Crispin said: ‘Opposite me is Edward Temmis, presenter of the evening phone-in. You have rushed in with a newsflash about the horrible events on Friday.’
Voice wavering with nerves, aware that this was the most significant moment of his career, Edward said: ‘The crash at Sidmouth pizza parlour two days ago may not have been an accident. A child has died, and police are investigating whether the biker, who had links to Russia, deliberately attacked the pizza parlour with a …’ Here he paused. ‘A radioactive substance.’
Crispin reached both his hands sideways, like a man on the roiling deck of a ship seeking a solid object to cling to – his programme was now at the centre of a national incident, maybe even a global event. Crispin asked a question into the microphone.
‘You say radiation. But how was that delivered? Did he spray something, or what?’
Sitting next to Edward, Douglas Aspinall did a furious cutting motion against his throat:No questions, Crispin, please.
‘I have all this from a very reliable source, and we suspect there is a direct link between the radiation and the child who died. The radiation was delivered in small ampoules – there may have been a large number, but the fire took them and the child’ – his voice wavered – ‘the child swallowed one. Nina Lopez.’
‘She was radiated by something nuclear?’
Again, Douglas made the throat-cutting motion with his forefinger, and now leant forwards and hissed: ‘Porgy! Porgy!’
Edward said, ‘The police will face criticism because they had two radioactive ampoules to analyse. They did not take precautions with them, and indeed, there is a report that Acting Chief Constable Jane Thorne used chopsticks to move the substance around.’
Douglas’s head snapped up. Crispin’s eyes widened. ‘What?’
‘Yes, chopsticks. The capsules were handed over for analysis to a local forensics expert without any precautions, and as a result there are questions about how far and wide the radiation may have spread, and whether anyone else was endangered.’
Douglas hissed, ‘Porgy!’
‘We’ll play some more music for a break in these incredible revelations,’ said Crispin. ‘The Overture. To misquote the great Elaine Paige, you know it so well.’
The music started. A crash of cymbals, a swirl of strings and then a lone bassoon, the xylophone, and the strings again.
Crispin muted the speaker.
Aspinall said, ‘You weren’t supposed to go Paxman on him. Are you okay, Edward?’
‘Yes. Fine.’ Edward stood. His phone was already bouncing with incoming calls, and now he saw Aspinall’s was too.
‘Right,’ said Aspinall, muting the calls on his handset. He ignored Crispin completely. ‘I want to get you in the news studio and you’ll basically hold the fort.’
‘Great scoop, Edward,’ said Crispin. The two broadcasters bared their teeth in presenter-smiles. They had total understanding of each other. They had not needed a manager to barge in and force agreement.
There was one caller Edward could not ignore. He had changed Jordan Callintree’s name in his phone so no one who saw a call from him flash up could identify the source. Now it said STARSKY. And Starsky was ringing.
‘You didn’t mind the chopsticks?’ Edward asked his caller.
‘I know that came from Veitch. It must have done. She’s hung up all her phones. I’m blue-lighting to her home now.’
‘You’re not going to arrest her?’
‘I need to help her,’ said Callintree.
Edward was in the news booth, a much smaller space than the main studios. He was unable to shake the idea that someone might remotely open the large microphone suspended from the ceiling and listen to his end of the conversation, as he had done with Crispin. So he detached the cable from the end of the microphone. To be sure, he pushed his chair into the corner of the room, leant back against the black acousticpadding and covered his mouth as he spoke. ‘Hey,’ Edward hissed, ‘don’t rush inside when you get there, there may be radiation. And don’t blame Veitch for this. She’s been treated shockingly.’
‘Thorne had a bad attitude with her. I wanted to use Flo Veitch because she gets stuff done fast. Anyway,’ said Callintree, ‘the chopsticks line is devastating. Um, I’ll look into that Wendy Wrigley thing for you if you quietly keep me posted … the crime scene pics you wanted?’
‘Oh yes. Thank you.’
‘I can’t send you any of the doctor’s body.’
‘God, I don’t need that.’ Edward could not believe how amenable Callintree was being. ‘I’m at the radio station. Do you want me to do another appeal in a few minutes? Are you still looking for some of the families?’
‘There is about to be a panic, so yes. Radiation takes us straight to Litvinenko, Salisbury, all that. That’s World War Three.’
