‘I’ve had less than seventy-two hours to demolish Mr Grant’s so-called evidence against Paramounts and the Roach family,’ Hadden-Vane said. ‘Given more time and resources and expertise than I possess, I’ve no doubt that much more could be uncovered. But I think we’ve heard enough.’ There were murmurs of agreement around the table.‘I believe I’ve established the “What” -a number of forged papers have been added to a file of real documents relating to a legitimate consignment of beer from Jamaica to the UK to give the appearance of a criminal act. Our colleague was then persuaded to put this rather crude deception before us and broadcast it in the public domain under cover of parliamentary privilege. But that’s only part of the story.We must also discover the “How”and the “Why”.I now call on the Member for Lambeth North to explain to the committee exactly how and from whom he obtained the documents in his report.’
There was a long silence while the two men held each other’s eyes, Michael Grant with a look of loathing apparent even on the small screen. Then he turned to Margaret Hart and said, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that.’
A murmur of disapproval grew steadily louder.
‘I understand,’ Hadden-Vane pressed on, ‘that a departmental select committee cannot order a Member of the House to appear before it as a witness under oath,but I nevertheless invite the member for Lambeth North to volunteer himself to do so now.’ By the end of this sentence he had to raise his voice to an angry shout to make himself heard over the hubbub. ‘Madam Chair,’ he roared, ‘Michael Grant’s failure to respond amounts to a deliberate contempt of this committee and of the House!’ He let the turmoil seethe around him for a while, until it looked as if the Chair was about to act, then he cut in, ‘Nevertheless, we are not entirely dependent on his cooperation.’
The noise died away as people registered this.
‘I have here a piece of written evidence provided by another witness that may help us understand just how this was done.’ He held a piece of paper dramatically aloft.‘This sworn testimony has been provided by a member of the Roach family. Given the public libel against her family by Mr Grant, she is reluctant to appear here in person, and asks that her name not be released.When you read what she has to say, you will appreciate why. She feels embarrassed and humiliated by the story she has to tell, but tell it she does, because she feels she must. Let us call her “Ms A”. She describes how she, a recently divorced and emotionally vulnerable young woman, met a personable man at a nightclub. She met him again on a number of subsequent occasions, seemingly by accident, and he befriended her and gained her trust.
‘Then, just last week, this charming fellow persuaded Ms A to take him home with her,to her parents’house where she was living, her parents being overseas at the time. The man had given her a great deal to drink during the evening, and she agreed. Once there he offered her drugs, which she declined. However, she believes he gave her something because she became disoriented and fell asleep. At some stage she woke up and went to the bathroom, and on the way she saw him in her father’s office, using the photocopier. I have subsequently learned from her father,a director of Paramounts,that in his office he had a file of documents relating to that company’s importation of Dragon Stout to the UK. Madam Chair, I table this statement, which has been witnessed by a lawyer, for consideration by the committee.’
He handed the letter to the Clerk at his shoulder, and then, as if all this was costing him enormous personal effort, he snatched the blue handkerchief from his top pocket with a great flourish and dabbed at the pink dome of his head.
It was the second time he had reminded Kathy of Martin Connell’s story, and as she watched him Kathy was struck by the sudden certain knowledge that this was the MP Martin had described, and that his tale had not been told at random, but had been a quite deliberate message to her. Martin Connell, the Roaches’ lawyer,whose signature was no doubt on Magdalen’s statement,had known two weeks ago that this scene was going to be played out, and had wanted Kathy to recognise it when it came. She swore softly, then tried to tell herself that this was impossible.
‘Kathy?’ Brock was looking at her curiously.
She was about to speak when Margaret Hart’s voice cut through the noise in the committee room. ‘I believe we should take a twenty-minute break-’
‘If you please, Madam Chair, I believe that we should not!’
Hadden-Vane’s extraordinary remark silenced everyone, including Hart,whose frown became angry.But he went on.‘The writer of the statement I have just tabled has identified the man who took advantage of her. He is here in this room. I do not think we should give him the opportunity to slip away during a break.
I demand that he take the witness chair immediately and explain
himself.’
‘What a showman,’ someone murmured.
Kathy felt sick, realising what was coming, and feeling as if it was on her rather than Tom Reeves that the blow was about to fall.
‘You, sir!’ Hadden-Vane pointed theatrically off-camera, and everyone turned and craned to see.
‘No!’Michael Grant seemed suddenly to emerge from a torpor. ‘I insist that we discuss . . .’ But it was too late, the end of his sentence drowned out by the noise of voices and scraping chairs as the committee got to their feet. Slowly Tom came into view, Hadden-Vane triumphant at his side, as if displaying a prize. At the other end of the table,Margaret Hart,apparently dazed by the twists and turns of his melodramatic performance, was hurriedly consulting with the Clerk. Finally, as Tom stood in front of the witness table,she said,‘Ladies and gentlemen,it is within our power to order a witness to appear and give evidence. Is it your wish that we do so in this case?’
The cry of assent was overwhelming, and everyone hurried back to their seats. For a brief moment, only Tom and Michael Grant remained standing,and as Brock watched the MP hesitate,he wondered if he was thinking that the slum boy from the Dungle had finally been caught red-handed among the gilt picture frames and Gothic wall panelling of the immortals.
‘Give us your full name, please.’
‘Thomas Reeves.’
‘What do you do for a living, Mr Reeves?’
‘I’m a police officer.’
A groan went around the office at Queen Anne’s Gate at that, but Kathy knew that Tom had no choice- Hadden-Vane already knew, and she saw that Brock realised that too.
‘Of what rank?’
‘Inspector.’
‘And in what section?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Special Branch, perhaps?’ Hadden-Vane suggested grimly. ‘You do undercover work, don’t you? Like befriending young women and persuading them to take you home with them?’
Tom didn’t respond.
‘Why did you befriend Ms A?’
Again Tom didn’t answer, but this time a restive grumble came from several parts of the table and Hart spoke up. ‘You must answer, Inspector Reeves.’
‘I was seeking evidence in relation to an investigation.’
‘Did you have a search warrant?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘And were you instructed by your superiors to befriend Ms A or search her house?’ Hadden-Vale said quickly, reluctant to let anyone else take over his role as interrogator.
‘No.’
‘And this investigation, it’s been approved, has it? It is official?’
Tom hesitated, glanced at the Chair, who peered back at him as if trying to place where she’d seen him before.
‘Not at present.’
‘So you inveigled your way into Ms A’s house without authorisationon a case of your own invention,broke into her father’s study, photocopied his private business papers, stole some letterheads that unfortunately happened to
