But I ignored him, turning his incessant nagging into background noise as I logged into my account and waited for it to boot up. I think it was safe to say that I was becoming a touch unhinged. I realised I just didn’t care any more.
Steve attempted a softer approach, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘Look, I know you’re having a tough time, Gareth. But you can’t just barge into the station like this. You need to go home.’
‘Steve,’ I said, swivelling my head to look him dead in the eyes whilst my fingers hovered over the computer keyboard, ready to put in my password. ‘Do you really think that you, of all people, can lecture me about what I can and can’t do?’
‘What do you…’ he began, before the penny dropped. He brushed his wrist across his nose instinctively before his face transformed into a mild snarl. I heard the computer start-upsound and snapped my head back to enter my password as Steve’s footsteps receded, probably to get the station security to escort me out and make sure they cancelled all of my entry ID.
When my computer had fully loaded, I slipped the USB into the docking station, typed the case number, and whacked the ‘schedule send’ button before strolling over to Vivian’s office. I hoped she hadn’t just gone to the bathroom, or I’d really be screwed with this plan I had concocted whilst in a half-daze watching teleshopping last night.
I pressed ‘record’ on my phone before slipping it into my pocket. I pushed open Vivian’s door as gently as all the adrenaline coursing through my veins would allow, and plonked myself down in the seat before Vivian had even looked up from her paperwork. After a solid ten seconds, she finally did a double-take, noticing it was me.
‘Gareth? Should you be here? And you know the rules about knocking into my office, I?—’
‘Vivian. Let’s not play games,’ I said, remembering what I had read about how to be intimidating. Intense eye contact, short sentences, strong posture, and consistent voice tone. ‘I want the name of the man who saw Fran throwing limbs into the river, and I want the full unredacted version of the case files about O’Neill and Clark. Give me that, and I’ll be on my way.’
She swirled her tongue across her front teeth before speaking, sounding slightly bemused. ‘Say that again for me, please? I didn’t hear you.’ She seemed almost enchanted by my gall.
‘You heard me the first time.’
Vivian smiled, appearing to enjoy this newfound confidence I possessed, as if she couldn’t wait to crush it in the palm of her hand.
‘Or what, exactly, Gareth? What are you going to do?’
This was the uppercut. This was where my plan could all go disastrously wrong.
‘Or I forward an email chain between you and Cis about the police wanting to keep this whole thing under wraps because of Macleod.’
Vivian’s face dropped far faster than I was expecting, but I was too into the flow of my monologue to stop. I had practised to Mep as my audience too many times. I had to keep going, or I’d lose the rhythm and have to start all over again.
‘You know, I don’t think Cis thought I’d see it, but I had a lot of time on my hands. I read how your predecessors protected Macleod to save yet another Met Police corruption scandal, how they turned a blind eye to his and his friends’ activities because he was the Director of the SFO. How O’Neill was already known to the police for all his past embezzlement and they had done absolutely nothing about it. I’ve compiled it all in a nice, tidy email, ready to release to a hundred news outlets. I’ve had a lot of spare time over the past few months. Now, how do you think that would affect Fran’s trial? Or the police’s public standing? Or your standing?’ I said, lifting the piece of paper Cis had given me a few weeks ago with her login details.
Vivian’s face transformed before my eyes from cold, mocking indifference to a nervous, bubbling anger. She snatched the paper out of my hands to verify.
‘You wouldn’t dare…’ she murmured, skimming over the paper to make sure what I was saying was legit.
‘You got me – it’s only ninety-two news outlets. I thought theFinancial Timeswouldn’t really want to report on it. It’s all just the gross tabloids and snotty broadsheets that you’re so afraid of, with all the details about O’Neill, the Heart of Hope Foundation, the embezzlement – I particularly liked your quote to Cis in your email of the twelfth of November: “It’s best wejust find someone we can throw to CPS for them to eat.” How charming.’
I inched my chair closer to her. ‘You were told to make this all go away by the chief superintendent. They’re worried Fran might spill all their secrets, and what, you think if she confesses “guilty” as part of a plea bargain, she’ll keep quiet? Is that what you’re banking on? Or better yet, she says nothing so as to not incriminate herself? You make me sick, Vivian.’
Vivian launched herself out of her chair and charged towards me. I thought she was going to knock me out in one swift punch to the face, but she rocketed past me, slamming the door to her office shut just as I saw Steve and a few security officers turning around the corner to chuck me out.
‘Piss off,’ she yelled at them through the door, before shoving her face right into mine, teeth bared, nostrils flared.
‘Do you know what you’re doing? I gave you a break after everything with your wife, but this is a new level of stupid,’ she growled.
Crikey, she really was quite scary. I tried to look as unbothered by it as possible. Telling myself to maintain eye contact, confident tone, relaxed hand movements to show that it was me who was in control of the situation.
‘You have four minutes before it schedule-sends, by the way,’ I remarked, edging my head slightly closer to hers, trying not to seem the least bit frightened.
I saw her eyes practically launch upwards. She twisted her feet again towards the door, ready to charge across the office towards my desk and bust my desktop to smithereens.
‘Oh, only I can stop it, you know. It’s in the cloud,’ I remarked.
I had no idea if that was actually how the cloud worked, but Vivian seemed to believe it, slamming her palm against the body of the door in frustration and then throwing another kick into itfor good measure. Through the foggy glass, I saw a few people careening over, including Steve and security, wondering what I had said to piss her off this much.
‘It was a clever crime, really,’ I rambled on. ‘There are so many local council grants, donations from big corporations, government sponsored funding…And when you assemble the dream team of the master financial fraudster, the Director of SFO at the Met, and some household-name political chap who probably dines with all the bigwigs with the cash and the connections, you’ve got a business that just flows money. All with the perfect image of actually being three men giving back to the community they love so dearly. You want to know how much they lined their own pockets with, Vivian? Over the 90s, they pocketed £4.2 million for themselves. Just think how much that would be in today’s money.’
Vivian just shook her head at me. It was like she was aghast at my actions but not at those of her predecessors or superiors.
