The Voice Within

Chapter 7: London, April 20th 2011

He was discharged from hospital after six days and returned to the chaos of his Kilburn flat. The only sign of life amongst the debris that still littered the living room was the flashing light on the message service. He let himself collapse into his favourite armchair and poured a large whisky. Then he pushed the 'play' button on the answer machine.

'Hello, Douglas. It's me ... Heather. Do you remember? I was with you the morning the police came banging on your door. Erm ... I haven't seen you around. Look, I was hoping you could give me some help – like – promotion, you know, put a good word in. It's not that I gossip, Douglas, but I don't think you'd want word of our night together leaking out – 'specially some of the details. Don't think it would do your career much good. Look, just give me a call and I'm sure we can sort it out.'

He sighed. The poor girl didn't even seem to know he'd been sacked. Still, he could do without the details getting around if he was about to go on trial. He could imagine the headlines – 'Phone hacking journalist's perverted sex antics interrupted by early morning police raid'. He shuddered and made a mental note to contact her.

He pressed the button again.

'Look, Douglas. It's Winston here. We've got a new date for the committal hearing. They're charging five other journalists too. I think we need to talk. The media's going to have a field day. We need to discuss what you can and can't say. Call me.'

He sank back further into the security of his armchair and breathed deeply to combat a sense of rising panic. Still the answer machine winked relentlessly at him. He pressed the 'play' button again.

'Is that you, Mr. Penhallam – er, Douglas? It's Julia Masters – from the manor house. I got your email. I'm not sure I can be of any further help but, if you think otherwise, I'm happy to have lunch. Well, let me know when you're coming down then. Goodbye.'

"You have no more messages." The machine clicked off. He felt strangely elated. She'd agreed to have lunch. He'd contact Nick and arrange to see him then go on to Penhallam. But first, he'd better steel himself to pay a visit to the offices of Dalton, Brown and Sidley. 

"It's shaping up to be something of a show trial," said Winston Brown, sitting at his desk surrounded by files. "I've never been involved in something like this before. It's all going to be very public."

"What will happen at this committal proceeding?" asked Doug, trying not to sound too anxious.

 "Oh, it's a formality really. You and the other journalists will be asked how you plead and the case will be referred to the Crown Court. That's in three days. After that, we'll have about six weeks to get our case together."

"What are my chances, Winston? Do you think I may actually go down?"

"Difficult to say at this stage, I'm afraid. We think Halshaw may be wavering – regretting he co­operated so closely with the police in the first place. The PM's starting to distance himself from the newspaper proprietors. He senses there's unease out there in the shires about a witch hunt. Then there's the 'freedom of the press' lobby getting worked up about censorship. The Crown Prosecution Service is finding itself trapped between different lobbies. But we're onto a good barrister – name of Harriet Westing. Lots of experience in human rights. She'll need to talk to you soon. So don't go too far away." 

Sitting in a bar down the road from the offices of Dalton, Brown and Sidley, he decided it was better not to wait around in London for the committal hearing. He would drive down to see Nick tomorrow. Perhaps he could also get to meet Aleena. Then he'd go onto Penhallam and buy Julia Masters lunch. He sent a text.