Ed Fersen held the document up to the morning light as if checking an X-ray image. He had got back from the States late the previous night, but Billie was impatient to get his friend’s verdict on the handwritten notes Emma gave him after waiting nearly a week for his return.
‘Definitely on the original.’
‘You think so?’
‘I’d bet my salary on it. Whoever underlined the word scuttle did it over a hundred years ago. And you say Emma has more?’
Billie nodded. ‘Yes. She said I could only see the rest if I went to hers in person and brought these with me. I got special permission to show them to you.’
He held out his hand and Ed passed the papers back. The two men were sitting in the privacy of their temporary Titanic HQ, but there was only one topic under investigation: Emma Dearing and her ‘secret papers’.
‘Bottom line, bud. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know what to think. I’d say they’re not so much official minutes as a personal record of what was said by someone who was there. At a guess, I’d say it was one of Pirrie’s staff, because the secretaries, Morgan’s and Ismay’s, are mentioned by name. Pirrie must have had a secretary too, or at least someone to take notes. Emma refused to tell me any more about them. She was acting kind of weird throughout.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Hard to say. She had an edge to her, and just… well, she wasn’t relaxed and friendly like we saw a couple of months ago. She kept mentioning this old politician, Peter Gris. Said he’d killed someone, and I’d swear she was frightened of him. Even though he was in his eighties and already dead!’
‘Weird. But you said you’ve had contact again since?’
‘Yes, by WhatsApp. She’s paranoid about secrecy and not getting hacked. She keeps trying to get me to go down to her flat in Manchester.’
Ed sipped his coffee and raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounds like she’s hitting on you.’
Billie swallowed and looked away. ‘Maybe it’s my irresistible charm.’
Ed laughed. ‘Oh, yes. Another female falls for your chiselled good looks and distinctive body odour. Enough! C’mon Oor Wullie, let’s focus on the important stuff. Emma may be a strange dame but she’s certainly got something about her. Look at what we got: a published author with a well-researched book on maritime history; and a copy of an historical document which hints at some kind of executive decision to sink a ship. Is that a fair summary?’
‘That’s about it. Although without the rest of the document we can’t assume that such a decision was actually made.’ Billie stood up to pour himself another coffee.
‘No, but at least we know that seeing the rest of the notes of that meeting is not beyond a possibility. Here’s a thought: Why not make an independent check? What about Harland & Wolff’s own records? Isn’t that something you can look into?’
‘I already did. Give me some credit. The first thing I did was to see if I could find any trace of a similar document online. The Northern Ireland Public Record Office has an accessible web archive with a huge bundle of stuff on the company, hardly surprising as they were the city’s biggest employer for over half a century. Anyway, there’s a file there dated 1901–1916 for miscellaneous documents belonging to the company and to Lord Pirrie in particular. Guess what? The file’s closed. As in, Not open to Joe Public.’
‘But you’re not Joe Public. You’re Billie Vane, champion librarian.’
Billie smiled. ‘Doesn’t matter. Librarians don’t get special treatment. I’ve no more right of access than you have. The point is there could be another copy of these notes in there, but we’ve no way of checking.’
‘Who closed the file?’
‘I don’t know. Some high-ranking civil servant, I suppose… Ah! I just thought of something. Hang on, let me check.’ Billie picked up his phone and made an internet search, tapping and scrolling until he found an answer. ‘I’m right. Peter Gris was once Secretary of State for Northern Ireland. And he could—’
Ed finished the sentence. ‘Use his authority to close the file. Like politicians do. So we have a link.’
‘Bit tenuous, though. Don’t you think?’
‘Whatever. Belfast; Titanic; Emma; Peter Gris. We got to start somewhere. Emma obviously knows the link.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Billie, listen… I’ve got to be honest. Until you showed me those notes today, I was seriously looking at ditching this whole project. What’s the point assisting an author you can never get hold of? But now? Now we know six months before the disaster the guys in charge were talking about scuttling ships. We finally have some real evidence that something unusual was going on, and we know how to get hold of more. Emma wants you to look at the rest of the evidence, for Christ’s sake. So show a bit of British spunk and get yourself off to Manchester. And if she does end up bouncing on your bones, take it as a bonus.’
Billie left his coffee untouched as he considered Ed’s proposal.
*
‘Are you saying I’m not important enough?’
‘No! I’m just trying to make it clear how difficult it is for me to get the time off.’
Billie held the phone tight to his ear against traffic noise as he looked for somewhere to cross the road. He’d known the conversation was going to be awkward. This was going down much like similar incidents with past girlfriends. He had one trump card in reserve, but he wasn’t sure how that would go down either.
‘So, tell me again.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘It’s the school holidays and I have to take my share of time looking after my daughter. She’s on a summer camp this week, and then has a few days with her mum, but then she’s due to spend a week with me, and I’ve got time booked off for that. I had to get that approved weeks ago, and at this time of year I can’t get away at short notice. Unless I bring Tina with me, I simply won’t be able to get to you until the end of the month. I’m sorry. I really am.’
‘I could be dead by then.’
‘What?’ Billie switched the phone to his other hand as he felt in his pocket for his door key.
‘You don’t know how urgent this is. I need you here in person. Can’t you pull a sicky?’
That was my reserve chute. Last resort. It’s going to be a gamble.
‘I’ve got another suggestion,' he said. ‘I sometimes talk to Tina on Skype. That way we can see each other’s faces. She even shows me her homework. Could we do that?’
The phone went silent as he stood outside his front door. Emma was quiet for so long Billie had to look at the screen to check he was still connected. Then:
‘I’ll think about it.’ She ended the call.
On weekdays Billie set his phone alarm for six o’clock. The ringtone provided a melodious and gentle nudge that grew in volume until he woke from slumber. He liked the routine. It allowed him an hour to shower, dress, breakfast and take the short walk to Bridgeton station for his daily commute. He’d been living the life of a single man for six years and, with the exception of his period dating Chrissie Fersen, he had been content with his own company during the working week.
But routines are often broken. Billie was a conscientious parent and had made provision in case of an emergency involving his ten-year-old daughter. She could call him at any time, day or night, and so he usually left his muted phone on vibrate. At twelve minutes past three that Monday morning, it came to life. It took nearly a minute for the persistent noise to break into his consciousness. He was far away, sailing on a cruise ship in the Caribbean Sea, marvelling at the icebergs towering high above him. He couldn’t understand why one of them would want to sink a ship when they looked so friendly, and the persistent fly buzzing near his head was a big distraction. He put out a hand to swat it and struck something hard and solid. An iceberg? No! Not an iceberg… not a fly.
Billie sat up in a panic. His eyes were open but everywhere was dark. Everywhere except the surface of his bedside table, partially lit by the screen of his phone, lying face down where he’d put it four hours earlier. The difference between then and now (apart from the time) was the vibration, causing it to creep even closer.
He snatched up the phone: Emma calling via WhatsApp.
What the… I don’t believe this. But he answered the call. ‘Emma! What’s up?’
‘I presume you are,’ came the smooth response. ‘Welcome to my world, Billie. Are you okay for a chat?’
‘Er… Emma, I…’ Billie switched on his bedside lamp. ‘You just want to chat? Now? At three-fifteen in the morning?’
‘Why not? It’s a great time of day for new ideas. Very important for a writer. And you did invite me.’
‘Sorry? Invite you?’
‘Skype. Switch your laptop on.’ Then she cut the connection.
Billie groaned. Oh God! What have I started? He threw back the duvet, grabbed his robe and headed downstairs. Shaking his head at his own reckless behaviour, he sat on the settee that occupied most of the space in his tiny living room and did as Emma requested. Within a minute her call came in, but he was unprepared for the image that filled the screen: Emma with immaculate make-up and hair neatly brushed sitting in a well-lit room with a quizzical expression on her face. Below that she wasn’t wearing anything at all.