Union Jack (Lindsay Gordon, Book 4)
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Journalist Lindsay Gordon is more accustomed to investigating murder than being suspected of it. But when union boss Tom Jack falls to his death from her bedroom window after a spectacularly public row with Lindsay, it seems the only way to prove her innocence is to find the real culprit. In an investigation that draws her inexorably into her own past, Lindsay is forced to confront hard moral choices before she can clear her name.
who’ll stand up to them.’ She was building up a fine head of steam. Lindsay hoped the woman wouldn’t round on her and demand to know which sector of the union she belonged to. ‘What’s Fearghal saying to it?’ the young man asked. The woman snorted. ‘Let me tell you, that man’s a saint. He’s gone to see Standing Orders Sub-Committee about an emergency motion to clear his name. And in the face of this,’ she added, waving the offending article, ‘I don’t doubt they’ll see things his way. I’ve
former Journalists’ Union – an organisation that was more like a gentlemen’s club than a union, by all accounts – those of us who are facing redundancy on a massive scale in the print would not be in the mess we’re in. They were happy enough to grab our historic traditions and a bank balance that was in the black, unlike their own, and now they want to grab our very jobs. Colleagues, it’s time the National Executive and the general secretary adopted the policy of the greatest good of the greatest
delegates arguing with Brian Robinson, the Standing Orders Sub-Committee member responsible for preparing the industrial relations order-paper. As Brian wiped his perspiring pink face with a flamboyant silk handkerchief, Ian leaned over and said quietly to Lindsay, ‘With it so far?’ ‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘What exactly are they arguing about?’ ‘Manchester Branch and Darlington Branch have both submitted motions on the same broad topic, and Brian wants to amalgamate them into one
over her. Her tone was warm, her voice even. ‘Imagine you’re on a tropical beach. It’s just before daybreak, and you can still see the stars in the dark blue sky. You can hear the gentle sounds of the waves lapping the shore and the distant cries of the sea-gulls. Picture the scene as the sun starts to rise, turning the sky pink. The stars slowly fade, and you can see the palm trees waving in the soft breeze. You’re relaxing here on the beach, as the sky turns from pink to gold, and the first
were safely back in Glasgow?’ ‘Look at it this way. It’s saved you having to drive all the way back. Let’s go through this logically,’ Lindsay said. ‘After the dramatic events of tonight, there’s bound to be a Conference Chronicle tomorrow morning. So whoever is behind it has to be writing it and distributing it tonight. Okay so far?’ ‘Can’t argue with that.’ ‘Thinking about it logically, they must be using a photocopier somewhere within the campus,’ Lindsay went on slowly, thinking out