The Enemy Within Read Online Free Page B

direction that many people felt he should have held a high rank in the Force himself. It was Bryant who had speculated about the motives behind the Dulwich Public Convenience Murders – and been proved triumphantly right. It was Bryant whose stories filled the front pages of the national newspapers day after day.
    He had hit the office like a whirlwind.
    â€˜Local news doesn’t have to mean
boring
news,’ he’d told the staff. ‘Human interest is the same everywhere, and there are stories every bit as interesting in Whitebridge as there are in New York. All we have to do is get off our backsides and find them.’
    â€˜The paper’s doing all right as it is, Mr Bryant,’ one of the older reporters had grumbled.
    â€˜Is it?’ Bryant had countered. ‘Is it really? Then why is it only the
Mid
Lancashire
Courier
? Why aren’t we selling it in places as far away as Warrington and Lancaster?’
    â€˜They’re a funny lot of folk in Warrington and Lancaster. They wouldn’t be interested.’
    â€˜Yes they would – if we gave them something to be interested
in
! Why are all our advertisements for second-hand cars and ironmongers? Why can’t we attract adverts from national companies? I’ll tell you why! Because we don’t work hard enough to please them. But that’s all about to change.’
    And change it had. In the first few months of Bryant’s editorship, a number of the older reporters had resigned. There’d been no point in staying on, they’d told anyone who’d listen to them. Bryant was heading for disaster. He’d taken over a perfectly manageable tramp steamer of a newspaper and was trying to turn it into an ocean liner. Well, he’d soon learn. The
Titanic
had gone down, and so would the
Courier
.
    But the
Courier
hadn’t sunk, taking with it all remaining hands. Instead, it had sailed from triumph to triumph. Circulation was rising. The paper was being talked about, instead of merely skimmed and forgotten. And best of all – from Jamie’s point of view – the national dailies, always on the lookout for fresh talent, were starting to take a real interest in the men who put the
Courier
together.
    Jamie was vaguely aware of the phone ringing in his boss’s office, but since the Editor seemed to get calls at all hours of the day and night, he paid no particular attention to it. So it was not until Dexter Bryant flung open his office door and looked around expectantly that the young reporter felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise.
    â€˜Can you come in here for a second, Jamie?’ Bryant asked.
    Of course he could, Jamie Clegg thought. He would follow this Editor through fire and water.
    By the time Clegg entered the office, Bryant was already back behind his desk. ‘Ever heard of a place called Mad Jack’s Field?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Then get over there as sharp as you can. With any luck, we might be the first paper on the story.’
    â€˜What story?’ Jamie asked, almost choking with excitement.
    â€˜I’m not quite sure, to be honest,’ Bryant admitted. ‘But my contact at the fire station’s just told me that two tenders have set out – going hell for leather – for this field of yours.’
    How casually Bryant used the words ‘my contact’, Jamie thought.
    If
he’d
had ‘contacts’ he’d have put real weight behind the words.
    â€˜
My contact
says there’s a big scandal brewing in the town hall,’ he’d have told his mates in the pub.
    â€˜
My contact
says they’re going to build a new by-pass on the north edge of town,’ he’d have announced to his mother as she made his supper.
    Yet it was plain from the way he used the words that ‘my contact’ held no magic for Bryant – that he regarded his contact as no more than a tool of his trade.
    A sudden