Page 5 of Hooked On The One That Got Away (Miss Lovelock’s Agency for Broken Hearts #3)
Chapter Five
The town council offices were in a pleasant old Georgian brick building.
There weren’t many staff; the big decisions in the area were made by the county council.
Willow’s desk was next to the two-person team at Community and Amenities, and in front of the Admin Officer.
She liked her colleagues well enough but vastly preferred getting out and about to gather content and chat to people.
Today, she was popping in to see the graphic designer who did the quarterly magazine layout.
Harvey had got into the game back before desktop publishing, when, as he liked to tell Willow, his tools were a Rotring pen, scalpel and hot glue.
Willow was curious about how he’d used each of those but wasn’t entirely sure she wanted details.
Willow didn’t know much else about Harvey’s background except that he was from a posh if cash-strapped family, and though he must surely be over fifty, had one of those pink, cherubic, unlined faces framed by a shock of mostly still-golden curls.
His office was tiny, consisting of a wall of bookshelves, his desk, and an extraordinarily messy table with two chairs for holding meetings.
His desk, by contrast, was spotless. Basically, because everything that had ever been on it was now on the table.
Willow had got used to propping her notebook against the nearest pile of stuff.
As usual, Harvey’s outfit looked faintly Dickensian, with a tweedy waistcoat over a collarless shirt. The clothes probably had belonged to his Victorian ancestors. Truly posh people never threw anything away.
‘Right-ho,’ he said. ‘What razor-sharp pieces of investigative journalism do we have for this next issue?’
‘Hot Dogs restaurant has finally been sold,’ replied Willow.
‘No guarantee the new owners won’t knock it down and start again, so brace yourself for Preserve Our Mock-Tudor Heritage protesters chaining themselves to the bike rack outside.
Um … a record amount of litter was gathered by volunteers in the spring clean-up, and another retirement home is opening. ’
‘Is that really necessary?’ said Harvey, his expression pained.
‘Ageing population,’ said Willow.
‘I’d sooner die,’ said Harvey.
‘Well, yes, that is the other option.’ Willow scanned her list. ‘And we’re going for best-kept village again, despite having not won it for the last sixteen years, which could seem like a hint to stop trying.’
‘Only a curmudgeon doesn’t enjoy a nice hanging basket of petunias.’
‘Noted,’ said Willow with a grin. ‘Of course, there’ll be the usual Council committee reports. And – actually this is quite interesting – a local not-for-profit has been set up to investigate creating hydro power from the river. Clean energy and all that.’
‘At least something about the river will be clean,’ muttered Harvey.
Willow paused. ‘What do you mean? The river’s clean just here, isn’t it? It better be, I swim in it every day!’
Harvey pursed his lips. ‘It seems ,’ he began, slowly, ‘that the local water company is illegally dumping raw sewage in it.’
‘Is there a legal way to dump raw sewage?’
‘Well, that’s the problem,’ said Harvey. ‘Water companies can legally discharge sewage if there’s a heavy rainfall, to prevent the sewers from backing up. But apparently they’ve been spilling in dry times, too.’
Willow was aghast. ‘I’d heard this was going in other places. But not in our river? Why is this happening? And more importantly – why is no one stopping them ?’
‘My source says that the powers that be are a little wary of the big water companies, seeing as they’re owned by private investors with vast amounts of dosh – and political influence.’
Willow have Harvey a look. ‘Your source?’
Harvey leaned forward, putting a noticeable strain on his waistcoat buttons. ‘There’s a group of environmental activists who’ve made it their business to hold the water companies to account. One of them is an old chum from school. I can’t tell you his real name, but we call him Piggers.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Willow. ‘So, why haven’t Piggers and his mates gone to the police yet, or the media?’
Harvey hesitated. ‘Well, as you just said, this goes beyond our waterways. This is happening in rivers, seas and lakes all across the country. Piggers and his cohort are part of an extensive undercover activist network, and they need to gather evidence to force change. People are simply not aware of the extent of the problem. So that’s the aim, to prove that this – pardon my French – is a gigantic shower of shit, to which the authorities have so far turned a blind eye. ’
Willow was calmer now but no less enraged. ‘So, how long will it take before Piggers and his mates can go public, then?’
‘When they’re sure they have enough evidence,’ Harvey replied. ‘It’s a bit like the Post Office scandal. They need the weight of public outrage on their side, so that the politicians are forced to take notice.’
Willow saw the sense in this. But her river was being polluted right now! Her daily swim was under threat! And from something worse than irate swans! She had to do something .
‘Does the water company have an office here?’
‘It does …’ Harvey went to his desk and started searching on his computer.
‘If you are going to start making a fuss, and I certainly wouldn’t blame you, then I’d suggest targeting their PR team rather than the executive.
They’re motivated to make problems go away, so it’s your job to convince them that you won’t. ’
Harvey peered at the screen. ‘Here you are. Their newly appointed Head of External Communications – obviously what they call it these days – is one Charlie McKay.’
He frowned. ‘Isn’t that your, er?—?’
‘Yes,’ said Willow, grimly. ‘Yes, that is indeed my “er”.’
She wasn’t quite sure what this feeling was. Perhaps rage, at being betrayed yet again. How dare Charlie work for the people who were dumping human waste in her river? The very same river he was fishing in only this morning!!
Or maybe he wasn’t fishing at all? Maybe that was a ruse to check out possible dumping spots? How dare he be so calculating, so deceitful and underhanded?
Well , it wasn’t as if he didn’t have form .
‘What’s their address?’ she demanded.
‘Er, you will take care, won’t you?’
Harvey was a kind man. He wouldn’t want her to do anything she’d regret.
Like get arrested for grievous bodily harm.
But Willow had already wasted too much time blaming the wrong person for her unhappiness.
It had not been her fault. The only mistake she’d really made was trusting Charlie.
Who was now proven beyond doubt to be the least trustworthy person on the planet.
Hardened criminals were at least reliably criminal.
‘I’ll be there on behalf of the Town Council’s quarterly magazine,’ said Willow. ‘I think it’s high time we interviewed one of the biggest companies in our region.’