by Candy Denman
“Maybe Morris will tell us about it when he comes round.”
“If he comes round,” Callie corrected him. “We’ll know more once he’s been assessed in hospital.”
Miller shot her a look.
“We will, not you. These people,” he started. “Well, let’s just say I’d feel happier if you didn’t get involved.”
Callie was pleased that he was showing concern, but she certainly wasn’t going to admit it.
“David Morris is my patient, so I am involved.”
“But that doesn’t excuse you coming down here and getting in the way. We had it covered.” His concern was replaced by anger.
“If that’s all, I’ll be going then,” she said, and left with as much dignity as she could muster.
Chapter 9
Callie woke up on Sunday morning still aching from the night before. She groaned slightly as she shuffled to the bathroom. A hot shower helped her to get moving and she examined her bruises in the steamy mirror. They really weren’t too bad, and not anywhere visible, so she had got off lightly.
The radio news was full of the near riot on Hastings seafront, as they described it. Callie thought it was more of a scuffle than a riot. There was only one person reported seriously injured and a few people had been treated with minor ones. Three people had been arrested, but Callie was sorry to hear that Dixon had not been one of them. In fact, there was a section of the report in which he told the journalist that the violence was nothing to do with his supporters, they were all angels, according to him. It was the anti-fascists, tree-huggers and anarchists that were to blame. They started it, apparently. Callie snorted in disgust and switched the radio off.
She made a quick call to the hospital. Once the sister in charge had checked she really was Morris’s doctor, she told her that he had had a comfortable night.
“You can’t be too careful, these journalists will try anything,” the ward sister told her.
Callie agreed, and the sister continued to tell her that Morris was stable but not yet conscious.
A cup of tea, a bit of judicious make-up and a shirt that covered the small bruise on her shoulder, and she was ready for brunch with Kate.
The Land of Green Ginger was as welcoming as ever. Callie didn’t like to think what it said about a person who felt more at home in a café than in their own home. The warm moist smell of tea, eggs and bacon made Callie want to audibly sigh with pleasure.
Unusually, Kate stayed quiet whilst her friend recounted the events of the night before.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking, Callie? You must know that those sorts of public meetings usually end up in a free for all!”
“I wanted to find out if they were involved in the boat sinking, that’s all.”
“What? You think they stuck a knife in it and sent the immigrants cheerfully on their way? Even they aren’t that callous.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“And just how do you think they managed to do it?”
“They must have infiltrated the smugglers, had someone on board the boat they were on.”
“A French boat? Can’t see any of Dixon’s mates speaking French.”
“We don’t know that it was a French boat. They could have transferred halfway across the channel. In fact, we don’t know it was a fishing boat at all. It could have been anyone with a boat. There’s a lot of money in people smuggling.”
Kate had to concede that point.
“But what about your theory that the body at Fairlight was actually one of the smugglers? Do you think he would have got in the boat if he thought it was damaged?”
That was certainly a problem, Callie had to concede. Even she had to admit it didn’t seem likely.
They both concentrated on their breakfast for a while.
“I read an article in the newspaper that it’s often Eastern European gangs that organise it.”
“Well, that’s not going to make identifying his body any easier, is it?” Callie said, knowing she shouldn’t snap at her friend. The fact was, she really wasn’t looking forward to telling Billy all this later. Having Kate cross with her was one thing, but she was worried that Billy was going to be disappointed in her, which would be worse.
* * *
“Please tell me you won’t go to events like that again,” Billy said when she confessed, taking her hand and looking intently into her eyes.
“Well, I’ll certainly try not to. It wasn’t much fun and it wasn’t very edifying, to say the least.”
“You could have been seriously hurt.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t, Billy, and I’m sorry I’ve worried you, but I’m a big girl now and it’s not like I could have taken you with me for protection.”
“I could have been there with the anti-fascist bunch. Ready to wade in and fetch you out if there was any trouble.”
She smiled at the thought.
“If I’d known they were going to turn up, I would have definitely suggested it, but you would have to have borrowed someone’s toddler to do that, or take your granny along to fit in.”
“Never!” he laughed. “My Granny could incite a riot in a nunnery.”
He looked at her seriously again.
“It wasn’t a very good idea, though was it? I mean, what if someone saw you there, or worse, you are in one of the press photos? It’s not going to look good, is it? Local GP, and police doctor attends FNM rally?”
And he was right, she knew it. She just hoped that that there weren’t any pictures out there. She could only imagine how angry Hugh Grantham, senior partner at her surgery, would be. Not to mention DI Miller. Or the Superintendent. She really ought to have thought it through. Losing her job, both jobs, was a very real possibility. She would check all the pictures on a variety of internet news sites later, she decided, although there was no way she could check them all, but at least she could reassure herself about the main ones.
“I promise I won’t go to anything like that again,” she agreed, and she meant it. It wasn’t as if she had learned anything useful there, anyway.
Chapter 10
Monday morning, on her way to work, Callie bought a copy of the local paper and also a selection of the nationals. So far, there had been little coverage of the FNM rally in any of the major papers or the BBC and she sincerely hoped it would stay that way. Perhaps they had learned that it was best not to give divisive groups like them the publicity they craved, but she thought it was more likely to be because no one was that interested. There had been no deaths or serious injuries to report and not even a decent riot.
The local paper, however, was full of it, as you would expect, and when she had a moment, she quickly scanned all the pictures before breathing a sigh of relief. She couldn’t be seen anywhere, not even in the wide-angle crowd shots.
There was a knock on the door and she quickly stuffed the paper in her bin as the practice nurse, Judy, poked her head around the door.
“Morning,” she said. “Have you got a moment?”
Judy explained that it was her asthma clinic morning and that Anna Thompson had come in for review.
“She swears blind that she’s using her preventers regularly and her peak flow is really quite good.”
“But?”
“She’s using an awful lot of salbutamol.”
“Which she shouldn’t need to if her preventer is working.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what do you think is going on? Do we need to try something different?” Callie asked her.
“No idea yet, but is it okay if I loan her a peak flow meter and ask her to keep a diary of her readings four times a day? I can get her back next week for review then.”
“Of course, that sounds perfect,” Callie answered, wondering why the nurse was asking her permission.
“Of course, she isn’t keen to do it and she says she needs some more salbutamol to be going on with.”
“Of course, she does.” Callie sighed. “And what exactly happened to the last ones
I prescribed?”
“She lost them, apparently.”
Callie followed the nurse into the treatment room she used for her asthma clinics.
“Hi, Anna,” Callie said to the young woman sitting in the patient’s chair by the desk. “I hear you need some more salbutamol.”
She was pretty underneath a thick layer of make-up, but even the pale pink lipstick couldn’t conceal the resentful set of her mouth.
“That’s right,” the girl responded. “You have to give me more; else I’ll have an attack. It’s not my fault I lost the last one.”
“Yes, of course. We wouldn’t want you to have an attack, and I will give a prescription, but I just wanted to talk to you about it first.”
Anna didn’t look exactly thrilled at the thought of being on the receiving end of a lecture.
“We need to know why you are using so much because it might mean the type of preventer spray, the dark red one you are using, isn’t strong enough.”
“What do you mean? You’re not going to change my meds, are you?” She looked anxious.
“Not if we can help it, but if it’s not working, we may need to. That’s why we are asking you to fill out the diary and come back to see the nurse next week. Then we can get a better picture of what’s going on and if you need something stronger.”
“Like what?”
“A course of tablets maybe.” Callie turned to the computer and logged in to the girl’s medication section. She did a prescription, despite the system warning her that Anna had already had several months’ worth of treatment prescribed in the last few weeks.
“There,” she said handing over the prescription. “But make sure you come back and see the nurse next week with your diary all filled out, and if you have a bad attack, or are worried, contact us, we can always sort out a nebuliser for home, if needs be.”
Judy smiled and thanked Callie as she left, but the look the nurse gave her suggested that she didn’t think it likely that Anna would be back the following week, and certainly not with her diary filled out. Callie thought she was probably right.
Once she got to her consulting room, Callie checked the girl’s notes for something that told her about the family situation. A brief search on her address showed that there were six other patients registered there. Mother, grandmother and four children other than Anna, all younger than her. Callie could picture the houses at the address given and knew there couldn’t be more than three or four bedrooms so it was bound to be a bit cramped with three generations living there. None of them were regular attenders apart from Anna and her grandmother who had high blood pressure and a heart condition.
As Anna was over sixteen, Callie couldn’t enlist her family’s help without her permission, and she wouldn’t want to do that even if she could. Somehow, she had to make sure the girl was using her treatment properly and that she didn’t need further help or stronger medication. If she was really using as much salbutamol as the prescribing history had recorded, there was a good chance she would end up in hospital in an acute attack, and also that the medicines the hospital would need to use would no longer work, because of the resistance to bronchodilators she must be building up.
* * *
Once she had finished morning surgery, Callie sat at her desk and procrastinated. She had shed-loads of paperwork to catch up on, but, having managed to put everything but her patients and their problems to the back of her mind for the duration of her surgery, she now couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Lisa at the rally, and just what the subsequent fight between Morris and Claybourne was all about.
If she was ever going to get through all her work, she needed to try and find out what was going on so that she could concentrate.
First things first, she picked up the phone and called the lab, asking to speak to Lisa Furnow.
“She’s not in today,” the receptionist told her.
“Do you know when you are expecting her back? Only I have a query about one of the crime scenes.” Callie pressed for more information.
“I can put you through to her supervisor if you like? I’m not sure when Lisa will be back, she phoned off sick this morning.”
Callie declined the offer to be put through to Lisa’s manager, as she really didn’t know what she would say to them. She wondered if Lisa was really ill, or if it was something to do with having been seen by Callie at the FNM rally. Maybe the crime scene photographer was worried that she would be reported for it, but that was ridiculous, because she could report Callie for exactly the same thing and attending the rally wasn’t illegal. It might not win them many friends, but she couldn’t see that it would be a sackable offence.
Callie picked up a prescription request and tried to forget about the rally but before she could settle back down to her paperwork, her phone rang.
“Hello, Dr Hughes speaking.”
“It’s me,” Billy said. “Not sure if I should be telling you this under the circumstances, but body nine’s routine blood tests came back. The tox screen is positive for cannabis, MDMA and ketamine. Oh, and a small amount of cocaine.”
“What? That really is quite a mix.”
“I know. And not exactly drugs you’d expect to find in an illegal immigrant, although some of the others have tested positive for cannabis, but not the others. Oh, and alcohol. He was over the legal limit for driving for that, too. Does that apply to driving boats?”
“Yes, being unfit to drive through drink or drugs applies to all modes of transport.”
“I’m sending off some hair samples for analysis that might tell us if he was a long-term drug user.”
“Surely Miller will have to realise that he doesn’t fit with the others now.”
“Yes, but look… I don’t want you to go rushing in and−” He struggled to find the right words.
“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you in it with Miller.” Callie was cross that he seriously thought she would get him into trouble.
“It’s not that. I’m perfectly entitled to tell you the results and he probably knows I will. It’s more that I worry about you going off and investigating things yourself.”
Callie paused. It was nice that he was worried about her, she told herself, although a little bit of her resented it.
“I’m not going to go and investigate this, Billy. The only thing I’m going to do is go and give Miller a piece of my mind.”
She could hear Billy giving a slight groan as she put down the phone, as if he wasn’t sure that that was any better.
* * *
In an almost exact repeat of the reaction she got from Billy, Callie was sure that Miller groaned when he saw her walk into the incident room. The expression on his face certainly suggested that he had.
“Good afternoon,” she said brightly.
“Doc,” Jeffries acknowledged as she walked past him towards Miller’s office. Everyone else seemed to look studiously at their computer screens.
“How can I help you, Dr Hughes?” Miller managed to smile and be polite as she came into the room.
“The tox screen on body nine?”
“You know what was found, then?” Miller shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Yes. And you can’t tell me it was what you’d expect to find in the body of an illegal immigrant.”
He looked as if he was going to disagree but Callie held up her hand to stop him.
“I know that drug use does happen, and particularly that drug use was rife in the Jungle, but since the French pulled that down and moved the refugees into more scattered groups, there has been much less.” She wasn’t exactly sure of this, but she was willing to bet that once the French police had broken up the gangs, drug use in the refugee encampments would have reduced, and that it probably wouldn’t include such expensive and exotic drugs as had been found in body number nine.
“So I hear,” he replied, clearly unconvinced.
“And the particular drugs found in body nine: ketamine, ecstasy and cocaine, would be even more unusual a
s they are more the drugs of choice for a more prosperous sort of person. Not a refugee who has just handed over his last cent, not to mention promised to work for nothing for the rest of his life to repay his debt in order to secure a place in a boat to England.”
“What you are saying” – Miller spoke firmly, standing up and closing his office door so that the whole team weren’t listening in – “is undeniably true, but it’s not impossible that he is just another immigrant, or that he was a member of the gang supposed to deliver the group to their minders in England.”
“In which case he might be known to Interpol.”
Miller sighed.
“I promise you, Callie, we are looking into every possibility.”
Unsurprisingly, he looked tired and Callie was reminded that not only was he dealing with probably the biggest case of his life, with the press and his senior officers breathing down his neck, but that he also had problems on the home front. She knew that Miller’s wife had left him after some explicit photos had been sent to her. The pictures showed him tied up, in bondage gear, on a bed that was definitely not his own. The fact that he had been drugged and set up by a very clever woman, a serial killer that he was investigating, hadn’t mollified his wife. As far as Callie knew, she had yet to forgive him, let alone move back home.
“I’m sure you are doing all you can.” She had to admit that, much as she might not always agree with the way Miller investigated crimes, or at least, where he put most effort, recent cases had proved to her that he did at least make sure all the bases were covered. “But I have a real feeling, belief, instinct, whatever, that this body doesn’t fit with the others.”
“Unfortunately, there is no real evidence to support that feeling.”
“No evidence?” She almost shouted. “Apart from the fact that he was dosed up to the gills with expensive drugs, not to mention alcohol, you mean. He was definitely not sober, to the extent that if he wasn’t one of the refugees, which would seem impossible, he couldn’t be the smuggler in charge of the boat either. He wasn’t in a fit state to steer a pedalo, let alone an overcrowded RIB in a storm. And” – she carried on despite Miller’s attempts to interrupt – “and he had the tattoo of an English football club on his calf. It seems to me you have ample evidence that he doesn’t belong with the others and that you need to investigate that probability straight away.”