Cold Courage (6 page)

Lia also told Mari about what had happened in the spring.

‘That crazy murder is still running through my head.’

‘Has any new information come to light?’

‘No, not really. It feels strange.’

After ending her life in such a grotesque way, the killer or killers then brought the woman to the centre of the City and dumped her. You would have expected the police to have identified the woman or someone might have seen the car stopping on the pavement.

‘What bothers you so much about this?’

Lia didn’t know how to explain why she felt so much empathy with the murdered Latvian woman.

‘Oh, I think it’s perfectly understandable,’ Mari said.

She remembered reading that, at some point in their lives, some kind of crisis stopped most adults in their tracks. Suddenly a disaster or a war in some far-flung country just caught their interest.

‘Maybe that need to learn everything about one specific crisis comes from usually ignoring them. You realise you don’t think about your own life much either and decide there should be
something
you understand. And then you start looking at yourself too. The whole thing becomes an opportunity to recreate yourself.’

‘Sometimes that degree in psychology really shows,’ Lia said.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to lecture. But haven’t you ever thought about it like that?’

Lia admitted she had indeed.

Mari had had a similar experience when she was young.

‘Have you ever heard of Bhopal?’

‘It’s somewhere in India, right? And there was an accident there,’ Lia said.

In 1984, when Mari was still a little girl.

‘It became important to me later, as a teenager, when I read in the newspaper how poorly the company and the government treated the people there.’

The Indian city of Bhopal was virtually unknown to the rest of the world until one of the largest industrial catastrophes of all time occurred there. In the early hours of morning on 3rd December
1984 city residents woke up with difficulty breathing. Their lungs were on fire.

The Union Carbide pesticide plant had released a large cloud of poisonous gas. According to official estimates, the victims
numbered
some 3,700, but other evaluations claimed many more. As many as 25,000 people may have died of complications resulting from exposure to the gas.

Some city residents began a legal battle, which dragged on for decades. They did receive compensation but complained that it was disproportionately small compared to their loss, and that the
investigation
into the disaster had been feeble at best. Not only in India but across the world the name Bhopal became synonymous with gross injustice.

‘I’ve been there twice,’ Mari said.

‘Why?’ Lia asked, surprised.

‘I know it sounds strange. Disaster tourism. But I wanted to see for myself the marks the accident left.’

Bhopal was dirty white, red, turquoise and grey. The air was thick with dust. Most buildings housed little shops at street level. Motorcycles and powered rickshaws cut through the mass of people and stray dogs. The only unusual thing about the city was that once a large group of people had been annihilated, serious diseases had plagued the remaining populace and the bitterness aroused by the tragedy had been left untreated.

To the locals, Mari had just been one of the hundreds of
foreigners
who had walked their streets asking questions, another of the reporters, researchers, policemen and government officials. The people of Bhopal told her the same thing they told everyone else. The stories of their families’ troubles, the mother who died or the uncle now paralyzed.

‘They were telling the truth, but they were also leaving something out.’

On her second trip four years later, Mari already knew what she would hear and what she was supposed to ask afterwards. Some remembered her.

Everyone in the city had known people who had died. Not only had families lost breadwinners but also much of the wisdom and
warmth that had once enriched their homes. The accident had become a way to measure time: there was the time before and the time after. It was also a way to measure humanity and justice. As long as the residents of Bhopal had not received real compensation, speaking to them of justice was meaningless.

Perhaps the most fitting word to describe their experience was hopelessness. They were getting over their losses, gradually. However, the loss of their human dignity had not diminished, and they felt that this theft would continue in perpetuity.

The Bhopal scandal was a lesson for Mari in the logic and behaviour of big money.

‘And yes, feel free to analyse me,’ she added. ‘The daughter of a leftist family and the evils of the world.’

Lia smiled at the irony.

It’s sad we have to joke about the best parts of us.

She turned the conversation back to the Holborn Circus murder.

‘Can you say anything about the perpetrator based on what he did? Can you see what kind of a person would do something like that?’ Lia asked.

‘If you’re thinking that I could guess what the killer is like based only on the news, then no. My gift isn’t that strong.’

‘I didn’t mean exactly that.’

Lia told Mari about the criminologist in the newspaper who had talked about the case as an example of the increasing role of spectacle in violent crime.

‘You really have studied this,’ Mari said.

‘Yes, I have. But do you see anything… more in the murder?’

‘This is a subject I don’t know particularly well. But let’s think about it.’

Mari sighed and thought.

‘The killer crushed her with a bloody steamroller and then left her to be found in the middle of London. That has to be a message to someone.’

Lia nodded.

‘He didn’t just want to kill that woman – he wanted to defile her,’ Mari said. ‘Someone wanted to wipe her off the face of the
earth, to cast her down into the deepest pit of hell. To demonstrate complete control.’

It seemed like a Mafia crime. But not just score-settling: if they didn’t want the body identified, then why dump it with such… flourish? The perpetrator wanted this to hit the headlines.

‘I’m going to say two things were going on here. First of all, whoever did this wanted to punish that woman. He’s obviously a man and more cruel than either of us can really imagine. The second is that he was also probably sending a message to others like her that this is what happens if you don’t obey.’

‘Do you remember when I said you would make an excellent police detective?’

‘Thanks, but I could never work for them.’

After they emptied their final glasses, Lia asked, ‘Does it seem macabre that I think about that murder so much?’

‘Not to me,’ Mari replied. ‘Shouldn’t people always do things that feel important?’

After recovering from her initial shock, Lia had found that thinking about the murder no longer frightened her. It was still sickening, but the overriding feeling was something new: she wanted to do something to fix the situation, to punish the perpetrator.

‘Sometimes I get really angry. I feel like screaming, “Let’s nail that bastard.”’

Mari smiled quickly.

‘I know the feeling.’

London at the end of July was sweltering. Most
Level
employees were already on holiday, and the rest were anxiously waiting for their breaks to begin.

Lia, on the other hand, had arranged not to take her leave until September or October. That didn’t bother her, but the crush of work while everyone else was away did. Today she was rushing to finish her layouts: ahead was an evening with Mari, bowling. Generally Lia was meticulous in her work, but sometimes you had to take some shortcuts.

When Lia saw Martyn Taylor walking towards her, she quickly tried to hide her work because the art director would be sure to notice the signs of a rushed layout job.

Martyn Taylor was a career professional. Before coming to
Level
, he had worked at a large fashion magazine and helped found two other successful periodicals. He was respected and demanding, and one of the wisest people Lia had ever encountered. Whenever she could, Lia deferred to his judgement.

Taylor leaned against her desk.

‘I was just chatting with the boss. Our publisher’s board has just held their monthly meeting,’ Taylor said.

Lia tensed, waiting to hear what he had to say. The board had approved Taylor’s retirement plan, meaning that he would step down in three years when he turned fifty-nine.

‘Damn,’ Lia said in surprise. ‘I never realised you could plan something like that. What will we do?’

‘You’ll choose a new AD. Or the editor-in-chief will. But Matt Thomas wants to hear who I think would be the best fit.’

The position would be listed publicly, but usually ADs were promoted from within, one of the current graphic designers, Taylor reminded her. Lia tried to act casual, despite a sudden attack of giddiness.

‘I think you have what it takes,’ Taylor said.

Lia needed to start learning to take overall responsibility though, to think about the whole magazine, Taylor explained. If she succeeded, he might train her to be the new AD. Usually the job
required longer experience, but Taylor believed that Lia could grow into it.

‘Although you have been slacking off a bit of late.’

Lia swallowed, embarrassed. Taylor was right. Running around so much with Mari had meant a change from Lia’s old
work-centred
lifestyle.

‘Thanks. I’ll try to get myself together,’ she said.

After Taylor left, Lia sent Mari a message, moving their date back by two hours. Now these layouts had to be perfect.

When they finally made it to the bowling alley under the Tavistock Hotel, Lia was bursting with enthusiasm.

‘I really like my job, and like Taylor said, I’m not at all shit at it.’

She had thought that she might become an AD somewhere someday, but she had never presumed to think of
Level
.

The euphoria lasted about half an hour. Between increasingly weak bowling performances, Lia’s mood began to darken.

‘There’s no way Matt Thomas is going to choose me. At best he’s indifferent towards me, if he doesn’t actually despise me.’

Of course the editor-in-chief would promote Lia’s male graphic designer colleague ahead of her.

‘Thomas clearly has a problem with me being a woman and having opinions. He’s the type that still makes jokes about women’s abilities and looks. And assumes that women think he’s funny.’

They went for a pint in the amusement arcade’s bar.

‘There are other good magazines,’ Mari said.

‘Of course,’ Lia said. But
Level
was a special place. And if she wanted to be an AD somewhere else, she needed to be making decisions now.

Once she had had the initiative to abandon her familiar home in favour of hunting for work in London, but in recent years she had mostly been waiting around for life to drop things in her lap.

‘Work is so important to me. That isn’t always a good thing, but there you have it. Now I have to decide whether I hang around waiting at
Level
or try to move somewhere else.’

Mari thought.

‘What would have to happen for it to be easier for you to decide?’ she asked.

‘Good question. I think I’d have to know whether Matt Thomas is going to choose me. I think the answer is no.’

‘Why don’t you go and ask him? Maybe he respects a direct approach.’

Lia grimaced.

‘No. If I look like I want the position, that’s sure to increase his pleasure in not giving it to me.’

‘Sounds like a nasty old git.’

‘Nasty is an understatement. I guess I should be looking online for graphic designer openings.’

‘Let me think about it a bit. I may be able to come up with something,’ Mari said.

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Good. Frankly, I’m terrified that Thomas would just say no.’

‘That’s possible. But then you would know. If I can come up with a way to help, do you want me to?’

‘Of course. But if it means you go and sock my editor in the teeth, then no.’

In mid-August, Mari called and asked Lia to reserve a long lunch break for the 25th, starting at one o’clock.

They did go to lunch together occasionally, but this invitation was different. Mari hoped that Lia could set aside at least two hours, if not the rest of the afternoon.

Mari didn’t explain her request. Lia blocked out the time on her calendar with the words
Something Fun.

On Monday, 25th August, Mari was waiting for Lia on Fetter Lane.
Level
’s offices were located in a large building with dozens of other companies. Mari hailed them a taxi from the kerb.

‘We don’t have far to go, but I’m in a hurry,’ she explained and then gave the driver an address on Park Street, Bankside.

Lia didn’t ask any questions and let Mari have her surprise.

In Bankside, a similar large office building awaited them. Mari hurried into the lower lobby and then led Lia to a lift and the top floor of the building.

There they saw two doors, the smaller of which read
Clarke Holdings
, the larger of which was blank. Mari approached the latter. The locks looked sturdy, but she opened them with an easy turn of the appropriate key.

Behind the door was a long, dimly lit corridor with more doors. Mari opened the second door on the left.

They entered a small conference room. With only a table, eight chairs and a video projector mounted in the ceiling, the sparsely decorated space appealed to Lia’s designer’s eye.

Tasteful accents beautified the furnishings. The lights had been placed with forethought. A discreet, abstract decorative pattern wound along the walls.

On the table were two laptops, their displays filled only with screen saver waveforms, and next to them two plates, cutlery and Chinese takeaway in pasteboard boxes.

‘Is this a working lunch?’ Lia asked in amusement.

‘In a way,’ Mari said as she ushered Lia in and indicated a seat at the table.

Mari looked at her watch and said that they had six minutes to
start eating.

‘While we have our food, I’ll tell you what’s about to happen in Hanover Square.’

Opening the boxes, she offered them to Lia and then scooped out portions for herself. Lia began tasting her food, filled with curiosity.

‘Right now, your boss, Matt Thomas, is en route to an interview.’

A firm by the name of Elevate had invited Thomas to Mayfair. From the invitation, Thomas had learned that Elevate was a
headhunter
company that carried out high-powered, confidential
background
interviews and employment tests.

‘In a few minutes, Thomas will enter the company premises and we’ll see here, live, how the meeting goes.’

Lia’s chopsticks clattered onto her plate.

‘What’s going on here?’

Mari’s face shone with quiet satisfaction.

‘As it turns out, the entire company is fictitious.’

In the interview they would hear what Thomas thought of his subordinates, including Lia. And when Thomas left, he would think he had been sounded out confidentially for a position in a company too important to mention by name.

‘No, Mari. No.’

Lia was so shaken that she pushed her chair back and stood.

‘Now you won’t have to ask him,’ Mari said.

‘Is this a joke? I didn’t ask for anything like this. Thomas will guess right off that something is wrong!’

‘No, he won’t. He’ll just have an interesting conversation and never know a thing about why he is really having it. Thomas doesn’t know the meeting has anything to do with you; he thinks it’s about him.’

‘But he isn’t stupid – irritating and exasperating, yes, but also clever! If he figures out this isn’t real, I’ll never be able to show myself at
Level
again.’

‘Trust me,’ Mari said. ‘You’ve asked what kind of work I do. Well, this is my work.’

Ten days previously, Matt Thomas had received a telephone call. The caller had said he was from Elevate, a company that handled headhunting assignments. He went on to tell Thomas that he was
in the initial stages of consideration for the position of editor-
in-chief
at one of the major British daily papers. The name of the newspaper would only be revealed to the candidates selected for additional interviews. The caller enquired whether despite this necessary secrecy Thomas would still wish to attend the meeting, where he would receive an interview and undergo a battery of tests, with complete confidentiality.

Mari smiled broadly. ‘Thomas said he would be delighted to come.’

Lia was speechless. She felt like screaming.

‘Just over one minute left,’ Mari said. ‘Thomas took the Tube. He got off at Oxford Circus, crossed Regent Street and just turned onto Princess Street. He’ll be there soon.’

Lia stared in disbelief at the computer screen, which displayed three camera views of an office building lobby. The receptionist, a woman with dark hair, sat at a semi-circular desk.

Seconds passed. Lia swallowed as she watched the surveillance camera images.

‘We’ll see whether he makes it on time,’ Mari said. ‘Oh, there he is.’

As a man wearing a sedate dark suit entered the lobby, Lia recognised him immediately. Only donning it as he departed for important meetings, Matt Thomas never wore a jacket at their office.

Thomas approached the desk and spoke to the receptionist. No sound came from the computer, and Lia looked at Mari in alarm.

‘Don’t worry,’ Mari said. ‘We’ll hear him when he gets up to the Elevate office.’

The receptionist handed Thomas a guest badge. He considered whether to clip the badge to his suit, but then decided simply to hold it. He nodded to the woman and walked towards the lift.

‘Does that woman really work there?’ Lia asked.

‘Of course she does. But the two who are about to interview Thomas work for me.’

Matt Thomas entered the lift.

‘Mari, can you still stop this? This is crazy.’

‘Now don’t fret,’ Mari said. ‘Let’s see what happens now.’

Mari clicked and a different camera image filled the screen, showing another conference room with table and chairs, bigger than the one in which Lia and Mari sat.

A moment later, Matt Thomas entered the room, followed by two other people. Their voices sounded tinny coming from the small loudspeaker sitting on the table in front of Lia and Mari.

Lia scarcely dared breathe.

‘They can’t see or hear us,’ Mari said.

‘Please, take a seat,’ the woman in the conference room said to Thomas.

Thomas smiled and sat in the chair reserved for him at the head of the table, where there were also a notepad and pen. The interviewers set up at the opposite end of the table, spread out laptops, binders and papers.

The older of the interviewers, a blonde woman of about fifty, led the meeting. Her assistant, a man of some thirty years whose features indicated Indian ancestry, spoke in an accent indicative of time spent at an elite university.

‘This meeting will be videotaped,’ the woman said, pointing up towards the camera that provided Lia and Mari with their view of the scene.

‘The recordings will be carefully stored for six months, after which they will be destroyed. No one beyond Elevate employees will be able to see them. And of course all of us are bound by non-
disclosure
agreements.’

Matt Thomas nodded.

He was clearly nervous, Lia thought and found herself able to breathe somewhat easier.

‘So, for the record, my name is Carol Penn and this is Robert Cansai, interviewing Mr Matt Thomas, editor-in-chief of
Level
magazine. This is a first-round interview, and the date is the 25th of August. Mr Thomas, could you please tell us why you initially chose to work at
Level?
’

The question came quickly, but Matt Thomas was ready.

‘It was a mixture of ninety per cent reason and ten per cent emotion. Producing a magazine requires strong financial management,
creating principles to guide content decisions and process control, but an editor-in-chief also has to be able to create a unique spirit. In addition to the quality of the magazine,
Level
has a tradition of independence, and that unique voice appealed to me,’ Thomas said.

‘Ha!’ Mari said to Lia as they watched the screen. ‘Memorised and grandiose.’

The interviewers took turns asking questions, first about work experience and education. Thomas told of the public school and university he had attended and his working years before
Level
.

Mari continued eating as she watched the interview, but Lia couldn’t touch her food, even though everything seemed to be going fine onscreen.

Ten minutes later, the mood in the interview room was relaxed.

It was Carol Penn’s turn to ask a question.

‘Mr Thomas, do you consider yourself a happy person?’

Thomas smiled.

‘Very happy,’ he said, and then proceeded to list his professional accomplishments, mention his family and sailing hobby. He talked about the satisfaction he derived from success in leadership.

‘He was expecting that. Interviewers always ask a question like that sooner or later to try to throw the subject off. It’s an attempt to nudge the interviewee away from the answers he’s already prepared,’ Mari said.

The next questions Thomas didn’t like, as they addressed
Level
’s decreasing circulation. When Robert Cansai asked why Thomas had not been able to halt the downward slide, his face turned sour.

‘Circulation hasn’t fallen nearly as quickly as during my
predecessor’s
tenure. And you have to remember that I started out with the old editorial team – I wasn’t able to bring anyone in with me. I’ve tried by might and main to add more energy to the magazine and make it more competitive, but the opposition to change among my subordinates is… considerable,’ Thomas said.

‘That’s not true!’ Lia exclaimed. ‘That little shit. We’ve been trying to come up with better selling features for years.’

‘Listen,’ Mari said. ‘This is interesting.’

‘Mr Thomas, let’s do talk about your office for a moment. What sort of group is it you lead?’

‘Challenging,’ Thomas said. ‘Of course everyone has their own special skills that we do our best to utilise, but the dynamism required for commercial success is often lacking. I tend to shoulder responsibility for improving the magazine more or less alone.’

‘Do you have any particularly talented subordinates? Is there anyone you’d like to take along if you move to a new position?’

‘Not really. Timothy Phelps, perhaps. He’s a good political reporter, but he may be at the peak of his career already.
Level
may be just the right size for him.’

‘We have collected a list of your subordinates and thought we would ask you your opinion of their potential. This is our way of evaluating how you deal with the strengths and weaknesses of the people you lead,’ Cansai said. ‘Is that acceptable?’

‘Of course,’ Thomas said. ‘I know all of them inside and out.’

‘Sam Levinson?’ Cansai began.

‘Sam is a very pleasant subordinate and colleague. Good sense of humour. But I wouldn’t take him with me. His pieces are too conventional.’

Lia stared at the computer screen. Of all the bloody nerve!

‘William Jasper, your entertainment reporter.’

‘Jasper is competent in his area. In a sense it’s a shame he chose entertainment, because that shows he doesn’t have the potential for the big leagues.’

As the list of names continued, Lia heard her boss guillotine one subordinate after another. About each person Thomas first said something good but then immediately added something so biting that the message was clear: good for nothing.

‘Lia Pajala?’

‘Lia is a diligent foot soldier. But she’s a bit outspoken. In order to get ahead she would need social skills. And if she hasn’t developed them by now…’

Filled with bitterness, Lia stared at Matt Thomas’ crooked smile. The AD position had just moved out of reach.

‘Speaking of female employees, the
Level
team has a conspicuous lack of women. Only two in thirteen. At other, similar publications,
the proportion of women is closer to forty per cent, sometimes more. Why?’

Matt Thomas breathed in one second too long. He was not prepared for this.

‘I would say it has to do with the history of the magazine.
Level
first emerged as an overtly political magazine. In politics women have traditionally played a smaller role, and in political journalism men make up the majority.’

‘You have hired five of the current employees, none of them women. Why is this?’

Thomas forced a smile.

‘Just chance. But to speak plainly, we’re competing in a tough media market, and the best stories come from editorial departments with balls. If you’ll pardon the expression.’

‘Other publications compete in the same market. And they have women,’ Carol Penn observed.

From the look on Thomas’ face, it was apparent that he felt the interview had just turned into an interrogation.

‘Could you describe your collaborative relationship with the magazine’s advertisers?’ Robert Cansai asked, changing the subject.

Thomas latched on to the question with obvious relief. Lia, on the other hand, let loose a torrent of rage at the video display.

‘Male chauvinist wanker. He’s going to pay for this.’

‘That won’t be possible,’ Mari said. ‘I’m just sad I can’t put this online. This would be sure to go viral. Posh boss badmouths employees smiling all the while. And to top it off he implies women aren’t cut out for hard work.’

At the conclusion of the interview, Thomas received an
opportunity
to share his views on the future of the media business, thus lulling him into thinking that the meeting had gone well.

When Carol Penn announced that the interview was over, Thomas looked relieved.

‘What happens from here depends on our client,’ Penn said. ‘If they select you for the group of final candidates, we will be in touch within two weeks. If you aren’t chosen, we won’t trouble you any more. However, I will say that we receive similar assignments from media corporations relatively often. These interviews never go to waste.’