The Child (Kate Waters #2)(35)

“It would have so much more weight if you called. They’ll hate a reporter suggesting it. And it was you who put me onto Angela in the first place. And Alice was taken from your patch . . .”

There was a Bob Sparkes silence—the sort that went on so long she thought the line had been cut.

“I could only do that if Mrs. Irving contacted me to ask about the discovery,” he said carefully. “Don’t want to tread on any toes.”

“I’ll call her now and give her your number,” Kate said quickly before he could change his mind.

“Not my mobile,” he said. “Tell her to come through the switchboard. Don’t want any calls at two in the morning.”

“No. How is Eileen?” Kate asked, trying to sound genuine. Bob Sparkes’s wife didn’t really hold with twenty-four-hour police work, according to the crime correspondents’ gossip.

“Eileen? Oh fine, you know. Fed up with my working hours. But then, so am I,” he said.

“And Bob,” she added quickly, “anything on DI Rigby?”

“Oh yes, sorry, meant to say that he’s alive and kicking and running a classic car club near Esher.”

“Brilliant. Don’t suppose you’ve got an address?”

“You know I can’t give out that sort of info, but I’m sure a reporter with your resources can find him.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Will do,” she said. “Thanks so much for looking it up for me.”

“Right, I’ll be in touch after I’ve heard from Angela Irving.”

The line went dead.

“Bye, then,” Kate said.

She dialed Angela’s number immediately to tell her the news and urged her to ring DI Sparkes as soon as possible. The older woman sounded excited and grateful, and Kate tried to keep her adrenaline from rising.

Her next call was to Terry. She knew if she didn’t check in, he’d call her when she least expected it. She wanted to be prepared, on the front foot.

“Kate, where are you?” It was always his first question, even when he knew perfectly well where his reporters were. The tone was always accusatory, as if they had disappeared without warning.

“Winchester, Terry. I’ve been following some leads—I told you.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” he said. Her news editor was unhappy—he’d clearly just had a tense conversation with the Editor about the state of the news list, and she cursed her timing.

“Where’s the evidence this is the Irving baby?” he said. “It’s pure speculation, isn’t it? Look, Kate, I need a splash, not a punt. This isn’t going to get the readers clicking on the website. Forget it. It’s not our kind of thing anymore. Royals or celebrities are all that matter now. It’s what the readers want.”

She let him blow himself out. Interrupting meant the rant would go on longer. When he finally stopped, she said: “Come on, Terry, this could be a fantastic story—the Post solving the forty-year mystery of a missing baby. And we’ve got exclusive access if Angela turns out to be the mum. The readers would love it. Let me write it and then see what you think. Is that okay?”

Playing the submissive card at the end so the news editor thinks he’s still in charge was an old trick. But it always worked.

“Okay, okay. Are you on your way back?”

“Just setting off, but it’ll take a couple of hours and I’ve got a door to knock on the way—a copper from the original inquiry. So no point coming back to the office—I’ll write it at home and send it overnight.

“Good luck with the list,” she added. “Put Madonna’s veiny hands on it. That’s always a winner.”

Terry half-laughed. “Yes, yes. But do me a favor; ring your woman at Kensington Palace. See if there’s anything going on that might make my news list look better.”

“On it. Call you in a bit,” she said.

“That sounded a bit hairy,” Joe said. “Are we in trouble?”

“Don’t be daft,” Kate said. “We’ve got what could be a great story. We just need to let Terry get used to the idea. Right, I need to make a call to a contact.”

She dialed Flora’s mobile. “Hi, Flora. It’s Kate. How are you? Just thought I’d give you a bell to see how things are. Seems a while since we spoke.” Blah blah was playing in her head.

Her royal contact sounded pleased to hear from her. Flora loved a chat and the chance to catch up on media gossip. Kate imagined her dropping in tidbits on the state of an editor’s marriage during office time with Prince William.

She listened attentively as Flora complained about a headline in the Sun, told about one of the minor royals becoming more regal than the Queen, and, with a little prompting, tipped her off about the sacking of a royal servant.

“Selling stuff on eBay. You wouldn’t credit it, would you?” Flora said, her indignation making the line squeak in sympathy.

“No, absolutely. What did she steal? Any Vermeers? No, well, difficult to smuggle out in your handbag,” Kate said, keeping her tone light. Didn’t want to scare her off. “What a shock for everyone. Who is investigating? When is she likely to be charged?”

When Flora’s story had been completely combed through, Kate thanked her and promised her a lovely lunch before hanging up.