‘I believe it was, yes.’
Kathy remembered the evening of Jamaican cooking, the stories, funny and wistful. I have been a surrogate, she thought, no more than a channel to old memories, a bandaid for old wounds.
‘I think he’ll go all the way with this,’ she said sadly. ‘Maybe the real question is, how far will Michael Grant let him go?’
Kathy’s phone rang as she was getting ready to leave the office for home. She recognised his voice, and sank back into her chair. ‘Tom. I’ve been trying to reach you.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ve been very busy. There’s been so much to do.’ He sounded elated,speaking fast.‘Did you see it?’
‘Yes, we all did.’
‘What did you think?’
‘I think you’re going about it the wrong way.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re a serving police officer.’
‘There are higher loyalties than that. To the truth, for instance. This is the only way. They left me no choice.’
There was a pause, then Kathy said,‘Brock told me about your second wife.’
‘Did he? I didn’t think he knew . . . I’m sorry, I almost told you several times, but then I held back. It didn’t seem relevant to us.’
‘Wasn’t it? Isn’t it what this is all about?’
‘Is that what Brock’s saying? Listen, Kathy-’ he was angry now-‘what I’m doing is getting at the truth, the only way I can, the only way they’ve left me. I’m sorry you can’t be with me on that.’
‘Tom, you-’ But the line was dead.
The media were full of the story over the weekend, their appetite for scandal only sharpened by the refusal of any of the players to speak to them. For the moment they didn’t identify the Roaches by name, but there were clear hints that as soon as witnesses were called before the committee, their names would be published and the whole story brought out into the open. There was a great deal about Michael Grant, his background and his history of campaigning for the underprivileged.
On Monday morning the TV channels were carrying pictures of scenes outside the Houses of Parliament as reporters tried to get access to the committee meeting and to catch participants for comment. It seemed that some agreement had been reached to broadcast the session live on TV, and one of the channels was promising coverage during its morning news show. The picture was clearer than on the webcast, and in Queen Anne’s Gate, just a couple of hundred yards away, someone had fixed up a TV in the main office, around which people were clustering.
As the committee members took their seats Kathy had the impression that the mood was different from that on Friday, less informal and congenial.When Margaret Hart opened the session she sounded sombre. She reminded them of the duties and powers of the committee, and called upon them to use these responsibly.
‘Mr Hadden-Vane has asked to address the meeting.’
The MP acknowledged her with a nod, and when he spoke his voice was harsh and forceful, with none of the empty bluster of before.
‘On Friday we were confronted by an unprecedented accusation against a British company, and evidence of criminal activity on a huge scale. Since then I, like all of my colleagues, have been trying to form a dispassionate assessment of this shocking evidence. In the short time that’s been available to me, I have been able to discover several witnesses who can throw further light on it. It is crucial that the committee hear what they have to say, and I beg leave to call these witnesses immediately.’
The room was very still.
‘They are here?’ Hart asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You know the normal procedure for calling witnesses, Mr Hadden-Vane,’ the Chair frowned.‘The committee will need notice . . .’
‘When he interrupted our agenda on Friday, Mr Grant claimed that what he had to say was of such importance that the committee should suspend its normal procedures and we agreed. I claim the same latitude. People’s reputations are at stake here. Mr Grant has made this a matter of extreme urgency.’
Hart looked around the room, taking in nodding heads. ‘Very well.’
‘Thank you. The first witness is Mr Steven Bryce.’ Kathy stiffened and turned to Brock.‘The boss of the plastics
company that went bust. The one that was overseas.’
Hadden-Vane turned to speak to the Clerk and handed him a sheet of paper.While they waited for him to bring in the witness, the MP went on,‘Madam Chair,I propose that my witnesses give their evidence on oath. I know this is unusual, but Mr Grant proposed that his witnesses should do this and I don’t want mine to be seen as any less credible.’
‘This is not a competition, Mr Hadden-Vane,’ Margaret Hart snapped.‘And they are the committee’s witnesses, not yours or Mr Grant’s. However, under the circumstances, it may be advisable.’
A slight, rather anxious-looking man came into the picture, and was shown by the Clerk to the witness table across the end of the horseshoe, facing the Chair.
‘Mr Bryce,’ Margaret Hart said, leaning forward and smiling warmly at him. ‘I understand you’re willing to assist this committee with your testimony, is that correct?’
The man cleared his throat and said yes.
‘It has been proposed that you give your evidence under oath. If you do so, you will be liable to the laws of perjury. Do you have any objection to this?’
‘No, that’s been explained to me. I don’t mind.’ The man’s flat Midlands accent was distinct.
The Clerk stepped forward and Bryce took the oath, then Hadden-Vane spoke.
‘I’d like to place on record our appreciation to Mr Bryce for attending today. He was overseas when we were finally able to contact him yesterday, and he came back immediately when he understood the seriousness of the situation. Mr Bryce, were you the managing director of PC Plastics of Solihull?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Your company ceased trading last December, is that correct? Would you describe what it did before that.’
‘We were a small company, manufacturing a variety of plastic components for customers, mainly retail outlets.’
‘Was the Paramounts off-licence chain one of your customers?’
‘We did several jobs for them, yes.’
‘Now I’m showing Mr Bryce the order for 50,000 brown plastic sheaths that was included in the documents Mr Grant provided on Friday. Do you recognise this, Mr Bryce?’
‘You showed it to me last night, when I got back from Poland.’
‘Will you tell us your reaction, please?’
‘I’d never seen it before.’
‘You’re quite certain? Would you have seen every order that came into your company?’
‘Absolutely.We never received this order.’
There was a stir of consternation in the room. Michael Grant was staring at the witness, a frown on his face.
‘Have you any other comment on the document?’ Hadden-Vane went on.
‘Well, that’s certainly our name and address at the top, but the rest looks pretty odd to me. In the first place, I don’t think we’d have been capable of carrying out such an order.We did fibreglass mouldings, some vacuum forming, generally small-scale, short runs-shop signs, display stands, promotional material, that sort of thing. I’d say this job would have needed a large injection moulding machine.We’ve never had one of them.’
‘I see. Anything else?’
‘Well, the letterhead is Paramounts’ London head office, but we never had correspondence with them before.We always dealt with their regional office in Birmingham.’
‘Right.What about the signature at the bottom of the order, that of Mr Ivor Roach?’
‘I’ve heard of Mr Roach, but I’ve never had any dealings with him. I wouldn’t know if that’s his signature or not.’
Hadden-Vane beamed.‘Thank you.That’s all I wanted to ask, Mr Bryce.’
Margaret Hart asked if anyone had further questions, and all heads turned to Michael Grant. He seemed stunned and didn’t react for a moment, then said,‘Your company went out of business in December, you said?’