London Calling - James Craig [49]
Snowdon smiled, gave a little nod, and took a seat in the otherwise empty front row.
Simpson paused, quickly introduced her two colleagues, and then launched into the prepared statement. This managed to fill most of the remaining time allotted for the conference, while actually containing no new information whatsoever. The hacks scribbled away and nodded politely, apart from the Standard reporter who appeared to be either deaf or suffering from a serious attention-deficit disorder.
Once Simpson finished reading her statement, Snowdon immediately turned to Carlyle. ‘Is it true,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘that you were told about the body in a note, Inspector?’
Carlyle stiffened. ‘We are not adding to any detail we have already put out into the public domain,’ he heard himself say, robotically.
Snowdon came back at him gently. ‘But it has already been reported that there was a note … so any additional colour you can let us have on that would be most appreciated.’
Carlyle forced himself to smile. ‘I understand the need for colour in your story, Ms Snowdon,’ he replied evenly, ‘but I’ve got my job to do as well. We really have nothing to add at this stage.’ He could sense Simpson getting irritated, but felt that he had to stand his ground. This whole event was, nominally at least, supposed to be for the benefit of his investigation, after all.
The other journalists sat back, happy to see how far this gentle sparring would continue. Aware that they had ceded her the floor, Snowdon felt it was at least worth giving it one last go. ‘I’m sorry to have to repeat the question, Inspector …’
‘But you are going to anyway,’ Carlyle shot back.
At this point Simpson intervened, clearly having had enough of Carlyle spoiling her show. ‘I think we’ve already covered that,’ she declared, with a rictus grin. ‘Are there any more questions?’ she asked firmly, scanning the room. After the briefest of pauses, she moved on. ‘None? Good. Thank you all for coming. We will, of course, provide you with an update in due course. I will now happily make myself available for any radio and television interviews you might need.’ She scanned the audience, willing someone to take her up on her offer. ‘Shall we say BBC first?’
With no immediate takers coming forward, the superintendent almost sprinted to the back of the room to get herself in front of the cameras. Even so, the room had almost emptied by the time she got there. People were working on deadline and the ITV crew was busy breaking up its equipment. Their producer had already left, and it was now clear they didn’t want a one-on-one with Simpson.
Watching smugly from the platform, Carlyle caught a quizzical glance passing from the BBC cameraman towards Snowdon, asking her Do we need this? Snowdon gave him a quick nod and he made a face before resetting the camera for Simpson’s close-up. He was used to this: a ‘just in case’ interview, mainly conducted in order to keep the subject happy.
While the cameraman fussed about, Snowdon and Simpson exchanged business cards and chatted in a rather over-animated fashion. Carlyle wondered what they were talking about, but he knew that it wasn’t likely to be the Blake case. Snowdon was not a journalist in the ‘hard news’ sense. Indeed, she wasn’t really a journalist in any sense. In reality, she was just another hustler who saw every news item, every victim, as another step towards realising her destiny as a celebrity presenter on the main national network, with a smug banker husband and regular exposure in Hello! magazine. Similarly, Simpson wasn’t really a copper – he doubted if she had been out on the streets in the last ten or even twenty years. She was just a politician in uniform.
In short, they were both women in a hurry. Each recognised a kindred spirit in the other. This whole performance was more about networking than