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mobile, but it remained obstinately silent.
    ‘Shift to your left a little Dan please,’ called Nigel, from behind the camera. ‘There’s a tree branching out the top of your head at the moment.’ Dan took a step to his side. ‘That’s better,’ said Nigel. ‘Got the house nicely behind you if you want to refer to it.’
    So, what to say? He’d have to couch his words, pad it out and fill as best he could. He could definitely say the police had been called to Freedman’s home earlier that evening. And that detectives were inside at this moment, beginning an investigation into … what?
    That was the key question. Whether he could he go further and talk about death, suicide and blackmail. It was the juicy part of the story, what made it so very newsworthy, but the biggest risk.
    Nigel flicked on the small but powerful light on top of the camera. Dan blinked a couple of times to allow his eyes to adjust. Three minutes until he was on air. He took a deep breath to calm himself and closed his eyes to focus.
    His mobile rang.
    Dan jumped, grabbed at his trouser pocket and dropped the phone. Swearing, he scrabbled on the ground, trying to find it in the black and white lines of the shadows.
    ‘Will you stop clowning,’ came Emma’s piqued voice in his ear. ‘We’re on air in two minutes. Stand still, man.’
    Dan found the phone and answered it. His hands were sweaty and shaking. Adam.
    ‘Wow, am I glad to hear from you. We’re on air in minutes. Some ultra-quick questions. Is Freedman dead?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘Very.’
    ‘Suicide?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Bath.’
    ‘Left a note?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Can I say anything about blackmail without harming your investigation?’
    A pause on the line.
    ‘Dan, one minute to on air,’ yelped Emma. ‘Drop that bloody phone and look at the camera.’
    ‘You can say the police are investigating whether Freedman was being blackmailed,’ replied Adam calmly. ‘Nothing about the sex bit though. I want to keep that quiet for now.’
    ‘OK. Got to go, will call you later.’
    ‘Thirty seconds!’ came the director’s voice again. ‘Drop that phone Dan!’
    Dan turned his mobile off and threw it to Nigel. Experience took over. He felt suddenly calm, his mind clear.
    Remember the golden rule of broadcasting. If in doubt, just KISS. Keep it short and simple.
    ‘We begin tonight with some breaking news,’ came Craig, the presenter’s voice in his ear. ‘We’re getting reports of the death of a prominent local MP in strange circumstances. Our Crime Correspondent Dan Groves joins us from the Plymouth home of Will Freedman. Dan, what more can you tell us?’
    ‘Craig, extraordinary developments here tonight,’ said Dan, putting on his most sombre tone. ‘A senior police source tells me Mr Freedman has been found dead in his bath and that he committed suicide. A note has been recovered and detectives have begun an investigation. One of the most important elements of that inquiry is to discover whether Mr Freedman was being blackmailed. Now, this news will cause great shock. As you’ll appreciate, Will Freedman is a very well known local MP. He’s highly regarded in his Plymouth Tamar constituency, a prominent campaigner for traditional family values and is also reckoned to be one of the rising stars of the Traditionalist Party.’
    Craig thanked him and they were on to the next story, something about passenger numbers at Exeter airport. Dan hardly heard it. He popped out his earpiece and breathed deeply.
    If only the viewers knew. So often the control of the calm and authoritative on-air persona was a tissue-thin layer of bluff.
    A police van pulled up by the house. Nigel spun the camera and started filming. A dozen men and women, all dressed in black, hopped down from the back and marched up to the front door. The police officers on guard opened it and they filed in. Dan noted only two wiped their boots on the mat.
    ‘Who’s that?’ hissed