Vital Signs

by Candy Denman

“I know he’s into all that though, I just know it!”

  The woman was clearly desperate to find something she could use against the councillor.

  Callie’s desk phone rang as the receptionist reminded her that she should have started surgery and that Mr Herring was waiting.

  “Just tell him I’m dealing with an emergency,” Callie told her and turned back to Lisa who was standing, ready to leave.

  “I’m sorry, you’re busy–” she said going to the door.

  “No, wait.” Callie stopped her. “If I tell you that Claybourne is being investigated by the police for another matter…”

  Callie crossed her fingers as Lisa looked at her, a gleam of hope in her eyes. She hoped the photographer wouldn’t ask her what, as she knew full well that there was nothing concrete to link him to the cigarette smuggling without Morris, so any investigation would likely be dropped.

  “…and that I will do my best to make sure that they pursue it, would you do something for me?” Callie continued.

  “Is this about the cigarette smuggling?”

  “How do you know about that?” Callie reacted sharply.

  Lisa thought for a moment before telling her.

  “My boyfriend works for the council, they’ve been trying to link Claybourne to it, but haven’t got anywhere.”

  “Did you know about the raid?”

  “God no, he wouldn’t tell me anything about it. He knows how I feel. I wouldn’t have been able to keep away.”

  “Good. We’ll need to tread carefully. Will you help me?”

  “If you can pin anything on that slippery bugger, I’ll do anything I can.”

  “Yes, well, this is to do with body number nine rather than Claybourne.”

  Lisa looked disappointed.

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “I’ll still help you.”

  “Brilliant!” Callie beamed. “Do you know about aging photographs?”

  “I did a course, a while back, but I’m no expert.” Lisa’s interest had been piqued.

  “But you could have a go?”

  “Yes, I could do. But why do you want me to make the man in the photo look older?”

  “Younger. I’d like you to make him look younger. Maybe early teens?”

  “That’s harder.”

  “But you could try?”

  Lisa thought for a moment before nodding.

  “That’s great. Then we can see if anyone recognises him as a younger boy.”

  “Provided you can get the police to release it.” Lisa still seemed dubious about Callie’s plan.

  “Don’t worry, that’s down to me to try and persuade them.” Callie sounded more confident than she actually was, but she had plans to work on Miller. “And I won’t forget about Claybourne, either.”

  Chapter 22

  Despite considerable research on the internet, reports of how Claybourne had come to own the amusement arcade, or rather how his wife had come to own it, were few and far between.

  “There has to be something in what Lisa was telling me,” Callie said to Billy as they shared a bottle of wine and a home-made Thai green curry later that night. The curry was delicious and Callie realised, with a slight feeling of guilt, that Billy was a much better cook than she would ever be.

  “It’s a sad story, but it’s hard to know for sure what really happened.”

  “I know. But Lisa clearly thinks Claybourne is responsible for her dad’s death, morally if not physically.”

  “It might be worth checking if there was an inquest, as there might be some comment on the circumstances of his death.”

  “No inquest. I checked. He’d been ill a long time by the time he died.”

  “Then you are going to have to either have a dig around in the property archives, which may tell you little more than that ownership passed from one person to the next, or get some local gossip.”

  It was frustrating, Callie thought as she cleared away the remains of their meal and loaded the dishwasher. And her hopes for getting a picture of body number nine as a boy were not looking good. Billy had already warned her, as Lisa had, that making people look younger in photographs, particularly trying to guess how they looked as children, was much less successful than aging them.

  It seemed as if all her possible leads were turning into dead-ends, but Callie refused to be down-hearted. Kate would probably be able to help her with her search through the archives, and she might be able to find something about it in the local papers from the time. Heartened by at least a vague plan she could follow up the next day, Callie went back to Billy; after all, she didn’t know how much longer she might have with him, so she had better make the most of that time.

  * * *

  Her regular weekend brunch in The Land of Green Ginger with Kate was as good as ever and the two friends parted with Kate promising to look up any information about the amusement arcade and any changes of ownership, with the warning that it would simply be ownership information and none of the story behind any changes. Callie knew she was right and so she made her way to the library to trawl through old copies of the local paper. While they would still be constrained by libel laws, they might hint at the relationship between Claybourne and Furnow and what had caused their falling out. Having spent nearly two hours working through them on a computer she gave up. Whilst there was no shortage of pictures of the councillor – opening a new crazy golf park, shaking hands with the mayor, or handing out prizes at a school – there was little in the papers about the change in ownership of the arcade or any of Claybourne’s business ventures.

  “You could try the local history group,” the helpful librarian suggested when Callie told her that she was looking for information about the history of the amusement arcade by the pier and how little she had found. “I know they tend to be interested in things from further back in time, but there might be someone who knows about it.”

  It seemed like a good idea, so Callie made her way back to the Old Town and Hastings History House, a small museum in Courthouse Street where the local history group was based.

  Going through the small glass door, Callie was ashamed to realise that despite living in the town all these years, she had never been inside the house. She was fascinated by the displays and information about the town through the ages that she found, and soon got talking to an elderly man who was there to answer questions from the public, and make sure than no one made off with any of the exhibits.

  “I was actually looking for information about the history of the amusement arcade, and its ownership over the years,” she explained to the man who had introduced himself as Mr Simpson.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “The one opposite the funfair,” she explained.

  “That’s relatively new,” he continued, dismissively. “Only built in the sixties. Now the one in George Street has more history−”

  “So, who developed the seafront along there?” Callie managed to stop him, gently, and steer him back to talking about the arcade owned by Claybourne.

  “I see.” He smiled. “You are you are interested in the post-war developments of Hastings then.” Mr Simpson then went off into a long discourse about poor planning decisions and the clearing of slums to make way for the new London Road. Callie realised that he would soon get onto the sheer vandalism of building a shopping centre on the cricket pitch if she didn’t stop him quickly.

  “I’m really only interested in the arcade development, perhaps you could put me onto someone who might know about it, if you don’t?”

  He looked affronted.

  “It’s not really historic. Why on earth would you be interested in that?”

  “Family history,” she replied, not mentioning that it wasn’t her family she was talking about.

  “Well, I don’t know that anyone−”

  “Dr Hughes!”

  Callie and Mr Simpson both turned and Callie smiled to see a patient of hers, Harry Wardle coming towards them.

  “Do let me show you our n
ew exhibit, Doctor.” Wardle firmly took her elbow and led her away from Mr Simpson. “Boring old fart,” he whispered by way of explanation as they walked to the back of the room and he pointed to an early photograph of a fisherman mending his nets, pretending to be telling her about it.

  “So, I gathered,” Callie whispered back in a conspiratorial way.

  “Now what can I help you with?” he asked.

  Callie again explained her interest in the arcade.

  “I’m afraid Mr Simpson is right, it’s not really history,” Wardle told her with a smile. “Not when I remember it so well. Now, are you wanting the official facts or the gossip? Because if it’s the latter, I suggest we go to the café on the corner and discuss it over a pot of tea.”

  Which is exactly what they did.

  “You should have told our Mr Simpson that you are a GP and he could have given you all the gory details about his hernia op,” Wardle teased her.

  “That’s exactly why I tend not to let on about it. I get quite enough of that at work.” Callie laughed.

  “So, why are you interested in the gossip about the arcade?” he asked her in a more serious tone as they sipped their tea and Wardle ate a toasted tea cake that was dripping with butter.

  Callie hesitated.

  “I can’t really tell you that. I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, I suppose it has something to do with your other job, the police work. Not to worry.” He took another sip of tea. “Now, let me see. Eric Furnow was a jobbing builder, and not very good at it, either. Never had two pennies to rub together, and when he did, he spent it all on drink. Then, one miraculous day, he won the pools. Suddenly, he seemed to have a lot of friends he’d never had before. Peter Claybourne was one of them.”

  “Let me guess, Claybourne persuaded Furnow to buy the arcade.”

  Wardle nodded.

  “Well, the building, anyway, it wasn’t an arcade then. And Peter helped Eric get all the permissions he needed for change of use. To be fair, Eric would never have been able to manage that himself.”

  “So Claybourne did legitimately help?”

  “Absolutely, can’t take that away from the man.” Wardle looked as if he would have liked to do just that. “As I said, Eric was a drinker and suddenly he had loads of money to do it. He spent most of his time in the pubs, buying everyone drinks, and giving money away. Most sensible thing Maggie did was divorce him. She had a small child to think of and the settlement meant that she was at least able to buy her own home, and put a bit of money away, out of Eric’s reach, because he worked his way through the rest pretty quick.”

  “But he still had the arcade?”

  “Yes, that was up and running by then, and managed by Peter Claybourne, but apparently, wasn’t making any money.” Wardle gave her a long look. “Seemed busy enough to me.”

  “You think Claybourne was cheating Eric Furnow?”

  “That’s a strong word.” He hesitated before continuing. “But, let’s face it, it wouldn’t have been hard.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Eric was seriously unwell by then. There’s only so long you can drink like that before your body gives up on you. He was running up tabs in pubs all over town and was about to lose his home as well, but Claybourne came up with a plan to pay off his debts.”

  “In exchange for the arcade?”

  Wardle nodded and topped up their cups from the teapot.

  “Well, it wasn’t making any money according to the books, so it seemed like a good idea to Eric. To be honest, anything that kept the alcohol flowing looked good to Eric by that time.”

  “And then, surprise, surprise, the arcade starts making money.”

  “Exactly. Even Eric could see that he’d been conned, but there was nothing he could do, it was all legal.”

  “It must have devastated him.”

  “Drank himself to death within a few months. All very sad. You know, we can all criticise Claybourne for what he did, but the outcome was always going to be the same for Eric Furnow once he won that money.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, drinking their tea and thinking about a life so comprehensively destroyed by coming into money and meeting an unscrupulous man.

  Chapter 23

  When Callie looked at the photograph that Lisa had emailed to her, she was amazed. She was looking at the picture of a young boy, eleven or twelve years old, but she could still recognise him as the man he had grown into. She didn’t know how Lisa had done it, but the end result was stunning. Callie just hoped that it was recognisable and that she could persuade Miller to give it to the press. Perhaps a family would finally know what happened to their little boy.

  “Hi, Nigel?” she said when the incident room phone was finally answered. “I’ve just sent you a reworked photo of body number nine as a young boy that the forensic lab has been working on.” She hoped no one checked whether or not it was officially their work, rather than a side-project of Lisa’s. “I was wondering if you could show it to DI Miller and see if he would be willing to run it in the press?”

  “Erm, he’s a bit busy at the moment, Dr Hughes.”

  “Well, can someone else do it?”

  “Not really.”

  Callie could almost hear Nigel squirming and blushing at the other end of the phone.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll come in and speak to him myself.”

  “No! Not just now,” DC Nugent blurted out in a panic and Callie suddenly realised she could hear shouting in the background. It was hard to work out exactly what was being said by the woman doing the shouting, but she did not sound calm. The voice got louder as the woman presumably got closer to Nigel’s desk.

  “So, you can just go back to your whore−”

  “Lizzie, look−”

  “And don’t think I’m coming back!”

  There was the sound of the door slamming and a few moments’ silence. Callie had been hoping that Steve Miller would have managed to convince his wife Lizzie that the compromising photos of him had been sent to her by someone trying to discredit him by now, but it seemed that he hadn’t been successful if the very public argument she had heard was anything to go by.

  “So, um, I don’t think now is a good time,” DC Nugent said quickly, and Callie had to agree. There was no way Miller would be in the mood to discuss anything with her after that. He would be way too embarrassed and angry. Callie would need to wait until he had calmed down, at least a little.

  “Oh, Dr Hughes?” DC Nugent said in little more than a whisper. “I have a message for you. Just a moment while I find it.”

  She waited as he sorted through what she knew was likely to be hundreds of message slips on his desk.

  “Ah, yes, here it is. Mr Savage’s assistant called and asked you to give her a ring. I have the number here.”

  Callie made a note of the number as she wondered why on earth Mrs Savage might want her to call. There was only one way to find out.

  “Hello? Mrs Savage? It’s Dr Hughes here, I had a message to call you.”

  “Oh, yes, Dr Hughes.” If Mrs Savage was pleased to hear from Callie, she hid it well. “My husband thought you might be interested in a meeting he’s holding tonight, to discuss the important topic of immigration and those trying to cross illegally from France. It’s at the Broomgrove Community Centre in Ore, seven-thirty.”

  “Oh, that’s very kind of him, and you, to think of me.” Callie thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I would be interested.”

  “Good, I’ll see you there tonight, Dr Hughes, goodbye.” She ended the call.

  Callie was surprised, she had thought that the MP, and his wife, would happily never see her again. Perhaps he was determined to win her over, unlikely as that was, but the opportunity to hear more of his views on the dead migrants was one she did not want to miss.

  * * *

  The community centre was modern and purpose-built and clean. There were quite a few cars in the carpark, including the little red one s
he had seen at Ted Savage’s office, so Callie was hopeful that the meeting would be well-attended.

  She went to the reception desk and saw that there were a number of events taking place, there were posters for slimming clubs, Pilates and even a reading group. Callie asked where she would find her meeting and was directed to a small room, with a couple of dozen plastic chairs set out in preparation. There was a table at the front, with three more chairs, and a jug of water and two glasses. Clearly one of the speakers was not expected to want a drink.

  Callie glanced at her watch. It was five minutes before the meeting was due to start but only half a dozen or so people were already there waiting. Perhaps Savage’s eagerness to get her to the meeting was more about not wanting to speak to an empty room than because he thought she might really be interested.

  Callie took a seat in the back row of chairs and looked around at the others waiting for the meeting to begin. A middle-aged lady seated at the front was wearing a dog collar and a benign expression. There were a group of three students, an elderly couple and a man who seemed to be asleep. It didn’t look as though it was going to be a very lively meeting, but just as she wondered if it would be cancelled or if perhaps she should sneak out and give it a miss, the door opened and four men came into the room. One of them was Councillor Claybourne and the others looked very much like the men who had been with him at the FNM rally and who had laid into David Morris.

  Everyone turned and looked at the new arrivals, apart from the man who was asleep, and there was a general air of unease as the group took their seats in the middle of the room. There was no way Callie was going to leave now, although she did check how close she was to the way out, just in case it turned out to be a more exciting evening than she had expected!

  At seven-thirty, exactly, a door at the back of the room opened and Ted Savage, his wife and a thin man who Callie did not recognise, came in and took their places behind the table. It was the thin man who started the meeting, standing up and introducing both himself, as the local constituency chairperson, and Ted Savage as the MP. Mrs Savage was seated to one side of the table and clearly wasn’t worthy of an introduction. She looked around the room, checking out every person and smiling at them, although the smile looked a bit strained when she saw Claybourne, and Callie. Then she dutifully took out a notepad and pen, making it clear she was at the meeting in her role as an assistant rather than a wife.