Хилари Боннер - A Kind Of Wild Justice

Next came the big one. She called up Hotmail and tapped in Shifter’s user name and his password: ‘enforcer’, ‘Sinatra’. It really was hilarious stuff.

Both user name and password still worked. But as Jo had suspected when Shifter had so freely supplied her with them, all his e-mails, in and out, had been deleted. The only place they could possibly be retained would be on the computer he had used to keep in contact with ‘contractor’. The one in his home had been trashed and Shifter refused to tell her which cyber café he had used for what he referred to as ‘the really hooky stuff’. There weren’t that many cyber cafés around, it would be most likely that Shifter had used one in his own manor, certainly in London, but that sort of detective work was almost certainly one for the pros — a police matter. In any case Jo reckoned she already had all she needed for a major ground-breaking crime scoop, which would be the envy of all the Comet ’s rivals.

When she finally decided the moment was right to approach her husband and editor she found him, as she had expected to, alone in his office, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk. The door was always open. There was no culture for anyone to knock — which didn’t mean that everybody, including her, wasn’t inclined to be cautious about entering. Only the angle-light on Paul’s desk was switched on, its narrow beam palely illuminating just a part of the room. Mozart played softly on his CD player. Paul’s eyes were closed. She knew he wouldn’t be asleep, but he had a knack of relaxing completely for just a few minutes whenever the opportunity arose. It helped him greatly in getting through the extraordinarily long hours Fleet Street editors worked.

‘Hi, Jo,’ he murmured. His eyes were still closed and she had not seen him open them. It didn’t surprise her, though, that he knew she was there. Maybe he’d peeped, or possibly he really did have that sixth sense his staff sometimes attributed to him.

She sat down opposite him, rehearsing her approach in her head, waiting for him to appear ready to talk.

‘What are you doing here tonight anyway?’ he asked eventually. It wasn’t one of her days in, after all.

‘I’ve got this extraordinary story,’ she began. And she told him all of it.

Paul listened very carefully. He had always been a good listener. By the time Joanna had finished speaking he was almost as excited as she was.

Paul Potter was a newspaperman, through and through. His reaction to news was involuntary, instinctive and overwhelming, just like his wife’s. When something big and special broke he experienced the same burst of adrenalin rushing through his system as she did. As did all the best ones. But he didn’t show it, of course, it wasn’t his style. And in any case it was his job to think the thing through, to be clear on the legal aspects and to work out how to make the most of what they had.

‘Just e-mail a killer.’ It was wonderful. ‘Enforcer@hotmail.com.’ — magic. Pure magic. And so was the idea of a hit man being paid through a Swiss bank account. But the source was a convicted murderer and Joanna had agreed to pay him for the story, albeit indirectly. Jo had jumped the gun and had, of course, had absolutely no authority to pledge the Comet for that sort of money. But this time Paul didn’t blame her. He would have done the same himself. Make the promises. Get the story. Sort the rest out later.

It was a dangerous game, paying money to villains. He had done it before, of course, and so had most editors, even if they wouldn’t admit it. He still didn’t like it. Nobody did. But apart from any other considerations there was always the element of if you didn’t do it, somebody else would. And this time it was just such a big story. But they would have to be very, very careful about paying Shifter in some indirect way. Paul didn’t think he could renege on another of Joanna’s deals. Even though she was his wife, he wasn’t really concerned about her reputation and all that old-fashioned stuff about allowing her to maintain the trust of her sources and contacts upon which specialists traditionally had relied. He was both a pragmatist and a realist as far as newspapers were concerned. And frankly, although he liked it no more than the next journalist, he thought those days were gone. But the Comet ’s reputation, such as it was, had to be protected. One journalist was neither here nor there. However, if it became widely believed that the Comet would casually break a deal whenever it thought it could get away with it, the paper could be badly damaged.

No, if they went with this one — and they had to, it was too good to miss — then Shifter would have to be paid. The sum of money Joanna had agreed to did not worry Paul. It was cheap, actually, for a story of this calibre. It was all the other factors that had to be so carefully considered.

‘Shifter was right, it is a corker,’ he said eventually. ‘Well done, Jo. We’ll go for it, of course. Two things. Tell nobody else. It’s “need to know” until we print, right? There’s no question of squeezing it in tonight and you were right not to try to do this one long-distance. It’s a major exclusive and I want it to have all the space and projection the Comet can give it. We’ll run the main story as the splash the day after tomorrow, “Murder on the Net, Jimbo killer hired by e-mail”, something like that, and over four and five. Let it run, too, Jo, every word he said. I’d like the spread as well. “Just e-mail a murder — Is this the future?” that kind of thing. Detailed analysis of how it can work, plenty of graphics and a break-out on just how secure Swiss banking is, all that sort of stuff. Big picture of an old-style villain carrying a bag of swag or something and an even bigger one of some sharp-suited bastard hacking into his laptop. Maybe a computer-enhanced job superimposing Shifter Brown’s face... Yeah! Let’s do that...’ Paul was motoring, warming to his theme. He was always at his best in this kind of situation. That’s why he was so successful.

Joanna nodded enthusiastically.

‘So get busy, Jo. You’ve got a lot of writing to do. I don’t want anybody else involved, not until they have to be. I’ll do the layout myself and we won’t get your copy subbed until the last moment. We’ll need to get pix on to it first thing in the morning but they can work blind — which won’t make much difference. Some of the stuff they put up to me I can’t help thinking that’s what they normally do.’ He grinned. ‘OK?’

‘OK, boss,’ said Joanna and she beamed at him.

They had always worked well together. They might have lurking personal problems now, but that was still the case, he thought to himself.

She got up from her chair as if she were about to leave his office. Then she stopped and spoke in a more hesitant voice. ‘And the deal with Shifter?’

‘We’ll honour it, of course,’ he said and he saw the relief wash across her face. ‘But I’ll want Cromer-Wrong involved — we’ve got to make it watertight.’

She nodded and beamed at him again. ‘I’ll make a start, then.’

She was just like him in so many ways. He had seen when she had entered his office that she looked exhausted. But his response and the promise of all that space in the paper had re-energised her. She was buzzing when she left.

As he watched her go his heart ached for her. She had always been the only one for him, right from the start. She was his and he could not bear it when they were not close. He still loved Joanna so much. He did everything he could for her and yet sometimes it seemed that nothing was enough. He thought his feelings were probably stronger than mere love. She possessed him. She always had. And he just wished he could believe that she felt half as strongly about him.