than Dan had ever heard. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

‘You’re joking me,’ Nigel managed finally.

‘No.’

‘You must be.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yes.’

‘What, film all of it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even – close-up shots?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the coffin?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the church?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shit.’

Dan explained why. Nigel had gone quiet, thought it over, but finally accepted it. He too could see no other way. The cameraman was waiting outside, ready to do what he must.

Now it was just a question of telling Ali.

‘Dan!’ she moaned. ‘What’s going on? Please, just tell me.’

She was staring at him, her face taut, lips quivering.

‘Ali,’ he said, but his voice dried. The photos of John kept catching the edge of his vision.

Dan swallowed hard and tried again. ‘Ali, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to give it to you straight. You’ve got to stop the funeral.’

She looked stunned. ‘What? But we’re burying my son. My John. We’re going to lay him to rest at last. I don’t care what he’s done. I don’t care what people say about him. He’s my son and …’

‘Look, you’ve got to trust me,’ Dan interrupted. ‘It’s going to be horrible, but you’ve got to believe what I’m about to tell you. First, you’ve got to cancel the funeral.’

She sat down heavily on the sofa, didn’t speak, just stared up at him. Her cheeks were ashen.

‘Then, you’ve got to come with me to the church,’ Dan continued. ‘We’ve got to take Nigel too. Then we’ve got to go to Charles Cross Police Station. Please, just trust me. It’s the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of this.’