Chapter 3
Tuesday February 25th, 1986
On Monday, Remus saw none of Marlene, as she had been called out on an assignment for some restaurant opening, and Remus was stuck with a piece on whether Parliament should allow televised recordings of their sessions, as the United States Senate was planning to vote on that coming Friday. Remus loved a good argumentative piece, but this topic seemed, like all things American, quite ridiculous.
He and Marlene only managed to catch one another on Tuesday just as she had come in, camera bag over one arm, and a beverage holder in the other. When she set a tea down on his desk, he stopped his mindless rummaging to smile up at her.
“Thanks, what’s the occasion?” He asked, reaching for the paper cup.
“Don’t thank me. Mary’s been going mental if she doesn’t get out of the flat before she starts revision. She’s a delight to you, but personally I hope she passes the bar just so I don’t have to hear her digging through every last thing every morning trying to figure out where she put her keys so she can go get pastries or coffee or something to keep her motivated.”
Remus chuckled before Marlene snapped her eyes up to his, her excitement nearly palpable. “You got the tattoo! On Saturday, right?”
He nodded, and Marlene cocked her head after a long moment of intense eye contact.
“Show me?” She half asked and half demanded, setting her camera bag on Remus’s desk and leaning onto it on the flat of both of her hands.
Remus, luckily, had worn a long sleeve dress shirt, and unbuttoned the cuff, before pushing the rest of the fabric all the way up to reveal his upper arm. He had taken off the film the night before, so the full glory of the tattoo was on display. Clean and sharp-cut.
Marlene whistled at a polite and office-friendly volume and grinned up at Remus. “That looks sick as hell.”
“Thanks,” he said, quite proud of himself, though he had had very little to do with it other than having been there.
“How was it?”
“Not very bad. I heard you sit like a rock though.”
Marlene laughed softly. “I do.”
He could watch Marlene’s expression and chart the exact moment that she had changed the conversation. But it was merely a pivot.
“Hoping you're not still thinking of chatting him up. I’d rather not lose my insanely reasonably priced high quality tattoo artist just because I referred a co-worker who wanted to shag him.”
Remus wrinkled his nose. “Marlene, you know how often I attempt to flirt with someone. And to be quite honest with you, I’m surprised you think I have the nerve to chat up someone like him. He’s fucking perfect, for God’s sake.”
“Oh my god, Remus do not tell me that. I don’t need to know that your dream man has seen more of me than most of the guys I’ve dated.”
“Don’t tell me you two…” Remus pretended to shudder dramatically, though he was actually quite interested in the answer. It would be just his luck that the number that had only just washed from his palm belonged to someone who had slept with one of his closest friends.
“What?” Marlene asked, before shaking her head violently, blinking hard, “Oh fuck no. I knew about fifteen minutes into drinks with him that he would only ever be tattooing me. And that was before I stopped going out with men. He did the one on my thigh. That’s what he’s seen.”
“Ah,” Remus responded, hopefully as carefree as he had intended it to be. Feeling both cagey and uncomfortable with this conversation, he raised his tea to his lips.
“I wouldn’t.” Marlene tapped the lid before picking up and adjusted her camera bag strap on her shoulder. “It’s been sitting out since seven thirty. Go microwave it.”
Frowning, he looked across the newsroom to the abused microwave and then back to Marlene.
“Just be thankful I took the tea bag out. She always lets it steep too long.”
“Alright,” Remus stood and grabbed the cup, which indeed did not emanate any warmth, before his eyes settled on what else Marlene was holding.
“Yours,” he pointed to a cup, “who else?” He pointed to a second cup. “I know you’re not drinking two, unless Mary’s seriously got you up at the arse crack of dawn.”
Marlene gestured across the floor to a redheaded woman standing next to the communal fridge. “The new copyeditor. She stopped by to talk to me a few days ago and I’m trying to make a good impression.”
Remus wrinkled his nose, his lips still catching a smile at the thought. “Marlene, what makes you think you have to make a good impression on anyone here? You’re the best photographer The Mail has had in ages. If anything, she should be bringing you coffee.”
“She worked for The Mirror before – as an assistant copy editor, but still. I think it’s because she’s got a kid. Anyway, a good impression never hurt anyone.” She winked and pushed off from the side of his desk where she had been leaning. “I’ll see you later. Good luck with the Parliament article.”
Remus rolled his head in a circle and groaned, but raised the cup of tea like a small toast to her as she disappeared onto the floor.
He sat down and had just resumed his tireless search when one of the interns hurried her way over to him, folding and unfolding her hands in front of her middle. “Hi, um, Mr. Cuffe wanted to see you back in his office? He said it was urgent, and you could leave what you’re doing.”
At this point, Remus thought, they may as well pull the article all together. It wasn’t as if it was highly anticipated by anyone, or that it was particularly interesting despite Remus’s best efforts. He stood again and nodded with a tight lipped smile. “Thanks.” He responded, looking forlornly at the cup of cold tea that he would not be drinking any time soon.
* * *
Barnabus Cuffe wasn’t particularly daunting in Remus’s professional opinion. He just liked to talk. As many publishers do. Remus ran over in his mind the possible reasons that he could be called back to Cuffe’s own office that would take president over finishing any politically aligned piece in the age of Margaret Thatcher, but found that he wasn’t able to come up with anything. Remus thought he had been progressing at The Daily Mail fairly well, and at twenty five, he was a damn good reporter as far as he was aware. His stories were concise, his sources were strong, and he could self-edit like the best of them.
As he pushed open Cuffe’s office door, it became more apparent that Remus was not going to be able to confirm or deny any suspicions until the man in front of him directly wanted him to be able to. His expression was neither complimentary nor accusatory. He simply folded his fingers and gestured to Remus to sit.
“Sir,” Remus acknowledged.
“Lupin,” Cuffe responded, “I trust you’re doing well? You haven’t turned in any work that would prove otherwise.”
Remus wasn’t sure whether to react to the strange praise or not. He settled with, “I’ve been well, sir, I trust so have you?”
“Yes, fine,” Cuffe responded, somehow channeling a worry in Remus that he was about to be reprimanded. But Cuffe’s tone peaked as he spoke again, and it became almost like he was sharing a secret, which, of course, in the newsroom, was a rather commonday occurrence. “We received a tip this morning about a missing person’s case, and we believe it would serve well to run a piece on it sooner rather than later.”
Remus swallowed. He could only imagine the ways in which this conversation could branch.
“I’m considering running this piece as a series. I think there will be a lot to look into, especially considering that the investigation has already been open for a few days.”
Shifting in his chair, which he was sure had been constructed specifically to make its inhabitant uncomfortable, Remus picked at his cuticles. His normal beats were politics and policy, and while crime had a certain stake in those on occasion, this still didn’t entirely make sense to him. He nodded, to at least appear like he was following where this conversation was leading.
“Regulus Black, the heir to the Black family, disappeared from their residence some time between Monday at ten at night and nine the next morning. We both know that usually a twenty four year old disappearing would not be cause for alarm or any kind of article. But we also both know that the Black family is not usual. And considering their political engagements I think it would be wise to keep an eye on this case, especially considering the family has gone to extreme lengths to keep this information out of the public’s knowledge, and has succeeded for the better part of three days.”
So this was where he fit in. Remus was being asked for fact checking or something of the sort. He parted his lips to speak but Cuffe lifted a single finger. Embarrassment crept up the back of Remus’s neck.
“I’m aware this isn’t your typical beat, but I want someone who will handle this case with all the sensitivity and attention to detail that you use in your pieces. We’re still waiting to hear about a potential press conference, but if you agree to this piece I would like you to start right away. Someone else can finish… whatever it is you’re working on at the moment.”
Resisting the urge to scoff at the attention his work was being paid, Remus focused his thoughts on the meat of what Cuffe had actually told him. That he was being put on a missing person’s piece regarding one of the most influential and controversial families in all of Great Britain. Cuffe raised a largely melodramatic eyebrow, fixing an eerily animal-like gaze on Remus as he awaited a response.
Remus took a moment to consider, blinking rapidly, before realizing how vapid it must have looked. He cleared his throat and nodded, pulling his lips into what he hoped to be a semi-competent smile. Who was he to turn down this type of piece? And did he really have a choice? This way, at least, maybe people would stop coming to his desk to ask arbitrary questions that they could have easily found the answer to themselves. This way, Remus would be attacking a mission with a definitive goal, an end game. He took a deep breath and answered.
“Thank you sir. I’ll take it. What do we want to start with?”
Drumming his fingernails across the desk in a way that unnerved Remus, Cuffe answered, “We want this to be good, calculated. Of course we want all of our work to be top of the line, but I don’t see any need to put out an article or blurb immediately. Other news sources will cover the basics. Lupin, I want a deep dive on the Black family. It is entirely possible that Regulus Black disappeared of his own volition, but even if that is true, everyone in London knows that there is something larger going on with that family, and I think it would be in both of our best interests that The Daily Mail is the one to bring whatever that business is to light.” He paused, and looked to Remus to make sure he was following. “Start by digging up whatever you can on the Black family and their associations. Birth records, financial documents, land deeds, etcetera. When there’s a press conference date set I will let you know, but until then, I’ve seen enough diligence from you to know you’ll be just fine unearthing information without public statements.”
Swallowing, Remus wet his lips. “I’ll start looking now, sir.” He answered. Cuffe nodded to him, and Remus took this as an invitation to stand. Before he turned to exit the office, Cuffe extended a hand. Remus took it.
“Make sure I trusted the right reporter with this story, Lupin.” There wasn’t malice in Cuffe’s tone just then, which made the ask all the more daunting.
Remus shook Cuffe’s hand, one firm succinct movement. “I will.” He answered, and strode out the door before his feigned confidence could wither.