The Chinaman by Stephen Leather

to get it, and what she didn’t want was to get her ticket to the House by lying on her back with the Honourable Member between her legs.
    He spent half an hour with the old couple, and then Ellen took them out and called for whoever was next. The Oriental man looked around, saw that everyone was looking at him, and got to his feet. ‘I think it is my turn,’ he said quietly.
    She asked his name and then he followed her into the office. Sir John was already in position to shake hands and Ellen saw his jaw tighten when he saw Nguyen, but only for a second. Then the teeth flashed and the eyes crinkled into the face that smiled down from the posters at election time. Sir John was nothing if not professional.
    â€˜Mr Nguyen,’ she said by way of introduction. The MP shook the man’s hand firmly and he waited until Nguyen was seated before going back behind the desk.
    â€˜How can I help you, Mr Nguyen?’ he said, steepling his well-manicured hands under his square chin.
    In a low, quiet voice, Nguyen told him what had happened to his wife and daughter, about the bomb, and the conversations he had had with the police and the Anti-Terrorist Branch. ‘My family died more than three months ago,’ he said. ‘And still the men responsible have not been caught.’
    Sir John nodded understandingly. ‘But what is it that you want me to do?’
    â€˜I wrote to you many times, Sir John. Many times.’
    The MP gave Ellen a sideways look and she nodded quickly. Yes, she remembered his letters now. Carefully handwritten, every word in capital letters. She had drafted sympathetic replies promising nothing and Sir John had signed them without reading them.
    â€˜I asked you to help bring the men to justice,’ Nguyen continued. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Bromley said that the capture of the men was a political matter.’
    â€˜Detective Chief Inspector Bromley?’
    â€˜He is a policeman who catches terrorists. But he told me that he could not force the men in the IRA to tell him who killed my family.’
    â€˜That is probably true, I am afraid,’ said Sir John. ‘There are many people who probably feel that the police and the army should have stronger powers, but we are, when all is said and done, a democracy. We cannot torture people or imprison them simply because they do not give us the information we seek.’ He looked concerned, but to Ellen he sounded pompous and uncaring.
    â€˜But could not the Government change the law so that such things could be done? So that the police could force others in the IRA to tell what they know?’
    â€˜In theory yes, but it would not happen. I am afraid you must allow the police to do their job, Mr Nguyen. I am sure that they are doing their best.’
    Nguyen smiled nervously. ‘What I would like, Sir John, is for you to change the law.’
    Sir John snorted. ‘Come, come, Mr Nguyen. What makes you think I can do that?’
    â€˜Because you are my . . .’ The old man seemed to stumble on the words before finishing the sentence. ‘My elected representative.’ He seemed to take pride in the fact that he had remembered the words. ‘You are my MP. I wish you to change the law so that the killers of my family can be brought to justice.’
    â€˜You have a strange idea of the powers of an MP, Mr Nguyen. I cannot change laws just because you think justice has not been done.’
    Nguyen hung his head and said something quietly.
    â€˜I’m sorry?’ said Sir John, leaning forward to listen.
    Nguyen looked up. There were tears in his eyes and Ellen’s heart went out to him.
    â€˜What am I to do?’ he asked the MP. ‘My family is dead. What am I to do?’
    Sir John leant back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Ellen recognised his defensive position. There was nothing he or anyone else could do. The IRA was an insurmountable problem. Even if