Marilyn said Clare met with Todd, not long before she died. An unorthodox meeting that she attended under an alias.

What did they talk about? Maybe Clare hadn’t given up on the tax plan. Would that give anyone reason to kill her?

In the depths of the night, with very expensive alcohol sloshing around my system, a lot of crazy ideas seem plausible. Suddenly I’m seized by an overwhelming and wholly irrational need to know.

Marilyn will know.

I take the phone off the table and dial the number before I have time for second thoughts. It rings for so long that I start to wonder whether she’s spending the night somewhere else, with someone else.

Just as I’m about to ring off, she answers.

‘What’s happened?’ She must have been fast asleep, but I can hear her rousing herself. In her world, a call at this hour is usually an MP pulled over for speeding with a woman who isn’t his wife sitting next to him. Or a shadow cabinet minister photographed in the bushes on Clapham Common.

‘Don’t worry. It’s just me.’

‘Gil? For Christ’s sake, it’s four in the morning.’

‘I know. Sorry.’ Now that I have her, I’m not even sure what I want to ask. I burble. ‘When Johnny met Clare, do you think they talked about pensions?’

An incredulous pause. ‘How much have you had to drink?’

This was a bad idea. Saying it aloud, I realise how ridiculous it sounds. But I’ve started. ‘You know, that meeting they had.’

‘I told you, Johnny didn’t tell me what they discussed. I also told you the meeting was a secret. I hope to fuck you haven’t mentioned it to anyone.’

‘I just wondered . . .’ I’m losing confidence. ‘If he mentioned anything afterwards, about pensions . . . or tax credits . . . or . . .’ The silence from the other end of the phone is a wall. ‘Never mind. Can you set up an interview for me with Johnny?’

Another pause. ‘Is this for real?’

‘Yeah. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll call you in the morning. Wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘You can say that again.’ She waits. ‘Anything else?’

‘Can I come over?’

A snort. ‘I don’t do sympathy fucks.’

‘I just meant –’

‘Get some sleep, Gil.’

She hangs up without saying goodbye. I turn the Nokia over and over in my hands. What was I thinking, calling Marilyn? All I did was embarrass myself.

I’m too tired to think. I turn on the phone and dial another number that I use more often than I should.

A woman picks up and pretends to be cross. ‘Have you been a bad boy?’

‘Erm . . . Yes I have.’

‘Yes what?’

‘Yes, miss.’

This is a mistake. My phone bills are exorbitant.

‘You need to be punished, don’t you?’

Hard to disagree.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Thursday, 20 March – 42 days until Election Day