‘It wasn’t just the media.’
‘I’m well aware of that fact.’ Her polite expression never wavered yet he detected an undercurrent flowing beneath their polite conversation. ‘What are you hoping to do now?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I’m flying to New York at the weekend to see my family. After that… who knows.’
‘I wish you the best of luck.’ She smiled again and entered the building.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The interview on LR1 was as smooth as Amanda expected. She spoke knowledgeably about the Shroffs and their strong family bonds, their petty squabbles and murderous feuds, their international criminal links. Cass Green, the presenter, asked about the dangerous line Amanda walked when researching their activities. Did she, as was suspected, have a mole within the gardaí? Amanda gazed into the camera, and shook her head. She was her own sleuth, eyes wide open to find the story under the skin. As the interview drew to a close, Cass congratulated her on the success of her Free Karl Lawson campaign. Amanda laughed airily and thanked the public for their support.
‘You were good.’ Eric Walker, who had left the Daily Orb and joined the team on LR1’s newly introduced investigative programme, Behind the Crime Line, was waiting for her at reception.
‘Good?’ Amanda arched her eyebrows, newly threaded.
‘Awesome,’ he amended and stepped back to survey her. ‘Have you lost weight?’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Did I look too thin?’
‘You looked perfect. Have you time for coffee?’
‘A quick one. You must tell me all about your new job.’
‘Just as well you didn’t apply for it,’ he said as they walked under the archway that led them to Quix Cafe. ‘It was a tough enough interview process. Four times they called me back. Four times. And a different panel each time, apart from Lar Richardson. They psychoanalysed me so thoroughly they now know me better than I know myself. But hell, I got the gig in the end. What do you think of the programme?’
‘It’s good.’
‘Good?’ Now it was his turn to lift his eyebrows. ‘You can do better than that, Amanda.’
‘Good,’ she repeated. ‘It’s still finding its feet but it will be excellent when the team take on some really tough investigations.’
Eric agreed. ‘We’re falling over each other with ideas but still learning to execute them. Why didn’t you apply for the job?’
‘Too busy,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, I’m happy where I am.’
‘Yeah… but television.’ He opened the cafe door and stood aside for her to enter. ‘I would have thought Behind the Crime Line was right up your street.’
Quix Cafe, all gleaming chrome and hissing coffee machines, was busy. The customers, gathered in huddles around the tables, created an atmosphere of jittery, stressed, argumentative and high-octane creativity. She would have passed triumphantly through those four interviews but she had been caught up in the freedom campaign she instigated on Karl Lawson’s behalf. All those letters and emails she had received. The invitations from activist groups to speak at their meetings. The constant pressure she had been under to continue writing about Karl Lawson until he was released from prison and free to terrorise her.
Eric mentioned his name. Had he a direct line to her thoughts? She blew on her decaf coffee but set it back on the table.
‘What did you just say?’ She touched her teeth with her tongue, a nervous habit she had conquered – almost.
‘You just missed him earlier,’ he said. ‘Kicked up a row at reception. Demanded to see Richardson and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Got his way in the end, too. Pity you missed him. He’d have been delighted to see you.’
She met his gaze and smiled wryly. For an instant she was tempted to swear him to secrecy and confide in him. The thought quickly passed. Their backgrounds were too similar to pretend that the story wasn’t more important than the sharing of secrets between friends.
‘I’d better head back to the office.’ Amanda stood. ‘I’ve a series to finish. Lots of luck with your new job.’
She hurried past Richardson Publications, where Karl Lawson had once interviewed her and found her wanting. ‘Don’t be afraid to dig deep,’ he had told her during that humiliating interview in his office. ‘There’s always another story under the skin.’ Easy crumbs of advice tossed from his lofty editorial table. Could he possibly still be lurking around here? The cars in the car park looked glossy and sleek, their registration plates proving they had been purchased in the last few years. Nothing like the clapped-out banger he had driven to Elizabeth Kelly’s funeral. She zapped her own car and was about to turn on the ignition when her phone bleeped. No name on the text, just another unfamiliar number.
Explosive interview, Amanda. Why didn’t you check under your car. Boom!
A hoax, like the powder, it had to be a hoax. She opened the door and stepped carefully away from her car. Slow, careful steps, her eyes scanning the car park. Was he watching her? He had to be nearby. Otherwise, how could he have known when to send the text? Her father used to have that same menacing watchfulness as he waited for the trigger that would cause him to strike that first blow. Amanda straightened her shoulders and rang the emergency number Garda Ryan had told her to call when next she was surrounded by danger.
The television station was evacuated. The Army Bomb Disposal Team came and went. The device under her car was harmless. Another hoax. The police took her phone. She could reclaim it when they had traced the text. Her car was declared safe but she was too shocked to drive it away. She was sitting on the sofa in reception when Lar Richardson stepped from the elevator and walked towards her. She straightened her shoulders and struggled up from the plush, enveloping cushions.
‘Amanda Bowe. You certainly caused some excitement today.’ He shook her hand and sat down beside her.
‘I’m so mortified over the trouble I’ve caused.’ Her cheeks stung with embarrassment. ‘I should have guessed it was a hoax.’
‘But it might not have been a hoax. And then what?’ He looked younger when he smiled. Power had chiselled his lean face with authority and his silver hair, brushed back from his forehead, was still plentiful.
‘I didn’t realise the army would make everyone evacuate the business park.’
‘Inconvenient but necessary,’ he replied. ‘How are you?’
‘Still shocked.’ She sipped a glass of water and tried not to wince when it touched her teeth. According to her orthodontist the work was almost complete, but her teeth remained sensitive from the braces she had to wear at night.
‘I watched your interview,’ he said. ‘You’re a courageous reporter. I admire that about you.’
‘Crime reporting is difficult,’ she said. ‘And it doesn’t get any easier.’
‘Have you ever considered moving in a different direction?’ he asked.
‘Such as?’