Dialogues of the Dead

After she'd finished and the brass band had played the show out, Jax sat still for a moment. Then John Wingate came bursting in. 'Jesus, Jax! What the hell was that all about? Is it true? It can't be true! Where'd it come from? What evidence have you got? You should have cleared this with me first, you know that. Shit! What's going to happen now?' 'Let's wait and see,' she said, smiling, back to her old self now that the die was cast. They didn't have long to wait. Even Jax was taken aback by the sheer weight of the reaction. It came in a confusion of telephone calls, faxes, e-mails and personal visits, but it was divisible into four clear categories. First came her employers, at levels stretching up from Wingate himself to top management in London and their legal oracles. As soon as these had pronounced, with all the usual caveats and qualifications, that there did not on the face of it seem to be anything actionable in what she had said, she passed rapidly from potential liability to embryonic star. This was a hot news scoop in the old style, something rarely seen on national let alone provincial television. Hence the interest from category two, the rest of the media. Once she'd made up her mind to go ahead, Jax had seeded word of her intention in several potentially fruitful areas. Long hardened against hype, no one had fallen over with excitement, but now the smell of blood was in the air and jackals everywhere were raising their snouts and sniffing. If this turned out to be a story that ran, then it was crazy not to be in at the beginning and by the end of the evening Jax had signed up for a national radio spot, a TV chat show and a Sunday tabloid article, while a broadsheet had opened negotiations for a profile. Mary Agnew of the Gazette had rung too. A pragmatist, she didn't waste time reproaching her former employee for scooping the story out of her lap. 'Well done, dearie,' she said. 'You got a head start, but you're going to need my help now.' 'Why's that, Mary?' 'Because now you've done the dirty, your police source is going to dry up like a mummy's crotch,' said Mary. 'And because it's the Gazette that this nut - if there is a nut which I'm not yet convinced - is sending his material to. So when the next one comes . . .' 'What makes you think there'll be a next one, seeing you're such a sceptic?' interrupted Jax. 'You do, dearie. You've practically guaranteed it. Even if it was a joke before, you've made sure every nut in the county will want to get in on the act, and God knows how far some of them will be willing to go. I'll keep in touch. Sleep well.' Bitch, thought Jax. Sick as a parrot and trying to get her own back by getting inside my skull. Do I need her? Probably not. On the other hand, pointless telling her to piss off till I'm sure. But category three, calls from the public, made her think that maybe Agnew had called it right after all. Some were concerned, some abusive, some plain dotty, a couple positively threatening, but none obviously useful. All were recorded and copies of the tapes made ready for the police. One tape definitely wasn't for the police, however. This was the call she had from Councillor Cyril Steel eager for any further ammunition she could supply him to aid his anti-cop crusade. Like Agnew, he was insignificant nationally but locally a big-hitter in his crusade against inefficiency and corruption. He'd given her a lot of good leads and what was more his omnivorous gut was the only appetite she was expected to satisfy in return. Now he was delighted at what he saw as a win-win situation. Either the police had failed in their duty by not telling the council about a possible serial killer in the town,