in Kingston,a bottle of the malty beer,twenty-foot containers stacked at the Kingston Container Terminal, the container ship
Grant also gave them copies of key documents supporting his accusations. His presentation was measured and unemotional until he came to the conclusion, a summary of the likely impact of the drugs on the people of South London.
Despite herself, Kathy was impressed, and so was the committee.When Hart called for discussion, Hadden- Vane’s attempt to find fault sounded like empty bluster. When he demanded that Grant reveal his sources, Grant neatly turned it into a further attack on the Roaches. He would not name his sources, he said, because they would be at serious personal risk,and to support this he would provide members of the committee with a list of criminal convictions of various members of the Roach family. Hadden-Vane seemed to realise that he was being outmanoeuvred,and after some heated debate around the table he proposed that discussion be suspended so that members could have time to study and digest Grant’s material over the weekend.Grant concurred,adding that he intended to bring to the committee at its next sitting, on the following Monday, a list of witnesses that he would ask the committee to call for interview under oath, including members of the Roach family.
As the committee moved back to their scheduled agenda, Dot appeared at the door. Her usual poise seemed ruffled.‘Brock,’ she said,‘Commander Sharpe on the phone.’
Brock got to his feet. ‘I’d like a transcript,’ he said. ‘But our priority is catching Sad Simon. Let’s concentrate on that.’
Later that afternoon Kathy got a call from Dot to say that Brock wanted to see her. He waved her to a seat.
‘Damage control. They’re going to keep mum to the press and try to nobble the committee chair, Margaret Hart, behind the scenes. I don’t fancy their chances. How far do you think Tom will go with this,Kathy? You know him better than I do.’
The coldness in Brock’s voice confronted her: Tom was the enemy now, the threat. She’d sensed that in the others’ murmured comments all morning, but coming from Brock she realised how absolute Tom’s betrayal had been.
‘I’m not sure. He was very angry after our meeting on Wednesday, and I haven’t seen him since. I’ve been trying to contact him but he won’t answer my calls.’
‘I don’t like to ask you to betray confidences, Kathy.’ He spoke slowly, eyes on a heavily marked-up copy of the webcast transcript lying on the table in front of him.‘But I need to understand what he’s doing. Is this some kind of elaborate professional suicide, or does he really think he can prove a point and come back to us covered in glory?’
All morning Kathy had been asking herself the same question. ‘I’ve had the impression, right from the beginning, that Tom felt he had to prove himself in some way. I mean in a personal, individual way, not just as part of the team. I didn’t realise it at first, but he wasn’t being open with me, not about what he was really thinking. He didn’t tell me about what he was planning with Magdalen until I came across a surveillance picture with the two of them together, and then he had to tell me. But he was desperate that nobody else should know until he’d pulled it off, and in the end I agreed, on condition I could go along as back-up. That was a big mistake, I know. I’m sorry. I really am, Brock. This is my fault.’
‘Divided loyalties,’ he murmured, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.‘It does for us all.’
‘I think it goes back to a problem at Special Branch. He had some kind of personality clash there.’
‘It was a bit more than that. He didn’t tell you?’
Kathy shook her head, puzzled.
‘A couple of years ago there was an IRA group operating in the UK, responsible for a series of big robberies up north. It was believed they were based in a neighbourhood in Liverpool. Tom had had some earlier experience on the IRA desk and it was decided to plant him and another officer, a woman, in the area, as a couple moving in as new teachers at the local school,he for PE,she for maths. They settled in, got to know their neighbours through their children. They’d worked together before, Tom and this woman, and they made a convincing couple. The trouble was that it became a little too real. After a time they announced that they were going to get married, and they did, inviting their neighbours to the party. Branch disapproved, but didn’t do anything. Then things went wrong. A new gang member came over from Ireland and recognised Tom. They did nothing at first, then one night they paid Tom and his wife a visit. Only Tom was away from home, reporting to his people in Manchester.When he got back he found his wife battered to death.’
‘Oh God.’
‘The Branch brought Tom back to London and moved him into their A Squad, protecting VIPs. He never really settled into it. There may well have been personality clashes as he told you- I’ve only heard his boss’s side of the story. Anyway, I was happy to give him a berth here for a while.’
‘He never mentioned any of this to me,’ Kathy said. ‘I didn’t even know he’d been married twice.’ The story was a jarring revelation, throwing everything she thought she knew about Tom into a new context, every word, every action open to fresh interpretation. ‘You said he’d worked with the other officer, the woman, before.Was that in Jamaica?’
‘I believe it was, yes.’
Kathy remembered the evening of Jamaican cooking, the stories, funny and wistful. I have been a surrogate, she thought, no more than a channel to old memories, a bandaid for old wounds.
‘I think he’ll go all the way with this,’ she said sadly. ‘Maybe the real question is, how far will Michael Grant let him go?’
Kathy’s phone rang as she was getting ready to leave the office for home. She recognised his voice, and sank back into her chair. ‘Tom. I’ve been trying to reach you.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ve been very busy. There’s been so much to do.’ He sounded elated,speaking fast.‘Did you see it?’
‘Yes, we all did.’
‘What did you think?’
‘I think you’re going about it the wrong way.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re a serving police officer.’
‘There are higher loyalties than that. To the truth, for instance. This is the only way. They left me no choice.’
There was a pause, then Kathy said,‘Brock told me about your second wife.’
‘Did he? I didn’t think he knew . . . I’m sorry, I almost told you several times, but then I held back. It didn’t seem relevant to us.’
‘Wasn’t it? Isn’t it what this is all about?’
‘Is that what Brock’s saying? Listen, Kathy-’ he was angry now-‘what I’m doing is getting at the truth, the only way I can, the only way they’ve left me. I’m sorry you can’t be with me on that.’
‘Tom, you-’ But the line was dead.
The media were full of the story over the weekend, their appetite for scandal only sharpened by the refusal of any of the players to speak to them. For the moment they didn’t identify the Roaches by name, but there were clear hints that as soon as witnesses were called before the committee, their names would be published and the whole story brought out into the open. There was a great deal about Michael Grant, his background and his history of campaigning for the underprivileged.
On Monday morning the TV channels were carrying pictures of scenes outside the Houses of Parliament as reporters tried to get access to the committee meeting and to catch participants for comment. It seemed that some agreement had been reached to broadcast the session live on TV, and one of the channels was promising coverage during its morning news show. The picture was clearer than on the webcast, and in Queen Anne’s Gate, just a couple of hundred yards away, someone had fixed up a TV in the main office, around which people were
