Broadchurch by Erin Kelly & Chris Chibnall

Author:Erin Kelly & Chris Chibnall
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780751555592
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2014-08-13T23:00:00+00:00

Unlike Alec Hardy’s investigation room, the Broadchurch Echo does not have a clean-desk policy. Karen and Olly, going hard after Jack Marshall, are drowning in paperwork. Every surface is awash with Post-its, web printouts, newspapers and notes spilling from box files. It seems to multiply when they’re not looking, as do the dirty mugs that pile up around them.

They are alone in the office. Maggie’s ill or something: she’s been in a strange mood all day, snappy and vague, forgoing her usual long walk home in favour of getting Lil to come and pick her up in the car. Olly’s worried about her but Karen feels liberated; with Maggie gone, she can do things her way.

‘Anything interesting?’ she asks. Olly rummages noisily through loose pages until he finds a picture of Jack with his arms round a Sea Brigade boy.

‘I’m going to dig out the original,’ he says, handing it to Karen and taking the photograph she gives him in return. It’s a picture of Jack looking angry on the threshold of the Latimer house.

‘Wow,’ he whistles. ‘Where’d you get this?’ Karen is gratified by his response. She got the picture exclusive herself, inviting the photographer to her hotel and making an offer on behalf of the Herald. When the story made the News At Ten, Danvers all but gave her a blank chequebook.

‘Why’d he go to their house?’ asks Olly.

‘Exactly,’ says Karen. ‘OK. Four hundred words on the reconstruction and then, main article, the exclusive, everything you dug up on Jack, especially his previous convictions. Write it up.’

‘Me?’ Olly looks equally delighted and terrified. ‘I’ve never written for a national.’

‘Look at your little face! Of course you. You did the work, you write the article. They can run it under my byline, it’ll be our secret.’

She keeps Olly topped up with tea and biscuits, watching surreptitiously over his shoulder as he types. He’s making some rookie mistakes – not mentioning Marshall’s age until the end of the piece, neglecting to mention how close his house is to the beach – but he’s got all the facts, asking questions, there’s a clear point of view and nothing’s sensationalised. Karen thinks fondly back to her own apprenticeship, learning on the job as seasoned Fleet Street hacks taught her how to be a reporter, line by line. Most of the kids coming up through the newsrooms now don’t know how to write an original report. It feels good to hand the old skills on, even if they are on their way out.

She motions for Olly to pull his chair close to hers. She can feel his breath on her cheek as she edits the piece, hard. He’s crestfallen at first, but she talks him through the reason for each cut-and-paste and by the end he’s grinning with the delight of what she’s done to his piece. ‘That is brilliant, it’s loads better. You’ve smashed it,’ he says.

‘Shall we press send?’

He hits the button himself, happy as a little kid being allowed to play on his mum’s computer.

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