The midday conference of Courier senior editorial staff had been brief. As the paper’s chief reporter, Richard Richardson might have been expected to give a full account of what could fill the next day’s paper but, beyond a swift rundown of the usual certainties of major court cases and other predictable events of the day, he did not elaborate. He had other things on his mind and had no desire to linger with the others in the editor’s room.
Back at his desk, he looked again at the clock on the wall facing him. Then he checked what he saw with his wristwatch, which he always removed and placed to one side of his desk on the opposite side from his computer mouse. The times matched identically, as they had five minutes earlier. Kate Nightingale was rostered for a 2 p.m. start. It was 1.45 p.m. and she had not yet arrived. It did not occur to Richardson that none of the other two o’clock starts were in the building either – or that there was no need for them to be.
When she walked into the room eight minutes later, Richardson was momentarily diverted from the task in hand by her appearance. She was no longer the glamorous pub-goer of the evening before. The curls had been stretched straight and the hair was tied back. In place of the tight top and trousers, she wore a masculine, bottle-green business suit with white blouse and olive-coloured tie. She was still a looker but the outfit had lesbian overtones. Not that he entertained any serious thoughts in that direction. He’d never had the pleasure himself but her heterosexual credentials were, by all accounts, impeccable.
Perhaps McBride would confirm their authenticity – more likely, he wouldn’t. The bastard had always been infuriatingly selfish about revealing precisely what he did with his women. Richardson did not believe for one minute that his silence had anything to do with protecting the reputations of his conquests. Knowing McBride, it was almost certainly because he didn’t want to ruin his chances of being welcomed back for a second helping.
The businesslike Kate was still booting up her computer when Richardson appeared, unheard, beside her L-shaped desk. She turned, startled, as he burst out, ‘Well, did McBride have his filthy way with you?’
‘Christ, Richard! Why pick your words so carefully? You should just blurt things out.’ She noted without surprise that he still wore the same shirt and tie from the night before. The only thing different was the amount of cigarette ash obliterating the pattern on his neckwear. ‘He’s a nice man, with a bit more sensitivity than some folk I could mention,’ she continued.
Richardson was dismissive. ‘How very charming for you. Another lamb to the slaughter, more like. Did he give you the spiel about only wanting to have sex with women who connect intellectually with him?’
A red flush appeared on Kate’s neck. ‘Piss off, Richard. What is it you want?’
‘Payback. Remember our little arrangement? I would introduce you to the great Campbell McBride if you would pump him for information. I need a return on my investment. You don’t think I bought you all that liquor just because I like the way you smell, do you? I need to know what you found out from your new boyfriend. I need to know what story he gave you about why he is back staying in town. I need to know if he’s still raking over the Alison Brown murder case. And I need to know if he’s following up any new information. You must have had some time to speak before or after – perhaps even during – your shag-fest. I will refrain from the obvious crudities about your mouth being too full to speak. What did he tell you?’
Kate shook her head in despair at Richardson’s vulgarity – as well as his interrogative techniques – but also to indicate a negative response. ‘No luck, I’m afraid.’ She didn’t sound sorry. ‘Whenever I touched on his professional activities, he just smiled and said precisely nothing. I think it’s called discretion – a word you may not be familiar with – but I can tell you from what he didn’t say that he believes there’s something big out there.’
Richardson said nothing. He did not question her final remark. He nodded several times. Finally, he spoke softly, more to himself than to his female colleague. ‘I bet he does – I bet he does.’