Chapter Thirty-Two
Magee’s taped interview made its way on to the BBC’s lunchtime news bulletin. His smart appearance, along with his well-spoken and polite manner, made him an instant celebrity. BBC Southern Radio ran with the topic of the local murder, and perceived police ineptitude, for the following hour’s listeners’ phone-in program.
By three-fifteen in the afternoon, Magee was being proclaimed by some as a latter day Hercule Poirot. As he drove into the car park of the East Sussex Police Headquarters in Lewes, he was confronted by a group of journalists baying for blood. He turned off the engine, wound the window down, and sat shaking his head in bewilderment as Inspector Jackson walked out of the building.
‘Inspector Jackson,’ shouted a reporter. ‘Can we have a word from you, please?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Inspector Jackson muttered. ‘I just wish to say that Magee is a sad, pathetic, bitter ex-policeman who’s taking his frustration out on me, his successor.’
‘What about his allegation that the murderer is still at large?’
‘Rubbish! The murderer is locked up.’
‘Are you putting your reputation at stake, same as Magee?’
‘Of course I am!’
‘One of you must be wrong.’
‘Well it’s not me!’ Inspector Jackson barked back. ‘Magee knows nothing of yesterday’s murder. He wasn’t there, I was. So what the bloody hell does he know about the murderer still being at large?’
Magee quietly exited his car and crept around to a side entrance. Hoping to avoid confrontation, he walked quickly through the corridors of power. Just as he reached Superintendent Vaughan’s office, a hand grabbed his shoulder.
‘What the fuck is your game, Magee?’ Inspector Jackson hissed in anger.
Magee turned and smiled pleasantly, enjoying the fact that, for once, the pressure was firmly on someone else's shoulders. He could see Inspector Jackson was seething; the man looked as though he was going to explode any second.
‘No game, Jackson,’ Magee replied. ‘You're just wrong, that's all. Perhaps you need to check your facts again. Try from the beginning. Don't forget that I was there at the start. If you work through the case, carefully, you'll find your error. You'll see I'm right. Sorry, can't stop, I have an appointment.’
‘Well fuck you, asshole,’
Magee shook his head in feigned sorrow. ‘Is that the worst you can do? Name calling?’
‘You’re finished here, Magee. I’ll see to that.’
‘You really are quite pathetic.’ Magee turned, knocked on Superintendent Vaughan’s door and entered swiftly, grateful to distance himself from Jackson’s ire.
Superintendent Vaughan gave vent to a theatrical sigh. ‘Oh, Jack. What on earth has got into you? Was that interview really necessary?’
‘Yes, sir, I believe it was.’
‘But you’re off the case, damn it. You can’t go around treating this case like a private vendetta.’
‘But that’s precisely what it is, sir. A private matter between me, the murderer and the remaining victims.’
Superintendent Vaughan shook his head in despair. ‘You’ve become too involved, Jack. You need a break, a holiday. Stay home, take it easy. It’s affecting your judgment.’
‘I beg to differ there, sir. It’s my judgment that’s going to solve this case.’
‘I do wish you hadn’t taken this course of action. It’s not going to look good at a disciplinary hearing.’
‘It won’t come to that, sir.’
‘Give it up, Jack. Your pension may be at stake here.’
‘It won’t come to that, sir.’
‘I may well be forced to take Jackson’s side, you know.’
‘I understand, sir. Just give me forty-eight hours, please. I need to speak to the Home Secretary to clear up a point of procedure.’
‘Speak with the Home Secretary? Now just wait a moment, you can’t take this matter to him. There are rules and procedures to follow.’
‘Yes, sir, there are indeed rules. And that is why I must see him.’
‘You’re being cryptic. What’s going on?’
‘Sorry, sir. The Home Secretary made me promise not to tell anyone.’
‘Really? This interview of yours, it’s part of the Home Secretary’s doing?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good lord!’
‘Quite, sir. So, please, forty-eight hours grace. That’s all I ask.’
‘Very well. But if what you say is true, then I expect clear direction from the Home Secretary’s office. Preferably from the man at the top himself.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Superintendent Vaughan puffed up his chest and straightened his lapels. ‘Good luck, then, Jack.’
On his return journey downstairs, Magee found another hand abruptly grabbing his shoulder from behind.
‘You're crazy, sir,’ Melissa hissed. ‘I'll get the sack if it ever gets out that I gave you that information yesterday.’
‘Well it won't come from me. Don't worry though, you're safe. I haven't said anything so far that could incriminate you, have I?’
‘No. But that's not the point. I feel vulnerable. Any second now I'm expecting Jackson to call me in for a roasting.’
‘It won't happen. Calm down. Look, we don’t have much time. Are you still with me or not?’
‘Have I a choice?’ Melissa whispered through gritted teeth.
‘Not if you want me back, you don't. Do you really like the idea of working for Jackson for the next five years? Look, I can't say much, only that the Home Secretary is on my side, he will reinstate me within a couple of days. Okay?’
‘What?’
‘Not a word, though. Now then, the next victim is going to be Des McAlister, the politician.’
‘He's next? How the hell do you know that, sir?’
Magee replied, ‘Call me Poirot!’
‘You sly old fox! What you said on television wasn't a bluff was it? You do know what's going on. How?’
‘Never you mind. I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. Anyway, it’s best I keep it quiet for now. You don't want Jackson to know, do you?’
‘Christ no!’
‘Good. I’ll keep you posted, you keep me posted.’
‘What about McAlister?’
‘Leave him to me, Melissa. I’ll be seeing him soon.’
‘What are you going to do next?’
‘It’s been a stressful day, Melissa. I’m going home to relax and write up all my notes. I need to present a case to the Home Secretary that will encourage him to reinstate me.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Sit tight and pray.’