Abruptly, I hurry after Sam and catch up with him.
“So, is he a good friend?” I begin. “David Robinson? Is he, like, a really old, close chum?”
“No.” Sam doesn’t break his stride.
“But you must have been friends once.”
“I suppose so.”
Could he sound any less enthusiastic? Does he realize how empty his life will be if he doesn’t keep up with the people who were once important to him?
“So, surely he’s someone you still have a bond with! If you saw him, maybe you’d rekindle that! You’d bring something positive into your life!”
Sam stops dead and stares at me. “What business is this of yours, anyway?”
“Nothing,” I say defensively. “I just … I thought you might like to get in touch with him.”
“I
I gulp. There’s no way round this. None.
“He’s waiting for you in the bar.”
Maybe Sam hasn’t turned into a statue
Well. Back to anger again.82
“Sorry,” I say yet again. “I thought … ”
I peter out. I’ve already explained what I thought. It hasn’t really helped, to be honest.
We push our way through the heavy double doors to see Vicks hurrying down the corridor toward us, holding a phone to her ear, struggling with a pile of stuff and looking harassed.
“Sure,” she’s saying as she nears us. “Mark, wait a minute. Just met Sam. I’ll ring you back.” She looks up and launches in with no niceties. “Sam, I’m sorry. We’re going with the original statement.”
“We have nothing on Ryan. No proof of anything untoward. There’s no more time. I’m sorry, Sam. I know you tried, but … ”
There’s a tense silence. Sam and Vicks aren’t even looking at each other, but the body language is obvious. Vicks’s arms are now wrapped defensively around her laptop and a mass of papers. Sam is kneading both fists into his forehead.
Personally, I’m trying to blend into the wallpaper.
“Vicks, you know this is bollocks.” Sam sounds as though he’s trying hard to control his impatience. “We
“It’s not information, it’s guesswork! We don’t know what happened!” Vicks looks up and down the empty corridor and lowers her voice. “And if we don’t get a statement out to ITN, pronto, we are sitting fucking
“We have time,” he says mutinously. “We can talk to this guy Ryan. Interview him.”
“How long will that take? What will that achieve?” Vicks puts a hand to her head. “Sam, these are grave accusations. They have no substance. Unless we find some solid proof … ”
“So we stand back. We wash our hands. They win.” Sam’s voice is calm, but I can tell he’s simmering with rage.
“The techies are still investigating in London.” Vicks sounds weary. “But unless they find
“Let me speak to them.”
“OK.” She sighs. “Not here. We’ve moved to a bigger room with a Skype screen.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
They both start walking briskly along, and I follow, not sure if I should or not. Sam looks so preoccupied, I don’t dare utter a sound. Vicks leads us through a ballroom filled with banqueting tables, into the lobby, past the bar …
Has he forgotten about David Robinson?
“Sam,” I mutter hastily. “Wait! Don’t go near the bar; we should go a different way—”
“Sam!” A throaty voice hails us. “
My heart freezes in horror. That must be him. That’s David Robinson. That guy with curly, receding dark hair and a pale-gray metallic suit, which he’s accessorized with a black shirt and white leather tie. He’s striding toward us with a massive beam on his fleshy face and a whiskey in his hand.
“Been far, far too long!” He envelops Sam in a bear hug. “What can I get you, my old mucker? Or is it all on the house? In which case, mine’s a double!” He gives a high-pitched laugh that makes me cringe.