I sighed. 'I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything.'
'You'll find out the truth,' Meggie said, every word dripping with hope. 'I know you will.'
As I looked at her I couldn't help wondering whose truth she was after. Jude's, mine or her own?
fifty-one. Jude
'Is your name Jude Alexander McGregor?'
'Yes.'
'What is your address?'
'I don't have a fixed address at the moment.'
'Where do you currently reside?'
'Room fourteen, Cartman Hotel in Bridgeport.'
'It is charged that on the night of the seventeenth of July you did intentionally and ultimately cause the death of Cara Imega. You are therefore charged with the murder of Cara Imega. Do you understand these charges as they have been read out to you?'
I nodded.
'Could you speak up for the court audio tape please?' ordered the magistrate.
Suppressing the powerful urge to tell him just where he could stick the court audio tape, I said, 'Yes, I understand the charges.'
'Your Honour, at this time my client would like to request bail,' my sad-excuse-for-a-lawyer piped up.
'Request for bail denied,' the magistrate declared immediately. 'Jude McGregor, you are remanded in custody until the date of your court case. Next!'
fifty-two. Sephy
I sat in Anada's, the famous seafood restaurant, waiting. I'd never been in this one before. It wasn't exactly the sort of place I could afford. The walls were an in-your-face sunshine yellow and the carpet on the floor was a deep sea-blue. It was the sort of restaurant where they had tablecloths on the tables and shining silver cutlery. And draped across the ceiling were fishing nets full of shells and starfish and seaweed and other stuff from the sea. The strange thing was, it actually worked. It stopped the place from being entirely too pretentious. I studied the menu as I waited for my sister Minerva to arrive. I'd called her to ask for a meeting and to my surprise she'd jumped at the chance, suggesting this restaurant as a meeting place.
I needed her help. And I wasn't sure if she'd be prepared to give it, so I was going to have to resort to a bit of subterfuge. But the thought of deceiving my sister didn't sit easily with my conscience. So I forced myself to focus on the menu and not on our forthcoming meeting. Desserts were always my favourite part of any menu so I looked at them first. With a start, I noticed they had something called Blanker's Delight. A light-as-air white chocolate mousse flavoured with brandy and served with cream or crème fraîche. Charming! I looked around the restaurant. No Noughts eating and only one serving. I wondered how he felt when someone ordered a Blanker's Delight?
Disenchanted, my gaze slid back to the main courses. Big mistake. The whole menu was beautifully presented and had some delicious-sounding dishes on it. But not a single one had the price next to it. After a quick glance around, I picked up my bag and surreptitiously opened my purse. I wondered what my meagre funds would buy me in this place. Maybe half an after-dinner mint – if I was lucky. I could try putting it on plastic but I wasn't sure if the credit card companies would authorize yet more spending on my part. I decided to plead a full stomach and just stick to a glass of sparkling mineral water. Perhaps if I told them to hold the ice and not bother with a slice of lemon or lime then I might just be able to pay for it. This restaurant had been my sister's idea. I might've guessed she'd pick a place where you needed a mortgage to pay for the meal.
'Hello, Sephy. How're you?'
I glanced up, then sprang to my feet. 'Hello, Minerva. Thanks for agreeing to meet me.'
Minerva shrugged. 'Of course I'd meet you. What else did you think I'd do?' No hug. No kiss. We both sat down. 'So how've you been? And how's Callie Rose?'
'Rose is doing fine,' I replied. 'She's with Meggie at the moment.'
'Would Meggie mind if I came round to see Callie Rose some time?'
'Of course she wouldn't.' What a strange question.
'Would you mind?' Minerva asked me.
'No. Why would I?'
Minerva shrugged again, her expression noncommittal. She had some bizarre notions and no mistake. What did she think I'd do? Take one look at her and kick her down the street? Mind you, Rose and I had been living with Meggie for a while now. Strange that Minerva wanted to start visiting us. She studied me critically, her lips slightly pursed.
'Have you lost weight, Sephy?'
'Some.'
Minerva regarded me for a few moments more, then waved at a waiter, who was across the restaurant one second and beside our table the next. He must've hitched a ride on a bolt of lightning to get to us so quickly. It wasn't the Nought waiter; he'd disappeared into the kitchen.
'D'you mind if I order for you?' Minerva asked.
'Well, actually, I was only going to have a mineral water,' I began.
'Nonsense.' Minerva turned to the waiter. 'Can we have the smoked haddock and monkfish chowder to start please. No saffron in mine. And we'll both have the swordfish steaks.'
'Of course. And if I may say so, an excellent choice,' smarmed the waiter.
I mean, could he be any more obsequious? I'd never seen such oily toadying. Just as he was about to slime off, I asked him, 'Don't you think it's rather insulting to have something called Blanker's Delight on the menu?'
The waiter frowned. 'The chef sets the menu.'
'That doesn't make it right,' I replied.
'Blanker's Delight is a dessert that's been served for centuries.'
'Then it's about time its name was changed, don't you think?' I said evenly.
'Er . . . I'll see to your order,' said the waiter, keen to avoid any kind of confrontation at all costs.
'Was that necessary?' Minerva said. 'My newspaper brings lots of clients to this restaurant. My editor won't thank me if we upset them.'
'How can a junior reporter afford this place?' I frowned.
'I work for the Daily Shouter – remember?' Minerva smiled, a trace of pride in her voice. 'And I may be only a junior reporter but I'm working my way up.'
'So the job is working out then?'
'So far.' Minerva looked me straight in the eye. 'Sephy, I'm ambitious. Very ambitious.'
'Fair enough.' I smiled at her. Her gaze fell away from mine. 'So have I made trouble for you then by complaining about the name of the pudding?'
'I doubt it. And even if you have – I'm a survivor,' said my sister.
'Don't you think this place should drag itself into the twenty-first century like the rest of us? Why don't you write about that?'
'My editor wouldn't publish it,' said Minerva calmly. 'It's not news.'
Which I could've guessed. The status quo is never news, only challenges to it.
'Besides, you have to be patient, Sephy. No one can change things overnight – not even you.'
'But it's not overnight, is it?' I argued. 'We've had decades, centuries, to change people's attitudes but things are getting worse, not better. D'you know I went shopping in town with Rose two days ago and three different people asked me whose child she was? And when I said mine, one man actually had the cheek to tell me it would've been better if I'd put Rose up for adoption with a blanker family – his words, not mine.'
'So what did you say to him?' Minerva asked.
'If I repeat it, they'll chuck us out of this restaurant,' I said.
Minerva laughed. 'Good for you. Stand your ground. But the ones who speak the loudest don't necessarily speak for the majority.'
'No? Most people would rather cross the street than get involved. This man stood in my way, shouting verbal abuse at me and not one person helped out. They all walked around us whilst that bastard stood there telling me I should've had an abortion or never gone with a Nought in the first place. He actually told me Rose would be better off dead.'
'But you told him where to go, didn't you?'
I sighed, trying to calm down. "Course I did. And he's not even the one who really upset me. It was all the ones who walked past, or crossed the st
reet and let it happen. They're the ones I'm angry with.'
'Don't give them another thought,' said Minerva. 'They're not worth losing sleep over.'
'Easy for you to say.' I was going to argue further but sighed and let it go. I didn't want to ruin Minerva's lunch with my woes.
Minerva said, 'I hope you don't mind me ordering for you. All the food is good here but I can recommend the soup and swordfish I ordered.'
'It sounds fine,' I said, 'but I really was just going to have some water.'
'The bill gets put on my company's credit card so we can both enjoy ourselves,' said Minerva. 'And if the paper cuts up rough, I'll pay for it out of my own pocket.'
'The Daily Shouter pays you well then?' I asked, surprised.
'Are you kidding? Hungry junior reporters are ten a penny,' Minerva frowned. 'If I didn't get my allowance from Dad each month, I don't know how I'd manage.'
A sudden flare of pain shot through me. It wasn't so much the money, although that would've been wonderful, but the fact that Dad could so easily forget he had two daughters, not one. In spite of everything that'd happened, all the things that we'd both said and done, a part of me still missed my dad. I'd be lying if I said otherwise.
'So Dad's still looking after you, is he?'
Minerva's eyes widened. 'Oh Sephy, I'm sorry. I didn't think.'
I shrugged. 'Don't worry about it. If lunch is on you, then I'll enjoy myself.'
I sat back in the chair, trying to relax.
'So have you heard about Jude McGregor being arrested?' asked Minerva, smoothing her napkin down on her lap.
'Of course. I haven't just arrived from the South Pole, you know.' Funny, but Jude was just who I wanted to talk about as well. Quite a coincidence.
'So how d'you feel about that?' Minerva asked.
'About Jude?'
'Yeah.'
'Are you interviewing me, Minerva?'
Minerva suddenly found the tablecloth fascinating. She couldn't tear her eyes away from it.
'You are, aren't you?' I persisted. 'Is that why you agreed to meet me for lunch?'
'It wasn't the only reason,' she told me.
'But it was high up on the list, wasn't it?'
'It's my job, Sephy.'
'To use your own sister to get a story?'
'It's not like that,' Minerva protested.
'Then what is it like?'
'I need your help, Sephy.'
I sat back, waiting for Minerva to grow enough of a backbone to get to the point.
'I've got something to ask you and I just want you to hear me out – OK?' said Minerva.
I didn't reply. The flutterings in my stomach were beginning to make me feel nauseous. That in itself was enough to warn me that Minerva was about to hit me with something that I wasn't going to like. But before she could continue, a man wearing an apron and a spotless white T-shirt was fast approaching our table – and he had a face like thunder.
'You are the woman who complained about my menu?' he asked me directly.
'Mr Sewell, my sister didn't complain about your menu as such.' Minerva tried to soothe his ruffled feathers. 'She agrees with me that your cooking is second to none.'
I stared at Idris Sewell. I had no idea he was the head chef of this place. He was a famous chef who was on the TV regularly. He was a lot taller in real life than he appeared on the box. And at this moment, a lot more menacing.
'You criticized my menu,' he challenged me, ignoring my sister completely.
I took a deep breath. 'I just think it's a shame you have something called Blanker's Delight on the menu.'
'The recipe for Blanker's Delight was handed to me by my grandmother, who got it from her mother before her,' Idris informed me. 'So what is wrong with it?'
'I'm sure it tastes wonderful,' Minerva interjected.
'Yes, but its name is insulting,' I said, warming to my theme.
'Sephy!' Minerva pleaded.
I shrugged. 'He asked for my opinion so that's what he's getting.'
And I must admit that part of me was enjoying the confrontation with the chef. I wanted to shout at him and everyone else in the restaurant. I wanted to shout at the whole world for the casual way they condemned me and dismissed my daughter.
'It's just a name,' Idris Sewell told me with belligerence. 'There are nursery rhymes and songs and ads on the telly that all feature blankers. What's wrong with that?'
'They may feature "blankers" but they don't use that word,' I replied coldly. 'They're Noughts, not blankers.'
'If you have a dessert named after you, you ought to be glad. We've had milk-white noughts in here who didn't complain,' said Idris stonily. 'And if they didn't complain, then why should you?'
'Because I can't speak for anyone but myself and I find it offensive.'
'Perhaps you'd like to dine elsewhere if my menu offends you,' Idris suggested.
I looked around. Most people were listening if not watching. 'You don't get rid of me that easily,' I told him. 'I'm here to eat, if you don't mind serving someone whose daughter is half-Nought, half-Cross.'
'I don't care if your daughter is a duck, as long as you pay the bill at the end of the meal,' said Idris. 'But I don't appreciate having my food disrespected.'
'I'm not disrespecting your food, just your menu.'
But the chef was already stomping back to the kitchen.
'Oh dear,' sighed Minerva. 'He'll probably curdle his béarnaise sauce or something now and it'll be all your fault.' But the last was said with an amused smile.
'Are you sorry you invited me here?' I asked.
'No. This has been the most entertaining lunch I've had in a long while.'
'It may be just entertainment to you, Minerva, but it's my life. I can't walk away from it – and neither can my daughter.'
'Of course.' Minerva's smile faded. 'I didn't mean to be insensitive.'
Let it slide . . . I shrugged to imply that it was OK.
'D'you think the chef is going to spit in our soup?' I teased to ease the mood.
Minerva laughed. 'No way. It'd be beneath his dignity. Besides,' she leaned in closer, 'I'll make sure it's known that I work for the Daily Shouter. He won't risk a bad write-up.'
The power of the press.
'Is working for the Daily Shouter all you thought it would be?'
'It's better. I've still got a couple of months left of my six months' probation. But at least they're giving me a chance,' Minerva replied carefully.
'But how did you get the job in the first place?' The Daily Shouter was the most popular tabloid in the country. They could pick and choose who they wanted working for them.
'Sephy, use your brain. Dad is the Deputy Prime Minister. Mother is Jasmine Adeyebe-Hadley. I have connections,' said Minerva. 'Less than I implied at the job interview, to be honest, but still more than most junior reporters.'
'I see,' I said. And I did see.
'Like I said,' Minerva looked at me with defiance, 'I'm ambitious.'
I shrugged. Who was I to argue with her about what she wanted to do with her life? At least she had a purpose, a goal that wasn't wrapped around someone else. 'So what were you going to ask me?'
'You first,' said Minerva after a brief but distinct pause. She smiled. 'Why did you want us to meet up – apart from my scintillating company?'
'I wanted to talk to you about Jude as well,' I admitted.
'Oh! Well, that makes things easier,' said Minerva.
'Did he do it?' I came straight to the point.
'The evidence seems to indicate he did.'
'What evidence would that be exactly?'
Minerva studied me, trying to decide whether or not to part with the information.
'I don't intend to broadcast what you tell me,' I tried to reassure her. 'But I have a good reason for asking.'
'Look, this is all confidential,' Minerva said earnestly. 'I'm not supposed to tell anyone, so you're not to pass this on. Not even to Meggie, OK?'
I n
odded.
'The Shouter will bounce me straight out of there if they think I'm passing on information I pick up at the paper.'
'Minerva, I get it,' I said patiently.
'Well, all I know is Jude McGregor's fingerprints were found all over Cara Imega's house. He gave Cara a false name but the police know it was him. He called himself Steve Winner when he was going out with her—'
What on earth was she talking about? 'Jude was dating Cara?'
'That's right. They were an item apparently.'
'No way. Jude would never date a Cross. Never in a million years.' I wanted to put her straight on that one.
'Well, I must admit, I thought the same when I heard. But the senior editor got this straight from a friend of his who's a police officer working on the case. Apparently several witnesses at Delany's hair salon where Cara worked have identified Jude as Cara's boyfriend. They've signed sworn witness statements to that fact. And after Cara's death, a number of her cheques were cashed at banks throughout the city.'
'And that was Jude?'
Minerva shrugged. 'It's inconclusive but the police intend to make the case that it was. The CCTV footage from the banks shows a nought man cashing the cheques but he invariably wore a cap and sunglasses and kept his head down. The general height and weight match though.'
'But none of the tapes really show his face full on?'
'I don't think so but I'm not sure,' said Minerva after a noticeable pause.
'Did they find any bloody clothing? Any DNA evidence?'
'They didn't find any clothing but he had plenty of time to get rid of what he was wearing. He's not stupid. Evil – yes; stupid – no,' said Minerva. 'And he didn't leave much by way of DNA evidence but the forensic scientists are still working on it.'
I sat back in my chair.
'Why all the questions?' Minerva asked.
Our soup arrived in teacup-sized bowls. It looked and smelled absolutely delicious but I didn't have much of an appetite.
'In your opinion, is the evidence enough to convict him?' I asked.
'From what I've seen so far – yes,' said Minerva. 'And good riddance.'
'Isn't it all a bit circumstantial – apart from the fingerprints?' I asked. 'And they only prove that he was in Cara's house at some point. They don't prove he killed her.'