Chapter 5 - A National Treasure

A TV presenter's dark secret is about to be exposed, unless he can deal with the blackmailer himself

Graham's hand shook as he hung up the phone, slipping it back into his tuxedo pocket and looking at himself in the mirror, taking those deep breaths he'd taught himself to keep calm, bring his blood pressure back down. In, two, three, four, five. Out, two, three, four, five. So, two, three, four, five. This, two, three, four, five. This is it. He looked directly into his own eyes. Someone's going to die tonight. His hands gripped the edge of the dresser until his knuckles turned white.

"Graham, are you all right up there?"

He didn't answer. She could wait until he had his breathing back under control. He straightened his bow tie as he continued to count his breaths, taking a step back to check his outfit was just right. Appearances had always been vital, it was appearance that got him where he was, that ensured everyone trusted him, loved him, laughed at his jokes. Every job interview he'd ever had, right from his first position in hospital radio, he'd made sure he looked his absolute best. He'd been asked just a few weeks ago how he'd become a national treasure. His reply, that it started with a freshly ironed shirt had drawn laughter but there was an element of truth to his statement.

Checking his clothes always calmed him down and by the time he'd finished adjusting his cufflinks his heart rate was back to normal. It wasn't the attempt at blackmail that had angered him so much, it was the way the cocky little s**t expected him to be scared.

"I thought you'd died up here. Are you okay?"

He turned to see Mary standing there in the doorway looking concerned. Picking up the lint roller, he ran it down his arm as he smiled back at her, his winning smile that said I'm fine and dandy. "Just finishing off. How do I look?"

"Wonderful. Same as the day I married you, same as when you asked half an hour ago."

"Did I? Oh, sorry. I just-"

She took her hands in his and kissed him softly. "You just want to look perfect, I know. And you do so come down and say bye before you go."

Downstairs Adrian and Naomi were still finishing their dinner. Adrian was tapping on his phone as he ate, Naomi was flicking through a magazine. "Good luck dad," she said without looking up.

"Thanks love." He ruffled Adrian's hair as he passed. "And I know you'll be rooting for me, favourite son of mine."

Adrian scowled. "Yeah right." He began respiking his hair with his fingers. "You present a s**t show for an audience of morons. Why not take it off the air and hand the money it costs to a cancer ward? Do us all a favour?"

Graham sighed and rolled his eyes, collecting his coat and scarf. "It doesn't quite work like that. Thanks for the advice though. Right, I better be off."

"Bye love," Mary said as they stood on the door step. He kissed her goodbye and waved from the car, only letting the smile fade when he was out of sight of the house. Time to kill someone. Some people might have suggested it was easier to pay off his blackmailer but he'd tried that with the first one. All she did was keeping back for more and more. Six months of that before he finally lost patience, his hands wrapping round the shocked throat of the weedy little runt. The power he'd felt when he saw the light fading in the b***h's eyes had been intoxicating, so much so that he hadn't even bothered to negotiate with the second one, meeting her at 11pm, emptying the body out of the boot of the car an hour later. If she ever surfaced from the lake, there'd be nothing whatsoever to link her to Graham Southwell, national treasure, host of the Saturday Night Show for the last nine years. Nothing at all. And yet now there was another one. This little f****r beat the rest hands down. Where the previous two had been at one of his special parties and thought they could get some cash for keeping quiet this one was so much lower, pond scum in comparison.

His phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket. The number on the screen set his heart racing again. In, two, three, he thought as he answered it. Out, two three.

"I've changed my mind. I want another ten."

"We agreed fifteen."

"And now I want another ten. Or I could just drop it off at the studio, see what they think of it."

"All right, all right. Twenty five."

"In cash."

"No s**t. I thought you might take a f*****g cheque."

"Temper temper. I thought TV presenters didn't use language like that."

Graham hung up the phone. Did he really think people carried that much cash around just on the off chance of getting blackmailed? He really was an idiot. Soon outside the flat, located in one of the less salubrious but more anonymous corners of the city, he glanced round him as he unlocked the door, heading up the concrete stairs to his hideaway, the one he thought nobody knew about. He supposed he would have to find somewhere else after this. Fair enough, it was his bad luck that the little runt had been burgling and chose his flat and his own stupidity that he hadn't hidden it better. He'd learn from this though, make sure it didn't happen again.

He sat in the armchair with a glass of whiskey in his gloved hand and waited, running over his plan, making sure he hadn't forgotten something. Outside a taxi pulled up and the door opened. Two people climbed out, a man and a woman. Graham heard the door slam before the taxi drove away. In, two, three, four, five. Out, two, three, four, five.

 

Outside the flat the woman pressed the buzzer for Graham's flat. "Five minutes," she said. "In and out." The front door clicked and he pulled it open, heading inside. The woman wedged a stone into the doorway as he went inside, keeping the door ajar before perching on the wall behind the overgrown hedges. Five minutes came and went. Then ten. When she'd finished her third cigarette she stood up, beginning to pace up and down, trying to decide how much longer to leave it.

She waited ten more minutes before pulling open the door and heading inside, taking the stairs up to the third floor. She stepped out into an empty hall that stank of urine, a smell that she always associated with Graham. She pulled a key from her pocket and held it in one hand whilst pressing her ear to his door, listening carefully, unable to hear anything.

She slid the key into the lock and turned it as quietly as she could. Easing the door open, she slipped inside, closing it behind her. Still no noise. Tiptoeing forwards, she edged along the hallway, peering round the corner into the lounge.

She stopped dead at the sight. Ollie was tied to the armchair, his face a mass of blood and swellings, black tape covering his mouth. Graham was rubbing his hands together as he stood in front of him holding a spanner. She darted back out of sight.

"In a minute," she heard Graham say, "I'm going to take this tape off and I only want to hear one thing. Where it is. Nothing else. No begging. No threats. Do you understand?"

"Hmmmmm," Ollie said, the only sound he could make under the tape. She heard the tape being ripped off and then Ollie's laboured breathing. "P...please, don't-"

"Ah, ah, ah," Graham said. "What did I say? Where is it?"

"Grantley Street. 11 Grantley Street. Now please let-" The rest was muffled, the tape presumably back in place.

"Thank you. Now that wasn't so hard was it? But I did say I only wanted to hear where it was didn't I? You said more than that? Two more things in fact. So I'm going to attach two more bits of tape, one for each nostril. What do you think?"

"Mmmmmmm."

"Well I'm sorry too but here we are. Oh try and keep your head still, it'll make it quicker for you I promise."

She backed away as quietly as she could, slipping out and running for the stairs. She sprinted out of the building and down the street, knowing she didn't have long to get back. By the time she reached the house, she was panting for breath, slowing down to a walk as she noticed his car wasn't outside yet. Hopefully she still had time. Unlocking the door, she ran inside, sliding the chain in place and taking the last wobbly steps to the lounge. Graham was waiting for her there.

"Where is it?"

"Wh...where's what?"

"Don't play innocent with me. After everything I've done for you. Would you have been able to afford this place without my money? But it wasn't enough was it? Had to get greedy and try and set me up didn't you?" He grabbed her wrist and threw her down onto the sofa. "Now I'm going to ask you one more time. Where is it?"

"All right, all right, I'll show you."

He followed her upstairs. She pushed open her bedroom door and stepped back. He saw the laptop on the desk in there and ran for it, spinning it round to face him. It wasn't his. He turned back to her, his face warped with anger.

"What are you-?" he began but got no further.

"Sit down," she said, all fear gone from her voice, holding his laptop open with her finger hovering over the return key. "I said sit down or I send everything."

He sat on the computer chair beside him, not taking his eyes off her for a second.

"Tie your feet to the chair," she said.

"What with, my socks?"

"Look down."

There were two coils of rope by the chair legs. "You're making a big mistake," he said as she watched him tie one foot to the leg of the chair, then the other. "You should stop and think about this for a minute."

"Now that hand."

He leaned down and took the loose end of rope, wrapping it round his wrist and managing after three attempts to get a knot tied. “Why are you doing this?” he asked but she didn’t answer. “You could have walked away anytime but you stuck around didn’t you? Accepted all my gifts, lived here rent free. What the hell?  What do you want? More money?"

In the time it took him to say that, she'd moved behind him, setting the laptop down out of sight. "Put that hand through there," she said. He looked down, noticed the zip tie dangling from the arm of the chair. "You've got to be kidding?"

"Do it," she said, leaning towards his ear. He moved his hand to grab her but she was too quick, darting back out of reach. "Nice try. Now your hand please."

He slid his wrist through the zip tie. "You're going to be sorry," he said as she reached down and yanked the end of the zip tie, tightening it round his wrist. She tightened the knots holding him in place and came back round to stand in front of him. "I don't want money from you Graham. I never wanted your money. Do you want to know what I wanted? 17 and lost in the city. I wanted love. I put up with everything you did for the hug afterwards did you know that? I hated every f*****g minute you were inside me but I put up with it just to feel loved."

"Well then, why not let me go. I'll give you all the cuddles you want?"

"It's a little late for that now Graham. Did you know we've fucked for 17 years? That's longer than some marriages. Hell, quite a lot of marriages really. But I suppose I got used to it if I'm honest and I thought I knew you better than anyone. Certainly better than your wife. But I never knew you were into this." She nodded towards the laptop perched on the chest of drawers behind her. "You. Sick. F**k." She pressed play and the sound of crying and screaming filled the room. She let it play for just a few seconds before pausing it but it was long enough. "I only opened it to check my email at the flat while you were trying to get it up in the bathroom. Who was she?"

"I don't know."

"Don't bullshit me."

"I'm serious. I've no idea. I didn't film it."

"Don't. Be a man for once and just admit you're a sick f**k who likes watching things like that. Christ, she looks younger than your daughter."

He glared up at her. "What do you want from me?"

"Well first I owe you some thanks. I've wanted that scumbag pimp of mine dead for a while so you did me a favour there. But I want to give you a choice. More than you gave her." She pointed at the screen as she pulled a knife from her pocket, stepping forwards and plunging the blade straight into Graham's leg, surprised by the silence of his reaction. She glanced down to see if she'd somehow missed but there it was, sticking out from his trouser leg, a darkening pool staining the fabric round the wound. She looked up at him and was relieved to see his eyes were watering, his teeth gritted as he breathed through flared nostrils. "Do you recognise this knife? It's the one you used to give me this." She lifted her miniskirt to expose her upper thigh, revealing the nasty curving scar that had been hidden there. "I'm wearing what I wore the night you gave me this. Did you not recognise it? Thought it was appropriate. Call me sentimental. Now, you've got a few minutes before you bleed to death so listen carefully." She stepped back as his face started to pale, blood running down his chin from where he'd sunk his teeth into his bottom lip.

"I'm going to send everything on that computer to everyone. The press, your family, the police, the f*****g postman. In a minute they'll all know who you really are."

"Don't you f*****g dare," he said. He blinked hard, his face turning pale.

"Keep talking and the choice will be made for you," she replied. "Here's a phone. Pay as you go, just to be safe. I've only used it once, on the way here. Rang the police and told them about the nice surprise waiting for them in your flat." She waited for him to respond but he just glared at her so she continued. "Now I'm going to dial your wife's number and she's going to answer. You can admit who you are, what you are, and ask her to call an ambulance for you, maybe survive this and spend the rest of your life in prison. Or you can atone for your sins, your multitude of sins and sit there and bleed to death like she did while you filmed her. And in case you get bored while you make your mind up, here's something to watch." She flicked on the TV in the corner of the room, turning Graham's chair to face it. "Oh look, it's you. The national treasure." She pressed buttons on the phone and then wedged it against Graham's shoulder, turning away as it began to ring to press return on the keyboard, the contents of the laptop shooting off to all Graham's contacts like a virus, pinging into inboxes by the time she opened the bedroom door. "Goodbye Graham," she said, pulling the door closed behind her.

Graham looked at the laptop, then at the blood dripping onto the floor from his leg, so much blood. The phone continued to ring as he stared at himself on the TV screen, laughing and smiling with his studio audience, filmed the day before but somehow a lifetime ago now. "Goodbye Marie," he said out loud as he heard the front door close. There was a click in his ear and then the phone connected and his wife answered, Graham swooning, his vision fading as her voice answered as if from very far away. "Hello?"