Jeremy Simmonds looks exactly how you’d expect a man called Jeremy Simmonds to look. He’s late forties, medium height and no matter how expensive the suit he’s wearing happens to be, somehow he always makes it look like he bought it from a supermarket on a whim after his wife sent him out to do the big shop. I doubt he entirely recognises this fact and suspect that every time he leaves for work he studies himself in the mirror and nods before turning away.
I say entirely, because somewhere deep down inside what I charitably call his soul, I’m guessing he’s aware of his flaws. I mention this because in my mind it contributes to the unholy trinity that can make even the limpest man a threat. He holds a degree of official power. He retains ambition. But he remains an underachiever. More than this, I get the feeling he feels thwarted. These things combine to make him dangerous. And so no matter how pompous and poor he can be with people, if you are to fully understand Jeremy Simmonds, you must appreciate how hazardous dealing with him can be.
‘All right, Novak. Just how involved are you in this child trafficking ring?’
I don’t like where this is heading.
‘I’m not involved in it. I was investigating it.’
‘Same thing.’
‘No. Woodward and Bernstein were not involved in the Watergate scandal.’
‘I doubt Nixon would have agreed.’
Fair point.
‘I’ve been investigating Sandy Paige for three months.’
There’s a pause. ‘You’ve been investigating Sandy Paige.’ Simmonds silently acknowledges the news with the nod of a man who’s crashed his car whilst taking his driving test and has just been informed he’s failed it. He rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘One of the UK’s most respected businessmen. One of the Tories’ biggest contributors and a champion of British investment for more years than I care to remember. Philanthropist. Friend of royalty. Media darling. Do you have any idea how careful and respectful we have to be with this man?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do. The files of Operation Yewtree were groaning with the weight of men’s names whom we had to be careful and respectful of.’
Simmonds shouts, ‘Hardly the same thing! For Christ’s sake!’ He leans back. Lowers his voice. ‘Right. Let’s try to sort out this mess.’ He speaks like he’s doing me a favour. ‘How did you get caught up in this in the first place?’
‘Paige’s wife approached me.’
‘Louisa?’
‘You know her?’
He’s suddenly guarded. ‘Know of her.’
I frown. ‘How long have you been involved with the Paiges?’
‘Don’t try to be funny, Novak.’
‘It’s what keeps me going, Mr Simmonds.’
‘So, Louisa Paige approached you and said what? If you haven’t anything on at the moment, would you be good enough to bring down my husband’s criminal empire, Mr Novak?’
The sarcasm is new, but his reluctance to believe anything I tell him is familiar.
‘Those weren’t her exact words.’
‘Oh, get on with it, man!’
So I get on with it.