outlet going and I bet you that tomorrow the place is the busiest it’s ever been. The fund for the repair project will be doing nicely.’
Nigel filmed some more shots of the interior, while Dan did a final check that they had all the pictures they needed. Other journalists were starting to look around to see what else there was to mention in their reports. Some were coming dangerously close to the bloodstains and fragment of glass in the pew.
Dan laid his hand on one of the great fluted pillars. He ran a finger along the cold stone and let out a loud whistle.
‘What?’ one of the other reporters asked.
Dan pointed to a dark stain on the white surface. ‘Look. The force of the blast even reached here.’
The press posse gathered around it and started photographing and filming, the newspaper reporters writing descriptions. They were all intent on what looked to Dan like nothing more than a perfectly natural and very long-standing flaw in the historic stone.
As they filed out of the Minster, Dan started to feel guilty at his flippancy on such a sombre day. He worked his way to the front of the pack, paused at the door and made a very public show of placing ten pounds in the contributions chest. The other hacks had little choice but to follow.
For the half past ten bulletin, Dan re-cut his report, starting with the new pictures inside the Minster and including the blood and fragment of shrapnel. Combined with the damage to the window, and the interviews with the eyewitnesses, it gave the viewers a stark sense of what had happened.
They’d even managed to get something to eat. Nigel had found a kind landlord in a pub along the green who’d agreed to allow his staff to bring them food and drinks in the satellite van. It was the first time Dan had enjoyed waiter service as he worked. Even Loud was impressed, until he bit too hard at a bread roll and hurt his damaged tooth.
The Deputy Chief Constable had held another short media briefing to give an update on the case. The person killed in the bombing was a woman and from the local area, but the police were not yet naming her as all her family had not been told. One other person was seriously hurt, as was the bomber himself. Another 22 had more minor injuries.
The first reports of many people being killed were inaccurate, as was often the case. Exaggeration was one of the dangers of a disaster. Dreadful as the attack was, it could have been much worse.
Aside from the bomber, another man had been arrested in connection with the attack and was now in custody. As Flood spoke, a couple of the other hacks cast irritated glances at Dan. He just about managed to keep a straight face. Word went around fast when you had a scoop, particularly one as impressive as an arrest by armed police, and journalists were jealous creatures.
Once again, Flood saved until last the most dramatic part of the statement.
‘I am now in a position to reveal the bomber’s name to you. He is John Tanton, a schoolboy from the Stonehouse area of Plymouth. He will be formally questioned when doctors tell us he is well enough. His house is currently being searched.’
The press conference ended and the reporters picked up their mobiles, began filing the information to their newsrooms. But Dan just stood there.
Nigel reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah. It’s just – John Tanton. I think I’ve met him. I reckon he was at some prize-giving ceremony I did a year or so ago. I’m pretty sure I met his Mum. Alison was her name. She’s a businesswoman. We got on well. She even gave me her phone number and said if ever I needed help on a business story to call her.’
Nigel whistled to himself. ‘That could be useful.’
‘Yeah, to say the least.’
After the broadcast they walked wearily along to the hotel. Dan sat with Nigel and Loud for a beer, to calm down after a chaotic day. It tasted good. He drank one, then another, was about to have a third when he
Nigel filmed some more shots of the interior, while Dan did a final check that they had all the pictures they needed. Other journalists were starting to look around to see what else there was to mention in their reports. Some were coming dangerously close to the bloodstains and fragment of glass in the pew.
Dan laid his hand on one of the great fluted pillars. He ran a finger along the cold stone and let out a loud whistle.
‘What?’ one of the other reporters asked.
Dan pointed to a dark stain on the white surface. ‘Look. The force of the blast even reached here.’
The press posse gathered around it and started photographing and filming, the newspaper reporters writing descriptions. They were all intent on what looked to Dan like nothing more than a perfectly natural and very long-standing flaw in the historic stone.
As they filed out of the Minster, Dan started to feel guilty at his flippancy on such a sombre day. He worked his way to the front of the pack, paused at the door and made a very public show of placing ten pounds in the contributions chest. The other hacks had little choice but to follow.
For the half past ten bulletin, Dan re-cut his report, starting with the new pictures inside the Minster and including the blood and fragment of shrapnel. Combined with the damage to the window, and the interviews with the eyewitnesses, it gave the viewers a stark sense of what had happened.
They’d even managed to get something to eat. Nigel had found a kind landlord in a pub along the green who’d agreed to allow his staff to bring them food and drinks in the satellite van. It was the first time Dan had enjoyed waiter service as he worked. Even Loud was impressed, until he bit too hard at a bread roll and hurt his damaged tooth.
The Deputy Chief Constable had held another short media briefing to give an update on the case. The person killed in the bombing was a woman and from the local area, but the police were not yet naming her as all her family had not been told. One other person was seriously hurt, as was the bomber himself. Another 22 had more minor injuries.
The first reports of many people being killed were inaccurate, as was often the case. Exaggeration was one of the dangers of a disaster. Dreadful as the attack was, it could have been much worse.
Aside from the bomber, another man had been arrested in connection with the attack and was now in custody. As Flood spoke, a couple of the other hacks cast irritated glances at Dan. He just about managed to keep a straight face. Word went around fast when you had a scoop, particularly one as impressive as an arrest by armed police, and journalists were jealous creatures.
Once again, Flood saved until last the most dramatic part of the statement.
‘I am now in a position to reveal the bomber’s name to you. He is John Tanton, a schoolboy from the Stonehouse area of Plymouth. He will be formally questioned when doctors tell us he is well enough. His house is currently being searched.’
The press conference ended and the reporters picked up their mobiles, began filing the information to their newsrooms. But Dan just stood there.
Nigel reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah. It’s just – John Tanton. I think I’ve met him. I reckon he was at some prize-giving ceremony I did a year or so ago. I’m pretty sure I met his Mum. Alison was her name. She’s a businesswoman. We got on well. She even gave me her phone number and said if ever I needed help on a business story to call her.’
Nigel whistled to himself. ‘That could be useful.’
‘Yeah, to say the least.’
After the broadcast they walked wearily along to the hotel. Dan sat with Nigel and Loud for a beer, to calm down after a chaotic day. It tasted good. He drank one, then another, was about to have a third when he
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