‘Now let’s try for a second fact. It was you who saw them and you who brought in the story, or didn’t you?’

‘Yeah, sort of, but—’

‘Stop.’ Geraldine held up one admonitory finger. Her amusement had ended. ‘Let’s get this settled, shall we? It was you who saw them, yes or no?’

‘Yes, but—’

Geraldine again stopped him with a finger. ‘Would it be alright with you if we kept in mind that we’ve a deadline in a few hours? And that if we don’t get this finished by then there’ll be no newspapers in the shops tomorrow morning. Or didn’t anyone tell you that that’s how it works?’

Jeremy stared miserably at his hands. One of the reporters looked up at the clock behind the back bench.

‘Well, didn’t they?’

He shrugged helplessly.

‘Good chap. Next question. How did you know it was them?’

‘I didn’t know it—’

Geraldine threw up her hands in rage. Her usual delight in her job was being severely impaired. ‘Have you come over here to take the bloody piss? Or are you honestly trying to tell me that the story you’ve brought in and pitched and sold to the Editor is that you don’t know anything at all?’

‘No, of course—’

‘They were pointing at the Beast. You saw them pointing. Is that accurate?’

‘One was pointing.’

‘One was pointing at the Beast and talking in Arabic.’

‘Well, one was pointing at the building.’

‘What the fuck’s the difference?’

‘There are two other newspapers in this building, and Whole Foods. Not counting the Beast on Sunday and all that.’

Geraldine’s momentum was halted. Her forehead tensed into deep furrows and she opened her mouth as if about to say something. The subs were hopeless pedants, but this was a good point; it put the story to the test. If the bombers had been pointing at the Impartial… It didn’t bear thinking about. Geraldine looked around her reporters for suggestions.

A blond boy with a face like an overweight cherub’s spoke up. ‘Actually, though, they aren’t both on that side of the building. You were on the Usk Street side, weren’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

It was to Geraldine that the blond reporter continued. ‘The Impartial doesn’t go all the way round. Neither does Whole Foods. On that ground floor, you’ve got the escalators and then, above them, the canteen. The Impartial’s only on the High Street side. Its offices don’t go all the way round the building. It’s only us and the Trumpet’s floor that go all the way round.’

‘And who on earth would bother to blow up the Strumpet?’ asked Geraldine. ‘Good journalism, that man.’ A thrill went through the reporters; the test had come up positive. ‘So,’ she said, ‘they were speaking Arabic and what build were they, what was their height?’