Back in his flat, he sat at the kitchen table for the umpteenth time, writing a rough draft of his letter of resignation. Somehow, the words failed to put across any of his emotions adequately. He crumpled the paper and tossed it towards the bin. He had been reminded in the restaurant of just how much Hyde’s had cost in human terms, and of how little justice there had been. There was a knock at the door. He had hope in his heart as he opened it. Gill Templer stood there, smiling.
In the night, he crept through to the living room, and \ switched on the desk lamp. It threw light guiltily, like a constable’s torch, onto the small filing cabinet beside the
stereo. The key was hidden under a corner of the carpet, as secure a hiding place as a granny’s mattress. He opened the cabinet and lifted out a slim file, which he carried to his chair, the chair which had for so many months been his bed. There he sat, composed, remembering the day at James Carew’s flat. Back then he had been tempted to lift Carew’s private diary and keep it for himself. But he had resisted temptation. Not the night at Hyde’s though. There, alone in Andrews’ office for a moment, he had filched the photograph of Tony McCall. Tony McCall, a friend and colleague with whom, these days, he had nothing in common. Except perhaps a sense of guilt.
He-opened the file and took out the photographs. He had taken them along with the one of McCall. Four photographs, lifted at random. He studied the faces again, as he did most nights when he found sleep hard to come by. Faces he recognised. Faces attached to names, and names to handshakes and voices. Important people. Influential people. He’d thought about this a lot. Indeed, he had thought about little else since that night in Hyde’s club. He brought out a metal wastepaper bin from beneath the desk, dropped the photographs into it, and lit a match, holding it over the bin, as he had done so many times before.
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Table of Contents
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8