Postage Due -Long Listed ONC2022

Chapter 13

Jack Edwards sat huddled with Peter Stinson, Bradford's press Secretary; the MP was appalled. The set of pictures were spread out in front of him and he couldn't take his eyes away. Peter explained how he found them after the meeting with Rod Proctor – the meeting that ended Bradford's life, as it turned out.

"We can't let this get out, Peter. My God, we'd all be ruined."

"You knew nothing of this?" Peter asked.

"Nothing. No. I can't believe these men—"

"Believe it. And these are just copies, Jack - plus there is an audio tape, which we don't have."

"What were they for? How were they going to use them?"

"Grainger wants the video denounced and blame placed where it belongs, as well as a withdrawal of the bill."

Edwards scooped the pictures together and pushed them away. "Are they open to any kind of compromise?"

"I can ask, but word of this has already leaked out among that group." Peter tapped the pile of photos.

"What? How?"

"I can only think Proctor approached one of them."

"Listen, Peter. You are more on top of all this than I am at the moment. Can I rely on you to see about a compromise, or at least a meeting where we might negotiate our positions without the use of this material? It could lead to something better in the party for you if we come out of this safely."

There it was. The subtle bribe so often played in the political game. Peter smiled to himself, thinking, I already have plans for something better, Mr. Deputy Minister.

"I'll certainly pull out all the stops, Jack."

"Good. Good man. Knew I could count on you, Peter."

****

Southall stood with his partner looking through the window into the hospital room.

"His name's Edric Durmaz. Age forty-two. Born in Turkey and became a citizen twelve years ago. No sheet on him that we can find."

"And the victim?"

"Sabbi Tiryaki, age thirty-eight. Also Turkish descent. Also citizen. Also clean sheet."

"What the hell was this about?" Southall pushed the door open and they went inside.

The detectives introduced themselves and explained they had some questions they needed to ask.

"I know nothing." Edric closed his eyes.

"Do you know you shot your friend Sabbi - dead?"

The eyes popped open and darted between the two men. "Sabbi is dead?"

"As a door nail, Edric, and you killed him."

"No! Is not true. Look at me, I am the victim!"

"I think he might disagree. What were you doing with that couple?"

"I did nothing. It was Sabbi."

"Convenient." Lewendowski strolled around the bed and looked out the window.

"Why did he want them?" Southall leaned on the bed and Edric gasped as his leg casts shifted painfully.

"You can't do this to me! Is against the law!"

"We are the law, Edric, and I already did it. You want more?"

"It was Sabbi, all Sabbi. I just drove the car and did a few other small things."

"Let's discuss those first then."

Edric groaned, seeing it had no effect whatsoever, and began talking.

****

Peter slammed down the phone when the strange voice answered. Sabbi had been given a code word to say whenever that line was called, and today there was no code word. He switched on the TV news channels and surfed until he found a station recapping the week's events.

The death of the Defence Minister was the top story, followed by more politics, the economy, and a local story about a kidnapping, with the accidental killing of one of the kidnappers. Pictures of the two alleged men filled the screen, giving Peter a headache as he saw Sabbi was dead, but his partner was in hospital being questioned by the police.

If things could get worse, he didn't want to know about it. Peter instantly shredded the personal files he'd kept on Sabbi. He cursed, wondering if Bradford had been foolish enough to save anything, knowing there was nothing he could do now.

He had a thumb drive with copies of the pictures and recordings of his conversations with Proctor, as well as Sabbi's information about the couple. But he didn't know what they knew, or if Sabbi had found what he was looking for.

And Sabbi's partner knew all about Parkhurst too. If the police learn about their connection, they'll be all over him and the MPs like an oil spill. He had to sit down and think.

****

Warren helped Lynne load the last of her stuff into the taxi and stood, hands in pockets, looking forlorn.

"Couldn't you leave something? You know, a toothbrush or a pair of—"

"Are you that desperate?"

"Yes . . . kinda. I was beginning to enjoy having a roomie."

"It's not like I'm leaving the country, Warren."

"You're leaving my country. I told you I loved you, and I meant it. This- this feels like it's over."

She closed the trunk and stood next to him on the sidewalk, fiddling with her keys. "Warren . . . that was- I need space to think. My life really needs sorting out."

"So my love comes under the heading of, needs sorting." He blew out a noisy breath.

"Please don't be like that."

"How should I be? Yes, it all came about because of crazy circumstances, but that doesn't change the fact that, that's how I feel. And if I recall, you asked me to tell you."

She felt her eyes filling, went around to the driver's side and climbed into the cab. Warren bent down and looked through the window at her, noting the single tear rolling down her cheek.

"So that's it?" He called as the engine started, and the cab rolled slowly away. "I guess that's it, Daly." He said aloud.

****

Southall and his partner sat in their car listening to the recording Lewendowski had made of the interview. Edric had talked non-stop for half an hour, then spent another fifteen minutes or so filling in blanks.

"Do you believe this guy? It's like we pulled a plug out of him somewhere!"

"It sure as hell has turned his into a much bigger problem for us. A killing, for Christ's sake – and political connections!"

"First thing," Southall said, "we need to dig up that body and confirm the identity before we go after any politicians."

"I think the first thing is to sit down with the Chief and tell him where this might go. Politics filter down, partner. Who knows what names might get highlighted."

"We'll do both. I'm not sweeping anything under the rug, filters or not."