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It's just like that now, Johnnie. I'm desperately trying to find some firm ground, something I can stand on and believe in, both about the story and in my own life. But I'm just sinking deeper and deeper, Grandpa's no longer around and I'm afraid. Do you understand? I feel as if I shall never step on solid ground again.'
'But haven't you seen the Sunday newspapers?' he encouraged. 'Someone filched Samuel's personal papers. Another bombshell hits the leadership race from party headquarters. Even more evidence pointing directly at Teddy Williams. Isn't that firm ground?'
She shook her head sadly. If only it were that simple.'
'I don't understand,' he said. 'We've got the deliberate theft of personal files. We've got the tampering with the central computer file - that's deliberate too. We've had the leaking of all sorts of damaging material out of party headquarters to you, to Kendrick, seemingly to anyone who was passing in the neighbourhood. We've got party officials opening accommodation addresses in false names, and politicians' corpses lying around like hedgehogs on a motorway. What more do you need? And it all leads back to party headquarters - which must mean Williams. He can't make Prime Minister himself, so he's making sure he controls whoever does.'
'You're missing the point, Johnnie. Why on earth should Williams need to steal his own documents? He could simply have copied the vital information without breaking in and stealing the whole bloody file. And he doesn't need to force locks - he's got all the keys. He is supposed to be
Samuel's strongest ally, yet Samuel's campaign has been pedalling backwards ever since the election began.'
Her eyes were burning with disappointment. 'Can you really imagine an elder statesman like Williams framing the Prime Minister for fraud? Or leaking so much material from party headquarters that it has made him look like a doddering imbecile? No, Johnnie. It's not Williams.'
Then who the hell is it? Samuel? Urquhart? Some other Cabinet Minister? Landless?'
'I don't know' she cried. That's why I feel as if I am drowning! The more I struggle, the deeper I get stuck. Professionally. Emotionally. It's like a great quagmire sucking me under. I'm just not sure about anything any more.'
'I'd like to help you, Mattie. Please don't turn me away.'
'Like Grandpa, you're always there when I need you. Thanks, Johnnie. But I've got to find my own path now or I never will. There's all this confusion inside me; I've got to sort these things out for myself.'
'I can wait' he said gently.
'But I can't. I've got only two more days to come up with the answer and only one strong lead - Roger O'Neill.'
MONDAY 29th NOVEMBER
The janitor found the body just after he had clocked on at 4.30 on Monday morning. He was beginning his morning duties at the Rownhams motorway service area just outside Southampton on the M27, starting with cleaning out the toilets, when he discovered that one of the cubicle doors would not open. He was nearing his sixty-eighth birthday, and he cursed as he lowered his old bones gently onto their hands and knees so that he could peer under the door. He had great difficulty getting all the way down, but he didn't need to. He saw the two shoes quite clearly, and that was enough to satisfy his curiosity. There was a man in there, and whether he was drunk, diseased or dying meant nothing to him except that it was going to put him way behind his cleaning schedule, and he cursed again as he staggered off to call his supervisor.
The supervisor was in no better temper when he arrived, and used a screwdriver to open the lock from the outside. But the man's knees were wedged firmly up against the door, and push as hard as they might the two of them could not force it open more than a few inches. The supervisor put his hand around the door, trying to shift the man's knees, but instead grabbed a dangling hand which was as cold as ice. He recoiled in horror and gave a wail of anguish, insisting on washing his hands meticulously before he stumbled off to call the police and an ambulance.
The police arrived shortly after 5 a.m. and, with rather more experience in such matters than the janitor and supervisor, had the cubicle door lifted off its hinges in seconds.
O'Neill's body was sitting there, fully clothed and slumped against the wall. His face, drained of all colour, was stretched into a leering death mask exposing his teeth and with his eyes staring wide open, hi his lap they found two halves of an empty tin of talc, and on the floor beside him they discovered a small polythene bag containing a few grains of white powder and a briefcase stuffed with political pamphlets. They found other small white granules of powder still clinging to the leather cover of the briefcase, which had clearly been placed on O'Neill's lap to provide a flat surface. From one clenched fist they managed to prise a twisted ?20 note which had been fashioned into a tube before being crumpled by O'Neill's death fit. His other arm was stretched aloft over his head, as if the grinning corpse was giving one final, hideous salute of farewell.
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