Miller shrugged.
“Or it was just someone who wanted to give the reporter a story, you know, feel important for a moment.”
“That’s possible,” she agreed, and it did have the ring of truth about it. “Why don’t you make a statement to say that it’s not true.”
“What difference would it make?” he said, tiredness oozing from every pore. “People will still believe what they want to believe. Whatever the police say actually happened won’t change a thing.”
The trouble was, she knew he was right.
Chapter 11
Callie thought about what Miller had said about the person who had misinformed the reporter. He had said they might have been wanting to impress the reporter, perhaps even wanting a moment of fame. But, having given it more thought, Callie thought the timing of the leak, or fake news, was what was important. The interview had taken place just before the FNM rally and the news of the deliberate damage, wrong or not, was bound to stoke up feelings about it. Someone wanted to make the FNM seem either more villainous than they were, or more heroic, depending on your point of view. It was no wonder that the anti-racism groups turned up at The Stade in force, and no wonder it turned into the brawl that it did.
But who would want to do that? There was no doubt that Dixon and the FNM got plenty of publicity from both the report and the brawl, and all publicity is good publicity, or so they say, but was it? Would anyone honestly think that even being linked to the sabotage of a boat full of refugees who died was a good tactic? Even for an anti-immigration group, that was pretty hard-core.
So maybe someone wasn’t trying to help them, but to break the rally up. Make sure the anti-fascists turned up in force, accusing the FNM of damaging the boat. Calling them murderers and making them look bad. Now that was an action that Callie could fully sympathise with, and the more she thought about it, the more she thought it might be what had really happened.
That said, who could have told the reporter, and, more importantly, would have been believed by him? It had to be someone who might really know. Newsmen were not complete idiots. If they were going to ask questions of an MP, they would want to be pretty sure the information was correct, or at least could be. And the fact that the source hadn’t come forward openly suggested it was someone who might not be allowed to talk about it. Someone who the reporter would expect to have to shield. That is, someone from the police, the crime scene investigation team, or the lab itself, Callie thought to herself, as she poured herself half a glass of pinot grigio from the open bottle in her fridge. It was the last of the bottle and a brief inspection of her cupboards told her that there was no more. She was going to be sticking to health recommendations on drinking simply because not to do so would involve a trip to the shops or the pub.
Callie sat back down on her sofa and pulled her laptop towards her. She went to the website of the forensic lab. Lisa worked there and knew about the rally. The dropped flyer told Callie that, as well as the undeniable fact that she had been at the rally. And finally, Lisa was now off sick. Either she was embarrassed that Callie had seen her there and was worried that she would say something to her manager, or Lisa was hiding from other people. People who might be asking the same question that Callie was: who could have plausibly given false information to the reporter?
If Callie was right, that would mean that Lisa wasn’t a member of the FNM and that, perhaps she had been trying to get them into more trouble or to disrupt the rally. Either way, Callie intended to get to the bottom of it. She just wasn’t sure quite how, given that the CSI was not at work, as it meant she was going to have to find out where she lived. Or, at least, where she hung out.
A search online didn’t give her any help there. Lisa’s address wasn’t listed in the phone book – so few people had landlines these days anyway – and Callie didn’t know anyone at the lab well enough to ask them for it. She saw them all the time, of course, but that was professionally and besides, they were always covered in protective suits and masks. It was only because of Lisa’s distinctive colouring that she was able to pick her out so easily, at crime scenes, but also in the crowd.
The reporter himself wasn’t going to talk to Callie, but one of his rivals might. Callie went onto the local newspaper website. The bodies on the beach, the FNM rally and the brawl had given them many, many pages of material, not just reports on the events themselves but large numbers of editorial pieces, mostly written by one journalist, Debbie Smith. Helpfully, the website listed contact phone numbers and email addresses for its reporters in case anyone wanted to let them know about a story. Callie was pretty sure they would mostly get messages about parking, noisy neighbours and dog poo, but they might get the odd gem like when another body got washed up on the beach, and might even check the messages fairly regularly under the circumstances.
Callie picked up her phone and called the number. It was a landline so it wasn’t surprising that she reached an answer phone.
“Oh, hi,” Callie said once the message had finished, “my name is Dr Callie Hughes, I work for the police and wondered if there was any chance of meeting up?” Callie left her contact
