Page 210 of Private Lives

A tear ran down his cheek.

‘Doug was CEO of Pogex Oil. They owned the Atlanticana rig. He was my friend.’ Peter sighed. ‘When Atlanticana exploded, we panicked.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Myself. Malcolm Wainwright, the Dallincourt CEO. James Swann, a major shareholder in both Dallincourt and Pogex. We went to see Simon Cooper at Auckland Communications, who handled corporate publicity for Dallincourt and Pogex. He said the best way to hide Dallincourt’s culpability was to blame Pogex Oil. As Pogex was another client of his, he wanted to miminise corporate reputation damage, but he was prepared to sacrifice a senior-level executive. He said we should create a fall guy, and the obvious person was Doug, Pogex’s CEO. A brilliant man, but highly strung, maybe even a little bipolar. I knew he would crumble under questioning, especially if Auckland fed him a few soundbites that made it sound like he was trying to wriggle out of it. And it worked. The press crucified him. And Doug . . . We both know what happened next, don’t we?’

Peter stood up and brushed down his trousers.

‘Now I think I need to be alone,’ he said, nodding a goodbye.

Helen jumped up and grabbed his arm.

‘Please, Peter, don’t do anything rash,’ she said, her heart pounding. ‘Remember we’re all in this together, and if we work together, we can get out of it.’

Peter looked down at her hand and gently lifted it from his arm.

‘We all have a way of dealing with our problems,’ he said, walking away. ‘You go and figure out yours.’

66

The atmosphere in Media Incorporated’s boardroom was electric. Amir and Andy stood by a big whiteboard full of red, black and blue scribbles, arrows pointing to circled names and facts boxed off and starred according to their importance.

‘Gentlemen, please,’ said Andy, addressing the room. ‘We all know this is going to be a big story, but we need to be absolutely sure of our facts – particularly what we can and can’t say legally. We’ve got to be tight as a nut on this, especially as we have the enemy in the room.’

There was a ripple of laughter as the journalists all looked over at Anna, Matt and Larry standing to the side. Anna smiled too. She had been watching Andy at work, seeing him running his team, his eyes blazing with passion for the story, yet completely in control, never letting his excitement run away with him.

I’m over him, she smiled to herself. I finally really am.

She respected him, enjoyed his company, but that little spark of whatever it was that drew people together had gone. And she felt glad. It was a weight that had been pulling her down, an unhealed wound that had kept her from moving on and finding someone else. For a moment, she thought of Sam. They hadn’t spoken all week; just a few half-apologetic text messages that had left her with very mixed emotions. Their time together in India had been sensational, of course, and he was so good-looking she could feel a little part of her sigh whenever she thought about him. But another part of her wondered if they were really suited. She looked at Andy, realising that they had been a perfect match on paper, everyone had said so; and yet sometimes things just didn’t pan out. One thing she had come to understand was that you couldn’t deconstruct love and figure out what made two people connect. It just happened. Or didn’t. That was the nature of love; its randomness, its unpredictability, and she supposed it was what made it so intoxicating.

Charles Porter, the newspaper’s editor, looked over at Anna.

‘Andy’s right,’ he said. ‘We need to know what we can print. Are you sure the contents of Amy’s laptop would be admissible in court?’

Anna felt flattered that Charles had addressed the question to her, with her boss and the legendary Larry Donovan standing next to her. She had been getting a lot of respect from the journalists since Andy and Amir had brought the story in. She nodded to Charles.

‘Yes, Matt found the laptop, which had clearly been taken, stolen from Amy’s apartment. But we should be able to argue that ownership still belongs to Amy Hart, and as she is now deceased, it’s passed on to her estate. Of course we’ve got the full cooperation of her family.’

Charles nodded and looked up at Amir.

‘What about this Peter Rees character? Can we name him?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Amir. ‘The emails show he was Amy’s lover. I’ve also been able to nail him through the offshore account he set up to pay the rent on Amy’s apartment.’

‘Okay, so that links Dallincourt to the dead girl,’ said Charles. ‘But what about linking the girl to the oil spill?’

Matt shook his head.

‘Unfortunately the Atlanticana report was essentially stolen by Amy, which compromises its admissibility. And there’s still no way of proving Amy’s death was foul play. Not without a confession, anyway.’

Anna loved the energy in the room as they put the story together. Media law tended to move much faster than the rest of the legal system – no one else but a media lawyer would be knocking on a judge’s door at nine at night – but the speed with which the news was crafted was edge-of-the-seat stuff. The only person who did not look alive with adrenalin was Larry Donovan. At last he stepped forward.

‘Charles. Can I have a word?’ he said, touching the editor on the shoulder. He motioned to Anna to follow them into an adjoining office. The two lawyers and the newspaper editor stood huddled in the small room. Larry spoke first.

‘Listen, I’ll be straight with you, Charles, I’m not happy about Helen Pierce’s name being on that whiteboard.’

Charles Porter gave a thin smile.