Then She Vanishes(76)
Her sister, Flora Powell, went missing from Tilby in 1994 at the age of sixteen.
DCI Gary Ruthgow of Avon and Somerset CID said: ‘A DNA test has confirmed that the body does not belong to Flora Powell. At this stage we are ruling nothing out and investigations into the identity of the body are still under way.’
Ted chews gum in my ear as he reads over my shoulder. Apart from us, and Sue on Reception, the news room is empty. I can see Seth in the side room going through what look like old slides. Ellie is out doing vox pops with Jack. I haven’t seen much of him recently. Not properly. Not like we used to. We used to go for lunch or for a drink after work at least once a week for a proper gossip. That hasn’t happened since the night he got mugged. He’s been working hard and I wonder if he’s looking for a promotion or another job.
After Ted’s finished reading, he stands back, with a ‘Humph’, his arms folded. I can tell straight away that he’s disappointed. ‘This is nothing that the Daily News won’t have,’ he says, half sitting, half leaning against the empty desk next to mine. He looks tired this morning, I observe. He’s not shaved and his eyes sag more than usual. He’s wearing faded jeans that are thinning at the knee and Puma trainers. ‘It’s only Wednesday. This won’t be printed until Friday. By then it will be old news. We need something more, Jess.’
Inwardly I groan. Always something more. I’ve done as much as I can. I’m the only reporter nationally who has an exclusive with Margot. The red tops have borrowed quotes from my piece, of course, but they’ve had to attribute it to me and to the Herald. It’s strange to see my name in the national press again. But how are we supposed to compete with a daily newspaper when we come out only twice a week and nobody reads our website? I’ve tried to point out to Ted that we need to move with the times and refurbish our online presence, but he keeps muttering that Jared, the editor at HQ, dismissed the idea, citing ‘budget cuts’.
I flick through my notebook looking for the more that Ted wants. ‘Well, I’m working on the story I got from the landlord of the Funky Raven.’
He runs his hand across his bristly chin and raises one of his shaggy eyebrows. ‘Remind me?’
‘That Clive was dealing drugs to students in his pub. And I bumped into the guy Flora was going out with when she disappeared. Dylan Bird. He told me he thought Clive had killed Flora because Dylan owed him and his brother Norman money for drugs.’ I remember Dylan’s pinched white face, his mumblings of ‘he killed her because of me’.
Ted sighs heavily and my heart sinks, anticipating what he’s going to say. ‘But Clive didn’t kill Flora, did he? At least, there’s no evidence of that now. The body isn’t hers!’
‘But if he killed this other young girl he might have killed Flora too,’ I say. ‘Dylan said he’d been at the fair around the same time as Flora. He might have met her.’
Ted grunts. ‘“Might have” isn’t good enough.’ He slaps the edge of one hand into the palm of the other. ‘We need cold, hard facts. And the fucking Daily News seems to be getting everything before we do.’ A tense silence falls between us. Ted’s blue eyes are cold as he stares off into the middle distance, still chewing.
‘You know, Jess,’ he says, still not looking at me, ‘HQ are looking for any excuse to shut this place down. They want us all under one roof. I’d hate that, and so would Seth. We’re too old and jaded to make that move.’
I’d hate it too. I love the freedom we have here.
‘We’re the ones who are coming up with the good stories on this,’ I say, my cheeks hot. ‘Not them.’
‘Only because you know the family. It keeps Jared off our backs.’
Jared is ten years younger than Ted, suave with his slicked-back hair, expensive suits and soft-top sports car. Ted is the antithesis to Jared. Ted is what I call old-school. Ex-Fleet Street. There’s nothing suave or slimy about Ted.
I have one ace up my sleeve, although I’m not sure how ethical it would be to use it.
But I need to prove to Ted that he wasn’t wrong to employ me. He hired me because of my track record.
I take a deep breath and it all comes out in a rush. ‘Margot said I can go with her this afternoon to see Heather.’ I feel as if I’ve thrown a hand grenade into the room and am waiting to see if it explodes.
His eyes flick back to mine and he looks more alert than I’ve seen him all week.
‘I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to interview her,’ I add hastily. ‘But proceedings aren’t active yet because they still haven’t charged her due to her health.’
‘She’s getting better, though. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘I know. It’s a long shot, but she might give me something.’
He stands up, actually rubbing his hands. ‘Yes. Yes, she might. It’s worth a shot. You’ll be the first journalist to see her, to interview her. Great. Great. That’ll get Jared off our backs.’
‘Even if they say I can interview her, I don’t know if she’ll agree …’ I begin, but he’s already walking away.
I’ve arranged to meet Margot in the entrance to Southmead Hospital and she’s already there when I arrive. She’s wearing a wool camel coat that reaches mid-calf, and a large black cashmere scarf slung around her neck. I’m struck again by how elegant she is. She’s wearing lipstick and her hair is styled, the streaks of white at the front giving her a distinguished appearance. For a moment, a millisecond, really, I feel a stab of envy for Heather that’s so sharp I gasp. My own mother never even called me back after our brief, awkward phone chat last Friday night.