“Really?”
He had the good grace to blush slightly.
“You don’t remember going up to Councillor Claybourne and throwing the first punch, then?”
“How do you know that was what happened?”
“I was there,” she answered him. “A bit to one side, just watching in case anything kicked off,” she hastily explained. “I saw it all.”
“So, you saw those bastards putting the boot in when I was down.”
“Yes, and I told the police that, but I couldn’t see them clearly enough to identify any of them. They all had baseball caps and sunglasses on.”
“Well, it was a sunny evening, wasn’t it?” he said with a brittle laugh.
Callie moved some debris from the single chair next to the fold-down dining table, and gave it a quick brush with her hand before sitting down.
“What is it between you and Claybourne?” she asked gently. “I mean, you had a go at him on the beach, as well.”
He looked up guiltily.
“It’s not really something I can tell you,” he finally answered. “Given that you work for the police.”
“Okay, so can you tell me if it has something to do with the illegal immigrants who drowned?”
“No!” he shouted, looking horrified. “I wouldn’t have anything to do with something like that.”
“Well, that’s good,” she reassured him, although she was actually a bit disappointed to hear it. “You have to understand my asking, seeing as you were at that rally.”
“I was only there because I knew he would be. ’course I hadn’t really thought it through because if I had, I’d’ve known his goons would be there too.”
“Is he connected to the FNM then?”
“Not that he’d admit it, but yeah.”
“It certainly wasn’t listed under his group memberships on the council website.”
Morris smiled at that, and relaxed a little.
“And what about you?” she asked.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Not into politics. Claybourne says they’re nicking our jobs, but I’ve never seen one of them on a fishing boat, so they’re not the reason why I can’t get work. It’s them Spaniards taking all the fish, that’s what it is.”
Callie ignored the dig at the Spanish.
“So, what is your problem with him? Has Claybourne stopped you getting work?”
Morris shifted uncomfortably again.
“In a way.”
Callie waited for him to expand on this answer, but it was clear he wasn’t going to say any more.
“Did you know any of the men that laid into you?”
Again, Morris kept quiet.
“They could have killed you, David. You can’t let them get away with it.”
“I know!” He jumped up, angrily, and Callie shrank back, frightened at what he might do. Fortunately for her, he groaned and sat down again, gingerly rubbing his side.
“Cracked rib,” he said by way of an explanation.
“That’s going to hurt for quite a while.”
“Yeah, so they said.”
“Have you got any painkillers?” she asked him and he nodded at a half-full bottle of cheap brandy. Callie couldn’t see a glass anywhere, so presumably he had been swigging it direct from the bottle.
“That’s not a good idea. Not with a head injury.” She rummaged around in her bag and brought out some painkillers. “These will be better for you.”
He nodded and took them from her.
“Thanks.”
“Look, I can’t make you tell the police what’s really going on, but I certainly recommend it,” she told him. “Think about it. Please.”
She stood and opened the door.
“Call 111 if you get any symptoms.” She nodded in the direction of the hospital head injury information leaflet that she could see poking out from underneath the brandy bottle. “And make an appointment to see me later in the week. Or one of the other GPs, if you prefer.”
And she left him, knowing that she had got nothing from him that was of any use, but at least hoping that he would take her advice with regards to alcohol and concussion. She had done her best as a doctor.
Chapter 12
Back at her home, Callie had made up her mind to call it a night and have a long relaxing bath. Whilst the bath was running, she checked her emails and saw that the reporter on the local paper, Debbie Smith, had got back to her and was keen to talk. She had left her mobile number and asked Callie to call her back whenever she could. She didn’t go to bed early and would be happy to take a call, no matter how late.
Callie turned off the bath water, and picked up her phone.
“Hi,” she said when the reporter picked up. “Callie Hughes here. Thank you for responding to my message so quickly.”
“No, no, not at all.”
As Callie had anticipated, the reporter was delighted to speak to her.
“How can I help? Has another body turned up?”
“No, nothing like that, thank goodness, although it is about the immigrants in a way.” Callie hesitated, then decided, to go for it. “The story about the boat being deliberately damaged, I heard the television reporter ask Ted Savage about it on the news, do you know where that story came from?”
There were a couple of seconds of silence from the other end.
“You want me to tell you who leaked it?” Smith queried.
“Not specifically. I understand how you might feel about not revealing sources. It’s more that I want to know where the story first appeared. Who first said it had happened, publicly?”
There were a couple more seconds of silence.
“Are you suggesting that the story might not be true?”
The reporter was certainly quick on the uptake, Callie would have to be very careful what she said.
“I’m just trying to find out where and when the story started.” Callie
