Extract from Chapter One

Terry James continued writing as the editor and the lawyer discussed the legalities of the story.
Jacobs leaned back in the executive leather armchair as if in deep reflection. “Well, you don’t need me to tell you it all hinges on whether or not the story is true. Damned good story if it is.”
That was a rare utterance from the legal eagle. He seldom commented on the vast array of stories he was called upon to flick his blue Parker pen over.
“Yes, exactly,” said Harvey. “Probably a worse crime than rape or murder in the eyes of our readers. And certainly in the eyes of our leader. I just want your advice on how far we should go with it. You almost there, Terry?”
“Sure boss. Want a look?”
“No, just print out two copies.”
“Coming now. Excuse the literals. I haven’t run a spell-check on it yet.”
While the story was printing, Jacobs turned to James and said: “I assume it is futile of me to ask the source of this story?”
“Yes. Andrew knows the score. All I can say is this contact has always proved reliable. Remember the drug shootings in Essex last year?”
“How could I ever forget? I didn’t sleep for weeks,” replied Jacobs with a faint smile.
“Well this contact gave me the details on the gang leader who took the hostages.”
James watched as the two men stared intently at the print-outs: 350 words from London’s finest crime reporter.
The editor had finished reading the story in a matter of seconds. The lawyer was much slower and making notes in the margin. He seemed to be making a lot of notes. Harvey would think an experienced lawyer like Jacobs would be aware of deadlines by now. Still, he knew better than to interrupt the vital cogs in his brain. He had to give Jacobs credit for sparing his paper from several potential defamation actions.
“Fascinating,” said Jacobs to announce he had finished his perusal. “Absolutely fascinating. Caught with his hands in his own dirty till, so to speak.”
Jacobs turned his chair around and laid his paper on the table so that all three men could examine his scribblings.
“As I have said, it basically hinges on truth, or, more accurately, what we can prove is true. All I can suggest are amendments in mitigation. I know you will accuse me of watering down the impact. But let’s see.
“Here,” Jacobs pointed at a paragraph he had underlined. “Do we know that our chap actually had sex with these underage girls? Is there any evidence? Photographs? Videos? You know what these horrible perverts are like. Or did your source just tell you he was at the parties?”
Harvey looked at his reporter. “Good point. Well, Terry?”
James thought for a few seconds before replying: “He never said, boss. Sorry. As far as I know, they are just aware that Headleigh was at the parties. I guess they are hoping to uncover evidence – photos and stuff – during the raids.”
“Raids? What raids?” asked Jacobs.
“This weekend. The Kent police are planning to grab these bastards,” said the editor. “Don’t worry, Arthur, I have been wondering about whether we would be jeopardising any police action.”
“I deliberately avoided mentioning the raids for the same reason, boss.”
“Yes, gentlemen. We most definitely don’t want to do anything silly like that. So let’s scrub that paragraph shall we?”
Jacobs marked the offending words for deletion. “Best to simply say Headleigh has been spotted attending these gatherings – do you have to call them parties? What actual evidence are you aware of, Terry?”
“Well I know for certain that the Kent boys have Headleigh’s credit card records which prove he has been accessing child porn sites in his leisure hours. That is a crime in itself. But again, I don’t want to mention that in the story for obvious reasons. He would probably have the expert knowledge to wipe his computer clean. Plus it could give the source away.”
“What about the towns you mentioned? Are we happy naming those? Wouldn’t that alert the people about to be raided?”
“Fair point. I could just make it ‘the Kent area’?”
The men discussed a few more legal markings and then Harvey told James to write a finished article.
“Keep it tight, lad. I don’t want to turn it from page one. That would hold up production.”
It was approaching mid-day and the first edition had already gone to press. He had warned the backbench to prepare for a new front page. Not that any of them were allowed out for lunch during publication time, anyway.
“Overall Arthur, what do you think?”
“Well the risk is entirely yours, old boy. But if you have faith in Terry – and that I know you do – I can’t see anything to worry about. I would be happier with official confirmation, naturally.
“Just be careful, very careful, about printing anything which the police could throw back at the paper. We don’t want them claiming our story prevented them arresting a gang or busting open an international operation.
“And, of course, make sure our enthusiastic friend sticks to reporting the evidence he knows is definitely available.”
“Thanks, Arthur. Sorry to delay your lunch but just hang around to check the finished piece.”
“No problems, Andrew. Nothing quite like a juicy story as an appetiser.” He winked at the editor, but still stole a quick glance at the wall clock.
James had made the legal alterations and kept his story brief. He wasn’t happy at the loss of impact – he had wanted as many facts in there as possible. His editor and the lawyer were satisfied, though.
Harvey walked briskly through his door and bellowed at the backbench. “OK folks. New front page. Conor, tell distribution that second edition must not go until this is ready OK?”
Harvey went into a huddle with his chief sub-editor and the chief design artist. The three experienced hacks had the page ready within 20 minutes.
Arthur Jacobs nodded his approval and informed all he could be contacted at Alfredo’s if his expertise was further required that splendid day.
Two hours later, Harvey sat in his office staring at the second edition’s front page. He was satisfied. A dirty copper’s a damned better read than that parking crap. Even for those who didn’t enjoy the luxury of their own parking space in the cramped capital.
Yes, bloody fine crime reporter is Terry James.
“Good job, Terry. Let the shit hit the fan and let the big boys chase our tails once again.”

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