weird it sounds. Do I really look stressed out?”
“You do,” said Martin. “I’m guessing this has been preying on your mind? But cold viruses
can
hang around for months, these days, y’know? Look, the Greenhills are important people in Hadlington, but I’m not exactly their biggest fan. Ken Greenhill is an arrogant son of a bitch, frankly. I’d love to print something that’d take him down a peg or two, I really would. And Byron Greenhill makes a lot of people’s flesh crawl. ‘Self-basting’ our editor here calls him. But what you’ve got here are suspicions and loose connections. You need hard proof. Catch Caroline Greenhill with a syringe in her hands. Photograph Byron running amok with a meat cleaver. Anything less is nothing at all. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You might get one of the tabloids in London willing to run with something, but even then it’s unlikely. And you know why? I’m not sure you’ve considered this angle yet.”
I frowned. “Why?”
He sniffed. “Ninety per cent of the law in this country has got nothing to do with justice, young man. Remember that. It’s about protection.The protected survive, the unprotected fall. The Greenhills have a lot of influential friends, and they have enough money to pay for a whole army of lawyers. If you start throwing accusations at them, they’re going to start throwing lawyers at you. Fact. And everyone at this paper, if we printed those accusations.”
“You’re right,” I sighed, “I hadn’t considered that.”
“Those instances you mentioned, of stories appearing briefly? You can bet your life that the Greenhills got their legal Rottweilers to squash them. If there’s no hard proof, it’s all just opinion. You haven’t put any of this stuff out online, have you?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way, unless you want lawyers and a million online loonies howling at you.”
I gathered up all my research, and clipped it back into the file. I felt like an idiot.
“Look, Sam,” said Martin. “It’s not even like I don’t believe you. No, scratch that, I don’t think you’re right, not for a second – the implications are just beyond rational. But I’m willing to be proved wrong. OK? I’m willing to keep an open mind. Jesus, you’ve only got to look at the headlines fromthe past few years to see that the most astonishing cover-ups are possible. In politics, in the media, in the police, almost anywhere. And for every one that gets exposed, you can be sure there are a dozen others, maybe a hundred others. Money is power, and enough power means you can do whatever the hell you like, right or wrong, good or bad. The only rule people like that stick to is: don’t get caught.”
I clutched the file to my chest and stood up, the swivel chair squeaking loudly. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”
Martin laughed. “You haven’t. Honestly, Sam, you haven’t. You could be really good at this job. When you want to arrange to come in for a week, give me a call.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. OK?”
“Thanks,” I said through a half-smile.
I walked home instead of taking the bus. I needed to think. Running through all the research in my head, and everything I’d seen for myself, the only thing that became clear was that no explanation I’d considered so far appeared to fit
all
the evidence. No, mustn’t call it evidence. It wasn’t evidence yet.
What could I do now? Should I wait, and hope that something more substantial would turn up? And what would that mean anyway? More deaths? How far did all this have to go before I could and should start blaming myself for not getting proper evidence sooner?
They had to have me marked down as a potential troublemaker, because of my refusal to go to Caroline Greenhill’s surgery. They were probably keeping an equally close eye on me.
Did they know I’d just been to see Jo’s dad?
No, probably not. The only people who knew I was going to that
“You do,” said Martin. “I’m guessing this has been preying on your mind? But cold viruses
can
hang around for months, these days, y’know? Look, the Greenhills are important people in Hadlington, but I’m not exactly their biggest fan. Ken Greenhill is an arrogant son of a bitch, frankly. I’d love to print something that’d take him down a peg or two, I really would. And Byron Greenhill makes a lot of people’s flesh crawl. ‘Self-basting’ our editor here calls him. But what you’ve got here are suspicions and loose connections. You need hard proof. Catch Caroline Greenhill with a syringe in her hands. Photograph Byron running amok with a meat cleaver. Anything less is nothing at all. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You might get one of the tabloids in London willing to run with something, but even then it’s unlikely. And you know why? I’m not sure you’ve considered this angle yet.”
I frowned. “Why?”
He sniffed. “Ninety per cent of the law in this country has got nothing to do with justice, young man. Remember that. It’s about protection.The protected survive, the unprotected fall. The Greenhills have a lot of influential friends, and they have enough money to pay for a whole army of lawyers. If you start throwing accusations at them, they’re going to start throwing lawyers at you. Fact. And everyone at this paper, if we printed those accusations.”
“You’re right,” I sighed, “I hadn’t considered that.”
“Those instances you mentioned, of stories appearing briefly? You can bet your life that the Greenhills got their legal Rottweilers to squash them. If there’s no hard proof, it’s all just opinion. You haven’t put any of this stuff out online, have you?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way, unless you want lawyers and a million online loonies howling at you.”
I gathered up all my research, and clipped it back into the file. I felt like an idiot.
“Look, Sam,” said Martin. “It’s not even like I don’t believe you. No, scratch that, I don’t think you’re right, not for a second – the implications are just beyond rational. But I’m willing to be proved wrong. OK? I’m willing to keep an open mind. Jesus, you’ve only got to look at the headlines fromthe past few years to see that the most astonishing cover-ups are possible. In politics, in the media, in the police, almost anywhere. And for every one that gets exposed, you can be sure there are a dozen others, maybe a hundred others. Money is power, and enough power means you can do whatever the hell you like, right or wrong, good or bad. The only rule people like that stick to is: don’t get caught.”
I clutched the file to my chest and stood up, the swivel chair squeaking loudly. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”
Martin laughed. “You haven’t. Honestly, Sam, you haven’t. You could be really good at this job. When you want to arrange to come in for a week, give me a call.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. OK?”
“Thanks,” I said through a half-smile.
I walked home instead of taking the bus. I needed to think. Running through all the research in my head, and everything I’d seen for myself, the only thing that became clear was that no explanation I’d considered so far appeared to fit
all
the evidence. No, mustn’t call it evidence. It wasn’t evidence yet.
What could I do now? Should I wait, and hope that something more substantial would turn up? And what would that mean anyway? More deaths? How far did all this have to go before I could and should start blaming myself for not getting proper evidence sooner?
They had to have me marked down as a potential troublemaker, because of my refusal to go to Caroline Greenhill’s surgery. They were probably keeping an equally close eye on me.
Did they know I’d just been to see Jo’s dad?
No, probably not. The only people who knew I was going to that
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