Cornered, Tricia knew that she had to make a decision. ‘If you’ll promise my safety. I don’t want to end up like Angus.’
Jaden did not comment, only shook her hand, kissed her on the cheek, and showed her out of the door.
***
‘Are we in agreement?’ Jaden said. Three hours had passed since Tricia Warburton left, and McAlister and Ashley Otway were still in Jaden’s office.
‘It depends on Otto,’ Ashley said.
‘I agree,’ McAlister said. ‘Fifty thousand pounds today to my account and that I’ll work with Tricia Warburton, advise her on the stunts, check them for safety, not that I couldn’t have done them myself.’
‘You’ll hand over a copy of the recording once the money is in your account, and you’ll give us indisputable proof that Hampton can walk; two days after Tricia makes the jump.’
‘You’ll pay the balance before I do?’ McAlister said.
‘McAlister, my word on it.’
‘I’ll test that cord for her, twice if she likes. All she’s got to do is jump, and if she dithers, I’ll give her a gentle nudge.’
‘My exclusive?’ Ashley said.
‘Just lay off the station and me for now, let me boost Tricia, get the share price up, some more advertising revenue, and I’ll see you right. Twenty-five per cent of what McAlister gets. Do you trust him?’
‘About as much as I trust you, Jerome.’
‘You’ve got the carrot; dangle it. Like a duck to water, so predictable.’
‘Are you referring to me?’ McAlister said.
‘Will you use the carrot?’ Jaden asked.
‘Sparingly,’ Ashley said, ‘but Otto will uphold his part of the bargain.’
‘McAlister, do this right, and maybe I’ll have extra work for you,’ Jaden said.
‘I won’t be dashing off anywhere quick,’ McAlister said.
Ashley knew she might dangle the carrot, but the donkey would never get to eat.
***
Wendy visited Mike Hampton, a letter of consent in her hand. She found the man in his usual place, sitting by a bookshelf, a book on his lap. In the corner of the room, a television, its volume muted.
‘The only damned thing to talk to,’ Hampton said.
‘You’re on your own?’ Wendy said.
‘There’s a woman who comes in twice a week, tidies up around the place, leaves me food and drink.’
‘You cook?’
‘If I have to.’
‘With your wife gone and Deb down in Dorset, it must get lonely.’
‘Not so much these days. A few of those who had treated me like a leper have found their way here.’
‘You were pleased to see them?’
‘I was civil, the same as I am with you, but I’d rather be on my own.’
‘Mr Hampton, there’s something we need to know.’
Hampton picked up the book from his lap, put it to his face. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ve got a book to read.’
‘My sons, if they had been as rude as you, I would have given them a clip round the ear,’ Wendy said.
‘What is it that you want?’
‘A letter of consent.’
‘What for?’
‘We need a release of your medical records from the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital, from Dr Henstridge.’
‘What are you trying to find? Proof that I sit in this chair all day because I want to?’
‘There have been reports that you had some movement in your foot.’
‘Did Henstridge tell you this?’
‘He wouldn’t reveal any more than is generally known. Only your time in a hospital in Argentina, your relocation to this country, your stay at the Royal Orthopaedic. He was adamant that he could say no more, not without a court order or a letter of consent from you.’
‘Then it’s a court order. I won’t give my consent. I’m here, and I’m going nowhere, and I certainly didn’t take a shot at Simmons, not that I wouldn’t have once.’
‘Are you a good shot?’
‘I am, not that I ever competed. Sometimes, on the days when I feel better, I go out the back of the house, tin cans on a fence, shoot them off.’
‘What did you think of the shot that took down Simmons?’
‘Complicated shot. Not for an amateur.’
‘Are you an amateur?’
‘I am, but I could have taken the shot.’
‘What type of rifle do you own?’
‘Ceska Zbrojovka 452 bolt action rifle with a scope. 0.22, more than suitable. The only problem is it wasn’t me.’
‘The letter of consent?’
‘Not that it matters if I sign it, but it’s the principle. I can’t see the point of you knowing my condition.’
‘And what principle is that?’
‘Accused of something I couldn’t have done.’
‘I suggest you reconsider the letter of consent, Mr Hampton.’
‘Don’t slam the door on the way out,’ Hampton said as he picked up his book.
***
Jim Breslaw did not like it. His return to the station had been in an advisory capacity, but now he was front and centre, in full control of the new programme. Not that it wasn’t a good outcome for him, but Tricia Warburton was no Angus Simmons, and the stunt advisor, Otto McAlister, wasn’t either.
‘There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve checked the equipment myself, and I’ll make a jump before you do,’ McAlister said, a man richer by fifty thousand pounds. However, the fringe benefits hadn’t resulted – Ashley Otway was keeping her distance.
The three of them, Tricia, McAlister and Jim Breslaw, were standing on a bridge to the north of London. A steel construction that had endured the test of time for more than a century, and two hundred and twenty feet below, a slow-flowing river.
Ashley Otway stood at a vantage point thirty yards away, aware that she wouldn’t trust herself to McAlister, cheapened by her involvement with the man.
‘Are you sure, Otto?’ Breslaw asked. ‘We don’t want a repeat of what happened before.’
‘Don’t worry. I know what
