Game Over

dropping into the armchair. ‘Where was I?’

‘You can’t go back to Fife,’ Atherton prompted.

Andrew winked. ‘Aye, and I’ll tell you what – you’d be a fuckin’ moron to want to.’ Another swig. ‘So what is it you want to know?’

‘What it was all about,’ Atherton said. ‘What Stonax had done to make you go to so much trouble to get rid of him.’

Andrew nodded, going over to serious mode, and said, ‘You’ve heard of the Waverley B Shipyard?’

Slider, who hadn’t, said, ‘Pretend we haven’t, and tell us from the beginning.’

‘Waverley B was one of the biggest shipyards on the Clyde. It was owned by Dansk, the Danish shipbuilders, but they wanted out. They could never make a go of it. It was always an unlucky yard. Plagued with accidents, absenteeism, a lot o’ bad feeling. But – ’ a feeble rage seized him – ‘they were gaunnae close the fucking yard, with two thousand jobs down the toley, just before the last election, with the Nats creaming us at three by-elections within three months, and the polls all tae cock!’

‘Not good,’ Atherton commented, since he seemed to want something.

‘You bet it wasnae good.’ He drained his glass, and held it out to Atherton abruptly. ‘Get me another of these. I can’t get up.’

Slider nodded minutely, and Atherton did as he was asked. Andrew nursed the glass tenderly and went on. ‘Well, we couldn’t persuade Dansk to hold on. But then I had a stroke of genius. Anderson-Millar – you know who they are?’ It was an ironic question.

‘Ships, planes and tanks,’ Atherton said tersely.

‘Right. Well, they’d been wanting to merge with BriTech, who did all the military electronics for the Ministry of Defence, and we’d been blocking it. Too much defence provision in one company. The Monopolies Commission was my baby, of course, as head of the DTI. So my brilliant idea was that we drop our objections, let the merger go ahead in return for Anderson-Millar buying the Waverley B and keeping it open. And it worked. It fucking worked!’

‘It did?’

‘We won the election, didn’t we?’ he said aggressively. ‘But Mr God Almighty Stonax wasn’t happy. He’d been in on the meetings and he thought the AM-BriTech merger wasn’t good for the nation. Without competition we’d end up having to pay too much for our defence kit – that was his beef. When he couldn’t stop it, he threatened to go to the press with it, cause a stink – maybe force another election if the stink was big enough. Well, we couldn’t let him do that. So we had to get rid of him – and do it in a way that would stop his mouth. Hence the pictures. The fancy artwork. Destroy his reputation. Disgraced ex-journo chucks mud, it doesn’t stick like it would from Mr Clean. We thought the threat would be enough – ’ he shook his head in wonder – ‘but he wouldn’t roll over. We had to leak the photos to the press, and then threaten to do the same to his kid and his burrd before he caved.’

He took another slug of brandy, and Slider said, ‘I’m glad you’re being so frank and helpful over this matter —’

‘Nothing you can do about it now, is there?’ Andrew interrupted. ‘Election’s over and done with.’

‘There’s the little matter of blackmail,’ Atherton said.

Andrew wasn’t moved. ‘You could never prove it. Anyway, Stonax is dead, the girl’s dead, and I’m not going to press charges, am I?’

‘Yes, you were the third victim. Why was that? It can’t have been pleasant for you. Had you upset them in some way?’

He tried to shrug it off for a moment. ‘I’ve done all right out of it. I got ma title, all these quangos, directorships – I’m earning ten times what I got as a minister.’

‘But the public humiliation,’ Atherton suggested gently. ‘You had to take the rap for something you hadn’t done – and when you were the one to solve the problem for them.’

It was enough to break through the crust into the self-pity reserves beneath. ‘You’re fucking right! You’re no wrang! Money’s all very well, but I’m nobody now. I was an MP and a minister, I was in the cabinet, for chrissake. I had power, and now I’m Jimmy nobody! Nothing I do makes any difference to anyone now. Lord Leuchars? I’m a joke!’

‘So why did they turn against you?’

‘They blamed me for hiring Stonax in the first place. I was the one suggested we ought to get a media star on the press team, I was the one who picked him out of the applicants. So I had to go down with him. And I’ll tell you something else. They didn’t want me to get the credit for winning the election. Oh, no. That was reserved for bloody Tyler, the wonder boy.’

Slider felt a prickle, like the sting of electricity, along his scalp at the name. ‘You mean Richard Tyler?’

‘Aye, who else? There was only the five of us in on the whole thing – me, Tyler, Molly Scott from the number ten office, Stonax to work out the press angles for us, ha ha, and Stuffy Paxton from Anderson-Millar.’

‘Sir Henry Paxton,’ Atherton supplied.

‘Aye, him.’ He made a sour face. ‘Him and Tyler were thick as thieves. I bet they worked out the stitch-up between them.’

‘But Tyler wasn’t DTI,’ Slider said, remembering aloud. ‘Tyler was Department of the Environment, wasn’t he? He was the junior minister there.’

Andrew shrugged. ‘Tyler was Paxton’s liaison with the government. I dunno where they knew each other from. All I know is Tyler ended up getting the credit and I ended up getting the sack. There’s no justice.’

He seemed to be sinking now, literally deeper into the chair, and figuratively into a drunken gloom. Slider hastened to ask his next question. ‘So what has Stonax been doing since he left the department? What has he been investigating? Has he been following up the Waverley B business?’

‘I don’t know,’ Andrew said. ‘Nobody tells me anything any more. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has. Never could keep his nose out of things that weren’t his business. But there’s nothing to follow up. The election’s over, the yard’s closed anyway, and AM are selling it. What’s to investigate?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Tell ye what, fellas, I’m just gauny have a wee nap, ’cos I’ve got a helluva headache coming on.’

It was clear they would get nothing more out of him – and Slider doubted he had any more to tell, so they left him in peace. As they left, Atherton kindly removed the brandy glass from his slackening fingers and set it on the coffee table, before it could tip over and wet his trousers. At least that would be one less thing for him to worry about when he woke up.

Fourteen

A Legend in His Own Lunchtime

They had to pass Emily’s cubbyhole on the way to the office, and she was already back, beavering away on the laptop. She looked up as Atherton paused in the doorway and the look that passed between them, brief as it was, shook Slider. It was not that it was a look of unbridled passion: that wouldn’t have been so very surprising, knowing Atherton’s past record. It was that it was a look of acceptance, accustomedness, belonging, the sort of look you usually have to be together for some years to achieve. Somehow in three days they had passed from strangers to companions. It had happened that fast for him and Joanna, but their circumstances had been much more favourable. He hoped desperately, for his friend’s sake as much as Emily’s, that the whole murder- bereavement thing didn’t rear up and bite them when things calmed down a bit.

‘I’ve got a lot to tell you,’ she said. ‘I’ve been finding out things.’

‘I never doubted you would,’ Atherton said.

She half rose, looking from him to Slider. ‘D’you want me to tell you now?’

‘I need tea,’ Slider said.

‘Canteen,’ Atherton translated, and they headed for the stairs.

As they climbed, and while they queued at the counter, she described how she had found Chris Fletcher and what he had told her; when they were seated with their cups, she got on to Trish Holland.

‘I’m sure now that Bates was sprung deliberately,’ she said, ‘and how it was done. The beauty of it is that nobody misses him. Wormwood Scrubs thinks he’s at Woodhill. Woodhill assumes he’s still at Wormwood Scrubs.