Val McDermid - Conferences are murder: the fourth Lindsay Gordon mystery

An LFP digital back-up edition 1.0

Contents

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• PART ONE Blackpool, April 1984

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• PART TWO Sheffield, April 1993

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Spinsters Ink Duluth, Minnesota, USA

Conferences are Murder: The Fourth Lindsay Gordon Mystery

First published as Union Jack by The Womens Press Ltd,

Val McDermid,1993

A member of the Namara Group

34 Great Sutton Street, London EC1V ODX

All rights reserved

Second edition published in April 1999 by Spinsters Ink

Spinsters Ink

32 E. First St., #330

Duluth, Minnesota, 55802-2002

USA

Cover Design by Lois Stanfield, LightSource Images

Production:

Liz Brissett, Kim Riordan

Helen Dooley, Emily Soltis

Joan Drury, Amy Strasheim

Marian Hunstiger, Liz Tufte

Claire Kirch, Nancy Walker

Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication Data

McDermid, Val, 1955

[Union Jack]

Conferences are Murder: the fourth Lindsay Gordon mystery

Val McDermid 2nd Ed.

Originally published: Union Jack. London: Womens Press, 1993.

ISBN 1-883523-30-3 (alk. paper)

Printed in Canada on recycled, acid-free paper

I could murder for some proper orange juice, Lindsay Gordon grumbled, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the plastic cup of juice on her airline breakfast tray. She sipped suspiciously. It managed to be both sharp and sickly at the same time. You know, something that tastes like it once met an orange. This stuff hasnt even been shown a photograph.

Youd better get used to it, Sophie Hartley said, peeling the lid back from her own cup and knocking back the liquid. She winced. Not that itll be easy. Think you can survive two weeks without freshly squeezed juice?

Lindsay shrugged. Who knows? If it was only the juice

Sophie snorted. Hark at it. This is the woman whose idea of healthy eating used to be adding a tin of baked beans to bacon, sausage, egg, and chips. Listen, Gordon, you cant come the California health freak with me. I can remember when the nearest thing to fruit juice in your flat was elderberry wine.

Huh, Lindsay grunted. Dont get superior with me just because you used to eat your vegetables raw even though you could afford the gas bill. Anyway, Im not a California health freak. It would take more than a bunch of New Age born-again hippies to change Lindsay Gordon, let me tell you. First thing Im going to do when I get off this plane is head for a chip shop and get tore in to a fish supper.

Sophie shook her head, smiling. You cant fool me, Gordon. Three years in California, and youre working out, eating salad twice a day, swallowing vitamins like Smarties, even wearing jumpers made from reclaimed wool. Youre a California girl now, like it or not.

Lindsay shuddered. Rubbish. The odd jog up the beach, thats all, and I was doing that long before America.

Sophie grinned affectionately at her lover and wisely held her peace.

L adies and gentlemen, we are now commencing our descent into Glasgow Airport. Please return to your seats and fasten your seat-belts. Please extinguish all smoking materials

Looking forward to it?

Lindsay shrugged. Yes and no. Ive been out of the game a long time. Im not sure I even know what the issues are for trade unionists in the UK any longer.

Sophie squeezed her hand. Itll be just fine.

Lindsay smiled. Shouldnt it be me saying that to you, Dr. Hartley? Youre the one delivering a keynote paper at an international conference.

Play your cards right at this media conference, and youll be a doctor soon too. Pick the right brains for your thesis, and theyll be begging you to accept a Ph.D.

Lindsay pulled a face. Im not so sure. Im not even sure Ive still got the old interview techniques. Teaching journalisms a long way away from practising it.

Youll be fine, Sophie assured her. Youll soon adapt to being back in the old routine. After all, youll be among friends.

Lindsay gave a shout of laughter that turned heads three rows away. Among friends? At a union conference? Soph, Id feel safer in the lions cage half an hour before feeding time. One thing Ill never be able to forget is the aggro level of Journalists Union conferences. Youd think we were arguing over life and death, not politics. I cant imagine that amalgamating with the broadcasting and printing unions has made the atmosphere any friendlier. Its not culture shock Im afraid ofits being trapped in a time warp.

Delegates are discouraged from travelling to conference by private car, and mileage expenses will only be paid in extraordinary circumstance. This is because, firstly, the union has negotiated a bulk-rate discount with British Rail; secondly, there are limited car-parking facilities available at the hotels we are using; and thirdly, the chances are that when driving home on Friday afternoon at the end of conference, you will still be over the limit from Thursday nights excesses. It is not the unions policy to encourage members to lose their licences due to drink-driving.

from Advice for New Delegates ,

a Standing Orders Sub-Committee booklet .

T his traffics murder, Ian Ross complained, easing the car forward another couple of feet. Look at it, he added, waving his arm at the sea of hot metal that surrounded them.

Lindsay Gordon did as she was told, for once. In the distance, Blackpool Towers iron tracery stood outlined against the skyline like an Eiffel Tower souvenir on a mantelpiece. Only the Journalists Union could organise a conference that involves 400 delegates travelling to the biggest holiday resort in the North of England on Easter Monday, he remarked caustically. Bloody Blackpool. Its taken us an hour to travel six miles. By the time we get to the hotel, the conference will be over, and itll be time to come home. I bet you wish youd taken the train, dont you? You could have been walking along the prom by now, eating candyfloss and wearing a kiss-me-quick hat. Ian glanced sideways and saw the bleak look on Lindsays face. He sighed. Sorry, love. I wasnt thinking.

Its okay. Ive told you. You dont have to treat me like a piece of porcelain. An awkward silence filled the car. Lindsay patted Ians hand and repeated, Its okay.

Ian nodded. Time for The World At One . Shall I stick the radio on?

Sure. Lindsay leaned back in her seat and tried to let the radio obliterate her thoughts.

A hundred arrests are made in Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire in the worst violence of the miners strike so far. Police clash with miners outside several collieries, and NUM leader Arthur Scargill accuses officers of intimidation. Anti-apartheid protesters besiege the Home Office after last weeks decision to grant British citizenship to the South African runner Zola Budd. And Senator Gary Hart fights to continue his campaign against Walter Mondale for the Democratic nomination in the U.S. Presidential race. The announcers voice droned on, fleshing out the days headlines. But Lindsays mind was already miles away.

It had been a mistake to come. She had been too easily persuaded by Ian. She wasnt ready for this. It was hard enough coping with the day to day routine of life, a routine that was manageable precisely because it was familiar, because her mind could drift off into free-fall while she gave the appearance of being in touch with what was going on around her. But to plunge into something so strange and challenging as her first national union conference was madness. It had been bad enough just reading about conference. Shed had to give up on the Advice for New Delegates booklet half-way through, her head spinning with such bizarre and diverse items as taking a motion seriatim and compositing sessions. How on earth was she going to wrestle with the real thing with only half her brain functioning?