Heaven's Door (34 page)

He stopped, panting with emotion, and turned his head away to hide the standing tears. It was a full minute before he could continue. Mags and Katey waited in silence. He continued in little more than a whisper.

“I managed to get the stuff to him in Granny Brown's locket. I handed it over and … he just … took it out of the locket and … put it in his mouth. I had no idea … I didn't think he'd …”

The surface tension of his tears gave way and they rolled slowly down his cheeks.

“I reached across to him,” his voice even softer now, barely audible, “it was too late … he died in my arms.”

His whole body sagged, drained of strength.

Mags and Katey looked at him wide-eyed with shock.

“You mean … you were actually with him when …?” said Mags.

He looked across at her. In her expression of horror he thought he detected, briefly, signs of sympathy and understanding. Then she rose from the sofa.

“Thank you for telling us,” she said, reaching out her arm to Katey, inviting her to take her hand.

“I'll just be a minute,” said Katey, and Mags walked quickly from the room.

Neither spoke for a long time. Katey shuffled round, still in her sitting position, so she could face Tom and take both his hands in hers.

“You poor thing,” she said, followed by more silence.

“How was it for Jack?” she asked, eventually, in a small voice. “Was it … very bad? Did he suffer?”

The question jerked Tom out of his trance.

“No, darling,” he said. “Not at all. It was over in a second. He wouldn't have felt anything.”

“Perhaps it is best,” said Katey. “For both of them, like Jack said.”

She took his letter to her out of the pocket of her jeans. It was crumpled and ragged, more like a piece of cloth. She handed it over to Tom. He read the note in silence.

“Listen,” said Tom, “you need to go to your mum and see that she's alright, and I want you to look after her. And also, you need to get back to college as soon as possible.” He held up his hands when she tried to protest. “Katey, you are going to be a great lawyer. Everybody thinks so –
knows
so. That's what Jason will want you to do, won't he? Correct me if I'm wrong.”

She thought for a moment.

“Yes, you're right, of course. Perhaps the week after next. I will … definitely. But what do you mean, you want me to look after Mum? That's your job. You told me half an hour ago that everything would be alright.”

“And so it will, Princess. But she needs time and space without me. Surely you can see that.”

Katey thought for a moment.

“If you say so. But where will you go? Are you going back to work? Will they let you?”

Tom sighed.

“I can't go back, Katey. Tomorrow morning, I shall be appearing at Guilford Magistrates Court to be charged with a criminal offence. I guess you must have known that was coming. Either that or you're grounded until you catch up with your homework. Then I'll go on to SW1 and stay there. But we'll keep in touch, you and I. Let's talk every day, by phone. Call me whenever you like, and come to see me. But please don't leave your Mum on her own in the evening or overnight. Not for a while …”

“Not until you come back.”

“That's right. It won't be long. You do understand, don't you? You and I have just got to be really good friends again. I couldn't stand it if I lost that.”

“You won't, Dad,” she said, in a whisper. “We'll
always
be friends now, you and me. And Mum will come round. She loves you. I'm sure you know that.”

“I hope so.”

He rose from the chair.

“You'd best go and check that Mum's okay. See you later.”

She reached up to kiss him then left the room.

*

Jo burst through the door of the Thonburi Thai Restaurant in High Street, three minutes late and with an apologetic expression already in place, and peered round the softly-lit room. Her search eventually reached the huge shaven-headed man in the corner booth, and she averted her eyes quickly as she realised he was staring straight back at her with a sly smirk on his face. She eased herself up onto a stool at the bar, turning her back to him. After ordering a tonic water and settling herself to wait for her dinner date, she became aware that the man had got up from his seat and was heading towards her.

The man stopped behind her. Tight black T-shirt, black jeans, black leather jacket, stubble, and earring.

“You're late!”

A familiar voice with an unfamiliar growl. Jo spun round.

“Oh, my God!” she shrieked.

Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at them. Then Jo started laughing.

“What on Earth? You scared the life out of me!”

He leaned a long way down to whisper.

“Sshhh… I'm under cover, remember?”

“And this is your idea of being invisible, is it?”

She laughed again and looked him up and down.

“Have you grown?”

The two-inch heels of his cowboy boots placed his earring at approximately the same height as the picture rail which ran round the four walls.

“Only a bit. Anyway,” he did a camp 360-degree twirl, arms spread outwards, “what do you think?”

“I think we'd better take a seat before someone calls the police.”

They went to the corner booth and sat down. Jo smiled across at him.

“Actually, you look absolutely great.”

“Go on, you're just saying that.”

“No, you really do. And I hope you're not going to ditch the new image just because you're fired. Well, laid off, anyway.”

David shook his head.

“What happened to the sabbatical on full pay? Have you found someone cheaper? We can haggle if you like.”

Jo looked serious.

“No, it's just that John Mackay is
not
going to re-open the case. As far as he's concerned there's no reason to. Says it's just a strange encounter on Delaware described by an unreliable witness, stacked up against a mountain of police evidence pointing to a solid conviction. And when he puts it like that – in the cold light of day – it sounds perfectly reasonable.”

“So you found nothing more?”

“I spent the last six days, including the weekend going through the police records for the five other users caught on camera with Jack, plus the two observed through police surveillance and the four who came forward and gave evidence at the trial. Details of convictions, appearances as witnesses in other cases, medical files – including any emergency hospitalisation and programmed treatment for addiction – and incidents where they had been picked up and not charged. There seemed nothing to link any of them directly to Mickey Kadawe.”

“Massive job.”

“Yes, massive job, particularly for a weekend. Good thing, of course, is that since the amnesty all the legit ones are on PROLIST. That cuts it down a hell of a lot. All dealers had to disclose the names of their customers to become Licensed Street Traders and get on the police register. Makes the links a lot easier to find – which makes it all the more conclusive, of course, when you
can't
find a link.”

“What about Sammo? Any links to him are sort of links to Kadawe, aren't they?”

“Well, including Laser, four of the six captured with Jack on CCTV were Sammo's customers. That doesn't mean, of course, that Sammo necessarily
sent
the other three to meet with Jack; and, even if he had, Jack may or may not have sold them drugs. And given John Mackay's point that dealers and traders in the same area would all know each other, well … it all adds up to nothing really.”

“I wish now that I'd pressed Sammo about Laser's meeting with Jack on Delaware, but at the time I was desperate to get to the Duke.”

“It wouldn't have made any difference, and I reckon that was the right thing to do at the time.” Jo paused for a moment, choosing her words. “And I'm starting to think that there really isn't a conspiracy in this anyway.”

David's eyes widened.

“What about this feeling of yours that Kadawe must be involved? You seemed pretty sure before.”

“Well, it's all the wasted days looking, I guess. And even if there
was
a set-up, as you yourself said, it fits just as snugly with Jack
being
a drug dealer as with him
not
being one – perhaps even more so.”

“And I still believe that's true,” said David. “Something my friend Laser said – it's still a war zone on the streets between the dealers. I guess sometimes we choose to believe that genuine progress had been made, rather than just the legalising of a free market still backed up with threats and violence. But I also think it's important that you get closure on this; that it's not hanging around in your head. So if you do want any more help, then let me know. I mean it. We did a good job as far as it went, didn't we?”

“You mean
you
did a good job.”

“Well, yes, but I didn't like to say that.”

She laughed again.

“Let's eat,” she said.

He waved to the waiter who shot across the room with a couple of menus and the wine list, before retiring a short distance, poised for a quick return.

“Tell you what,” said David. “I've never been served as fast in my life as I have this last week.”

Jo's mobile sounded. She checked the screen for the caller's ID.

“My toy-boy,” she said, putting the phone back into her shoulder bag. “I'll call him later.”

David raised his eyebrows. “Your what?”

“Detective Sergeant Sebastian Carter. My number two at Leicester. He called me a couple of days ago, just to ask how I was – he
said
. Anyway, he went on to ask quite a lot more than that and I'm meeting him in London for a weekend soon. Separate rooms, of course,” she added, with a serious frown. “At least to start with.”

“Well, I'm shocked
and
shattered,” said David. “And I always thought – you and me – you know, with you always asking me out …”

“Well, I shouldn't worry too much, because I can't see anything coming of it,” she said. “Nothing ever does. And I don't see Johnny Mac approving of it either. But Seb's ever so nice and he looked after me really well when I was there. Even so, I mean, he's
only
a sergeant,” she added, with mock disgust. “What could we possibly have in common?”

“Well, I know what he's got in common with
me
,” said David. “He seems to think the world of Jo Cottrell.”

“Aw, thank you,” said Jo, and she patted his hand.

“And if it doesn't work out,” he said, “and you decide it would be great fun making a complete fool of a much older man, then … well, you know where to find me. And based on recent experience, I think I can guarantee getting you the fastest food in the UK wherever we eat.”

*

They left the restaurant at around 10.30 and David walked Jo to her car a hundred yards or so down the street.

“Are you back in Meadow Village?” she asked.

“No, still at Linny's. I promised I'd be there when they got back – that's tomorrow. So I thought I'd stay there this week. Bit like a holiday, really.”

They stopped at Jo's car.

“What are you going to tell Maggie?”

“I'm going to tell her I'm still looking – which I will be doing, through the records. I'll carry on until Johnny Mac tells me to stop. And while there's a chance, however small, that I might find something, I don't want to dash her hopes. Even so, I feel a bit of a coward for not being more honest with her, I suppose, but I need to think about what to say.” She paused, and then looked up at David. “Do you think I'm being a coward?”

“Not at all. I'd do the same – take my time and be as gentle as I could. And who's to know – something might just turn up.”

She smiled. “Thanks, David. You always say what I want to hear – well most of the time, anyway.”

Week 12; Friday, 12 June …

Mags was sitting in her office-cum-studio, dabbing distractedly at a canvas on an easel near the window. The room mirrored Tom's own office in the other wing – a converted dressing room extended into a small bedroom. This was where she carried out her work for the family businesses and for her campaign activities. In the little spare time she had, she pursued her passion for landscape painting, mainly in oils and acrylics, so there were always five or six unfinished works dotted around the room.

She was wearing a loose open-weave top, which looked suitably like an artist's smock. Her hair was pulled back and held in place by a wide blue band which exactly matched the colour of her calf-length leggings. She appeared thin and pale, but Tom wondered at just how beautiful she looked all the same.

“Just to let you know, Mags,” he said, almost choking on the words, “I'm moving out for a while, going to stay at …”

“SW1, yes, Katey told me,” she said, without looking up from her task. “I wondered if you were going to mention it.”

“I just thought it best …”

“Yes, it is. I would just like to be informed, that's all. Like about what happened this morning, for instance.”

“Well, exactly what we expected to happen. I was charged with – you know what. I pleaded not guilty …”

Mags looked up from her painting. “How can you be not guilty? I mean of supplying the capsule?”

“Dan's advice. I can change the plea before the trial, but in the meantime it means I can extract myself from professional life with some dignity – if that's possible now. He said if I pleaded guilty it would precipitate an automatic and immediate surrender of my political status. I didn't know that; I guess I should have.”

Mags looked away again. “And when is the trial?”

“In five months; on the 3rd November.”

She turned back to him.

“That's a long time to be dragging this out. What happened to the NJR's fast tracking policy? Doesn't it apply to the people who came up with it?”

“You're right, it is outside the guidelines. It was scheduled later to allow any media interest to fade away. It wasn't my doing but I'm glad, if only for Katey's sake.”

Mags remained silent and resumed her painting. Tom stood watching her for a long time before speaking.

“Mags, I thought … you and me … I mean, after what happened at the funeral. The way you …”

“I've been going over that in my mind. I really don't know what came over me.”

“Look,” he said. “I'm hurting too, you know. I've got the guilt as well as the pain …”

“Yes,” she snapped, spinning round on him as she spoke, “and I'll make sure you never …”

The expression in his eyes stopped her words, and Tom saw her own eyes soften, as a feeling of sadness briefly replaced the anger. Then she turned back again to the easel.

“Take care,” he said, and left the room.

*

Tom arrived at Vauxhall Bridge Road at just after 1.00 pm, parked in the underground garage and took his holdall, suitcase and laptop up to the apartment. Before unpacking anything else, he set up his laptop in its docking station on the glass and chrome dining table in the semi-circular living room, whose floor-to-ceiling windows provided a 180-degree sweeping view of Westminster and beyond. He then typed a letter of resignation to the prime minister. It was as stark and impersonal as he could make it without being unprofessional. He sealed the envelope and tucked it into the gilded frame of the mirror over the console table, feeling a sense of relief, albeit tempered by the thought of Andrew's delight at receiving it. Then he carried his bags into the master bedroom to unpack.

Afterwards he drove out to his constituency home in Marlburgh, parking his car outside and walking along Westbourne Avenue to the Party office. Sitting behind the desk-cum-counter in the reception area was a smartly dressed girl in her mid-twenties with short spiky red hair. She almost jumped to her feet as he entered and looked at him wide-eyed with alarm.

“Mr B-B-Brown,” she stammered. “I didn't expect …”

“It's okay, Zara,” he said, with a reassuring smile, “I didn't expect to be here either. Is Jenny around?”

“Y-yes.” She pointed behind her. “Through there. Shall I tell her that …?”

“No, I think I can just about find my way.”

“I know, but …”

“It's okay, really.”

Tom walked through reception into the large inner office, which was empty. The premises were too big now for his small constituency team of three full-time and two part-time staff. The place had been initially selected to accommodate his project team of between twelve and fifteen people when he was in Opposition. Along the left-hand side of the area was a line of four smaller rooms. The one on the far right was his office, and at the opposite end was the one that had been Grace's. The middle two were used for meetings and at present had been converted into one by opening the folding partition between them.

He could hear someone in his office. He tapped gently on the half-open door as he stepped inside. Jenny was dressed in baggy jeans, a loose top and trainers and was kneeling in front of the oak sideboard, the bottom drawer of which was pulled out as she transferred its contents into a plastic container at her side. She turned to the door at the sound of the tapping. Her expression changed to the same look he had just seen on Zara's face and she rose quickly to her feet.

She was crying.

“Oh … Home Secretary … Mr Brown …”

She broke down completely, leaning against the sideboard for support. Tom went across to her, turning her to face him and holding her closely against him.

“Jenny, Jenny,” he said. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I'm so sorry,” she sobbed, “so sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Jenny, you've nothing to be …”

“For everything,
everything
! For Jack, oh, poor Jack, poor you.”

She stopped, shaking almost uncontrollably. Tom held her until she was calm and still.

“And for this,” she added. “For all this.”

She half-turned, still in his embrace, and swept her arm around the room. “For what they've asked me to do to your office, to
our
office.”

“What have they asked you to do?”

“Well, clear it out ready for …”

She stopped again, not wanting to continue, but more composed now. Tom released her slowly, keeping one arm round her shoulders, and looked around his former place of work.

“That's okay, Jenny. I came here today to ask you to do the very same thing.”

“Oh, no!” She turned into his arms again.

“It's alright. There's no choice, Jenny. Let's sit down.”

Jenny took her usual seat at his desk and Tom pulled his own chair round to the front so they could sit together. He reached across and took her hand in his.

“Look, I'll bring you right up to date with where I am,” he said, “on one condition.”

“Okay,” she said, in a small voice. “What's that?”

“You make us both a cup of coffee first. Now do you think you can do that without scalding yourself?”

She smiled “I'll try.”

Tom walked around his former domain, looking first into Grace's office and then the main area, noting all the small personal items which had made it such a happy place for him to work. The posters on the walls – a lot more of pop stars and sporting heroes than there were of Party and campaign propaganda – small ornamental touches to work stations – miniature soft toys, novelty pen holders and decorative magnets.

This is where it
really
ends, he thought – right here, right now. Not with a letter to his boss, but with the last moments he would spend in the place which had been the launch pad for his meteoric political career. From retiring SBS colonel to Home Secretary in just over seven years – an impressive trajectory, he used to think, and similar to that of his military ascent through the ranks. But he knew now that it was almost pedestrian compared with the angle and speed of the catastrophic free-fall he had just experienced.

He was brought out of his trance by Jenny emerging from the kitchen with a tray containing a cafetière, two mugs and a small milk jug, a welcome display of normality. She placed it on the desk and took her seat. She smiled across at him.

“No biscuits, I'm afraid,” she said. “I finished the last and haven't got round to …”

“That's okay.”

She squeezed down the plunger of the cafetière and filled both their cups.

“Thanks,” said Tom, adding some milk and taking a sip. “Now, where was I?”

“You were holding my hand,” she said, sheepishly.

“So I was.” He laughed and took hold of her hand again. “You're good for me, you know, Jenny. Whatever happens, we won't lose touch with each other. I promise. I want us to carry on being friends. That's if it's okay with you, of course,” he added.

“Of course it is,” she said.

“So,” he sighed. “Down to business. Here's where we are.” He drew in a deep breath. “Today I officially became a criminal – or more accurately, I was charged with a criminal offence. I've been released on bail pending trial on the 3
^rd
November – five months from now.”

She swallowed and shook her head, the tears appearing in her eyes again.

“And the charge? Assisting a prisoner in taking his own life. My only son, Hugh Jacob – known as Jack – Tomlinson-Brown.”

They sat in silence for a long time before Tom could continue.

“Jack had asked that I help him to – let's say – prepare for a way out if necessary. I smuggled a capsule into the holding centre for him and he took it there and then while I was there. I had no idea he was going to do that. I don't know what I thought looking back …”

He took a deep breath. Jenny was crying again.

“Anyway, that's about it, Jenny. I pleaded not guilty – but I
am
guilty – it was just a technicality so I stayed in control of when and how I left office. Because you can see, can't you, that it's simply not possible for me to continue under those circumstances? Anyway,” he added, looking around the office, “it seems Mr Donald is well ahead of me in terms of closure.”

“He told me a couple of days ago that you wouldn't be coming back,” said Jenny. “I didn't want to believe it, but … And that's why you made me jump – I wasn't expecting you. I was just making sure none of your personal things would get lost in the changeover when someone new arrives.”

“Well, I really appreciate that, Jenny. But what about you? Have you had any assurances about your job?”

“Only that I'll be kept on and be able to apply for any vacancies. I can understand it, I suppose. Whoever replaces you, well …they'll want to appoint their own PA just like … you … appointed … me.” She stumbled over the words.

“You'll be fine,” said Tom, who realised that he was still holding her hand. He gave it a squeeze and released it. “I guess I'll retain enough credibility to give a meaningful reference. And as I said – and I mean it – we'll keep in touch. Anyway, let's get to work!”

After they had finished sorting through the rest of his personal effects, Tom walked back for his car and pulled it in to the small car park behind the office. They just about squeezed two of the three containers into the limited space behind the seats and put the other on the front passenger seat itself. Then he went back inside.

He kissed the receptionist briefly on the cheek, tasting the salt of her running tears.

“You take care, Zara, and thank you for everything.”

Back in his office, he gave Jenny another long hug and felt her body gently shake with her silent sobbing.

“Hey, cut that out,” he said. “You'll set me off in a minute.”

They eventually stepped away from each other.

“Oh, just one thing,” said Jenny, anxiously. “I don't know whether I'm supposed to tell you this, but Grace asked me to let her know if you came to the office. To be fair, I think she just wanted to speak to you, probably to check how you are. Is it okay with you if I tell her? Now that Zara has seen you, it might be awkward if …”

“No, that's fine,” said Tom. “You must let her know. No problem at all.”

“Also, she said for me to find out where you were staying. I don't have to tell her that, of course.”

“No, that's okay as well. I'm staying at Balmaha for the time being. Hey, perhaps she's thinking of offering me a job. What do you think?”

“Well if she does, and you need a PA …”

“Then I'll be in touch right away. You have my word as a gentleman.”

They laughed again, and Tom left, placing a final kiss on Jenny's cheek.

*

Tom thought about staying in Marlburgh overnight and travelling back to London the following morning, but watching the news coverage of the enquiry and his appearance in court, he thought better of it. People would quickly realise he was there – they would see his car outside and the lights on in the apartment – and he could just imagine how quickly the crowd would gather. Well-wishing constituents he could deal with – just about – but not a media siege.

Before leaving he phoned Katey.

“Hi, Princess. Did you see the news?”

“Yes,” she replied, in a small voice.

“Any reaction there yet?”

“A lot more reporters here now. About three times as many as the vultures who've been here all week. Not nice for Mum; not that she's planning to go out or anything.”

“Look I don't like to ask you to do this, but could you just go to the gates and tell them I'm at my constituency home in Marlburgh. That's the gospel truth at this precise moment. I'll be heading back to SW1 in around half an hour, but they don't need to know that. Just don't answer any questions. Are you okay to do that?”