by Candy Denman
She could feel her anger rising at the traffickers who had been so negligent with these young men’s lives, as she noted the time that she had pronounced death and signalled to the crime scene manager that he was free to move the body when ready. She made notes as they shifted the body. The young man’s feet were bare, just as in the case of the other body that morning. It was not unusual, as people trying to swim will often kick off shoes to stop them weighing them down. She looked round, in case some had been washed up nearby but it was impossible to see anything outside of the arc of lights. She knew that the crime scene team would check the immediate area as soon as they could, and hopefully before the tide came in, but as the body could have been there a day or maybe two, and the tide would have washed over him several times, the chances of finding anything was slight.
Although her job was done, Callie waited for them to manoeuvre the corpse onto the stretcher and she followed them as they carried it back to the carpark where a mortuary van was waiting. Callie was glad that there was only a solitary press photographer there to mark the event. Perhaps the others were still in the pub.
* * *
Saturday brunch in The Land of Green Ginger, a favourite café in the Old Town, was a standing commitment for Callie and her friend Kate Ward. A local solicitor, full-figured and dark-haired, Kate was dressed in bright summery clothes and exuded health and contentment. Callie, dressed in her usual neutral tones, felt grey and jaded in contrast.
As Kate tucked into her full English, Callie was only playing with her scrambled eggs on wholemeal toast.
“You look exhausted,” Kate said between mouthfuls.
“Probably because I am.”
“How many is it now?”
“Eleven dead, no, twelve now. Last night it was two near Dungeness, one at Fairlight and then early this morning another was picked up by the lifeboat. That was a fun way to start my day.”
“I take it he was dead.”
“Oh, yes, very dead. He was spotted floating face down by a passing yacht who radioed the position to the lifeboat HQ and they went out and collected the body. But at least it’s probably the last one I’ll be called out to.”
“Why’s that? Do you think they’ve all been found? Everyone else made it to shore alive?”
“No,” Callie said. “I suspect very few made it to shore, probably only the two who have already been picked up and, of course, the three that were found alive with the boat. We have no real idea how many there were in the first place, but it’s likely it was packed and that there will be more to find. It’s just that, with the way the tides work, they will wash up further along the coast now. Or as decomp takes hold, sink out at sea.”
“To be pulled up in some poor fisherman’s nets.”
“Like the one brought in yesterday, but if they do, I just hope they don’t expect me to take a look and they go straight to the mortuary.”
Callie thought that it might be a while before she ate fish again.
“So how come, if the tide is pulling them east along the coast towards Dungeness, the body you went to last night was back at Fairlight?”
“It had caught in the rocks in a pretty remote place,” Callie explained. “Probably been there a day or two.” Callie shuddered as she remembered. “The body was not in a good state, but a bit better than the one this morning who had been in the water all that time.”
“No more details please,” Kate said, holding her hand up. “I haven’t finished my breakfast.”
Callie decided that she had finished eating, even though her food was hardly touched. She pushed her plate away and took a sip of tea. Kate was right, even though her head told her that it was entirely within reason for the recent body to get caught on the rocks and be found further to the west, against the general eastward direction of the tide, there was just a slight niggle of doubt.
“Are you seeing Billy today?” Kate asked. “Or is he too busy fiddling with these corpses?”
Callie smiled. Her boyfriend Billy Iqbal was the local pathologist and was doing most of the post-mortem examinations of the bodies, along with his usual work. He would certainly still get the ones pulled out of the sea in coming weeks and months even if Callie didn’t have to.
“I do wish you wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Callie admonished her friend. “Someone might get the wrong idea after, you know who.” She was referring to a mortuary attendant who had been caught being overly intimate with the dead in the past.
“Sorry,” Kate said but she didn’t look sorry at all.
“I thought I might pop in this afternoon and see how he was doing,” Callie continued.
Kate leant forward.
“If I were you, I’d have a nap first,” she said, honest as ever. “So you don’t look quite so tired.”
Chapter 3
The mortuary was situated in the grounds of Hastings General Hospital, but set back from the main buildings and shrouded with trees. No one wants to advertise their failures, least of all doctors.
Callie entered a door to the side of the chapel of rest and took the lift down to the mortuary. It was a place she had often visited, even before she started going out with pathologist Billy Iqbal, because part of her job was to liaise with the pathologist and the coroner’s officer, Mike Parton, on cases involving the police. She wasn’t surprised to see Mike Parton there, he seemed to have almost lived there since the bodies started washing up on the shore. He was dressed, even on a Saturday, in a dark grey suit and black tie. He looked very much like a funeral director, which in some ways, he was.
“Morning, Dr Hughes,” Mike said.
“Hello, Mike, is Billy around?”
Billy himself popped his head out of the autopsy suite door before Parton could answer. He was dressed in scrubs but wasn’t wearing the protective apron, mask and visor that would have suggested he was in the middle of an autopsy. About to turn forty, still slim and athletic in build, Billy was lucky that little grey speckled his black hair yet, although Callie actually liked grey hair on men. She felt it made them look more distinguished.
“Hi, Callie, Mike, I’ll be with you both in a moment. Why don’t you wait in the office? Get yourselves some coffee.”
Billy had an expensive coffee maker in his office and Callie wasn’t sure she knew how to work it, but fortunately Parton clearly did and set about picking out pods and making them both a cup. Callie sat down, as much out of the way as was possible in such a small room, and watched him work. Parton handed her an espresso and she cupped it in her hands, breathing deeply and savouring the delicious smell of it.
“It’s been a busy week,” Parton said by way of a conversation starter once they were both settled with their drinks and he had found himself a space to perch on the edge of the desk.
“I’m hoping things will get a bit less busy now that the bodies seem to be moving further down the coast,” Callie replied.
“I’m hoping there aren’t too many more, period.”
“That makes two of us,” Callie agreed.
“Make that three,” Billy added as he came in to join them and slid adeptly into the small space behind his desk.
“How’s it going?” Callie asked.
“Depressing,” he answered, but his tone belied his words. “It’s going to be another long day. I’ve still got two more autopsies to do, and enough paperwork to keep me going for months.”
Callie had expected as much, but it was still a disappointment to hear that he was unlikely to be able to spend any time with her over the weekend.
“I don’t suppose I could be really cheeky and suggest a takeaway at yours later?” he added with a cheeky grin.
Callie smiled, relieved that at least he was planning on seeing her, even if it was going to be much later.
“Of course.”
Parton cleared his throat to remind them that he was there. Whilst they had made no effort to conceal their relationship, it was hardly professional to discuss their personal affairs in front of
him and both Callie and Billy looked sheepish.
“The coroner would like a brief update later today, so is there anything I can tell him?” Mike took out his notepad and a pen in readiness.
“The two bodies found over towards Dungeness went to Dover, I can ring them for you or−”
“No, that’s fine, I can contact them directly. I’ll need to do that to get copies of all the reports sent to us, anyway.” Mike made a note to do this.
“I’m just completing the paperwork on the body found by the fishing boat off Hastings yesterday. Unidentified body number eight for us. All very much in line with the others. Male, IC3, late teens early twenties, poorly nourished. Cause of death: drowning.”
“Any identifying features?”
Both Billy and Callie knew that identifying the bodies and informing any relatives was going to be a big part of Parton’s job, working along with Miller and his team, and that it wasn’t going to be easy. None of the bodies had so far had any identification on them, and few had any particular features that would make them easy to identify.
“Nope, sorry. Lisa came by and took some photos of his face, like all the others, but it’s going to be hard.”
Parton nodded, resigned to this answer.
“The coroner has been in touch with various groups working with immigrants both here and in France, in the hope that they might be able to help,” Parton told them.
“Has anyone got in touch with the police to suggest names? Relatives who knew they were going to try and make it across?” Billy asked, but Parton shook his head.
“This isn’t the same as that case where all the group in the back of the lorry were all from Vietnam and it had been pre-arranged. This is people from different countries who have probably been in Calais or France somewhere, for quite some time. Any relatives they have may not have had contact with them in recent months or even know where they are.”
Sadly, Callie knew he was right, but it would have been nice if someone could identify them quickly.
“We’re probably going to have to go through the Red Cross. Try and enlist their help to identify them,” Parton added and Billy nodded his agreement.
“What about DNA?” Callie asked Billy. “Can’t you get more detail on where they came from?”
“Sure. We can narrow it down to the main regions they are likely to have originated from, like North Africa or Eastern Mediterranean. But people move around, and more detailed analysis of where they have lived using minerals and such-like, is harder and time-consuming.”
“Not to mention expensive,” Parton added.
Callie knew he was right and that they might not get funding to do more tests, at least not any time soon. It would be an option held back until all other avenues had been explored.
Parton left, having extracted promises from Billy that he would complete the post-mortems on the two remaining bodies and have preliminary reports ready for the coroner by Monday.
“Well, that pretty much puts the kibosh on any plans we might have had for the weekend,” Callie said morosely.
“Sorry,” Billy said with a smile. He knew Callie understood, she was as much of a workaholic as he was.
Jim, the mortuary technician approached the door. Jim was slim to the point of skinny and was big on tattoos, short on teeth. He was also one of the best technicians around.
“Hi, Doc.” He nodded at Callie before turning to Billy. “Next one’s ready for you. Body number nine.”
Callie stood up, recognising her signal to leave.
“Unless?” Billy asked.
“Unless what?” she asked.
“You could stay and watch,” he suggested.
“That’s quite an unusual suggestion for date night,” Callie replied, with a smile on her face.
“I’m an unusual kind of guy.” He waggled his eyebrows in a bad Groucho Marx impersonation.
Callie didn’t need to be asked twice. She had felt an almost personal connection with this body since pronouncing death, and she wasn’t really sure why. She hurriedly donned scrubs in the changing room, and went through to the autopsy suite where Billy and Jim were ready and waiting for her.
Callie’s godfather had once been pathologist at Hastings Hospital, and she had watched him perform hundreds of post-mortems as he tried, in vain, to persuade her to follow in his footsteps. She had never been tempted, but she always felt a slight pang when she thought of him and how he had died so horribly in the autopsy room she was now in.
All thoughts of the past were quickly dispelled once Billy started speaking for the dictation machine, first giving a general description of the exterior of the body.
“The body of a well-nourished male. Skin tone slightly darker than IC1.” It was notoriously hard to be definite about ethnicity by colour of skin alone; even alive, it was hard to distinguish someone of mixed ethnicity from say a Mediterranean, North African or West Asian background. After death, it was even harder, so pathologists would rarely say anything definite on the subject.
In the bright lights of the autopsy suite, and with his cuts cleaned, Callie took a good look at the face which she could finally see more clearly. He was a good-looking boy, she thought, or rather, he had been once.
“Age” – Billy paused to look closely at the body – “approximately eighteen to thirty years old by appearance.”
Callie knew he might be able to narrow it down more when he looked at bone development and other markers visible on X-ray. All he could really say for now was that this was an adult male.
Billy continued his exterior examination and then paused while Jim measured the length of the body and read out the finding.
“One metre seventy-five.”
Callie mentally converted that to five feet nine inches.
Billy went round the body checking for any external signs and describing the various cuts and bruises. He noted the tattoo of the heart, and Jim photographed it as it might help with identifying this particular body.
Billy signalled to Jim to help him turn the body over.
As soon as they had done that, they both stopped and stared at the man’s left calf. Callie leant forward so that she could see what they were both staring at, as Jim reached for his camera again.
There was a tattoo on the back of the young man’s leg. It depicted a cockerel standing on top of a ball and had the letters THFC below it.
* * *
After she had left him to finish up the two post-mortems, it was very late by the time Billy arrived at Callie’s flat. He had called to let her know he was on his way, and the takeaway arrived at almost the same time. He was ravenous and it wasn’t until he’d had two beers and his fill of the food that he sat back and relaxed.
Callie desperately wanted to ask him about the post-mortems, but didn’t, thinking that he probably wanted to forget all about work. But he knew her too well, knew she would be itching to hear his news.
“So, no further surprises. I am sure that both of them drowned. As you saw, body nine had a lot of bruising and damage consistent with him having been bashed against the rocks for a tide or two.”
“But the tattoo?” Callie asked hopefully.
“Yes, that really was the only surprising finding.”
“It can’t be usual for someone from Syria or wherever to have a tattoo of the crest of Tottenham Hotspur Football Club on their leg.”
“I don’t know. A lot of people support Premier League clubs around the world.”
“I thought that was mainly Manchester United.”
“Yes, that’s probably quite true, they are probably the most widely followed, but other clubs are, as well, and it may be why he chose to come here.”
Callie wasn’t going to be put off that easily.
“It seems a bit of a coincidence. I mean, it’s got to be a possibility, hasn’t it?”
“Of course. I’ve let Mike know and suggested the details should be checked against the UK and Interpol missing persons databases, just in case.”
She was still excited by the news, even if Billy seemed less so.
“He could have been one of the smugglers,” she said. “Perhaps he was supposed to steer the boat, get them safely to the shore.”
“It’s possible, I suppose, and in which case he didn’t do a very good job.”
“Have any of the others had tattoos?”
“A couple. Just bits of the Koran, that sort of thing. Nothing easily identifiable like family names.”
Billy yawned.
“Well, if you’ve suggested they check mispers, that’s the best we can do for now.” She stroked his shoulder. There was no way she’d manage to get to sleep with all these thoughts whirring through her head, not unless she had something to distract her.
“Time for bed?” she asked. “Or are you too tired?”
“Never,” he said, and grinned.
* * *
Callie spent a long and boring Sunday morning cleaning her flat and sorting her laundry whilst Billy was back at work writing his reports on the post-mortems he had performed the day before. Cleaning always helped Callie organise her thoughts. The repetitive and simple tasks allowed her mind to wander, and wander it did.
The tattoo on body number nine’s leg bothered her, that and Kate’s query about why he had been found further to the west than expected. Her glib explanation that he must have been caught on the rocks and had been there a couple of days, now seemed something of an assumption.
Bathroom sparkling and fresh sheets on the bed, Callie stopped her cleaning to make a call to the incident room. She knew there would be someone there, the team were working flat out to try and find and identify the bodies being washed up, not to mention the smugglers who had left them to die.
To Callie’s relief, Jayne Hales, a detective sergeant she had worked with on a number of occasions, picked up the phone.
“Hi, Jayne, it’s Callie. I just wondered if I could get a couple of details for my report on the body found at Fairlight? I seem to have forgotten to get them at the time.”