Even for us, this was a hell of a team effort. Cracking the names on the financial documents, getting Jack Mason to open up, making friends with Fiona Clemence. ‘Friends’ might be pushing it, although, looking at the numbers on her Instagram account now, perhaps we will be. Henrik doing his bit, lovely Viktor getting the confession. And Pauline and Mike still to come. Pauline is having to reapply Mike Waghorn’s make-up, because he’s been crying. I’ve just told him that three million people are watching, and he says he’s ready.
Earlier, I asked Bogdan how Donna was, and he said how do you mean, and I said how do you think I mean, and he gave me the cutest little smile and a thumbs-up.
Talking of which, a text came through from Mervyn. I was excited to see his name on my phone, and all a flutter as I opened the message.
Alan OK.
Well, we can work on him. We’ve all just wished Mike luck. Time to get back to the action.
Donna and Chris are watching on Donna’s computer. Everyone in their office is watching. Everyone in Fairhaven police station is watching. Everyone in Fairhaven is watching. Everyone, full stop, is watching.
It is safe to say that Andrew Everton is today’s newest ‘Most hated man in Britain’. Though Donna notes that
What a masterstroke from whoever hacked Fiona Clemence’s Instagram. Speculation is rife as to who it might be. As if Chris and Donna couldn’t work out exactly who it was.
The latest development for the crowd huddled around Donna’s computer, all desperate not to be called away to some sort of crime or other, is that the old guy from
‘There’s your mate, Donna!’ says DS Terry Hallet.
‘He was my mate first,’ says Chris. ‘I breathalysed him!’
On the screen, Mike takes a chair, opposite an incredulous-looking Andrew Everton. Mike looks straight into whatever hidden camera is filming the scene.
‘Hi, I’m Mike Waghorn, reporting for
‘Mike, what are you –’ says Andrew Everton, but Mike hushes him.
‘I wanted to say a few words to the millions of people currently watching this livestream. The millions who have just heard the confessions of Chief Constable Andrew Ev–’
Andrew Everton leaps out of his chair and almost out of shot. He is caught and brought down by a muscled arm. You wouldn’t know whose arm it was unless you recognized the tattoos. Donna recognizes them instantly. So that’s where he was last night. ‘Trust me,’ he had said. Perhaps she should start making a habit of trusting him? She wonders if the whole gang is up there? Of course they are.
Mike Waghorn, ever the professional, waits for Andrew Everton’s muffled cries to disappear into the distance, before continuing.
