Open Writing

The morning light rimmed the curtains of the hotel room.

I looked at my watch. Seven o'clock.

I pushed a button beside the bed and got music, then another and heard an announcer's voice.

. . . has been leaked today. The rumour is that Sir Timothy will be making a speech this afternoon attacking the role of security forces in Northern Ireland and demand a complete and speedy withdrawal...

I heaved myself up and tried to concentrate.

...Although some members of the left wing of the Labour Party have advocated withdrawal, this will be the first time such a prominent political figure has done so. Sir Timothy, who was always thought to be on the more traditional wing of the Tory Party, has been a highly influential figure in Conservative politics for many years. A speech such as this, from such an eminent figure as Sir Timothy Crocker, would deeply embarrass the government and give tremendous impetus to the Troops Out movement...

Sir Timothy Crocker. Crocker. High Tory and backroom boy-fancier.
Walsh's letter and Crocker's. Those were the ones they thought I'd gone for. Striker's death and Hands'. The bike boys, the porn business, the blackmail racket. Kentish and Brassington. And Tiger.

He'd told me, hadn't he? Sullivan, he'd said. That was the name he'd given to Kentish. And that was the name on Crocker's transfer document. They weren't joking when they said that.

But I had Crocker's letters. If I could only get to him before he made his statement. If someone could only get to him. Victoria.

She did a Wyatt Earp draw on the phone when it rang.

'Did you hear the news?' she said.

'Most of it.'

'I checked the time of his press conference. It's two this afternoon. It is our Crocker, isn't it?'

'Must be. Where?'

'Press Centre, near Fleet Street. Why?'

So I told her. She didn't say a word about how we'd parted or the way I'd shut her out. She listened, making small sounds of agreement.

When I finished, she asked me to read out a couple of Crocker's sleazier sentences.

'Just so he'll know I'm the real thing,' she said.

'Can you get to him? He's a bit high-powered ...'

'Don't worry about that. I'll get to him all right.'

I had to bet on that. I had to bet everything on her. I remembered what Tiger had said about her. It was a fair bet.

I'd told Victoria I'd be at Danby's by one o'clock. That would give me half-an-hour to tell the story and give him half-an-hour to tell me I was mad. Then the results should start rolling in. It looked like a long morning.