The Loyal Servant (6 page)

While she waited for someone to pick up, she read the next paragraph of the article.

Detective Inspector John Leary would not confirm that the existence of a suicide note meant that the Metropolitan Police were not looking for anyone else in connection with the minister’s death, and would only concede its discovery was ‘significant’.

DI Leary has however confirmed that the note was found attached to the MP’s desktop monitor by an unnamed civil servant and that the person in question has been interviewed and eliminated from police enquiries.

Caroline was only vaguely aware of a voice in her ear.

‘Hello? Good morning…
Evening News
, how can I help you?’

Caroline could think of nothing to say. The journalist hadn’t made a mistake. After a few moments the tiny disembodied voice stopped speaking. Caroline hung up. Why would Leary make something like that up? She grabbed her handbag from the dressing table and shook out its contents. Buried at the bottom of the pile was the business card the police constable had given her. She snatched up the phone again and punched in the number for the Belgravia police station. PC Mills would probably have seen the article. He must have known since yesterday how inaccurate it was. And he must know by now that the man in charge of the investigation had lied to the press. Finally the ringing stopped and someone at the other end asked if they could help her.

‘PC Mills please.’

‘Just a moment. I’ll put you through.’ Hold music started to play. Caroline pulled the phone from her ear and hit the speakerphone button. As the Lighthouse Family track distorted through the tiny speaker, Pete heaved himself onto his side and moaned something incoherent. Caroline started to pace the room, the floorboards creaking noisily under her feet. As the music continued to play she thought of the young PC’s sad smile, his open, honest face. He’d told her she could speak to him about what had happened. He’d seemed like one of the good guys – could she trust him? The music stopped and Caroline lifted the phone back to her ear, unsure what she would say to him.

‘Hello?’ It was the woman who’d answered the phone. ‘I’m afraid PC Mills isn’t on duty today. What is it concerning?’

‘Martin Fox – the minister who—’ Caroline stopped, unsure how much she should say.

‘Can anyone else help? I can put you through to Inspector Leary, if you like.’

Caroline stabbed the call end button and stared down at the phone.

7

A Sunday morning jogger dodged around Caroline and muttered something as he went by. Minty growled a warning bark at him.

‘It’s all right, girl. He’s just a silly man.’ Caroline watched the jogger disappear into the next turning. ‘In very silly shorts.’ She turned through 90 degrees then looked down at a battered copy of the
A-Z
. She turned another 90, dragging the dog with her and tangling Minty’s lead around her legs. She checked the nearest street sign.

‘Looks like we’ve already walked past it.’

The dog let out a grumbling whine while Caroline untangled the lead. They hurried to the next junction and stopped on the corner of Martin Fox’s street. Caroline looked up the road and saw three men standing on the pavement outside a house halfway up. Two of them wore flapping raincoats; the third sported a leather jacket, with a long-lensed camera strapped across his chest.

‘More reporters.’ Caroline sighed and the dog did too.

An hour earlier she’d forced her way through the few remaining journalists outside her own front garden. She ignored their questions and with her head down, a scarf wrapped tight over her unwashed hair, she ran Minty down the road. A couple of energetic souls followed her for a couple of streets, shouting incomprehensible questions at her, but even they lost enthusiasm for the chase when it became clear she wasn’t going to respond.

Before she’d left the house, she’d told Jean she was taking the dog for a good long run in Mountfield Park, but instead of crossing the main road she hurried a disappointed Minty west along Brownlow Road to the train station. A train and two tube journeys later she found herself in a quiet residential street on the fringes of West Kensington. She looked down at Minty, whose tongue was lolling out of her mouth.

‘Poor love, you must be parched.’

She slipped the
A-Z
back into her handbag and retrieved a half litre bottle of Evian. Caroline unstoppered the bottle and poured a little water into her cupped hand. Minty’s tongue seemed to blot it up in less than a second. She poured out the remainder and the dog let out a little yelp. Caroline waved the empty bottle at her. ‘All gone,’ she said.

The movement was enough to snag a reporter’s attention. He turned away from his colleagues and stared right at her. Caroline sank to her knees and pulled her scarf over her head. She managed to manoeuvre the dog to block the journalist’s view. After a few moments crouching on the corner of an unfamiliar street in west London, hiding behind Minty, Caroline began to feel self-conscious and mildly ridiculous.

When she’d thrown on her coat and grabbed the dog’s lead, making a pilgrimage to visit Martin’s house had somehow seemed the right thing to do. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to achieve, but at least she’d felt she was doing something, not just sitting at home in a darkened living room driving herself mad. She stroked the dog’s ears.

‘What was I thinking, Minty, eh?’ She glanced up at the reporter who seemed to have lost interest in her and was chatting to his photographer friend. ‘What on earth was I thinking?’

She stood slowly and wriggled her toes, waiting for the feeling to come back in her feet. Her phone started to ring. She quickly silenced the squawking ringtone and turned away from the three men standing outside Martin Fox’s house.

‘Caroline, where are you?’ Jean said.

‘In the park.’

‘Why are you whispering?’ Jean sighed noisily into the phone. ‘Do you want me to make a start on lunch?’

Caroline glanced at her watch. It was 11.05am. Jean was point making again. One year Caroline fully expected to receive a t-shirt from Jean for Christmas with the words
Unfit Mother
emblazoned across the chest. She took a deep breath before answering.

‘I won’t be much longer. I’ll sort out lunch when I get back. Just leave it – OK?’

‘Please yourself.’ She hung up.

‘Grandma Henderson is in a strop, Minty.’ The dog looked up at her. ‘What do you say? Shall we stay out all day?’

Minty pressed a wet nose into Caroline’s hand and wagged her tail. Caroline turned back to the house as a beige saloon pulled up outside. The two raincoats and leather jacket climbed inside and the car accelerated away with a squeal of tyres.

‘Come on, girl. This may be our chance.’

Caroline ventured further up the street, wondering as she went whether Martin might have hidden a set of keys under a doormat by the front step, or beneath a flowerpot in the shrubbery. She stared straight ahead all the way up the road, trying too hard to assume the pose of a casual dog walker. When they drew level, she finally glanced towards the house.

Her heart sank.

A uniformed police officer was standing sentry at the front door, arms folded behind his back, feet wide apart.

‘Don’t think much of our chances now, Mint.’

As Caroline continued to look at him, the policeman unfolded his arms and took a step down the path. Immediately Caroline dipped into a pocket of her jacket and pulled out a blue plastic bag. She shoved her hand inside and reached down to the pavement. Minty let out a confused grunt that would have done Scooby Doo proud.

‘Sorry girl – just got to look busy.’

Caroline stood up and nodded towards the police officer before hurrying down the street. She reached the end of the road and shoved the plastic bag back in her pocket, the policeman’s view of her obscured by a tall hedge in the neighbouring garden.

‘I think we might be going home.’

Caroline turned to take one last look at the house just as a black cab pulled up outside. A long-legged woman emerged, dressed from head to toe in black. Untidy blonde locks escaped from the baseball cap pulled low over her forehead. The woman made her way to Martin Fox’s front gate and into the garden. Caroline half jogged, half walked back up the street and reached the house just as the policeman was turning back from the front door, the mystery blonde woman having already disappeared inside.

‘Who do you think that is, girl?’

Martin Fox never spoke about his family, even when he asked Caroline about hers. She knew he lived alone. So this woman was what – a relative? A friend? Caroline gazed at the house for a few moments before she realised the policeman was staring right back at her. She threw him a quick smile, carried on up the road and pulled Minty into a phone box on the corner. The dog whined and wrapped herself around Caroline’s legs, trying to find enough floorspace to sit down. She landed heavily on Caroline’s feet. After a few moments the glass walls of the kiosk started to steam up.

‘We can’t stay here.’ Caroline bit her lip and peered through the glass towards the house. ‘What do you think? Shall we go and see if we can speak to her?’ The dog barked. ‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’

Caroline pushed open the door and stopped abruptly. A dark green sedan was pulling up outside the house. The driver climbed out and ran round to a passenger door at the rear and opened it. Something about the cut of his suit made Caroline think he was a policeman. She let the kiosk door close and wiped clear a porthole in the condensation fogging up the glass. The driver ran to the other passenger door and yanked it open. A man stepped onto the pavement, tugging at the bottom of his jacket. Even through steamed glass at a distance of 50 yards, she recognised him as soon as he turned around. It was William King’s chief of staff. Caroline supposed he was visiting to offer his sympathies on behalf of the prime minister. Another figure finally emerged from the roadside passenger door. He followed the Downing Street spin doctor along the path to Martin Fox’s front door, finally turning as his companion said something to the policeman on duty.

Caroline backed away from the glass, stepping on Minty’s tail in the process. She pulled her scarf over her head, hoping desperately Jeremy Prior hadn’t seen her.

8

On Monday morning Caroline took the precaution of entering the department via the underground car park to avoid the remaining reporters still camped out at the front of the building. She took the service lift up to the fourth floor, and reached her desk to find a Post-It stuck on her monitor. The message was written in the neat script of Jeremy Prior’s PA, Lisa. Caroline glanced at Lisa sitting behind her desk at the other end of the office. The poor girl had probably been there since 7am, waiting on Prior’s every whim. The note on the bright pink square of paper informed her the head of the academies division would see her at
8am sharp
. She looked at her watch. It was two minutes to.

She wriggled out of her jacket and tried to ignore the tightening knot in her stomach. All of Sunday afternoon and evening she’d been unable to stop thinking about Prior and his visit to Martin’s house. She could understand why William King’s chief of staff would be there, representing both the prime minister and the party. If she was feeling generous she could even explain Prior’s presence – during his six months at the department as acting head of the academies division he’d worked quite closely with Martin to help extend the programme – it was understandable he might want to express his condolences. But the fact that he’d arrived with King’s right hand man didn’t make any sense at all.

She looked up at Prior’s office and saw him pacing up and down, a mobile phone jammed against his ear. The knot under her ribs twisted tighter as she hurried towards the wide glass-fronted room. She nodded to Lisa when she reached her desk and checked her watch, waiting until the second hand counted down to twelve. Prior was off the phone and sitting behind his desk. Caroline knocked and pushed open the door.

‘One moment,’ he said, without looking up. He moved a sheet of paper from one side of the immense walnut desk to the other, placing it precisely so the sides lined up with the edge of the wood. After a few moments he tipped his head in her direction. He didn’t smile. ‘Come, come. Shut the door behind you.’ He gestured for her to sit down.

She lowered herself slowly onto an uncomfortable straight-backed chair and waited for him to speak again. He leaned his elbows on the desk and templed his fingers, resting his chin on the apex. He scrutinised her through narrowed eyes and said nothing. It was so quiet Caroline could hear her watch ticking.

‘I know I don’t need to impress upon you how serious a situation we find ourselves in,’ he finally said.

Caroline tilted her head down a few degrees, not wanting to commit to a full nod until she had some idea what he was talking about.

‘Very serious indeed.’

She tried to read his expression, wondering whether he was expecting her to jump in and pick up the conversation where he’d left it. But she hadn’t survived in a government department for this long without learning some basic self-preservation skills. Generally, the higher up the food chain someone was, the more difficult they were to deal with. And Prior was more slippery than most. She wasn’t alone in mistrusting him. He had been parachuted in on a temporary contract, without going through the normal recruitment procedures. His appointment was resented by most of the division. Though Prior’s predecessor had been unable to make decisions and was quick to cast around for a low-ranking scapegoat when anything went wrong, Prior had gone too far the other way, making policy changes without proper consultation. So far he hadn’t made any huge mistakes to blame on someone else. But it was only a matter of time. She was pretty sure he’d be as adept at dodging bullets as a regular Grade 6 career civil servant.

Uncomfortable as this prickling silence was, she continued to return his gaze without uttering a word. She’d seen colleagues reduced to tears by Jeremy Prior. She settled into her seat, prepared for a battle of wills, determined she wasn’t going to be his next victim.

‘Have you spoken to Pamela about it at all?’ he said.

It
? Caroline shook her head.

‘Ah. I see.’ He tugged at his cuffs, pulling the sleeves of his handmade shirt over his bony wrists. He straightened his tie. ‘Information, Caroline. It’s a precious commodity.’

Was he talking about Martin Fox? Caroline uncrossed her legs and leaned forward a fraction.

‘That’s why we have to take such good care of it,’ he continued.

She folded her hands into her lap.

‘And I’m afraid the division has fallen short. Very short.’ He continued to stare at her. And she stared right back. ‘Derelict in its duties,’ he said. ‘Missed the mark.’

Caroline resisted the overwhelming urge to remind him how well the academies division was working before he joined it, even without anyone at the helm.

‘A CD-ROM has been misplaced.’ He didn’t shift his gaze. She got the distinct impression he was trying to gauge her reaction. ‘A CD-ROM containing the personal details of 150,000 pupils attending schools in special measures.’

All weekend she had assumed he was going to speak to her about the events surrounding Martin Fox’s death. A lost CD-ROM seemed like a massive anti-climax.

‘And that’s a problem for the division?’ she said.

‘I’m not sure you have grasped the severity of the situation.
Personal
details, Caroline.’

‘How personal?’

‘Name, age, address. Special educational needs status. Whether or not they receive free school meals. Attendance records, educational achievements.’

‘Oh.’

‘Precisely.’ He leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the desk. ‘This is highly sensitive information. The department cannot been seen to have a cavalier attitude towards this sort of thing.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Especially after the events of recent years. We can’t have this disc turning up on the 5.55 to Dorking. Or a pub car park somewhere.’

‘So the disc is… misplaced? In the sense of—’

‘It simply must be located, and discreetly. The fact that it’s missing cannot be made public.’

‘Who had it last?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not a set of keys or a ten pound note lost between the cushions of a sofa.’ He sighed. ‘The disc was locked in one of the secure cabinets.’

‘But the information itself isn’t lost, we still have it all on the network somewhere?’

‘Of course we have the information. That’s not the issue.’ He clamped his mouth shut, the muscles in his cheeks bulged as he ground his teeth. ‘We can’t have some unauthorised individual getting their hands on it. Especially not the media.’

‘Why was all of that “sensitive” information put on a CD-ROM in the first place?’

‘It was requested.’ He looked away for the first time. Caroline wondered if he was lying.

‘Requested?’

Prior blew an impatient little snort down his nose.

‘Who requested it?’

‘The late minister for schools requested it.’ He practically spat the words at her.

Caroline tried to keep her face blank. If Martin Fox had needed that kind of information he should have come to her. Maybe Prior was lying. She waited for him to look at her before she spoke again. ‘If the disc was specifically created for the schools minister, surely it must still be in the department somewhere?’

‘That’s what we have to find out.’

‘Have you checked with the police? They’ve taken all of Martin’s things from his office. It’s probably sealed up in an evidence bag at the police station.’

‘Not according to the investigating officer.’

Caroline remembered the inspector in the untidy raincoat arriving on the seventh floor with Prior and recalled how chummy they seemed to be. The very same inspector who must have lied about the suicide note to the press.

‘So you think it’s still somewhere in the building?’

‘As I said, that is what you need to find out. I want you and Pamela to initiate a thorough search. Formally interview everyone in the division.’

Caroline opened her mouth, about to object, about to remind him how busy she was already, but instead she just nodded. Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight with Jeremy Prior about workloads, especially with a fresh wave of redundancies on the horizon.

‘You simply must find that disc.’ He dismissed her with an almost imperceptible flick of a hand.

Caroline stood up and turned towards the door.

‘While we’re on the subject of the schools minister,’ Prior said.

Here it comes.

Caroline slowly turned back to face him. Prior was studying his fingernails.

‘I didn’t get a chance to speak to you the other evening.’

She said nothing.

‘Such a terrible shock. So awful for you to… come upon him like that.’

Caroline leaned a hand on the back of the chair.

‘Had Martin asked you to go up?’

Caroline tightened her grip on the chair back. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Did he call you? Ask you to go up and see him?’

Was he testing her? Did he already know the answer? She decided it was too risky to lie.

‘The minister did leave me a message earlier in the evening.’ She swallowed. ‘I can’t actually remember what it was about, now. Events kind of overtook me.’

‘Of course they did, of course.’ Prior stopped scrutinising his nails and looked up. ‘But is that how you found yourself on the seventh floor, because of his message?’

She thought about her desperate dash to the lifts, escaping from Ed and his sweaty hands. She looked Prior squarely in the eyes. Why was he even asking?

Think of something.

‘It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.’ She stared down at her hands, bent white at the knuckles, clutching the back of the chair. She lifted her head slowly and stared back at Prior, locking his gaze in hers. ‘I needed change for the machine.’ She paused for effect. ‘In the ladies’.’

He didn’t react.

‘I’d started my period, you see. A couple of days earlier than I was expecting.’

She continued to stare at him. Earlier and a lot heavier.’ Still he maintained eye contact. ‘Early menopause, the doctor thinks. It’s called flooding.’

Finally he looked away and cleared his throat. But Caroline didn’t feel like stopping.

‘It’s something you can’t just ignore – I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out… draw you a diagram.’ She took a breath. ‘And you know, Sod’s Law – I didn’t have the right coins for the machine. I had to do something.’ She let go of the chair. ‘I guessed that Martin would still be in the building, so I went up to his office to see if he could change a five pound note.’

Prior’s face seemed to have lost some of its colour. He pulled his mouth into something approaching a smile that looked to Caroline more like a grimace.

‘Well, thank you for your time. I’m sure I don’t need to take up any more of it,’ he said. ‘Let me know when you make progress.’

Caroline frowned at him.

‘In locating the CD-ROM.’

She nodded and was grateful to finally turn away. She marched towards the door, but something made her stop and turn back when she got there.

‘Of course there is another possibility,’ she said.

Prior leaned forward again.

‘The minister may have taken the CD-ROM home with him.’ She thought she detected the merest sign of a flinch, Prior’s shoulders seemed to tense. ‘Has anyone been to his house?’

Prior continued to stare at her, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

‘Perhaps someone should make a visit,’ she said. ‘You never know – the disc could be in his study – just sitting in a drawer or something. Would you like me to go? It’s a bit out of my way, but if you think it might help—‘

‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘Oh – you’ve checked it out already, then?’

He cleared his throat and reached for his desk phone. ‘You concentrate on questioning the team here in the department. Let me worry about everything else.’ He held the receiver mid air. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

Caroline opened the door, keeping her eyes on Prior as she backed out of the room. He was already murmuring into the phone as if she wasn’t there.

She walked back to her desk, her legs getting shakier with every step. She sat down and looked back across the office to Prior’s room in time to see Lisa ushering Ed Wallis inside. He sat down on the chair Caroline had just vacated, his stomach resting heavily on the top of his thighs. Why did Prior want to speak to a lowly security guard? Ed said something and laughed. He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. What was he telling Prior? It had to be something to do with what happened on Thursday night. Immediately the events of that night came flooding back. She remembered again the conversation she’d had with PC Mills about the suicide note. Ed glanced in her direction and nodded. She quickly turned away and grabbed her handbag from the desk.

After a few moments fumbling inside the bag she located PC Mills’ business card and laid it on the desk. She stared at it, breathing slowly, trying to slow her racing heart, wondering again if she could trust the policeman with the kind face.

She had to trust someone.