Chris Collett - [Tom Mariner 01] (7 page)

‘I’d like to talk to you about Eddie Barham.’ Mariner said.

Sizing up Mariner’s damaged nose, Moloney broke into a broad nicotine-stained grin. ‘Oh yes. What’s he done now?’

‘He was found dead at his home last night,’ said Mariner. ‘He appears to have committed suicide.’

That took the wind out of Moloney’s sails. In fact, judging from the blanching effect on his face, it had scuttled the whole boat. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he wheezed, taking a long drag on his cigarette. ‘Are you sure?’

Mariner nodded. ‘That’s certainly how it looks.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Moloney repeated. ‘I knew things had taken a turn for Ed, but I didn’t know things were that bad.’

‘You must have known him pretty well then.’

‘We weren’t what you’d call bosom buddies, but he’d been around the block a few times, you know? He must be—have been—one of our longest-serving reporters. A lot of kids see us as just a stepping-stone to the nationals, but Eddie started as a cub years ago and stuck with us. Poor bastard.’

‘What did you mean; “things had taken a turn”?’

Mariner probed.

‘A few years back, Eddie was right there at the top,’ Moloney explained. ‘You could send him anywhere, anytime and you’d be sure to get a cracking copy from him.

His talent was for the slow-burn investigative stuff. You could always rely on something good from him.’

‘Always?’

‘Eddie had a strong sense of social injustice. Once he got hold of something he wouldn’t let it go. He could be very persuasive and was very good at getting people to talk to him. People seemed to trust him, you know? And he was patient. He’d just bide his time and eventually get out of them what he wanted.’

Praise indeed, and no doubt justifiable. Mariner thought back to the scene in the Chamberlain Hotel, when the brunette had capitulated. ‘So if he was so good at his job, what went wrong? Drugs?’ he hazarded.

But Moloney seemed genuinely appalled at the suggestion.

‘No. Eddie wouldn’t be the sort to do drugs. He was a very down-to-earth guy.’ He sounded absolutely certain.

‘Nothing went wrong, as such. He just chose to take a step down. He took a demotion, about three years ago, back on to the local desk; writing fillers for the main pages.’

‘Things were getting too much for him?’

‘In a way, but not at work. He had a forced change of circumstances. He lost both his parents very suddenly some time back, and there’s this brother, he’s mentally handicapped or something…’

Mariner touched his nose. ‘Jamie. We’ve met.’

Moloney smirked. ‘Oh, I see. Yeah, well, he’s been here once or twice. Bloody liability. Anyway, he needs a lot of looking after, someone there all the time. He goes to some day-care place and in the early days Eddie had some arrangement with the neighbours, too, but suddenly all that changed. He struggled on for as long a he could but eventually he asked for a move to nine till five. I tried to negotiate something, but whatever Eddie takes on he throws himself into one hundred per cent. It was like that with the boy. For the big stories, we need someone who can go where the action is any hour of the day or night, and Eddie said he wasn’t prepared to do that any more.’

‘So it was his decision?’

‘Eddie knew the score.’

‘And did he seem unhappy about it?’

‘He was more philosophical. I think he felt that there wasn’t a choice. There is a sister around somewhere, but there didn’t seem to be any question that Eddie would take on the kid brother. Sure, he must have found the change frustrating, but he was never the sort of guy to whinge on about things. Ironically, although he was working regular hours then, we saw less and less of him. He did his job then went home. Either way, he still made his deadlines, so it didn’t bother me. He never stopped being reliable.’ The original Steady Eddie.

‘And would you have known if things were getting too much for him?’

It took Moloney several seconds to meet Mariner’s eye.

‘The man was a pro. He wouldn’t have found it acceptable to have his home life interfere with his work.’

Mariner let him off the hook. ‘Who were Eddie’s close friends?’

‘I’m not sure that he had any what you’d call close friends. Eddie got along okay with most people, but he was a bit of a loner. Not much choice given his domestic setup.’

‘Did he have a girlfriend?’ Mariner asked.

Moloney shook his head. ‘I never got the impression that there was anyone because of the boy, but I suppose there could have been.’

‘Do you know a girl called Sally, possibly Sally-Ann?’

‘No, can’t say I do.’

‘When was the last time anyone here would have seen Eddie?’ asked Mariner.

‘Friday, he was in for work as usual, as far as I know.

He’d have been working with Darren Smith, one of our photographers. They’d got to be quite a team. They worked together on a regular basis.’

‘I’ll need to speak to Darren. And I may want to look at Eddie’s workspace and check the files on his computer.’

‘Sure.’

The interview had run its course. ‘Well, thanks for your time Mr Moloney,’ Mariner said.

‘No problem. Anything we can do.’

Mariner stood up and even though it was only a few paces, Moloney walked him to the door. Something was still bothering him. ‘We can run this as a story?’ he asked at last. So that was it.

‘It’s news, isn’t it?’ said Mariner, drily.

‘So what can we print?’

‘Let’s go for novelty. How about the facts?’

His sarcasm went unremarked. ‘Which are?’

‘That Eddie Barham was discovered dead at his home late last night. Police are not currently looking for anyone else in connection with his death, but would like to speak to a woman who may have been at the scene, and who made the emergency call.’

Moloney nodded, sadly. ‘Eddie was a good bloke,’ he said. ‘A lot of people round here will miss him. And I think we’ll all feel bad that we didn’t see this coming.’ He sounded entirely sincere and for some reason Mariner was surprised. A press man with a conscience was a new phenomenon.

On the wall by the door to Moloney’s office Mariner’s attention was caught by one of several framed front pages: ‘LOCAL HOMELESS CHARITY EXPOSED’,

byline Edward Barham. Mariner scanned the page. ‘This was one of his?’

‘Yeah. Caused quite a furore at the time. Eddie won a couple of awards for it, too. I think his only regret was that Frank Crosby didn’t get put inside. Still, the publicity didn’t do the bastard much good.’

Frank Crosby. Although Mariner had never personally had dealings with the man, Crosby’s was the name you heard bandied around the station canteen with frightening regularity, in connection with just about anything criminal you could shake a stick at. Drugs, gambling, prostitution, Crosby was up to his ears in it. That was an interesting link.

Darren, Eddie Barham’s erstwhile coworker, it transpired, had called in sick, so interviewing him would have to keep until another day. If indeed that proved to be necessary.

For Mariner a clear picture was emerging of a man under pressure, and he still hoped that the path report would remove any remaining traces of doubt.

Returning to the office, Anna couldn’t help but remark on the contrast with her entrance earlier this morning, when the world had been a different place and she’d been in command of her life. Now, in a matter of hours, she felt as though chaos theory was being tested out at her expense. She tried not to dwell on it. If she was going to keep on top of things, she needed to focus on her job again.

Becky came in, full of concern. ‘It’s true?’ Anna nodded.

‘Oh, Anna, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

Anna smiled bravely. ‘I’m fine. It’s a shock of course, but we weren’t exactly close.’

‘Do you want us to re-schedule tonight?’ Becky asked.

Anna didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘Tonight?’

‘Robinson’s at da Paglia,’ Becky reminded her.

‘Oh shit.’ With all that had happened, the dinner engagement had flown completely out of her mind.

‘If you’re not feeling up to it, I’m sure Jonathan will understand.’

Anna didn’t share her friend’s optimism. The meeting with Robinson’s had been set up weeks ago and to cancel it now would be a PR disaster, both for Priory and for her personally. ‘It’s not that. Remember my younger brother, Jamie?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Well, with Eddie gone, I’m left with him.’

‘Oh God. What will you do?’

‘Try to find someone else to look after him I suppose.’

She’d have to. There was no alternative. A thought suddenly struck her. ‘Mark’s a GP. Would he know anyone who could help?’

‘He might. I can ask him.’

‘Tell him I’m desperate.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Becky had been gone less than a minute when a second knock preceded Jonathan, as suave as ever in a navy blue Paul Smith suit, his well-chosen tie providing a tasteful splash of colour. He closed the door behind him. ‘I heard the news, Anna. I’m so sorry.’ For a moment he looked as if he might hug her, but then, remembering that they were in full view of the outer office, he settled for taking Anna’s hand in both of his. It was one of those few occasions when it wasn’t enough. Anna wanted to sink into his arms and be held, close and tight. ‘You’ll need a few days off,’ he was saying. ‘Take as much time as you like.’

‘No, it’s okay, I’ll be all right.’

Jonathan allowed a respectable pause.

‘What about Robinson’s, tonight?’

‘It shouldn’t be a problem,’ Anna said, with far more conviction than she felt.

‘Are you sure? I mean, we can’t call it off at this late stage, but if you don’t feel up to it, I’m sure I could ask Melanie to stand in for you.’

‘No. I’ll be fine. Really.’ The offer of Melanie as substitute had come a little too quickly for Anna’s taste. Fine or not, she was damn sure she wasn’t going to let that little upstart muscle in on her deal. She was already beginning to play a more prominent role around here than Anna was happy with.

‘Good,’ Jonathan smiled. ‘I told Gillian it would be a very late night.’

Anna liked the sound of that. Now it was imperative that she find somewhere for Jamie. Alone once more, she turned her attention to her in-tray, firing off rapid responses to memos and e-mails where she could, sending faxes. After a whole morning out, there was a lot to catch up on if she was to be ready for Milan by next weekend. So much so, that when Becky put her head around the door to say she was going, Anna didn’t notice how empty the outer office had become. The phone rang and kept ringing, and glancing up irritably from her PC monitor, Anna suddenly realised it was dusk and everyone else had gone.

She picked up the handset. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, this is Francine,’ said a friendly-sounding voice.

‘Francine?’ Anna didn’t know a Francine.

‘I’m Jamie’s key worker at the centre,’ the voice explained. ‘I was wondering when you were coming to collect him. All the other clients have gone home…’

Jamie! Anna had forgotten all about him. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ she said, already on her feet and stuffing papers into her briefcase.

When she got to the centre it was practically deserted, apart from the omnipresent cleaning staff. Jamie sat alone in the foyer, head bent, gently rocking.

‘Hi Jamie.’

He didn’t even look up. He wasn’t punishing her for being late. He just wasn’t interested.

A young mixed-race woman emerged from the office.

‘Hi, I’m Francine, you must be Anna?’

‘Yes. Look, I’m really sorry, I completely lost track of the time.’

‘That’s okay,’ Francine smiled generously. ‘I had some paperwork to do and Jamie didn’t seem to mind.’ She hesitated.

‘I’m so sorry about Eddie. I couldn’t believe it when Joyce told us. It must be hard for you.’

‘It’s bad timing,’ Anna agreed. She still had this evening’s little problem to solve. Taking advantage of Francine’s sympathetic smile, Anna tried a long shot.

‘Actually all this couldn’t have come at a worse time for me. Do you know if there’s anywhere that would be able to just look after Jamie for tonight?’ But, predictably, Francine didn’t.

In the early evening gloom, Tom Mariner also sat at his desk in a deserted office. His nose throbbed painfully and.

despite assurances that it wasn’t broken, every time he exhaled he emitted a low whistling sound. A bag of frozen peas sent up by some wag in the station canteen was generating a slow-spreading puddle on one corner of the desk, like the dull ache that was inching its way around his skull. He’d been through the files of local known prostitutes over and over now, hoping he’d missed her the last time and willing those brown eyes to gaze out at him. Once he even thought he saw her, but he was kidding himself.

Either she was new or she was careful, or she wasn’t what he thought.

Knox had finished for the night, stating his intentions to go and try to patch things up with ‘the wife’, but sounding more as if he was trying to convince himself than anything.

Mariner’s plans for this evening, which had at one time included the digital reworking of Hitchcock’s Rear Window playing at the MAC, had been comprehensively sabotaged: he was loath to squander the cinematographer’s talents on his intermittently blurring vision. The rain that had in the last hour begun beating relentlessly on the windows precluded a walk, even for him. So, other options closed, courtesy of Jamie Barham, Mariner was left flicking through the information gathered by the canvas of Eddie Barham’s neighbours.

Apart from what he’d already learned from Moira Warren, it didn’t amount to a fat lot, even though Eddie Barham had lived in Clarendon Avenue all his life.

Neighbours hardly seemed to know him and certainly nobody had heard or seen anything the previous night, or at any rate was admitting to it. Glimpses of Eddie or Jamie over the whole weekend were sparse. No one was prepared to get involved. The John Donne line kept coming back to him. ‘No man is an island, entire of itself.’ Maybe not in the seventeenth century, when Donne had first made the observation, but these days, despite mobile phones and e-mail, the gulfs between people seemed to be widening all the time. More people than ever were choosing to live alone and cars, personal computers and home entertainment systems all made it increasingly possible to exist without the need for social interaction of any kind. And there, at the extreme end of the scale was Jamie Barham, for whom even the simplest human exchange was meaningless.