“Can’t say that I’m sorry that odious man had his rally disturbed. If I had my way, he wouldn’t be allowed to hold them anywhere round here.”
“Quite, but you can see why I’m interested.”
Savage leant back in his comfortable chair and looked at her intently.
“Actually, I have to say that I can’t see it. I mean, why would you be interested in finding out why an FNM meeting had been disrupted? Unless you were angry that it had spoilt their evening of gloating over the deaths and suffering.”
She could feel her cheeks flush with anger at his suggestion that she might be an FNM supporter.
“I am not in the least bit upset that the rally was disrupted, although a man was injured and that might have been avoided, I am more interested in whose idea it was to drop that little bombshell into the interview guaranteeing that the disruption occurred.”
Morris hadn’t, of course, been injured by the scuffles that had broken out between factions, rather by his own attack on Claybourne, but she wasn’t about to let the MP off the hook.
“I think there would have been a counter demonstration no matter what, but I agree it was probably larger as a result of the idea that someone had actively killed those young men by sabotaging the boat. Perhaps you should ask the journalist where he got the idea from.”
“I have,” she said. Although that also wasn’t true, but the moment he suggested she do that, she was completely sure that he had indeed asked for the question to be added to the interview. In fact, she was pretty sure that the whole interview was set up, simply so that he could make sure of getting the idea out that someone, possibly from the FNM, had deliberately killed the refugees.
Callie looked him directly in the eye and saw that he knew that she was lying about speaking to the journalist, but he also understood from her look that she knew what he had done. A small smile played on his lips.
“Then you know that if he won’t tell you, there’s nothing you or I can do. I understand the information was false anyway. Perhaps he made it up to spice up the interview.”
He glanced at his wife, who had managed to compose herself and immediately stood up. It was obviously a well-rehearsed signal.
“I’ll see you out, Dr Hughes,” she said and Callie found herself being ushered out of the office, with a smile and a dismissive wave from the MP, but at least she was sure now that the source of the fake news was the MP himself, and not Lisa. What she was going to do about it was another matter entirely.
Chapter 14
Callie whizzed through her visits and still had a spare hour before evening surgery. Deciding against calling in to see if there were any further patients she could help with, Callie walked down to the seafront. It was a lovely day and there were plenty of holiday makers taking advantage of the rare sunshine to have picnics on the beach. Callie bought an ice cream and strolled along with them, walking away from the pier and stopping outside the amusement arcade. There was a surprising number of people playing on the slot machines. By the ride-on toy car, a child was wailing and demanding to be allowed another go. His embarrassed parents were trying to reason with him and explain they had no more change, but he refused to be consoled until, spotting Callie’s cone, the mother suggested an ice cream. That did the trick and the toddler raced along the pavement towards the ice cream seller.
Callie looked inside the arcade, which seemed quite dark in contrast to the bright sunshine outside, making it hard to see anything other than the brightly flashing machines. She was pretty sure that she couldn’t see Councillor Claybourne in the place, but then, he was hardly likely to hang about in the arcade, or sit in the change booth. He probably had an office upstairs, or in the back of the building, or somewhere else entirely for all she knew.
She finished her ice cream and wandered round the room, checking to see if any of the penny drop machines, her personal favourites, looked ready to drop. The trouble was, they all did, that was part of their attraction, but she knew it was a lot harder to get money out of the machines than it looked. That was how the owners made their money, after all. Having made sure that Claybourne wasn’t lurking anywhere, hiding behind the laughing policeman or one of the slot machines, Callie approached the change booth.
“Hiya,” she said to the plump and pimply young girl sitting in there, looking bored. Callie expected a surly response from the girl.
“Can I help?” the young girl asked politely, making Callie kick herself, she must stop being so judgemental, she told herself.
“Is the owner in?” Callie asked.
“Mr Claybourne? No, sorry. He pops in, several times a day, to check on things, though.”
“You don’t know what time he’s likely to be here next?”
“No, he likes to vary his routine,” the girl explained. “Keeps us on our toes.” She smiled, revealing twin train tracks of braces on her teeth. No wonder she didn’t smile often.
Callie guessed Claybourne also liked to make sure no one was cheating him. She could see domes on the ceiling, suggesting CCTV coverage, not just of the change booth, but also dotted around the room. He would also vary the routine for dealing with the money collections, if he didn’t want to get robbed. The sorts of businesses that relied so heavily on cash were easy prey, she knew.
Callie thanked the girl and headed back to work. She would have to find another way of getting to
