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Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Tait was ashen, and just for a second, Bannerman thought he was going to hit him. Then quite suddenly he seemed to lose the will to fight. He’d lost this round and he knew it. But pride was sticking in his throat. In a voice that was barely a whisper he said, ‘All right, Bannerman. You follow the leads where they take you. And when you deliver, if you deliver, then we’ll run it. Then you can empty your desk and fuck off. You have no future with this paper.’

Bannerman nodded. ‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘Slater’s daughter . . .’

Tait interrupted. ‘Whatever you might think of me, Bannerman . . .’ He stopped himself. ‘We are making arrangements for her to receive the best possible care back in Scotland. Until the arrangements are made she will be staying where she is in Brussels. A few days at the most.’ He looked at his watch. It was almost two. ‘Time to go. I’ll walk to the church. You can pick up the bill and bring the car round.’ He stood up abruptly and headed out into the snow, pulling his coat collar up around his neck.

Bannerman sat on, letting his heart rate slow. It had been inevitable really, and he had known from the first day Tait arrived that his days with the Post were numbered. He thought of it with only a little sadness. ‘Garçon! L’addition, s’il vous plaît.’ And he thought how absurd it was to address such an old man as ‘boy’.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was many years since Bannerman had stood at a graveside. It seemed such an anachronism in these days of conveyor-belt cremation. There was something almost primeval about it. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.

The priest was a small man, bald, silver threads of hair plastered sparsely across his pate, gown flapping in the wind, a flash of purple in the lining. His face was pink, stung by the snow. He read from a Bible whose pages were wet and he laid one of his big hands across the lower half to stop the pages from lifting in the wind.

Around the grave stood a handful of mourners. More pink, solemn faces. Pressmen with whom Slater had worked. The black of their suits and coats and ties under black umbrellas a stark contrast against the backdrop of snow. Hovering at a more discreet distance were a number of reporters covering the funeral for their papers. A television crew was sheltering beneath a knot of naked trees, the cameraman using a long lens. This would look particularly evocative on tonight’s television screens. A black and white funeral filled with all the bleak imagery of death.