Missing (59 page)

‘I felt sure Jacqueline would have left her some kind of note,’ Miles said to Vivienne on the phone later, when he and Kelsey were back at home in Kensington, ‘but there are no emails or texts, and nothing’s turned up in the post either.’

‘Did she have a lawyer?’ Vivienne asked. ‘Might she have left something with him?’

‘All he has is her will, which I witnessed myself a year ago. As you might expect she’s left everything to Kelsey, though Kelsey’s so angry she’s threatening to give it all away, the jewellery, the paintings, and whatever money might turn up, since Jacqueline withdrew it all from the bank.’

‘Did the police find any cash at the house?’

‘Not yet, but she could have opened another bank account, though as far as I know they haven’t turned up any statements or chequebooks to say so.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I guess it’ll all come clear in the end, but right now Kelsey’s my main concern. And the funeral, of course.’

‘Will it happen in Devon?’

‘Yes, for Kelsey’s sake I think her mother should be cremated and the ashes buried in the family plot at St Pancras in Widecombe.’

‘When will it be?’

‘The cremation’s on Friday at three. The interment some time next week, we haven’t fixed a day yet. Will you come?’

‘Of course, if you want me to, but what about Kelsey? I’m sure she won’t want me there.’

‘At the moment she wants nothing to do with either the cremation or the interment, but that could change by the time Friday comes round, so let’s play it by ear for the next few days. How’s my boy?’

‘Right now he’s squashing baked beans into his mouth with his fingers and using his spoon to bang his tray.’

‘So that’s what I can hear.’ He gave a long, weary sigh. ‘I’d love to come over and relax in his world for a while, but I can’t leave Kelsey.’

‘Of course not.’

Changing the subject, he said, ‘I spoke to Al Kohler earlier. He tells me that the sums raised on Saturday were even higher than we thought. Which isn’t me trying to get out of my five grand, by the way, but it seems I wasn’t the only one prepared to make up the shortfall.’

She smiled. ‘We’re totalling almost four hundred thousand now that Sky and our City gent have kicked in,’ she said. ‘A very healthy sum to get our good works under way. We’re calling it The Sharon and Keith Goss Trust, by the way, and to quote Stella, Sharon was tickled pink when she found out.’

‘How is Sharon, really?’

‘Tired after all Saturday’s excitement, and as nervous as you’d expect about starting more treatment on Wednesday. Having been through it before, she knows what she’s in for. However, knowing the children are going to be taken care of by a professional, and that she’s going to have transport to and from the hospital is helping a lot.’

‘No donor yet?’

‘With her rare tissue type it would be nothing short of a miracle if someone else was found now, but let’s not give up hope, because you never know. Where’s Kelsey at the moment?’

‘Upstairs, asleep. Today’s been quite an ordeal so I’ll leave her for a while and probably send out for something to eat, because the last thing either of us needs is to be stared at and whispered about in a restaurant.’

Since Jacqueline’s suicide had made most of the front pages that day, it wasn’t hard to imagine how much attention they’d attract if they were to go out. ‘Did you see Al’s piece in the
Guardian
?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I did. The Critch won’t be too happy about it, that’s for sure, but then he’s unlikely to be effervescing with joy over anything that’s been written about him today.’

‘It’s amazing – and more than deserved – the way the rest of the press has turned on him.’

‘Well, once we knew about Jacqueline it was fairly certain he’d be in for a savaging. He can’t be held responsible of course, but the timing was very bad for him.’

‘Will he survive it?’

‘Possibly, but hopefully not. I take it you know his
and
Justine’s computers were carted off by the police this morning.’

‘Yes, I heard. So an arrest could be imminent?’

‘Depends what they find. Chances are they’ve both erased all evidence by now, but we’ll see. What matters more at the moment is getting through the rest of this week with as little attention focused our way as possible. Kelsey certainly doesn’t need it, and I don’t think the rest of us do either.’

Deciding not to tell him about her own bombardment throughout the day, she said, ‘It would be a wonderful irony if Critchley’s and Justine’s disgrace were to replace Jacqueline’s tragedy in the media.’

‘Actually, I wouldn’t rule it out,’ he responded, wryly, ‘because if my sources are correct then our luck on that front could begin as early as tomorrow or Wednesday.’

‘Listen to me,’ Critchley growled into his mobile phone, ‘the woman topped herself on Saturday night, my paper came out on Sunday morning, so unless the clocks have started going backwards over there in Canary Wharf, don’t try pinning the tail on this donkey, OK? There, that’s my statement. You have it, now goodbye.’

As he rang off he told his chauffeur to speed it up, even though the traffic on Aldwych was gridlocked, then checking to see who was calling now, he shut the phone down and tossed it over his shoulder to join that morning’s papers on the back shelf.

‘Fucking morons can’t work out the fucking time,’ he muttered furiously to himself. ‘Did you read all that crap again today, Paco?’ he demanded. ‘This is the third morning in a row, and still the idiots don’t seem
to
know which comes first, Saturday night or Sunday morning. They’re twisting the facts to make a headline.’

‘Which is something you’d know all about,’ Justine retorted when he snarled the same words down the phone to her a few minutes later.

‘Don’t get smart with me. Your ass is on the line here too.’

‘I’ve already resigned,’ she reminded him.

‘And you think that’s going to save you?’

‘No, I’ll have to pay for what I did, I know that, but I’ve already explained to the police the kind of pressure I was under to keep my job. Not that pressure’s a crime, but it’s pretty uncomfortable when it’s on, which you’re obviously finding out. Can’t be very pleasant having half your own profession baying for your blood, but you know what beats me is that you didn’t see it coming. How’s that for arrogance, I ask myself. Or was it just blind stupidity?’

‘You stitched me up with that Barrett woman,’ he growled.

‘Not true. I told you exactly who she was and what she was about – it was you who decided to slant the story the way you did, and I warned you when I walked out that it was going to bury you. You weren’t listening though, were you? You were too high on the prospect of making Avery, how did you put it, “squirm on the end of my line” – bad metaphor, by the way – to realise that using his wife and son to get back at him was as good as putting the noose round your own neck. But I did see it coming, which is why I walked you right into it.’

‘Oh, so Justine, the great clairvoyant, knew the woman was going to bump herself off? Yeah, really.’

‘
That
was just icing. So whatever else you might think of me, Critch, remember this, I’m not nearly as dumb as you. Goodbye. I’ll see you in court.’

‘They’ll never get me there,’ he roared. ‘Unlike some, I haven’t committed a crime,’ but she’d already gone.

He was still seething fifteen minutes later when he stormed out of the lift and across the newsroom, where heads came up in his wake. They were all still watching, and listening, as he walked into his office to find two security guards waiting.

‘What the hell’s this?’ he demanded, dropping his briefcase and shrugging off his coat.

‘Good morning, sir,’ one of the guards responded. ‘I must inform you that you have ten minutes in which to clear your desk, and then we have instructions to escort you from the building. Should you need it, there’s a plastic sack on your chair for your personal belongings.’

Critch’s jaw dropped. Then, getting it, he turned to look thunderously out at the newsroom. ‘OK, some jerk’s having a laugh at my expense. Ha, ha, ha, very funny. Now let’s all get to work, shall we?’

‘It’s not a joke, Mr Critchley,’ the guard told him. ‘Mr Dickson, the proprietor of this newspaper, issued the instructions himself.’

Critchley’s face turned white. ‘I know who he is,’ he snarled, ‘and now I know you’re not serious, because there’s no way Dickson’s going to fire the man responsible for doubling the circulation of this paper. So if you’ll take yourself off …’

The guard glanced at his watch. ‘You’re down to eight minutes now, sir,’ he told him impassively.

Critch stalked to the door. ‘Anita, get Dickson on the line,’ he shouted to his secretary.

‘Get him yourself,’ she shouted back.

Critch’s eyes nearly popped out.

‘God, that felt good,’ Anita grinned at her colleague.

Critch turned back and grabbed up the phone. ‘Pauline,’ he barked when Dickson’s PA answered, ‘put him on
now
.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Critchley, Mr Dickson is in a meeting and has asked not to be disturbed.’

‘If he’s not on this line in the next thirty seconds, I’ll come up there and disturb him myself.’

The guard looked at his watch again.

‘Hang on, Mr Critchley, Mr Dickson has just come out and he’s willing to take your call.’

A moment later the proprietor’s gruff Scottish burr came down the line. ‘Critch, I’m sorry it has to happen this way, but with the way things are going—’

‘Yeah, I’ll tell you how they’re going,’ Critch burst in. ‘What about circulation and profit and shareholders? Did they suddenly disappear out the window, or do we want to start this discussion again?’

‘They will disappear if as many subscribers and advertisers pull out as have threatened during the past few days. The heat’s on, Critch, and it’s not going to cool down until you’re out of here. Sorry, but that’s the way it goes.’

Critch’s jaw flapped up and down as he struggled for words. ‘I’m going to sue your ass for this.’

‘You’re welcome to try,’ and the line went dead.

As he put the phone down Critch looked at the security guards again, then without uttering another word he began stuffing his personal belongings into the black plastic sack.

With two minutes still to go he started the long walk across a silent newsroom to the lift, a guard either side
of
him, the bulky sack clutched to his chest. He wanted to shout and rail at them, remind them who was responsible for their Christmas bonuses and lavish expense accounts, but he said nothing. He merely kept his eyes straight ahead, knowing what was waiting for him out on the street, because some treacherous bastard in here would already have called up his mates to tip them off.

And sure enough, as he exited the revolving doors on the ground floor a plethora of flashing lights, TV cameras and microphones was shoved in his face, all wanting to record the Critch’s humiliation as he left
The News
and began the next long walk to the nearest Tube.

‘You haven’t heard the last of this yet, Avery,’ he suddenly growled into a camera. ‘So don’t even think it.’

‘That man so needs to get over himself,’ Kayla remarked, as the screen changed and Vivienne turned back to her computer. ‘Do you think Miles has seen it yet?’

‘As it’s been shown every hour on the hour since ten this morning, I should think he’s fed up of seeing it by now,’ Vivienne answered. ‘Can you email me with a list of the successful bidders, we need to start scheduling the work. Which reminds me, has anyone been in touch from Sky yet, to say whether they’re interested in filming the auction results in action?’

‘Yeah, and they definitely are, but we need to check with the bidders first, in case any of them want to stay anonymous. List of successful candidates coming up,’ she announced, and with a cheery flourish she clicked the mouse to send. ‘You will see,’ she said, as the email
dropped
into Vivienne’s inbox, ‘that we still don’t know who bid for Theo. If she, or he, doesn’t get in touch soon, we’re going to find ourselves short of fifteen grand.’

As Vivienne scanned the list of eleven she said, ‘Financially that won’t be a huge disaster, but in PR terms it won’t do us any good, because someone’s bound to accuse us of rigging the bids for TV ratings.’

Kayla shrugged. ‘We’ve got the money, or pledges, now, so what’s the difference?’

‘It’ll damage our credibility for when we do it again, and I don’t have to tell you how many enquiries we’ve already had.’

Kayla grinned. ‘Alice was right about this putting us on the map,’ she declared, with a triumphant punch in the air. ‘We are like so on our way to the big time. Anyway, it’s not long since the auction, so our mystery caller could still be in touch. Should we ask Sky to broadcast a request for them to come forward?’

Vivienne’s eyebrows rose as she got up from her chair. ‘That would be a last resort,’ she said, starting to pack her briefcase. ‘Alice and Angus are coming over for supper tonight, if you’d like to join us. Pete’s going to try and make it too, if he can get away from
Belle Amie
.’

‘That’ll be great, thanks,’ Kayla said. Then, watching Vivienne tuck a sleeping Rufus more warmly into his buggy, ‘What’s happening with Miles now? Is he still in London?’

‘No, he took Kelsey back to Devon this morning,’ Vivienne answered, going for her coat. ‘Jacqueline’s body is being transported to a funeral director’s in Bovey Tracey tomorrow. Cremation’s on Friday.’

‘Have you decided if you’re going yet?’

Vivienne shook her head. ‘I want to, for Miles, but not if it’s going to upset Kelsey.’

‘But if she’s not going herself …’

‘She might change her mind. Anyway, time for me to get this little horror home before he wakes up and wants his tea. Come over about seven. It’s only shepherd’s pie and a supermarket dessert, but Angus is bringing some good wine he tells me.’

To her relief, when Vivienne wheeled the buggy outside, there was no sign of the press, in spite of the number of calls she’d received throughout the day asking for her response to the Critch’s abrupt departure and his threatening comment to Miles. Since anything she had to say about the creep was unprintable anyway, she’d followed Miles’s lead and referred all press enquiries to Stefan, the lawyer, who’d prepared a statement on Miles’s behalf wishing Gareth Critchley every success in a new career.