The Marmalade Files by Steve Lewis & Chris Uhlmann Read Free Book Online

outside the hospital. In a country where not much happens, the near death of a Foreign Minister – and former national leader – was show-stopping stuff, even for a public that mainly despised politicians. Catriona Bailey was a celebrity and Australia had all too few.
    â€˜The carrion crows,’ Toohey muttered as they approached. ‘Just what do these jokers find to talk about for hours on end? And why does anyone listen?’
    Mostly they talked to themselves and the public lapped it up. The semi-famous anchors in the studio would cross to the really famous anchors in front of the hospital and they would reminisce and speculate. About every half-hour they would replay the final moments of Bailey’s fateful Lateline interview, now an internet sensation. In between they would host guests who had some level of expertise in politics or health or, even better, some personal association with the stricken Foreign Minister.
    The ABC went for foreign-policy wonks and academics, while Sky plumped for political insiders and journalists from the Australian . But it was the commercial stations that, as always, showed real enterprise. Already this morning, an executive producer at Nine had sacked one of his underlings because Seven’s Morning Glory had beaten his Wakey Wakey to Bailey’s primary-school teacher.
    Felicity Emerson had appeared on a stool next to the king of morning television, Peter Thompson, or, as he was affectionately known nationwide, Thommo. She had regaled the audience with a heart-warming story about how a poor but socially aware six-year-old Bailey had offered her battered teddy to the Red Shield Appeal in place of money she didn’t have.
    â€˜So she always had a deep social conscience,’ Thommo prompted Emerson.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ Emerson beamed, warming to the task of embroidering the past, ‘and I remember saying at the time, that girl will do great things.’
    Nine was already starting a long way behind Seven in this story because the nation knew that Thommo and Bailey shared a special friendship, struck years before she had become Prime Minister.
    Together they had dived the Barrier Reef to highlight the threat of global warming and had shamed the former Coalition Government into spending more money on cancer research. Bailey was an official member of the exclusive Morning Glory family.
    Now, about fifty metres from the media melee, Toohey got a text message.
    Mate, consider it personal favour if U stop 4 a chat, Thommo
    â€˜Fuck,’ seethed Toohey. ‘The bastard will make me pay if I don’t talk to him and everyone else will crucify me if I do.’
    â€˜So what are you going to do?’
    Dylan Blair was twenty-five, good-looking, and had a way with the girls. But when it came to the media, he had no practical experience in it and no idea how it worked. Yet for reasons no one could fathom, he was senior media adviser to the Prime Minister, a title that allowed him to throw his weight around – a task he enjoyed immensely.
    â€˜We plough through the pack and deal with the consequences later,’ Toohey said. ‘We’ve got the reasonable defence that this is too solemn a moment for us to be doing doorstops.’
    A wall of light and sound – the flash of cameras, the shouts of reporters, the whirr of motor drives – bombarded them as they emerged from their car.
    â€˜Prime Minister, a moment …’
    â€˜How are you feeling today, PM?’
    â€˜Do you regret knifing her?’ came Thommo’s familiar voice. A question designed to provoke a reaction.
    Toohey didn’t blink. His face was grim determination as he walked through the hospital doors, leaving the baying crews in his wake.
    Â 
    Moments later an awkward group formed around Bailey’s bed. She lay still, pale, a drip in her arm, a monitor measuring out the slow beat of her heart.
    Toohey asked the obligatory question of her specialist.