Jessica slid in opposite Garry feeling tired, thinking that it seemed a lot later than the clock claimed it was. Conspiracies everywhere. Garry had a can of drink in front of him, straw poking from the top, along with two newspapers.
‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this,’ Jessica said. ‘We’ll soon be on first-name terms with the staff. Then we’ll be able to ask for “the usual”, then we’ll get a booth named after us. Before you know it, we’ll have relatives wanting our bodies to be buried in the car park, saying “It’s what they would have wanted.”’
Garry glanced over his shoulder towards the window. ‘I think you’ve made me paranoid. I spent the whole journey here checking my mirrors to make sure I wasn’t being followed.’
Jessica thought she’d cheer him up by telling him that she was pretty sure she had been followed the previous evening – hence the reason for giving him Logan Walkden’s name – and that someone had been through her rubbish, possibly broken into her house, and definitely graffitied her car. ‘. . . and yes, before you say it, at least it proves it was someone I know,’ she concluded, stealing Adam’s joke again because it was the only thing that stopped her from getting upset. She really had lost it with age.
Garry must have sensed that, because he nodded gently and smiled. He unfolded the top newspaper. ‘Our news archive is dreadful – but our announcements, births, deaths and marriages section has been digitised for years. Apart from the advertising, it’s the only bit that makes any profit, so the owners spent some money getting the archiving up to date.’
‘I’ve never looked at that part of a paper.’
‘It’s a big deal online – plus it’s one of the few times people actually buy the paper itself. They still like seeing their name in print when it’s their birthday, or they’re getting married. It gives them something to cut out and keep. There’s no way I would’ve been able to check the news sections for those individual names, but in the end it only took one search to get a day and date. This is from three and a bit years ago.’
He flicked a third of the way through the paper to a large page showing face after face with a long list of names and congratulation notices. He didn’t say anything, passing the page to Jessica and pointing to the bottom.
Thirty-year reunion
Pupils of the former St Flora’s all-boys grammar school held a reunion this week to mark thirty years since taking their O-levels. The school, which closed eleven years ago, is on a site scheduled for development.
Underneath the caption was a photograph that ran the width of the page; around a hundred men all decked out in dinner suits were toasting the camera. Jessica recognised Graham Pomeroy instantly in the bottom right-hand corner, just about making it into the frame. He had a full glass of champagne and a grin that was almost lost to his blubbering chin. Four along from him was Freddy Bunce, looking unassuming. He had a little bit more of a builder’s physique, with larger arms than when Jessica had met him, and seemed uncomfortable in the suit, his smile unnatural. On the far end of the line at the other side was James Jefferies in his wheelchair, not smiling, not even looking at the camera. He was wearing his bronze medal and a suit that didn’t quite fit.
Along the bottom of the picture, everyone’s name had been painstakingly listed, so Jessica had no problem finding Logan Walkden in the back row, standing tall and proud, hands behind his back, neck pushed forward like a strutting turkey; or Declan Grainger standing next to him, shorter and looking a little like a beaver with big front teeth. Partially hidden behind them was a flag that showed the school crest: something in Latin that Jessica couldn’t make out over the top of a fleur-de-lis.
Jessica glanced across the cafe at the three students still wearing their PE kits. One of them was showing something on his phone to the others and all three nudged each other with their elbows and howled with laughter.
Suddenly things began to make sense. No one would make the connection, because why would they?
Jessica could see in Garry’s face that he wasn’t quite there yet. ‘Are they working together?’ he asked.
‘How many people do you still know from school?’
Garry shrugged. ‘Hardly anyone – one or two from university.’
Jessica allowed herself a small smile. She also knew at least two of the people he knew from university. ‘Remember when Dave Rowlands was giving you stories on the quiet and no one could figure out where you were getting them from?’ Garry started to protest but Jessica cut across him. ‘All right, been there and done that. Let’s just say you operated on a nod and a wink. Nobody ever looked into the fact that you could know each other because no one ever does. The only reason somebody might realise that a person is an old school friend is if you introduce them that way – especially if you come from a big city.’
‘So these people are all friends . . . ?’
‘Grammar schools were before our time – but we both know it’s where young people went after passing the eleven-plus exam. You had to have something about you to go in the first place, so let’s assume everyone in this photo was relatively clever. Now let’s guess that the names of the people we know were somewhere near the top of the class: look at what they’ve achieved – business owners, an Olympian, an assistant chief constable and so on. You must remember being at school and there were always a few kids everyone knew were going to go on and do something half-decent?’
‘Yeah, then there were the other kids you knew would be serving you at the local Spar for the next ten years.’
Jessica laughed softly: ‘Exactly. It’s the ninety per cent in the middle you don’t know about. When I found out they were all the same age, it reminded me of something Holden said – “Everyone wants to be wanted, don’t they? It’s about feeling a part of something.”’
‘So you think this lot were part of a club?’
‘Perhaps. It might not be as formal as any of that. You don’t need a grand meeting house, or some secret cigar lounge; all you need is a nod and a wink. There’s no need to ever acknowledge each other publicly – I’d bet this is the only photo you’ll ever find of them together, unless there was a twenty-year reunion and so on. Don’t invite each other to weddings, don’t have them as godparents to your children, and why would anyone ever suspect?’
Garry was beginning to get excited, sensing a story that Jessica knew he’d never be able to write. He just didn’t know it yet.
He pointed at Declan Grainger. ‘So this guy is on the council and has a large say in planning – and he gave a big project worth millions to this guy?’ He pointed at Freddy Bunce.
‘Exactly. I’ll bet if you work your way around the names, you’ll find others too.’
Garry pointed to a face Jessica didn’t recognise. ‘He’s a lawyer. He owns a firm in the city.’
‘Think of the chain: you only need a few key people. Perhaps Logan Walkden decides he wants to build a golf course. He needs someone who could give planning permission, a lawyer to sort all the paperwork out, someone who owns a building company, a landscaper for the course, and so on. At the end of all that, there’s an awful lot of money swilling around, but unless you make a big deal over the fact the person you’re shaking hands with is someone you once went to school with, then why would anyone ever know? How many things like that have happened over the years? When you throw councillors into the mix with public money, you could be talking a fortune. It’s like when you’re looking for a builder or a plumber – you always ask a friend and they’ll say: “Oh, I know a guy . . .”’
‘And if you’ve got a high-up police officer in there, then if ever there’s a problem with a person asking questions, you have someone to put a bit of pressure on . . .’