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Authors: Simon Hall
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carpet of diamonds on the wandering River Plym. The green slopes and spreading trees of the parkland around Saltram Country house rose from the opposite bank. It should have been one of the city’s most beautiful areas, in many places it would have boasted a promenade, cafés, shops and bars. Not in Plymouth, city of missed opportunities. Here there was a railway line and dual carriageway.
A couple of canoeists paddled hard through the smooth waters, leaving waves of glitter in their wake. An occasional fisherman sat hunched over his rod. Dan suspected they were more enjoying the day than in serious pursuit of an elusive fish. The effort of catching and landing one of the unfortunate creatures might only spoil the mood.
Adam accelerated around a milk lorry and the car bounced on the bumps in the uneven road. Dan’s stomach lurched with it. They’d be at the Marsh Mills roundabout in a couple of minutes. Time to make the move.
‘I’ve got a suggestion about the media,’ Dan said, trying to make his voice sound nonchalant.
‘What?’
‘A press conference. That way you’ll sort them all out at once. Give them half an hour of your time and they’ll go away with a story and leave you alone for a while.’
‘Not a bad idea. But I’ve got lots on with the investigation and can’t really spare the time.’
‘It’ll be worthwhile,’ Dan quickly interrupted. ‘We can make the media work for us. I reckon if I come up with what you should say, we can hit big articles in all the papers, national and local, and get it on all the TV and radio news too.’
‘How would that help?’
‘We could work in a way to try to get anyone who knows Freedman to come forward. Particularly the people we discussed at the briefing. Lawyers, priests, that sort of thing. And any of his mates. It could be a useful shortcut to finding them. It might even raise something at the Blackpool end.’
They were approaching the roundabout. Adam slowed the car and changed down a gear. The engine growled in protest.
‘Mmm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Sounds good. What would I have to say to make sure all the media ran it?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort that bit out. I’ve got a few ideas.’
Dan ignored the warning voice in his mind that told him he was yet again crossing the line. From impartial hack to … freelance detective and media adviser. It went against all the journalistic principles of impartiality and neutrality. He could see Lizzie berating him, a sharpened fingernail wagging.
The thought succeeded only in making him smile.
A couple of police cars had pulled up on the side of the road ahead. The traffic slowed as other motorists gawped and pointed. For some people, this was high excitement. Only last week Dan had realised the numbing mundanity of many lives when he’d sat in the Old Bank pub on Mutley Plain, waiting for El, and overheard three women animatedly advocating the merits of various deodorants. The discussion had lasted almost half an hour.
Adam indicated and tucked in behind the police cars.
‘And what’s the price?’ he asked, reaching for the car door.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Dan replied lamely.
‘Just get on with it please, time’s against us. Remember how well I now know you.’
Dan tried to keep a straight face. ‘Fair cop. OK, let me get Nigel here to film the billboard before you take it down. It’ll be a scoop for me. That’s the trade off for the advice on how to handle the media.’
Adam didn’t reply, so Dan continued his salesman’s patter, ‘Then I’ll work up a way of getting the story everywhere. It’ll really give the investigation some momentum.’
They got out of the car, walked over to the roundabout. Dan pointedly took out his mobile, caught Adam’s eye, waited. The detective frowned, but managed a slight nod.
‘It’d better be a bloody good splash of a story,’ he muttered.
‘It will be.’
Dan had no idea yet how he’d make it happen, but he could
A couple of canoeists paddled hard through the smooth waters, leaving waves of glitter in their wake. An occasional fisherman sat hunched over his rod. Dan suspected they were more enjoying the day than in serious pursuit of an elusive fish. The effort of catching and landing one of the unfortunate creatures might only spoil the mood.
Adam accelerated around a milk lorry and the car bounced on the bumps in the uneven road. Dan’s stomach lurched with it. They’d be at the Marsh Mills roundabout in a couple of minutes. Time to make the move.
‘I’ve got a suggestion about the media,’ Dan said, trying to make his voice sound nonchalant.
‘What?’
‘A press conference. That way you’ll sort them all out at once. Give them half an hour of your time and they’ll go away with a story and leave you alone for a while.’
‘Not a bad idea. But I’ve got lots on with the investigation and can’t really spare the time.’
‘It’ll be worthwhile,’ Dan quickly interrupted. ‘We can make the media work for us. I reckon if I come up with what you should say, we can hit big articles in all the papers, national and local, and get it on all the TV and radio news too.’
‘How would that help?’
‘We could work in a way to try to get anyone who knows Freedman to come forward. Particularly the people we discussed at the briefing. Lawyers, priests, that sort of thing. And any of his mates. It could be a useful shortcut to finding them. It might even raise something at the Blackpool end.’
They were approaching the roundabout. Adam slowed the car and changed down a gear. The engine growled in protest.
‘Mmm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Sounds good. What would I have to say to make sure all the media ran it?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort that bit out. I’ve got a few ideas.’
Dan ignored the warning voice in his mind that told him he was yet again crossing the line. From impartial hack to … freelance detective and media adviser. It went against all the journalistic principles of impartiality and neutrality. He could see Lizzie berating him, a sharpened fingernail wagging.
The thought succeeded only in making him smile.
A couple of police cars had pulled up on the side of the road ahead. The traffic slowed as other motorists gawped and pointed. For some people, this was high excitement. Only last week Dan had realised the numbing mundanity of many lives when he’d sat in the Old Bank pub on Mutley Plain, waiting for El, and overheard three women animatedly advocating the merits of various deodorants. The discussion had lasted almost half an hour.
Adam indicated and tucked in behind the police cars.
‘And what’s the price?’ he asked, reaching for the car door.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Dan replied lamely.
‘Just get on with it please, time’s against us. Remember how well I now know you.’
Dan tried to keep a straight face. ‘Fair cop. OK, let me get Nigel here to film the billboard before you take it down. It’ll be a scoop for me. That’s the trade off for the advice on how to handle the media.’
Adam didn’t reply, so Dan continued his salesman’s patter, ‘Then I’ll work up a way of getting the story everywhere. It’ll really give the investigation some momentum.’
They got out of the car, walked over to the roundabout. Dan pointedly took out his mobile, caught Adam’s eye, waited. The detective frowned, but managed a slight nod.
‘It’d better be a bloody good splash of a story,’ he muttered.
‘It will be.’
Dan had no idea yet how he’d make it happen, but he could
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