The Shadows of Justice (6 page)

It was rumoured Roger Newman was being considered worthy of an award for his charitable work. Perhaps an MBE, or maybe even an OBE, as the echelons of such an oddity of anachronism go.

But now came the sting, one that has caught many a parent before and doubtless will rise to do so again. Annette reached the end of her days in junior school. The moment arrived to decide where she would spend her years of secondary education.

And Roger sent her to a private school: Imperial, just outside of Plymouth. It was an austere and imposing Victorian estate in the Devon countryside.

Stories immediately littered the press. Business rivals and educational experts fired accusations of hypocrisy. The mooted award of an honour never came to pass.

Roger attempted some justifications. It was essential, he said, that Annette would be able to board at Imperial when business increasingly required him to travel. But the words were lost leaves in the autumn wind. Even to Dan, reading the notes of the time, they sounded half-hearted.

Roger toughed it out. He was a successful businessman, well-used to ploughing a furrow over uneven ground.

But, as so often is the case, it was the attack from within which caused the real damage.

***

The teenage changes can bring a spectrum of disorders. Some youngsters barely notice, others plunge off the road in a screaming fireball with much in the way of collateral damage.

For Annette the transition age was 14, and the troubles were perhaps mild to middling. There had been a warning from Imperial after she was caught in a clinch with a boy in the copse behind the tennis courts. Another followed with the discovery of the heinous crime of the smuggling of a half bottle of vodka into a dormitory.

But largely it was the standard adult way. Stern faces and disappointed disapproval in public, amusement in private.

Then, however, Annette discovered the perilous land of politics, conscience and belief. She began to burn with resentment at her privileged surroundings. The injustice of so very much of the world had to be tackled.

Cue, of course, the taking of more deep breaths and dipping into the reserves of tolerance from teachers and father. It was just a phase. It would pass.

And then came the day Annette disappeared from school.

She was missing for almost 24 hours. Fellow pupils, teachers and Roger himself had to endure the sight of police officers beating their way through the woods, divers scouring ponds and rivers. All in a search for that which can never be spoken.

Dan had been away on holiday at the time, walking another section of the South West Coastal Path with Rutherford. They stayed at the historic Bush Inn at Morwenstow in north Cornwall, tackling the toughest part of the trek. Some of the climbs were so steep it would have been little surprise to find the cliff tops capped with snow. Dan was vaguely aware of the story, but it was only a brief episode, a flare of interest, nothing significant to cause it to linger longer in the mind.

Annette returned to Imperial the next day. She just walked back in past two bemused police officers. She had booked into a cheap bed and breakfast, the kind where they take scant notice of the clientele and even less of the frenzy unfolding in the news. The time she had taken, she announced, was required ‘to escape these cloying surroundings’ and ‘find herself’.

What she found instead was a brief suspension, a father both enraged and tearful, and an iron lecture from a superintendent. It was long and stinging, and on the theme that if such a stunt was repeated criminal charges would follow.

The root of Annette’s grudge was only revealed the following month when Roger invited the media to witness their reconciliation. It was a bizarre event, but one which was held at Annette’s request.

She had been teased about her father’s hypocrisy by a fellow pupil. She looked up his eulogies to state education, replete as they were across the internet, and began to simmer with anger. A lesson must be taught she said. And so, she believed, had it been.

The pair were photographed, filmed and interviewed at home, cooking a symbolic meal together. A deal had been reached and mutual forgiveness bestowed. Annette would continue her studies at Imperial, whilst devoting her spare time to good causes. Roger’s fortune would be used to fund the work.

One such project was the Soup and Sandwiches Mission for the homeless. Annette insisted it be carried out on Friday nights, to emphasise the inequalities of society. While some partied, others had minds only to seek food and shelter.

And so her work went on. Until yesterday evening.

***

The sound of the window being pulled shut summoned Dan back from the past. The clock had ticked around to seven.

Adam, who was watching the police station entrance below, now strode for the door and stepped fast down the stairs.

“He’s here,” was all the detective needed to say.

Roger Newman had the firm handshake that must be deemed a job requirement for the successful businessman, but it was laced with a hint of his current suffering. There was a clamminess to the grip which lingered on the palm.

Adam fussed over him, talking about how he understood what a difficult time this was, but greatly appreciated Newman agreeing to the interview.

“Anything,” he replied simply. “If it could help.”

His voice was husky with tiredness. Adam guided him to the chair and Newman sat slowly, found a silver flask in his jacket pocket and took a long draw. The sweet scent of whisky tinted the air.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just – helping me get by.”

Every profession has its uniform and Newman had fulfilled his obligations to the empire of business. He wore a black suit, blue shirt and dark tie. Dan caught Nigel’s comment of a frown.

“I usually enjoy being interviewed,” Newman said. “Who doesn’t like talking about themselves, if they’re honest? But this… I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

“We’ll make sure it comes out well, don’t worry,” Dan replied. “On the subject of which…”

“Yes?”

“Your suit.”

Newman fingered a lapel which had been lovingly shaped by a doting Italian tailor. “What about it?”

“It’s very smart.”

“Thank you.”

“Great for a business meeting.”

“But?”

“This isn’t about business. It’s about being a father.”

“Meaning?”

“A more relaxed approach might look better. We want the kidnappers to see you and Annette as ordinary people.”

“This is my best suit,” Newman protested. “What you would prefer? Ripped jeans and a baseball cap?” He looked across at Adam, who in turn looked to Katrina. Dan couldn’t help thinking it was like a game of pass the parcel – or buck.

“Any advantage we can get, we should take,” she said gently. “Sometimes the smallest of details can settle these cases.”

Newman got up from the chair and removed his jacket. He was about to sit back down, but Dan let out a pointed cough.

“What is it now?”

The benevolent manipulator tapped at the neck of his shirt and said, “Modern life, modern looks.”

“I have a reputation to preserve.”

“And a daughter to save.”

Newman frowned, but began unlacing his tie. Nigel checked the viewfinder. He made an indecipherable noise, reached into his bag and handed Dan a compact. Newman eyed it warily and took another long drink from the flask.

Behind the camera, Adam checked his watch. The clock had slipped on to ten past seven. Half past was the set time to feed the interview to all the waiting media.

In the textbooks, the preamble to an interview is described as the time to relax the subject. Build a bond, ready to get the best from them. But the man in the chair was tense and tired, condensed with emotion. He was jaded and tetchy in every word and movement, frayed by the pressure.

Any further requests regarding Newman’s appearance were unlikely to improve relations. And there was no time for more maneuvering. Dan thought quickly and took a risk. He opened the compact and began sweeping powder across his forehead.

“What the hell are you doing now?” Newman grunted.

“It’s in case we need to film any of my questions after the interview.” Dan tried a semi-smile, just to see if the ice might be prepared to thaw. “My hairline’s not quite what it was and shining skin looks strange on camera.”

Newman sat back on his chair. “Think yourself lucky.” He tapped his pate, as smooth as a frozen pond. “My hair started going when I was 16. Imagine that. All the other kids are experimenting with mohicans and Nature’s clearing the top of my head as if she wants to build a bloody motorway.”

Katrina let out a chuckle and Dan smiled too. “But it had an upside, didn’t it?”

“You’ve done your research.” Newman sounded easier now. “You’re right; it’s where Roger’s Rugs
came
from. I thought it’d stick in people’s minds. And it worked.”

Dan finished his dabbing and held out the compact. “You’re welcome to a bit of powder.”

“I’ve never worn make-up in my life.”

“Nor had I until I went into TV, I can promise you. But it does make a real difference… and this is a big interview.”

Newman hesitated, raised a finger to his skull, then took the compact and began dusting on the powder. From behind the camera, Nigel nodded approvingly.

***

There was one more important rule in this interview. Dan wrote it across the top of his notepad, to guard against an easy slip which could ruin the conversation in a second.

Annette is, PRESENT tense. Never Annette was…

“Let’s start with a simple question,” he began. “Tell me about Annette. What’s she like?”

“Every parent would say this, but she’s a wonderful daughter. You know how Rachel, her mother, left us? A couple of years ago, she got back in touch and said she’d like to see more of Annette. We discussed it and I said it was up to her. So she invited Rachel round for dinner to talk.”

Newman let out a long sigh. “I didn’t let Annette know, but I was so nervous. I’d hardly seen the woman for years and that court battle was horrible. We had supper and it was all ok, even fairly pleasant. But at the end Annette said – and I’ll never forget this – ‘Thanks for getting back in touch. It’s good to know you’re there and I’m happy to give you a call occasionally. But I’d ask you not to bother Dad and me otherwise. He’ll find it too upsetting and we’re very happy as we are’.”

Dan let the power of the words resonate while he composed the next question. “And since then – how has she grown up? It’s an important time in her life.”

“She’s doing well at school, really well. I don’t know where she got the brains from – not me, certainly. She wants to go to university. Annette keeps talking about doing medicine, but she says she likes the idea of teaching as well.”

Even through his suffering, the pride was sufficient to prompt a tired smile. “She reckons that’d be in the family tradition. With me and my little ‘educational crusade’, as she puts it.”

In the reflection in the window, Dan could see Katrina nodding. The questions were hitting the target, the replies ticking the boxes.

And it mattered, how it felt it mattered. This was no standard interview. It was being haunted by a ghost of the living.

“On the subject of crusades, Annette’s got one of her own, hasn’t she?”

“Her charity work? You know how it all came about? Our little spat because I sent her to a private school. We talked about it…
‘Everyone’s a secret hypocrite,’ I said. ‘Not me,’ she replied. ‘Wait until you’re a bit older,’ I told her, ‘and then you might think differently.’ Anyway, that was how we left it. But being Annette, she said I had to pay a price. She decided the best way to punish a businessman was to hit him in the wallet, so we did a deal. The Soup Run was her idea. And she’s got other plans, as well.”

“Such as?”

Newman almost managed a laugh. “Annette has decided Roger’s Rugs has to become carbon neutral. How we’re going to make that happen with all the vans and warehouses I have no idea, but she’s insistent. I’ll probably end up having to plant at least a couple of forests.”

Dan took a glance at his notes to find a gap to think. They were approaching the difficult ground. The kingdom of thought-fear.

“You’ve given me a picture of a fine young woman. But Annette’s a teenager and she’s human; both dangerous traits. There has been… friction?”

“Oh yes,” the heart of the father replied. “There was her disappearance from school. That was one hell of a way to make a point. And she’s been in trouble for having a few drinks and dabbling with boys. But what young girl hasn’t? She’s got a boyfriend now – James, he lives in Manchester, they met on some trip – and do you know what she announced? She said she’s going to have him to stay, and in her room, too.”

Such familiar battles of the generations, aired so publicly. It would have prompted laughter, had it not been for the context of the interview. Annette was all around them. Those eyes, which relished life, now filled with dread. And looking here, to this room, this conversation and these few minutes for help.

“And what did you say to her… suggestion?”

“I said she would do no such thing. When she was 18 we might think about it, but not before. I tell you this: sometimes I wish I’d had a son. Daughters give you no end of trouble.”

Dan had matched Newman’s smile, but now let it fade. They were moving towards the end of the interview. It was time to change the mood, to ingrain the message which would fill the airwaves.

A great professional and a sensitive mind, Nigel felt the shift and gently zoomed in his shot for the power of the close-up. Newman’s face would fill the screen, the moistening of his eyes emphasised by the dark circles of sleepless fears that surrounded them.

“And worries are what we’re talking about here,” Dan said softly. “Difficult though it may be, can you tell us what you’ve been going through?”

With each answer before, Newman had taken a second or two to consider his words. But now the reply was instant. This was the only thought, the sole feeling, the one consideration.

“It’s been torment. There’s no other way I can describe it. Every minute, every second, I’m thinking of Annette. I’m wondering where she is. And…”

His voice cracked and almost broke, but he gulped in a hurried breath and rallied.

“I’m wondering what’s happening to her. Fearing it. Dreading it. I see her face everywhere, even when I close my eyes. Every time the phone goes, I think it’s someone calling to break the news – to tell me…”

Dan nodded at the unspeakable, unthinkable fear, but kept quiet; let the denouement of the interview play out. And it did – how it did.

“I can’t eat, I can’t sleep,” Newman continued. “I can’t do anything. I’m so lost. So damned helpless. All I can do is think about Annette. I’d ask – please, please, if anyone has her, or knows where she is, please help me get her back.”

***

Adam held open the door and they walked across the compound to the satellite van. On the road outside, amidst the white haze of a cherry tree, Dan saw a glint of polished glass.

“Ouch!” he yelped, bending down to massage his knee.

Adam, Newman and Katrina stopped too. “What?” Adam asked, impatiently. “Come on, we’ve got to feed the interview.”

“Only a touch of cramp. It might not have been such a good idea to go for a run this morning.”

It was 7.28 when Dan handed the memory card to Loud. “Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?” the engineer grumbled, holding up a list running to several pages. “You wouldn’t believe who’s waiting for this.”

They’d left Nigel in the MIR to pack up the camera and lights.
A police driver was ready to give Newman a lift home, but he said he would like to see the interview being fed.

“I’ve spent more than enough time at home lately. All I’ve got there are thoughts of Annette.”

Loud started to explain how the pool feed worked, but it sounded like a lecture from the final year of a physics degree, so Dan eased the van door closed and translated. For major events, when there was no benefit in rival broadcasters all providing their own camera crews to get exactly the same footage, one organisation would be designated to provide the coverage.

It was commonly used for royal, presidential or prime ministerial visits and had the added advantage of not offending the regal dignitary with an unseemly gang of cameras and journalists.

Newman watched the interview being replayed on the monitors. “You were right about the open neck,” he told Dan. “And the powder. I look almost human, for once. Sorry if I snapped at you.”

Dan patted the man’s shoulder. “It’s no problem. I would say I know how you’re feeling, but how could I?”

“You only asked a few questions. Will that be enough?”

“Six or seven minutes are plenty. Most radio and TV stations and websites will run the interview in full to start with, then use clips later. The newspapers will lift some of your quotes.”

“And use one of their old pictures of me to illustrate it?”

“Something like that,” Dan replied, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“I can’t believe you got all that stuff out of me. About Annette, and well…”

“All I did was let you talk.”

Newman reached out a hand, took Dan’s and shook it hard. “Nice try, but I’d say there was a bit more to it than that. If you ever get fed up with this TV lark, just call. I could use a man like you. I don’t know how you do it. You always look so calm on camera.”

“I usually think of it as a tissue thin layer of bluff,” Dan replied. “It hides the panic in my head.”

***

They walked back upstairs to the canteen to get a coffee. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock, but already felt well into the working day.

Newman had gone home with his police escort. Adam and Katrina had a couple more questions first. They wanted to know if he could see any possible significance in the letters
PP
in the ransom note. Newman thought hard and long, but said he couldn’t.