The Fund. Jeff Edwards

rounded out by lessons in music and dancing.

      However, it was with the re-emergence of Jade Green that Sloane’s life had taken on a new focus. There was a story here. Not just a few columns in a newspaper or an article in a news magazine. This was the stuff of a book and a bestseller at that. This was the answer to his current dreary existence. This was the project that would raise him above the level of the newspaper hack. For years he had concentrated on the news stories of the day, submerging his desire to write real literature in order that Pamela did not go without. Now here was the tale that he hoped would bring him fame as well as money.

      Jade Green’s sudden death, far from ruining his plans, had added an entirely new dimension to his work. The mysterious circumstance of her demise was another aspect that added intrigue to the plot that had enthralled him.

      She had been a very elderly lady and so it had not come as a complete surprise that she would die suddenly. However, the fact that Sloane had been totally unable to get any information as to where, and from what causes she died, had made his reporting instincts go into overdrive. There was a story here and Sloane was determined to find out what it was.

      A few other reporters had also been intrigued by the Jade Green story, especially after she killed her former partner Walter Groom in self-defence. Then more questions had arisen when her house had been burned down in mysterious circumstances, followed soon after by some sort of military operation at the site during which her neighbour’s house had also been badly damaged.

      These incidents had been followed closely by Jade Green’s death. Much too closely for Mick’s liking and Sloane was still trying desperately to find out why. However, all normal channels of information had been blocked by a wall of secrecy that was absolute. Sloane had no doubt it had been set in place by the government and from a high level of government at that. It had been enough to frustrate the other reporters who had not given up but simply put aside the story for the time being. Sloane had no doubt that they would return to the saga of Jade Green just as soon as they were able to find a way to pierce the wall of secrecy.

      His own attempts to undertake what would under any other circumstances be normal inquiries had met with polite refusal. Not that they were unwilling to help Sloane. It was just that they, themselves, were unable to access the information he sought, even though they should have been able to do so.

      All of which made Sloane more and more determined to unravel the mystery that was Jade Green.

      If the direct route to the information is not available then I’ll just have to go by more devious ways, Sloane thought to himself as he set down to record what little information he had and to work out a plan for obtaining more. ‘Just one small lead is all I need. As soon as the right piece of information falls into place then the rest of the puzzle will solve itself.’

      Finally, when the reply to his email did arrive, Sloane was disappointed. Yet again the information he sought was not going to be forthcoming. It was yet another dead end. Still, he had not expected that the information would just fall into his lap. It looked as though he was going to travel back in time. He needed to delve into the very early life of Jade Green and understand where she sprang from and hopefully that would lead him to where the vital clue was hidden.

      * * *

      That evening Sloane settled himself in his flat’s single battered lounge chair with a glass of whiskey at his side and he began to work his way through the information before him.

      He recalled the number of times that he had tried to interview Jade Green. The very first time had been many years ago as a young reporter while she was still serving her prison sentence. He had called several times and been told that she refused to speak to anyone except her closest of friends and the prison authorities had ensured that her wishes had been complied with, no matter how many times he tried.

      The next time was after a gap of many years when he had caught sight of her outside the court where her friend Toby Brown’s case was being heard, but she had ignored him and refused to answer whatever questions he had thrown at her.

      He had followed after the woman and discovered that she resided in Walton Village. Sloane had then rung her at home to try to arrange an interview but had been very politely denied his request.

      Then the matter of her slaying of Walter Groom arose and he had been among the pack of media clamouring for a word from her, but once again Jade Green had maintained a dignified silence, just as she had throughout her life. Sloane had not been able to find a single occasion when the woman had volunteered to speak publicly.

      After the media frenzy died down, Sloane had returned to Walton Village where he managed to find her alone, working in Toby Brown’s gallery. He hadn’t attempted to harass the woman as he knew that the redoubtable Jade Green was not a person to be browbeaten. He had simply shown her his press credentials and asked to speak to her.

      The old woman had studied Sloane over the top of her reading glasses and smiled.

      ‘You really are a most persistent man, Mr Sloane,’ she said kindly. ‘However, I have not in the past, I will not now, nor will I in the future agree to make my life the stuff of public scrutiny.’

      Sloane had grinned. ‘I must disagree with you on that score, Mrs Green. Your very actions, such as owning the most famous bordello in the city, your most public trial and imprisonment and finally the unfortunate incident resulting in the death of Walter Groom, have all been the stuff of public scrutiny. It can only to be to your benefit to make the world aware of your side of the story in those matters.’

      ‘I disagree entirely, Mr Sloane. I have no wish to put my side, or any other side, forward. Much to my regret the matters occurred and I now wish to fade away. I choose to live my life in peace and quiet, just as I have done for years.’

      ‘And if I were to write a story about you anyway?’

      ‘I have had many stories written about me, Mr Sloane. Most have painted me in a bad light. I am an old lady and now quite immune to them. Yet another attempt to blacken my name will not get me to break my silence. So, Mr Sloane, go ahead and do your worst, but be assured, if you make the slightest error I will have my good friend Brian Reynolds and his firm of lawyers upstairs, sue both you and your publishers.’

      ‘Are you sure that you won’t change your mind and set the record straight?’

      ‘Goodbye, Mr Sloane!’ she pronounced with great finality.

      Following the arson attack on her home, Sloane had again attempted to contact her, but so had numerous other reporters and all had been repulsed.

      Suddenly she was dead.

      The media frenzy at her funeral had been as much because of her former notoriety as from the mystery surrounding her death. Again, there were hundreds of question to be asked, but not one answer was forthcoming.

      Now, even her closest friends were refusing to co-operate.

      Not one of the people that she had been close to would speak to the press. Not even the inducement of money would sway them from their silence.

      The next morning, Sloane finished his latest article for the paper and dropped it into his sub-editor who accepted it for filing. It would probably appear in the next few days. The article itself was not breaking news, so it would appear whenever there was sufficient spare space to match the size of his work. Sloane didn’t care. It was a very ordinary piece of work, even by his standards, and he was glad to see the end of it.

      On the way back to his workstation, Sloane dropped by the news desk to see what was happening in the world, searching for a new story that needed his particular spin. As he quickly scanned through the items that would appear in the next edition his eyes were drawn to a name, Toby Brown, and then another, Grant & Associates.

      Studying the article more closely, Sloane read that a fire the previous evening in the township of Walton Village had completely destroyed the recently renovated factory that had contained the workshop and gallery of the up-and-coming sculptor Toby Brown as well as the first floor offices of the legal firm Grant & Associates.

      Sloane