By the time they made it to the Printer’s Pie late on Thursday, the first edition had landed and every journalist still at the bar knew Danny was the hero of the night, with Allie a surprising second. Their glasses had no chance to empty; for once, all the shades of the newsroom from mild disdain to contempt were set in abeyance and they were the toast of the place. Allie grinned at Danny, both flushed with delight.
When last orders were called, a handful of the hardcore hacks were all for taking the celebration on to the Press Club. Allie shook her head. ‘I don’t want a sore head in the morning. There’s going to be fallout from this. And the editor’s still got to sign off on part two.’ She could see the bonhomie start to drain away; any minute, she’d be back to being a killjoy woman.
Danny came to her rescue. ‘She’s right, boys,’ he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of regret. ‘There’ll be plenty chance to celebrate when the polis start hauling folk out of their big houses and into the cells.’ He drained his pint and shepherded Allie to the door, accompanied by wolf whistles from a couple of the drinkers and a V-sign from Danny.
The cold hit them like a slap. Danny moved to the kerb, scanning the Clydeside for a passing taxi. They didn’t have long to wait. Danny opened the door for her and made to close it. ‘You not coming?’ Allie asked.
‘We’re going in opposite directions,’ he said, putting the door between them with a heavy thud.
It was the truth. But Allie, still fizzing with the exhilaration of the night’s work, had let herself hope for a different ending. She scolded herself in the back of the cab for not being satisfied with her part in a job well done, and pulled out her copy of the paper to remind herself. She didn’t have the splash byline – that had been reserved to Danny and Peter, on the grounds of space. But there she was on the two-page spread on pages four and five – ‘Additional reporting by Gilbert Patterson and Alison Burns’. It was less than she deserved, she thought. But she’d set down a marker in the newsroom today. It would be hard to dismiss her and relegate her to miracle babies after this, surely?
There was a residual buzz in the newsroom on Friday morning. It was always the same when an exclusive hit the streets. Everybody knew the opposition would be playing catch-up, trying to find their own angle on the story that had made the morning bulletins on the commercial radio stations as well as the BBC’s Good Morning, Scotland. And the other reporters would be scrambling through their contacts books in a bid to find something that would help them reclaim their place in the perceived hierarchy.
Allie barely had the chance to acknowledge a couple of grudging congratulations before she was summoned back to the meeting room where she’d hammered out the story. Danny was there already, eyes faintly pink, face peaky. Fraser the Razor was sitting on the deep windowsill, smugly holding forth. Danny kept slumping down in his chair, then collecting himself with a start, legs and arms struggling to find a comfortable position.
‘Ah, Miss Burns,’ the Razor greeted her. ‘Nice of you to join us. I’ve been through your copy for part two, and there are one or two revisions you need to make. It’s important we don’t stray into potentially expensive speculation.’ He stood up and thrust a bundle of copy at her. ‘I’m off to hold Angus’s hand. The police are apparently on their way for a full and frank conversation with him. I suggest you get your copy sorted out asap. Angus may want to spirit you away out of the reach of the long arm of the law till we get part two out on the streets.’ He gave her a wolfish grin. ‘Get to it, Miss Burns.’
Danny watched him leave with a jaundiced eye. ‘What an arse,’ he muttered.
‘You look like shit,’ Allie observed mildly, rolling a fresh copy pad into the typewriter. ‘I thought you were heading straight home last night?’
He looked shifty. ‘Changed my mind.’
‘Don’t tell me you went to the Press Club with the professional drinkers?’ She typed the bylines as she spoke.
Danny screwed up his face in disgust. ‘I’m not that stupid. I hooked up with a couple of pals in a wee club I know up the town. I made the mistake of telling them I was celebrating …’ He groaned.
Allie chuckled. ‘Serves you right.’ She read through the notes the Razor had scribbled on her copy. ‘Bastard’s taken out some of my best lines.’ Sighing, she started reworking the story. It wasn’t a quiet business. The keys clattered, the type bars hammered the paper, the bell rang at the end of each line and the carriage return ratcheted its noisy way back to the beginning.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Danny muttered. ‘You’d think, given how many hangovers journalists have to put up with that somebody would have invented a silent typewriter by now.’
‘Electric ones are a lot quieter,’ Allie said absently.
Danny scoffed. ‘I don’t see the management springing for them any time soon. Plus, can you imagine the likes of Big Kenny Stone with an electric typewriter? He’d have it battered to death in a matter of days.’
‘Do something useful, then. Go and get me a coffee.’
Danny looked momentarily disconcerted then managed a wry smile. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, hauling himself up like a bag of golf clubs straightening itself.
Left to herself, Allie drilled down and focused on the lawyer’s demands. By the time Danny returned, she was on the home straight. He began to speak, but she cut across him. ‘Gimme a minute, I need to get the ending just right.’ She clattered her way to the end of the paragraph, pulled out the copy pad and gave a shuddering sigh. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I managed to do all that the Razor wanted and still keep it buzzing along.’ She tossed the pads across to Danny. ‘Take a look, tell me if you see any problems.’
Danny picked up the copy and read it with meticulous attention while Allie lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. She didn’t really want the coffee she’d sent Danny for, but she made a show of drinking from the thick white mug. She felt curiously deflated. The work was done; there would be repercussions, but they’d probably not be hers to handle. It had been a great ride, but now the horses were back in the stable and she’d have to find her next mount.
He looked up from the last page. ‘Great job, Allie. I couldn’t have given it the spin like you do.’ He began to split the pads into their individual copies.
She knew it was nothing less than the truth. ‘We’re a good team.’
Danny opened the door and shouted, ‘Copy.’ He turned back to her. ‘Now we just need another belter to make sure nobody forgets we’re the top dogs.’
‘I might have a wee notion about that.’
He raised his eyebrows in a question, but before he could say more, one of the elderly copy boys stuck his head round the door. Danny handed him the copies. ‘Take them round, Sammy.’ Before he could ask Allie what she had in mind, the phone on the table rang, startling them both.
She was closest. Before she could speak, the newsdesk secretary said, ‘Call for Danny, I’m putting it through.’ Allie held the handset out to him.
‘It’s for you.’
Danny’s smile had a whiff of anxiety about it. ‘Daniel Sullivan,’ he said, making it a question. Whatever the response was, it was clearly unwelcome. He flushed dark red from the neck up, then almost immediately paled again. Allie could hear a raised male voice but the words were indistinct.
‘I can’t discuss this now,’ Danny stammered. ‘Can we talk about this—’
Whoever was on the line wasn’t in the mood to wait. And they had plenty to say. Danny kept trying to interject but his caller continued to overwhelm him. At last, he ran out of steam. ‘If you’re that worried, you should get your side of the story in first.’ Danny gabbled, eyes wide and panicked, sweat greasing his forehead. ‘I’ve done my best to keep you out of it—’ Again the caller took off on a rant. But this time Danny was more insistent. ‘Play the innocent. You were just the messenger,’ he shouted. ‘For once, don’t act the big man.’ And he slammed down the phone.
The silence that followed had an almost physical presence. Danny screwed his eyes tight shut and sank into a chair. ‘I’m guessing that was Joseph?’ Allie said, her voice soft.
He nodded. ‘He’s raging. Well, what he actually is is shit scared, but he always hides it behind his temper. Always has.’
‘Surely he must realise you’ve done all you can to protect him?’
Danny scoffed, shaking his head. ‘Not my brother. All he sees is his house of cards collapsing round his ears because of me. And what makes it worse, according to him, is that I didn’t give him any warning.’ He threw his hands up in a gesture of despair. ‘I mean, what difference would that have made?’
‘None. His best defence is looking as stunned as everybody else. Unless he’s a better actor than Robert De Niro, he’d never have been able to pull it off if you’d marked his card. Did he say what’s happening at Paragon?’
‘Gregor Menstrie’s a no-show at the office. Everybody’s running around like headless chickens. Apparently almost nobody knew about the scheme, so they’re all freaking out.’ He groaned, head in hands. ‘What have I done, Allie?’
‘The right thing. And you’ve done your best to protect Joseph. Which, incidentally, I don’t think he deserves. But he’s your brother, and you needed to do what you could for him. And you’re still doing that, by the way. What you told him just now? That’s the best advice you could have given him.’
‘I don’t think he’s listening to me right now.’
Before Allie could say more, the door opened a crack and the newsdesk secretary slipped in. ‘Message from Angus,’ she said. ‘He’s in with the polis and they’re not very happy. He doesn’t want you to talk to them till tomorrow’s paper hits the street, so you’ve to go out the editor’s stairs right now. You’ve not to go home. I’ve booked you a couple of rooms at the Ivanhoe up at the top of Buchanan Street for tonight and Angus says you’ve to get anything you need on expenses. Zat clear?’
Allie was taken aback. She’d never imagined this would be the outcome of an investigation. It felt over-dramatic, as if they were all playing preset roles in a script. ‘We’re on the run?’
The secretary rolled her eyes. ‘Who do you think you are? Princess Leia? You just need to stay out the road till the story lands. And one of you needs to be on the end of a phone at all times.’
Danny nodded. ‘Could you not have booked us in somewhere a wee bit classier?’
‘It’s not a jolly. Besides, nobody’s going to look for youse in a dive like that.’