The Loyal Servant (3 page)

4

The squad car had a strange smell about it. Stale tobacco mixed with stale sweat and a trace of sick. The sick was stale too, Caroline decided. Anything fresher and she would have been gagging. PC Mills was sitting with her in the back while his colleague, the policewoman whose name Caroline kept forgetting, drove her home.

It was well past 11pm when they left the department and the roads around Parliament Square were choked with traffic. Motorists hooted horns and flashed their high beams, quickly stopping when they spotted the police car. As they drove around the square, Caroline watched a peace protester running around the edge of the grass, his t-shirt pulled right up over his head, as if he’d just scored a last-minute winning goal in injury time.

‘Has something happened?’ Caroline turned to the constable. ‘We’ve not won a world cup in something that’s completely passed me by, have we?’

PC Mills smiled at her and shrugged. The policewoman looked at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘I can radio in and check for you,’ she said.

‘Oh don’t worry – I’ll find out soon enough.’

‘If we have, it’s a world cup that I’ve missed too – international tiddlywinks championships maybe?’ Mills flashed Caroline an even broader smile, flashing gums as well as teeth.

The policeman had been valiantly trying to keep her spirits up ever since he and his partner were given the task of conveying her home to Catford. Before she’d been allowed to leave the department she’d had to endure an hour and a half of questioning by the inspector. He’d asked exactly the same questions as the PC, but with none of the constable’s bedside charm. By the end of her interrogation, Caroline felt as if she was a suspect.

Over Westminster bridge the traffic started to thin and the police car made faster progress south of the river. The sights of Camberwell and Dulwich whizzed past the window in a blur. In no time at all they were turning off Brownhill Road and into her street.

‘You can drop me off here,’ she said, hastily unbuckling her seatbelt. ‘We can’t go frightening the neighbours, can we?’

‘Are you sure?’ The PC frowned and peered out of the window.

‘You can practically see my front door from here. It’s not as if I’m going to get lost. Stay here and watch until I get inside, if you like.’ Caroline smiled at him. ‘I’m not giving Brenda from number 24 an excuse to gossip about me from now ‘til Christmas.’

PC Mills jumped out of the car. He scooted round to her side and opened the door. Caroline grabbed his outstretched hand and hauled herself out. She looked up into his face. He was smiling his sympathetic smile again. He reached into a pocket and plucked out a business card.

‘If you think of anything that may help with our investigation, or even if you just want someone to talk about what’s happened, call that number.’ He handed her the card. ‘Just ask for me.’

Caroline took the card and squeezed his hand; it was much warmer than hers. ‘Thank you, constable, for being so kind. Goodnight.’

She waved at the policewoman and turned slowly up the street, taking small, deliberate steps, determined to make the short journey to her front door last as long as possible. She was enjoying the coolness of the air against her cheeks and the quiet of her road, knowing as soon as she got inside she’d be confronted with a barrage of questions. She’d managed a quick call to her husband just before she left the department, but hadn’t gone into too many details. Not over the phone. Not when she felt she might tip into tears at any moment.

She reached the front gate and stared up at the first floor windows. Through the gaps in the curtains she could see all the lights were still on. Downstairs too. She hadn’t anticipated the whole family would be waiting up for her. She hesitated for a moment, desperately wanting to be with them but not sure she could face another interrogation about what had happened. She wanted to scrub that final image of Martin Fox from her mind, not be reminded of it as she gave them a blow-by-blow account. She drew in a deep breath, letting the chill air fill her lungs, and exhaled slowly. She pushed open the gate and hurried up the path. When she reached the front door she heard her mother shouting on the other side.

‘Pete! Coffee or tea? Or should I get you
another
beer?’

Caroline recognised that accusatory tone only too well. She fumbled in her bag for her house key, angry with her mother, but nevertheless worried how many four-packs Pete had chucked down his throat since he’d got in from work.

She closed the door quietly behind her and slowly slipped out of her jacket, managing to squeeze it onto an overstuffed hook on the coat rack. She dropped her bag next to Pete’s mud-encrusted work boots and took another deep breath. She stood for a moment, just listening, half expecting one of the kids to somehow sense her return and rush into the hall and throw their arms around her. But the television continued to blare from the living room and her mother carried on clattering crockery in the kitchen at the other end of the hall. Caroline wandered towards the hiss of the boiling kettle and pushed open the kitchen door.

Jean grabbed a tea towel to blot her soapy hands and hurried towards her daughter, smiling broadly as if she hadn’t seen her for weeks. ‘Hello, love! I’m so glad your home.’ She wrapped her arms around Caroline’s neck and squeezed tight, rocking her gently from side to side. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she said.

Caroline unpeeled her mother’s arms and stepped back, eyeing her suspiciously, wondering if she’d finally succumbed to some form of dementia.

Jean was still beaming. ‘You know I think it’s the best news I’ve heard since Thatcher was forced to resign.’

Caroline leaned towards her mother and sniffed. ‘Have you been drinking?’

Jean shot her a disgusted look. ‘I leave that to your dipsomaniac husband.’

‘Oh Mum! Please don’t start.’

‘Well… I think you need to have a serious word. Maybe fix up an appointment with the GP. Something’s not right.’ She turned away and threw a teabag into a mug. ‘Cuppa?’

Caroline was too weary to rise to the bait. She collapsed on a chair and laid her hands flat on the table. ‘Can we take this slowly?’

‘Do you want tea or not?’ Her mother waved a pyramid of tea leaves at her.

‘People have been making me cups of tea all night.’

‘Oh that’s nice, love. Where’ve you been?’

Caroline jerked upright. ‘Didn’t Pete tell you?’

‘Of course he did. That’s why we didn’t wait to eat.’ Jean dug the nail of her little finger into the gap between her front teeth, pulled it out and inspected it. ‘We had fish and chips from that new place up the hill. Wasn’t bad.’

‘What
did
Pete tell you?’

‘That you’d be late – later than usual.’ She turned back to the kettle. ‘You should speak to your union rep – just because everyone in your office is terrified of being made redundant doesn’t give your boss the excuse to work you all like dogs.’ She poured hot water into a mug. ‘In your father’s day they would have downed tools and walked out.’

‘Didn’t Pete tell you why I was late?’

Jean looked at her blankly.

Caroline jumped up and hurried from the kitchen back into the hall and shoved open the living room door. Pete was trapped on the sofa, pinned down by a sleeping eight-year-old boy. Claire was sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing absent-mindedly with the dog’s ears, the dog thumping its tail rapidly on the rug as Caroline walked in. Both her husband and daughter appeared to be transfixed by a political correspondent on the BBC News Channel.

‘Would someone mind telling me what the bloody hell is going on?’ Caroline said.

Claire groaned but didn’t answer.

‘Pete – could you enlighten me? I can’t get any sense out of my mother.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Well of course I know, I was right there, wasn’t I?’

Claire snapped her head round to look at her mother. ‘At Number 10? Really?’

‘What are you talking about? I was at work. That’s where it happened.’

‘No it didn’t. He was standing right there.’ Claire pointed at the television screen. ‘In Downing Street. I must have seen it about 20 times.’

Caroline lifted a hand to her forehead and let out a long breath. ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I wish someone would just explain—’

‘He said he’s resigned for personal reasons. To spend more time with his family. Does that mean he’s been caught having an affair?’

‘Who?’

‘It’s all over the news. How can you not know? Dur! Where’ve
you
been? God Mum, I think you need—’

Caroline shot her daughter a look. Claire stopped talking and bit her lip.

‘Who’s resigned?’

‘The prime minister.’

‘Why? When did this happen? Is it because of Martin?’

Caroline kept an eye on the ticker at the bottom of the television screen.

‘I just told you why. Who’s Martin anyway?’ Claire said. She unfolded her skinny legs and stood up, right in front of the television.

‘Martin Fox,’ Caroline said. ‘The schools minister? Hasn’t it been on the news?’

‘All the news is about the resignation, has been for the last couple of hours.’ Claire walked round her mother and headed for the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Caroline said.

‘Bed. If that’s OK? Now you’re home it means I don’t have to take Minty for a walk. Night.’

‘No one’s taken her out? What are you all, helpless?’

The dog padded over to Caroline and nuzzled a damp nose into her hand.

‘Where’s Dan?’ Caroline looked at her husband.

Pete shrugged, not taking his eyes from the screen, one hand stroking his son’s hair, the other lifting a can of Stella to his lips. Caroline snatched up the TV remote, jabbed the mute button and stood directly in front of him.

‘Dan? You remember – your other son. Quite tall for his age, floppy hair, skinny jeans, occupies the airless pit next to the bathroom. Is he up there now?’

‘He went out. Said he had to sort something.’

‘And he’s not back? For God’s sake, Pete. It’s after half eleven.’

Ben stirred on Pete’s lap and he shushed him back to sleep. ‘Keep your voice down, Caz.’ He carefully balanced his beer on the arm of the sofa. ‘It’s not like it’s a school night. You need to cut the boy some slack.’

Caroline rushed into the hall to fetch the phone. She was just punching in the number for Dan’s mobile when the front door opened. Dan grunted at her and slammed the door. He was halfway up the stairs before she had a chance to speak.

‘Dan! Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?’

Dan grunted again and disappeared onto the first floor landing. Caroline heard his bedroom door bang shut.

Pete came out of the living room with Ben draped over a shoulder. ‘See?’ he said. ‘He’s fine. No harm done. Bit of slack, that’s all he needs.’

As they passed her, Caroline planted a kiss on the top of Ben’s head and wished him a whispered goodnight. She chose to ignore Pete’s comments. Now wasn’t the time for another row.

She watched Ben’s sleeping face until Pete reached the top of the stairs, then she hurried back into the living room. She stared at the television. The reporter had been replaced by a grave-faced secretary of state for education. William King was effectively Martin’s boss at the department. Caroline watched as he walked slowly down a flight of steps towards a crowd of jostling reporters. His wife joined him and held tightly on to his arm. Caroline felt a rush of relief – finally someone was going to make a statement about Martin Fox’s death. Camera flashes popped as photographers and journalists pushed forward. King raised his hands to quieten the crowd. Caroline grabbed the remote control and unmuted the sound. She held her breath.

‘What’s King got to say for himself?’ Jean came in and stood next to her daughter, mug of tea in her hand. ‘Slimy bastard. I’ve never liked the look of him.’

‘I’ve been trying to tell you since I—’

‘Shhh!’ Jean said. ‘Turn it up.’

William King cleared his throat and stared directly into the camera. ‘My colleagues have done me a great honour,’ he said. ‘I only hope I can live up to the confidence they have shown in me.’ His wife shuffled closer to him. ‘I will endeavour not to disappoint them. And I will do my utmost to serve them, my party and of course, most importantly of all, the people of this great nation of ours. Thank you for your support.’ He smiled into the camera. ‘Goodnight ladies and gentlemen. I’ll give you a full statement in the morning.’ He turned and ran back up the steps, his wife trailing behind him.

Jean started to say something; Caroline laid a hand on her arm. They both stared at the television in silence. Caroline read the breaking news caption at the bottom of the screen three times before its meaning finally sank in.

…William King replaces Duncan Oakley as prime minister…

5

Caroline lowered her head and summoned all her strength to force a path through the television news crews and rabble of reporters blocking the main entrance of the Department for Education. As she struggled across the final few yards of pavement, digital recorders were shoved at her and journalists shouted questions just inches from her face. Finally she made it to the revolving doors.

The hubbub didn’t subside once she was inside. There was a buzz of movement around the reception desk as security staff issued temporary passes to a long line of visitors.

She nodded at one of the receptionists who immediately nudged her colleague; both women stared at her as she turned away. She fumbled with her security pass at the barrier and headed towards the lifts, keeping her gaze on the floor all the way. She hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours all night and each step was an effort.

There was a shout behind her. ‘Hold up!’

Immediately she recognised the security guard’s voice and flinched. Ed Wallis caught up with her and timed his steps to match hers. He jabbed her arm with an elbow.

‘That was a turn up for the books, wasn’t it?’ he said.

Caroline ignored him and tried to quicken her pace. He lengthened his stride.

‘I mean, if I’d started my round on the eighth floor and worked my way down,’ he continued, unabashed, ‘rather than setting off from the basement going up... or maybe if I hadn’t stopped on the fourth to talk to you… well… who knows? I probably would have been able to save his life. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’ He blew out a breathy whistle. ‘Fate, my missus says.’

They’d reached the lifts. Caroline hit the
up
button and stepped right back, putting a safe five feet between her and Ed and trying to keep an eye on all six lifts at the same time, ready to jump into the first one that pinged onto the ground floor.

‘But I reckon he timed it deliberate like.’ Ed still hadn’t picked up on her body language and ploughed on. ‘I bet he’d been watching my routine and planned it down to the last second.’ He shuddered, his huge stomach undulating under the straining buttons of his shirt. ‘To think you and me were in the building while he was doing that to himself.’ He whistled again.

Caroline looked directly into his face for the first time. ‘No one knows what happened.’ Her heart was racing, sweat started to prickle under her arms.

‘But you found him. You know what happened. You must have seen the pills… the booze.’

He was staring at her cleavage again. She yanked her jacket across her chest.

‘Who told you about that?’

‘There’s not much happens in this place without me knowing about it.’

The lift doors nearest Caroline opened and she threw herself towards them. Once inside, she stayed near the threshold and turned back quickly to Ed, barring his way in.

‘Well then,’ she said as the doors started to close, ‘you must know the police are keeping all lines of enquiry open.’

The doors slid shut and Ed’s blotchy, flaky face finally disappeared. Caroline edged her way further in and punched the button for the fourth floor. She could feel her face flushing; aware suddenly the loud chatter of the other occupants had died down to a murmur. A few of them threw surreptitious glances in her direction.

‘Nothing to see here,’ she said. ‘As you were.’

After a moment of embarrassed silence, the chatter started back up. During the painfully slow ascent to the fourth floor, Caroline heard at least two exchanges speculating about the possible links between Martin Fox’s death and the resignation of the prime minister. As she’d lay awake for most of the night, Caroline had gone through all the permutations and combinations herself. But as much as she tried to force a connection, there really was nothing to tie the two events together. Martin Fox may have been a member of Duncan Oakley’s government, but they had never been close political allies. Caroline had always got the impression they tolerated one another for the sake of party unity. The theories she overheard in the lift were no more credible than the ones spouted by the overexcited callers to the radio phone-in she’d listened to while she made Ben his breakfast.

Finally the doors opened onto the fourth floor and Caroline pushed her way out of the lift and into the academies section. As she passed her colleagues, heads turned and conversations stopped mid-sentence. She felt their gaze follow her all the way to her desk. She dropped her bag onto the floor, peeled off her jacket and slumped onto her chair. She waited a moment before glancing up. A few of her team smiled back at her and quickly looked away, while others made a show of studying intensely absorbing paperwork. She reached for her phone.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here today.’

Caroline replaced the handset and looked up to see her line manager emerging from the kitchen, a packet of custard creams in one hand, a mug in the other. Pamela Reynolds hurried over to her, liquid slopping over the edge of her mug. Without waiting to be asked, she dragged a chair from a nearby desk. The hydraulic mechanism let out a short hiss of complaint as she sat down. She dumped her coffee and biscuits on the desk and leaned her head close to Caroline’s. She pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’ She rubbed her dimpled knuckles up and down Caroline’s arm. ‘Should you even be here?’

Caroline glanced round the office again. ‘Does everyone know it was me who… who…’ She had to stop; she could feel her throat tightening.

Pam nodded.

‘Who told you?’

‘I don’t remember – everyone was already talking about it when I got in.’

Caroline cleared her throat, not wanting to risk speaking again.

‘Are you OK?’ Pam stuck out her bottom lip and tipped her head to one side. ‘You do look a bit peaked. Maybe you should go back home.’

Caroline dragged over a pile of papers from her in tray. She started leafing through them. ‘Too much to do,’ she said.

‘But you’re probably in shock and you just don’t realise it. Trauma affects people in different ways. You should be taking it easy.’

Caroline took a deep breath and said nothing. Pam leaned in even closer and gripped Caroline’s arm.

‘Was it awful?’ She lowered her voice. ‘You know – finding him like that?’

Caroline stared at Pam, her mouth dropped open. She shook her head.

‘What?’ Pam said. ‘I’m only asking what everyone else is wondering.’

Caroline said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

Pam gathered up her biscuits and mug from the desk and stood up. ‘Well, you know where I am if you need to talk to someone.’ She pulled her mouth into the semblance of a smile. ‘I only want to help.’

Caroline went back to sifting through her paperwork.

Pam sniffed loudly and walked away. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ She turned back again, losing more of her coffee over the side of the mug. ‘Jeremy wants to see you.’

Caroline glanced at the glass-walled room at the other end of the office. It was empty. An image of Jeremy Prior pacing up and down the office dressed in his dinner suit forced its way into her mind. She blinked hard as if that might make it go away. ‘What about?’

Pam shrugged. ‘He didn’t say. I should warn you though – he’s in a stinking mood.’

She watched Pam lumber back to her own desk and waited for her to sit down before picking up the phone. She tapped in the number for voicemail. After a pause the metallic voice told her she had ‘no new messages’. Caroline let out an impatient sigh and waited. ‘And no saved messages.’

What?

She went through the process again, with the same result. She was certain she hadn’t deleted Martin Fox’s message. She replaced the receiver and sat staring at the phone, trying to remember the sequence of events from going up to the seventh floor to see Martin to being ushered into the police car by the two officers. She hadn’t been allowed back to her desk in all that time; a police officer had brought her her handbag and jacket. So what had happened to the message? She punched in the number for facilities management, telling herself there had to be a perfectly innocent explanation, some glitch in the phone system. While she waited for someone to pick up, she turned on her computer and monitor. She typed her details into the login box and the PC started the slow process of loading her system preferences. After a dozen or so rings her call was finally transferred to the voicemail system. She hung up.

The desktop appeared on her monitor and she quickly opened Outlook and scanned her long list of emails. She scrolled through the unread mails, opening each one and quickly judging whether or not an immediate response was required. After five minutes of firing off urgent replies she’d reached the bottom of the list. The message that was being held overnight hadn’t materialised. She punched in the number for the IT helpdesk, fully expecting to be shunted into the voicemail system again, but the call was answered after only two rings.

Caroline explained the situation and the patient man on the other end of the phone informed her there was no email being held. Caroline asked him to check again. He did. No email. Not even any record of the other mails she’d received notifying her one was being held. The only explanation the man in IT could offer was ‘user error’, which Caroline interpreted as a nice way of saying she had either done something wrong or else imagined the whole thing. By the time she put the phone down she was almost convinced she had. She stared at her monitor. Four missing emails and a vanishing phone message. The man in IT confirmed no one else had reported a problem. It was just her. She screwed her eyes tight and opened them wide, straining to focus again on her monitor. Was it user error?

Her son was always accusing her of having a peculiar effect on technology. Dan insisted that whenever DVDs stopped playing, computers crashed or digital radio broadcasts sounded like they were being transmitted under water, it was because she had just walked into the room. Maybe he was right.

She thought about trying facilities management again, but just as she was reaching for the phone it started to ring. She noticed her hand was trembling. She clenched her fist and stretched her fingers before snatching up the receiver.

‘Yes?’

There was a hesitation at the other end, then a bout of noisy throat clearing.

‘Is that Mrs Barber?’

She didn’t recognise the voice.

‘I’m investigating the death of Martin Fox.’

Caroline sighed. ‘I told you everything last night. Twice. Why do you need to speak to me again? What’s happened?’

‘I believe you were the one to find the body, Caroline. I was hoping you could give me a brief statement.’

‘Who am I speaking to?’

‘I erm…’

‘Who is this?’ She shouted into the phone.

‘I’m calling from the crime desk at the Daily—’

‘You’re a reporter?’ Caroline glanced up at her colleagues, who had stopped their work to stare at her again. She lowered her voice. ‘How did you get this number?’

‘Do you have a few moments to tell me how you felt at the time? How are you coping—’

Caroline slammed down the phone. She looked across at Pam and caught her staring back. Pam smiled her fake smile. Only someone inside the department could have leaked the number of her direct line to the press. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to wipe the smile off Pam’s face. She jumped up and marched towards her desk. Pam quickly picked up her phone as Caroline approached.

‘I need to speak to you.’ Caroline leaned over her colleague’s desk. Pam held up a finger and continued to mumble something into her phone. ‘Do you know who that was?’ Caroline raised her voice.

Pam pulled her finger to her lips and spun her chair away from Caroline. Caroline let out a breath, waited a moment, then reluctantly retreated. She walked out of the office into the lobby and tried to control her breathing as she paced up and down. She stopped and looked out over the atrium. She’d worked with Pam Reynolds for years. Could Pam really betray a colleague as easily as that?

Four storeys below Caroline could see Ed Wallis manning the security desk, the bald patch at the back of his head gleaming white and shiny under the bright lights. Ed was a much more likely candidate. He wouldn’t think twice about giving out her number. He looked up and Caroline quickly stepped away from the glass. Her gaze automatically shifted upwards to the ministers’ floor and the small room overlooking the atrium at the far end. Immediately her eyelids started to prickle, and her breath caught in her throat. Beside her the lift doors sprang open. A man stepped out and smiled at her, shuffling to one side so she could get in. She took a step towards the lift without thinking, then hesitated on the threshold. A sharp-suited man she vaguely recognised held his finger on a button to keep the doors open and gestured for her to hurry inside.

‘Going up?’ he said and smiled at her.

She glanced through the glass towards Martin Fox’s room. The man in the lift cleared his throat.

Of course.

Caroline stepped inside, relieved to have made a decision.

‘Floor?’ the man said.

‘Seventh.’

Suddenly she realised exactly what she needed to do, amazed she hadn’t thought of it before.