She was about to give up, feeling that she had wasted enough of her precious free afternoon already and perhaps her time would be better spent with a browse round some of her favourite shops in the Old Town, when she came across a rundown corner shop in a part of the town known as Bohemia that could possibly fit the bill.
The faded toys and adverts in the window looked to have been there for decades and the cards advertising things for sale and appeals for lost cats were curled and outnumbered by dead flies.
Callie pushed open the door and entered the shop. The smell of stale tobacco hit her immediately.
Inside, goods were stacked chaotically and shoppers were in constant danger of knocking over the boxes of crisps and fizzy pop that partially blocked the aisles. Trying to look like this was the sort of shop she frequented on a regular basis, Callie wandered around, picking her way carefully round the obstructions and collecting a few random purchases: a packet of biscuits, a tin of beans and some tissues. She surreptitiously wiped the worst of the dust off them before heading to the till. The man standing there, watching her every move, was as old and decrepit as the shop and as he went to ring up her purchases, Callie could see his fingers were heavily nicotine-stained.
She asked for the cigarettes and he turned to the secure cabinet behind him, bringing out the by now easily recognisable brand.
“I don’t suppose you do the cheaper ones? In the dark green pack?” she asked, and was surprised when he not only didn’t say no, but silently reached under the counter and pulled out a carton.
“Not sold in single packs,” he said in broken English. “Two hundred only.”
Callie nodded her agreement and held out her debit card.
“Cash,” he said with barely disguised contempt.
With no real idea of how much money was expected, Callie held out some notes and waited while the man gave her some change. With the carton of cigarettes in her hand she hurriedly turned and went to the door, feeling him watch her every step of the way.
Once out of the shop, Callie made a mental note of its name and street number and then hurried round the corner where she stopped to catch her breath. Something about the whole experience had spooked her, and she felt grubby. She would need to shower to get rid of the tobacco smell, she was sure.
So now Callie knew the shop was being used by Claybourne for distribution, or one of them, anyway, the question was: who should she tell? If she was right and someone in Trading Standards had tipped him off about the last raid, there was no point in going to them with this information. But it was their investigation, the police were not about to interfere, given that they had more important things on their plate.
Callie remembered that Lisa Furnow had mentioned a boyfriend in the council. Now that she felt more able to trust her, Callie called and explained her predicament and was delighted to hear that Lisa’s boyfriend didn’t just work for the council, he was in Trading Standards. Of course, that meant that Lisa’s boyfriend might be the source of the leak, but she thought that Lisa wouldn’t go out with him if there was any chance of that being the case. Not when the subject that benefitted from the leak was Claybourne, but perhaps it would help her make up her mind if she met him. And anyway, she had no other choice, all she could do was hope that he wasn’t the leak. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
* * *
They met in a large anonymous chain pub on the outskirts of the town where they all hoped that no one they knew would be there to recognise them. Callie was pleased to see that the bright and cheerful family bar was almost empty when she entered. She ordered herself a fizzy water with ice and a slice, and took it to a table nicely tucked away in a corner. She had put the cigarettes in a carrier bag and tucked that under the table, out of the way.
The last vestiges of concern that Callie might have had about Lisa being involved with the FNM were dispersed when she came into the pub and Callie saw the photographer’s boyfriend. He was black. There was no way she could be involved with a group like that and have a black boyfriend. They would not have tolerated it, and Callie couldn’t believe her boyfriend would encourage it either. Callie was prepared to believe she was at the rally purely and simply to try and get something on Claybourne.
The couple spotted her at her corner table and brought their drinks over.
“This is Phil, Dr Hughes,” Lisa introduced him.
“Callie, please,” Callie corrected her and held out her hand.
“Lisa explained your concerns,” Phil said and Callie hoped he wasn’t going to be hard to convince of a possible leak in his department.
“And do you think it’s possible?” she asked him.
He looked over at Lisa who nodded her encouragement and then turned back to Callie.
“It’s something I’ve been concerned about for a while,” he admitted. “But the abortive raid on the shop means it is even more likely.”
“Oh.” Callie hadn’t expected it to be so easy. “Do you have any idea who the informer is?”
Phil looked embarrassed.
“Oh, come on, Phil, it’s common knowledge that Claybourne’s nephew works in the department,” Lisa chipped in, helping him out.
That explained everything
