‘Can I buy you another one of those?’
Alex Henley’s well-spoken voice broke the silence and forced its way into Dempsey’s thoughts.
‘Assistant Commissioner.’ Dempsey’s tone was flat. As yet undecided if the company was welcome.
‘Same again?’ Henley ignored the unenthusiastic response.
‘Please.’
Henley had ordered a further stout – and a pint of bitter for himself – before he even reached the bar. It was hardly a fight for the staff’s attention. If Henley had not waited for the Guinness to settle he would have been back at the table in less than a minute.
‘I’ve heard what happened,’ he said, placing a full glass next to what remained of Dempsey’s last drink. ‘With the suspension, I mean. For what it’s worth I think they’re making a mistake.’
Dempsey nodded. Word of his supposed removal from the case had spread. But he would still need support in what was to follow, he realised. Support that could not come from the DDS. It occurred in that moment that Henley would make a good ally.
And an ally deserves the truth.
‘It’s actually a little more complicated than that. My suspension, it’s not what it seems—’
Dempsey stopped speaking as the nearest TV screen displayed the image of the Houses of Parliament. It was an eye-catching backdrop – less than a quarter of a mile from where they now sat – but it was not what had caught his attention.
‘Can we have some volume please?’ Dempsey shouted.
The response was almost instant. The sound of a major outdoor press conference filled the room.
Anthony Haversume was standing behind a podium. He was silent. Waiting for the chatter of the crowd to die down. What he had said so far – what Dempsey and Henley had missed – seemed to have been worth hearing.
The man was as impeccably dressed as always. Bespoke suit. Tailored white shirt. Matching silk tie. The last item alone would cost more than a healthy month’s salary. But clothes could only tell half a story, because Haversume looked exhausted. He was pale, with a hint of darkness under the eyes. He looked like a man who had not slept.
The surrounding noise slowly disappeared. Dempsey and Henley had missed Round One of Haversume’s speech, but they were ready for Round Two:
‘There are those who would prefer that I shirk this task. The position I’ve taken in response to the recent terrorism has made me a target for the very criminals I’ve opposed. In the last eighteen months I’ve made huge changes to my life and to the lives of my loved ones, to keep us safe. Those close to me would prefer that these changes were not necessary. If I am honest, I’d prefer that myself. I do not enjoy putting myself at risk. But what would be the price of doing what I prefer, instead of what is right?
‘The price is that William Davies will continue on this route. A route that sees this great nation capitulate to terrorism on a daily basis. That sees us freeing those who have murdered our citizens and our soldiers with impunity. That sees us grow weak in the eyes of the world as we are bombed and we are attacked and yet do nothing. This cannot be allowed to continue, and I can do something to stop it. I will do that, risk be damned!’
Haversume’s voice had been rising throughout this short section of his speech. By his final words it was close to a shout. Not the calm, considered rhetoric of a typical British politician. These were the words of a new breed. A showman. And they were working. The crowd – made up of experienced reporters – were hypnotised. Once again the politician’s words were interrupted by spontaneous applause.
‘They’re eating this shit up.’ Dempsey was speaking to himself as much as he was to Henley.
‘Really?’ Henley seemed surprised. ‘I didn’t expect to hear that from someone like you.’
For the first time since taking his seat, Henley had Dempsey’s full attention.
‘What do you mean, someone like me?’ Dempsey asked.
‘You know, someone with your background. Army, intelligence, DDS. I thought you guys were all behind Haversume. Or against Davies at least? No?’
‘No.’
Dempsey’s one-word answer gave nothing away. Henley no doubt wanted more. He cleared his throat to ask a follow-up question. Before he could form it, the sound of Haversume’s voice once again fill the room.
‘So, as of this moment, I am confirming my position. I will do whatever it takes to protect this country. To fight the evil behind the tragedy of yesterday. I will stand against William Davies’ policies in Northern Ireland, and I will challenge his leadership of this country. And if I succeed I will lead us out of these dark times of cowardly appeasement.’
This time there was no raised voice. It was a cold, determined statement of fact. That did not change the response. Once again the crowd broke into a round of applause.
Henley glanced towards Dempsey as the acclaim began to die.
‘You don’t think that’s good news?’ he asked.
‘What I think is that it’s a load of jingoistic bullshit,’ Dempsey replied. ‘All this criticism of Davies. It’s not right. Yeah, the guy’s gone about things badly in Ireland. But he tried. Which is more than anyone else was doing, At least he did his best.’
‘But you can’t think it’s worked, Joe? They’re bombing us again. Something has to be done, surely?’
‘Of course it does. But does it have to be what this guy’s suggesting?’
Dempsey indicated towards the screen. Haversume was taking questions from the crowd, but neither man was listening.
‘Because what’s his answer, Jim? Sending our soldiers back in? Going back to war? It didn’t work last time. Why’s it going to work now? All we’ll get are more dead men. Women and children, too. Is that what we want? Is that what these idiots are applauding?’
Henley seemed shocked by what he was hearing. It was unusual that a man with Dempsey’s history – a man in his position – would have such distaste for force. To Dempsey, though, it was exactly that history that informed his position. To Dempsey, the cost of war was not theoretical. It was not numbers on a screen. He had seen the death and destruction first-hand. And he knew how little either one of them achieved.
Dempsey turned back to the screen.
Haversume was holding up his hand. The consummate orator, he was waiting for the noise of the crowd to die down. It did so quickly.
‘I know that there are more questions you’ll want to ask. Believe me, I am keen to answer. But I ask that you postpone them for the time being. Many of you will already know that last night there was a further tragedy in my own personal life. A further unexpected death. The loss of my godson in the early hours of this morning has left his family devastated. I intend to do what I can to support them in this hour of need and I ask that I can be left to do that. At least for the next few days. I’m grateful for your understanding. Thank you.’
Haversume was visibly upset. The cause of his haggard looks was now clear. This time there was no applause. Instead the gathered press marvelled at the fact that, in the face of such personal loss, the man could have spoken so well and with such conviction.
‘Jesus.’ Henley’s voice broke Dempsey’s focus on the screen, just as Haversume turned and walked away from the podium. ‘His godson, too. Unlucky chap.’
‘Let’s hope he’s the only one,’ Dempsey replied. He took an extra-large mouthful of his fresh Guinness before continuing. ‘Because if he gets his way and we go back into Ulster, a whole lot more godsons are going to find themselves on mortuary slabs.’