You’ll have to take my word for it.’
‘If you knew who he was,’ says Danny Hillman, ‘you’d have released his name to the media by now.’
‘You think what you want. But I guarantee you this: if you cooperate with this man, nobody will ever see that baby alive. People like Pete Black only ever contact the media because it serves their agenda.’
‘And can we quote you on all this?’ says Maggie, with a warning grin. ‘Senior Investigating Officer warns London Talk FM not to help find little baby Emma?’
Hillman steps in, speaks over Luther’s visible irritation. ‘Look,’ he says, ‘there’s a very clear public interest here. We’ve run it past the lawyers. They’re happy. If you try to gag us, we’ll go to air with it, treat it as a story. And once it’s discovered the police tried to stop us helping save a child’s life – what happens then?’
Luther sits back. ‘I can apply for a D-Notice.’
He means a Defence Advisory Notice, an official request to news editors not to publish or broadcast certain stories.
Hillman says, ‘We’re not releasing any information that pertains or relates to national security.’
Luther sidesteps that. ‘So how are the ratings?’ he asks. ‘Sky-high, right? Killer calls. You Tweet, you put it on bloody Facebook, it goes viral. You amplify that new interest by running the call as a news headline every what, fifteen minutes? Killer Calls London Talk FM! Other news outlets pick up the story. These things spread like an explosion. In a few hours, you’re sitting on the biggest story in Britain. Which makes you, this station, the biggest story in Britain. We’ve seen them downstairs. The hyenas.’
‘This is a commercial operation, absolutely,’ says Hillman. ‘But believe it or not, we actually do have the interests of our listeners at heart. And our city. Not to mention baby Emma.’
‘Her name’s not Emma. She hasn’t got a name yet. Her parents died before she was born.’
‘She’s got a name now,’ says Maggie. ‘For better or worse.’
‘All right,’ says Hillman. ‘Let’s all calm down.’ He stands and goes to the window. Peers out on London at night; unreal city. He turns to face them, leaning on the windowsill. ‘When you came in here,’ he says, ‘you knew we’d never kill the story. You had to ask, but you knew. So what are you really asking?’
Luther won’t answer, so it’s Howie who says, ‘We’re asking you to help us catch him.’
The intern walks in with their coffees. She places them almost reverently on the conference table and slips away. When she’s gone, some of the tension has drained from the room.
After successfully defending editorial principle, Hillman agrees without caveat to the covert deployment of a police intelligence and surveillance crew. They’ll arrive in plain clothes, and monitor and trace all calls to the station. (They’ll also be surveilling the surrounding area, in case Pete Black shows up in person. But Luther doesn’t feel the need to share this detail.)
The meeting is concluded cordially enough. Luther and Howie button their coats. Then Luther pauses in the doorway. ‘One more thing,’ he says.
‘Ask away,’ says Hillman.
But Luther is speaking to Maggie. ‘There’s a lot of journalists in the world,’ he says. ‘Why did he come to you?’
‘None taken,’ she says. ‘Obviously, he listens to the show. When you’re in the public eye, people imagine they’ve got a relationship with you. So, yeah. He trusts me.’
‘But he was pretty specific.’ Luther checks his notes and recites: ‘That thing you did. Adrian York.’
‘Ah,’ she grins. ‘1995. My annus mirabilis. My one and only ever report for Newsnight . Passion piece. Got nommed.’
‘Nommed?’
‘Nominated. The Margaret Wakely Award for Contribution to Awareness of Women’s Issues in Television Journalism.’
‘You win?’
The grin widens. ‘Always the bridesmaid.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Luther
‘If you knew who he was,’ says Danny Hillman, ‘you’d have released his name to the media by now.’
‘You think what you want. But I guarantee you this: if you cooperate with this man, nobody will ever see that baby alive. People like Pete Black only ever contact the media because it serves their agenda.’
‘And can we quote you on all this?’ says Maggie, with a warning grin. ‘Senior Investigating Officer warns London Talk FM not to help find little baby Emma?’
Hillman steps in, speaks over Luther’s visible irritation. ‘Look,’ he says, ‘there’s a very clear public interest here. We’ve run it past the lawyers. They’re happy. If you try to gag us, we’ll go to air with it, treat it as a story. And once it’s discovered the police tried to stop us helping save a child’s life – what happens then?’
Luther sits back. ‘I can apply for a D-Notice.’
He means a Defence Advisory Notice, an official request to news editors not to publish or broadcast certain stories.
Hillman says, ‘We’re not releasing any information that pertains or relates to national security.’
Luther sidesteps that. ‘So how are the ratings?’ he asks. ‘Sky-high, right? Killer calls. You Tweet, you put it on bloody Facebook, it goes viral. You amplify that new interest by running the call as a news headline every what, fifteen minutes? Killer Calls London Talk FM! Other news outlets pick up the story. These things spread like an explosion. In a few hours, you’re sitting on the biggest story in Britain. Which makes you, this station, the biggest story in Britain. We’ve seen them downstairs. The hyenas.’
‘This is a commercial operation, absolutely,’ says Hillman. ‘But believe it or not, we actually do have the interests of our listeners at heart. And our city. Not to mention baby Emma.’
‘Her name’s not Emma. She hasn’t got a name yet. Her parents died before she was born.’
‘She’s got a name now,’ says Maggie. ‘For better or worse.’
‘All right,’ says Hillman. ‘Let’s all calm down.’ He stands and goes to the window. Peers out on London at night; unreal city. He turns to face them, leaning on the windowsill. ‘When you came in here,’ he says, ‘you knew we’d never kill the story. You had to ask, but you knew. So what are you really asking?’
Luther won’t answer, so it’s Howie who says, ‘We’re asking you to help us catch him.’
The intern walks in with their coffees. She places them almost reverently on the conference table and slips away. When she’s gone, some of the tension has drained from the room.
After successfully defending editorial principle, Hillman agrees without caveat to the covert deployment of a police intelligence and surveillance crew. They’ll arrive in plain clothes, and monitor and trace all calls to the station. (They’ll also be surveilling the surrounding area, in case Pete Black shows up in person. But Luther doesn’t feel the need to share this detail.)
The meeting is concluded cordially enough. Luther and Howie button their coats. Then Luther pauses in the doorway. ‘One more thing,’ he says.
‘Ask away,’ says Hillman.
But Luther is speaking to Maggie. ‘There’s a lot of journalists in the world,’ he says. ‘Why did he come to you?’
‘None taken,’ she says. ‘Obviously, he listens to the show. When you’re in the public eye, people imagine they’ve got a relationship with you. So, yeah. He trusts me.’
‘But he was pretty specific.’ Luther checks his notes and recites: ‘That thing you did. Adrian York.’
‘Ah,’ she grins. ‘1995. My annus mirabilis. My one and only ever report for Newsnight . Passion piece. Got nommed.’
‘Nommed?’
‘Nominated. The Margaret Wakely Award for Contribution to Awareness of Women’s Issues in Television Journalism.’
‘You win?’
The grin widens. ‘Always the bridesmaid.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Luther
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