Heaven's Door (7 page)

She looked away again.

“Do we really have anything to say to each other?” she said, turning back to him, now with a look of defiance.

Tom looked into her eyes and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Yes, we do,” he whispered. “Let's go in.”

*

Grace sat down at the workstation-cum-desk in her compact modern office which featured white walls and ceiling and a huge picture window overlooking the Thames directly opposite the London Eye. She had been a relative unknown when Andrew appointed her to the newly-created function of Ministerial Director of Justice, a role in which she was charged with expediting the transformation of government policy into operational effectiveness. The position exercised considerable influence, if not direct authority, over the machinery and resources of the police and judiciary services. In addition it had strong links to domestic-based operations of the armed forces, which was the rationale for her being allocated a base in the Headquarters of the Ministry of Defence – known as the Main Building.

It was a job in which she had quickly proved her worth in the rapid deployment of the NJR's new powers, an achievement which was as much her own personal triumph as it was the officially-spun ‘team effort.'

“So, what is it we have to talk about?”

“About us, of course,” said Tom.

“It seems there is no ‘us',” replied Grace.

“There is and there always will be,” said Tom. “Grace, you
know
that I have strong feelings for you; feelings I've struggled to keep under control. We've grown so close over the past few years.” He shook his head in exasperation. “I just don't know how we've got to this state in just a few hours. I'm not sure what I've done wrong and what you want me to do next.”

“Do next?” Grace echoed. “Okay, Superman, here's what you can do next. Get up there into the stratosphere, or whatever, and orbit the Earth in reverse a few times. I understand from the movie that this will turn back time by an hour or so. To just before we sat down on the Terrace would be fine.
That's
what I want you to do next. Other than that, there's nothing, thank you.”

“That's very amusing, Grace, but not very helpful,” said Tom. “I am trying to understand why, since you called me this morning, we have suddenly become strangers. Worse, in fact, more like enemies. I'm assuming this is all because last night I had my very first civilised conversation for nearly three years with my wife, without getting clearance from you beforehand. This, of course, makes me an evil philanderer and you a jilted lover, the victim of heinous two-timing and monstrous insensitivity. That's it, isn't it?”

Grace was looking down at her hands, clasped together on top of the desk.

“Okay, Grace. Let me ask you one question at a time. Am I right in saying this all stems from my talking with Mags last night?”

Grace did not answer.

“Tap once on the desk for yes and twice for no,” he said.

Grace remained silent.

“For the sake of expediency, I'll assume that's a ‘yes'. Next question – apart from what I briefly told you this morning, do you know anything about the content of mine and Mags's conversation last night?”

Grace said nothing. She was still looking down at her hands. Tom reached across and separated them, tapping twice with her right hand on the desk.

“That's a no, then,” he said.

Grace still showed no sign of softening.

“The next one needs more than a yes-no answer, I'm afraid. What precisely do you think went on last night between Mags and me?”

She looked up and straight into his eyes, leaning forward a long way across the desk.

“You fucked her!”

Tom leaned back in the chair and looked in shock at Grace whose eyes continued to blaze into his.

“And what if I did!” he shouted back. “Next question – what the hell has it got to do with you?” He got up from the chair and began to pace round the room. “Look, Mags and I had a grown-up, friendly – yes, friendly – chat last night. For the first time for God knows how long, we had a pleasant, civilised” – he searched for a suitably bland word – “encounter without yelling at each other. It seems to have stabilised the relationship – a bit. I thought that's what everyone in the Party wanted, for Christ's sake. The Family Values Champion of the World behaving like he actually means it.”

“God, that's exactly what
he
just said.”

“Sorry? What did you say?” he asked.

“I said” – she hesitated – “that's what they all think.”

“No, that's not what you said.”

“Okay. What I said was, ‘that's … what he says'. Andrew – and everybody else in
the Party
. You're right, it is best for
the Party
. And it's
the Party
that's important, isn't it? Not the living, breathing people in it. So I'm sure our Leader will be ecstatic about you and Maggie getting all lovey-dovey again. And his sheep will all be bleating in unison!”

“For God's sake, Grace. ‘Lovey-dovey!' Is that how far we've descended in this argument?” He breathed in deeply. “We've got to sort this out,” he went on. “We both have a meeting tomorrow with the Justice Committee. We can't go into it like this.”

“Give me some credit,” said Grace, calming down. “I'm not exactly going to bring this up under any other business, am I?”

She sighed, momentarily looking hurt and vulnerable again. Then she seemed to recover quickly, staring at him evenly.

“Look, I need time to think. So just to help me know what to think about, answer me this simple question. My turn, after all. I want an honest answer – I want you to swear on your children's lives.”

“Christ, Grace, I'm a politician. You can't put me in a position like that.” He realised his response would have been funny if he hadn't been deadly serious.

“Just the one question,” she went on. “Do you feel the same way about me now – tonight – as you did when you sent me that text on your way home
last
night? Remember, on your children's lives.”

Tom hesitated. “Yes,” he said, looking away.

“You're too much of a boy scout to be a half decent liar,” she said quietly. “The answer is no, and you just showed a fairly cavalier attitude to the welfare of your kids.”

Tom was silent, still not meeting her eyes. She stood, turning half to the door and extending her arm, inviting him to leave.

“You've given me what I asked; something to think about,” she said. “Goodnight.”

Tom walked to the door, then stopped and turned back towards her. She had her back to him, appearing to be moving some papers around on her desk.

“Grace,” he said, “did you
really
mean …?”

“Goodnight.”

*

“All of them gave the same two phone numbers, but they're pay-as-you go with false IDs – so we can't confirm the names. And it must be a closed client list, because no one's answering when we call. Must be ignoring anyone not on their contacts list.”

“Can't we just track down the phones? I thought we could do that now.”

“Some sort of blocker, sir, or so the IT bods say. Must be some techie involved who knows what he's doing – or she's doing.”

“Okay, thanks, sergeant.” The Detective Inspector was pacing again, this time backwards and forwards in front of his team in the MIT room. Fifteen pairs of eyes were following him all the way, like spectators watching a tennis match played in slow motion. “Not sure we need to confirm their IDs anyway. I can't think how they could be any other than the same guys.”

He turned to a tall young man in jeans and leather bomber jacket.

“Bradley, statements?”

“Taken, sir. All pretty much identical and consistent with the calls.”

“And the mug shots…?”

“They picked them out. Right away.”

The senior man sighed and stopped pacing for a moment.

“Okay, thank you. Anything else, anyone?”

A large, bulky man wearing a replica of his boss's suit raised his hand.

“One more of the magnificent seven coming in tomorrow morning, guv. Sounds like he's got an interesting tale to tell. Claims he's been to the house and left a calling card.”

“And then there were four,” said the DI. “I suppose we should be delighted. Good work, you lot. Have a nice evening – what's left of it. Then let's get back to it early in the morning.”

*

“There's absolutely nothing wrong,” said Mags.

“Well, Katey seems to think there must be,” said Jack. “And I have to say, once she'd mentioned it, it got me thinking. It's a bit unusual, isn't it? All of us sitting around the same table. So I thought I'd give you a call back in case we should be psyching ourselves up for a big announcement or something?”

“Such as what?” asked Mags.

“You're having a baby, is that it?”

Mags chuckled to herself. “I'm not sure, come to think of it,” she said, “just let me check the calendar. No, everything seems okay …”

“Divorce, then?”

“Now you've gone and spoilt our surprise!”

“What!”

“Oh, my little wolverine! Look, there's no mystery at all. I just thought it's about time we had a nice family dinner together – if that doesn't sound excruciatingly boring. All three of you need reigning in a bit and food was the only suitable bait I could think of.”

“Good choice, in that case,” said Jack. “It works for me. Until tomorrow then.”

“Until tomorrow; eight o'clock.”

*

“Your niece is here, Mr Deverall.”

The nurse opened the door to announce his second visitor. The attractive young woman who entered the room was tall, with a full figure and dark-brown hair which hung in curls onto her shoulders.

“Hi, Vicky,” said Jad, checking his watch. “Seven-thirty; right on time.”

Corporal Barrowclough smiled but said nothing until the nurse had left, closing the door behind her.

“Am I supposed to call you Uncle John or Uncle Sir?” she whispered. “Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be lying down,” she added, sitting in the other chair at the foot of the bed.

“Just thought I'd better make an effort for our first date in my new pad.” He gave her a mischievous smile.

She shook her head and wagged her finger at him. “Now you're not to get over-excited.”

They both laughed.

“Have you brought the book for me?”

“Oh, yes.” She reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out a battered copy of Charles Dickens'
David Copperfield
and handed it to him. He opened the back cover and noted the mini-disk taped inside. “Why did you want that one, by the way?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that particular book. I can't imagine why you'd want to read something as dry as that.”

“I beg your pardon, young lady,” he chastised. “You are speaking about possibly our greatest-ever writer. This is a classic of its time. Nay, a
timeless
classic.”

“Well I stand corrected and admonished,” she said. “I just thought it's not the sort of book to cheer you up and help you get through the day. I would have thought something like
The Complete Works of Winnie the Pooh
would be much better. With the same appendix, of course.”

Jad laughed. “Anyway, I've got another one to read,” he said, picking up George's book and handing it to Vicky. “The first copy,” he said. “Makes me feel very important.”

“Well, you
are
very important,” said Vicky.

“Certainly the focus of resources, if that's a reflection of importance. I've just been thinking, Vicky, just how much I screwed up – all over the place. Responsible for God knows how many innocent deaths and one young guy crippled for ever – probably worse than dead. And everyone still thinks I'm a big hero. How can so many people be wrong?”

“Hey,” she said, “where did this come from? Mike's fine now. And whose deaths?”

“Well, my mother's. How's that for a start? It couldn't get any worse than that, could it? Then the Bradys…”

“The Bradys!” Vicky almost shouted, incredulously. “Now come on, sir. They were responsible for your mother taking her life. Taking theirs was the best thing you could have done – and not just for her.”

“Murdering three kids was such a fine, heroic thing, was it?”

“Yes, as it turned out, and you know that's true. And they weren't kids. Anyway, who are the others?”

“The lady on the third page,” he said, nodding towards the book she was still holding in her other hand.

Vicky opened the book and read the dedication.

“Mrs Holland just stepped in front of her husband at the wrong moment, didn't she? I don't suppose she was actually intending to sacrifice her life for him; it was just instinctive. And anyway, how can that
possibly
be your fault?”

“Well I set the whole thing going, didn't I? If I hadn't shot the Bradys, the gang wouldn't have gone looking for revenge, and Irene Holland would be alive today.”

“Now really, sir, you can't take the credit and the blame for
everything
that's happened since then. Thousands of free-thinking people have made their own feelings known since that happened. Millions – in fact, tens of millions – if you count all the voters. You'll be claiming next that you put Andrew Donald in Downing Street single-handedly. And that will really annoy me, because I voted for him and I want some of the credit! Sir.”

Jad smiled. “Out of the mouths of …” he quoted.

“I'm not a babe,” Vicky interrupted, pouting, “and I'm certainly not a suckling.”

“Do you know what a suckling is?”