by Candy Denman
“He’s with DI Miller.”
Callie’s mind boggled a bit at the thought of Sergeant Jeffries in France.
“How long are they staying there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, couldn’t you take it to the press liaison officer? Get her to approve it?”
There was a bit of umming and aahing from Nugent’s end of the phone – he clearly didn’t think he could.
“Or take it to the Superintendent? Get his agreement?”
“The thing is, Dr Hughes, he doesn’t think it’s a priority.” Nugent was almost whispering and Callie could imagine him looking round the incident room, checking that no one was listening.
“You’ve already asked?”
“Sort of.” Nugent was less than reassuring. “I told him I was getting the photo ready, but erm, well he told me not to waste my time on something that wasn’t going to lead anywhere, because it’s quite clearly just another boat person.” This last bit came out in a rush and Callie could hear the anxiety and hurt in his voice.
Callie sighed, she knew she couldn’t persuade the poor man to do anything about the photograph when the Superintendent had vetoed it, she would just have to wait until Miller got back and hope that she could persuade him.
“Okay. How about you send it to me?”
“Oookay.” Nugent sounded unsure. “No offence, Dr Hughes, but will you promise you won’t release it before I have permission?”
“Absolutely, Nigel. I’ll just use it to show a few people round here, see if anyone knows him.”
She heard Nugent sigh with relief that she understood that he could get into a lot of trouble if she did release it, and she would never do that to him.
“Now to the other thing,” she continued. “I take it there’s no possible link between the people trafficking and the cigarette smuggling that Trading Standards are investigating?” Callie didn’t want them barging into the middle of Miller’s investigation and she wasn’t convinced that they would have communicated with him about the planned raid.
As she had feared, Nugent knew nothing about it and promised to have a word with Sergeant Hales and make sure she was aware, but he confided that they were beginning to get leads on who was involved in bringing the refugees over by boat and that it didn’t look as though it was a local gang.
“The working premise is that they were brought part-way over by a trawler, probably French and launched in the RIB from there,” Nigel continued, confirming Callie’s understanding of how they had been moved. “Coastguard tracking has possibly identified where they were launched, closer to Kent than here and for whatever reason, wind, tide, bad navigation, they ended up capsizing on our patch.”
That was exactly what Callie wanted to hear. If it was just bad luck that the refugees had landed here, then the cigarette smuggling was unlikely to be connected. She thanked Nigel and hung up.
* * *
Callie was meeting Billy after evening surgery, they’d planned a quick drink and dinner at Porters, a local wine bar that was a favourite of Callie’s. It had seen her through a number of disastrous relationships.
She arrived first, ordered a glass of wine for herself and a bottle of continental lager for Billy, before managing to find a table near the back. A light breeze through the open door kept the room comfortably cool.
Billy arrived not long after and she was able to tell him about the progress Nigel Nugent had told her about.
“Thing is, the picture he sent me is absolutely useless. He’s stuck these open eyes on, that don’t seem to quite fit, then smoothed over the cuts and bruises so that it looks like the poor man is wearing make-up. And then he’s blurred it all to the extent that it could be pretty much anybody.”
Billy laughed.
“Maybe you should get the lab to do it, they have all the equipment and could do a better job than a PC on a PC.”
He was right, of course, but Callie didn’t want to go into why she felt uncomfortable about approaching Lisa Furnow to do more work on the photographs she had taken of the dead. Not now. So she moved onto the news about Miller’s trip to France and the theory that the migrants had been meant to land in Kent.
“Makes sense, not sure that anyone would deliberately send people to land on the beaches round here. The inshore fishing means they are more likely to be spotted apart from anything else.”
Callie agreed. The beach-launched fishing fleet working out of Hastings was the biggest in the country, but further along the coast, towards Dungeness, there were a lot of quieter and safer places to land.
They went on to talk about the cigarette smuggling, Callie anxiously checking the tables around them, making sure no one could overhear, as she told Billy about the planned raid.
“I agree that it’s great that they are about to close this bunch down, or at least that they will hopefully do that, but it’s hard to get worked up about a few smuggled cigarettes when people are being treated in the same way – as a commodity.”
“I know,” Callie agreed with a sigh. “Although, we are talking pretty large sums of money being made from the cigarettes.”
“And from the people smuggling. Not to mention that when they get over here, the migrants are indebted to the smugglers and often end up as modern-day slaves.”
Callie knew he was right, and loved the fact that he cared so much. She stroked his hand.
“Let’s hope they catch the people responsible for that as well.”
Chapter 16
Monday morning, Callie felt rested and ready for whatever the week would bring after a rare weekend off. It didn’t last long.
She arrived at the surgery to find that one of her colleagues had called in sick and Linda the practice manager was busy trying to cancel as many patients as possible and re-allocating the rest to the other doctors. Monday was never a good day for anyone to be off sick because they were quite busy enough already.
Callie could see that she had an extra two patients and a visit by her name, and what was worse, one of the appointments was for Mr Herring, a fussy little man who always had a great list of complaints, but rarely had anything actually wrong with him, at least, nothing wrong that wasn’t actually of his own making.
Waiting for her in her paperwork pile was a prescription request for Anna Thompson; she needed more inhalers, urgently. Callie left a message for Anna to come in and see her, and, reluctantly, a prescription ready for the girl to collect.
Despite her heavier than usual workload, and the usual long discussion with Mr Herring, this time about whether or not he had a gluten intolerance, Callie was not running too late as she tackled her afternoon visits. Of course, she had only found the time to eat a sandwich in her car rather than take a proper lunch break, but as she drove away from the last visit of the afternoon, she realised that she was quite close to the forensic laboratory and on a whim, she went in and asked if Lisa Furnow was back from sick leave.
“She is,” the receptionist told her. “Would you like me to let her know you are here?”
“Yes, please,” Callie replied, although she was unsure if it was the right tactic. If Lisa didn’t want to see her, it gave her ample time to nip out the back or just ask a colleague to say she had left for the day. On the other hand, Callie didn’t really have much choice, she couldn’t spend the rest of the day waiting in the car park for Lisa to come out.
To Callie’s surprise, Lisa came down to reception.
“You wanted to see me?” she said as she approached Callie. She looked worried, as well she might, Callie thought. She’d used a liberal amount of make-up but the remnants of a black eye were still visible. The natural pallor of the young woman’s skin meant that it was hard to miss, and must have been considerably worse in the first days after it happened. No wonder she had taken time off sick, it would have been hard to explain away.
“I wanted to thank you,” Callie said. “For hauling me to my feet that night.”
“It was nothing.”
“Yes, it was, I could have been trampled.”
“Is that it?” Lisa tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ears, before remembering the black eye and looking embarrassed.
“Did you get that at the rally?” Callie asked.
“I need to get back.” Lisa turned to leave.
Callie held out a copy of the photograph Nugent had emailed her to stop her going.
“I wanted to ask for your help,” she said and gave Lisa what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I needed a sanitised photograph of the man found on Fairlight Beach, so that I can take it round and see if anyone recognises him. That” – she pointed at the photograph in Lisa’s hand – “is the best effort from the police.”
Lisa examined the poorly touched-up photo.
“It’s pretty crap,” Lisa said.
“Yes, it’s not very good, is it? I thought you could almost certainly do better.”
“I should bloody well hope so.”
“And would you do it for me?”
Lisa looked at her and hesitated before answering.
“Why are you trying to identify that particular body, Dr Hughes?”
Callie hesitated and Lisa led her over to some seats by the main door and they sat down.
“Because he doesn’t fit.”
Lisa said nothing, just sat, very still, and waited for Callie to expand on her explanation.
“He was the one found on Fairlight Beach, at a time when other bodies were being found further east. He was wearing clothes that could have been English in origin, and he had a tattoo of an English football club crest.”
Again, Lisa said nothing.
“He was chock full of expensive drugs: cocaine, ketamine−”
Lisa looked up, surprised by that.
“I know that none of these things mean that he is English, that he isn’t one of the migrants, necessarily, but it’s enough, together, to make me want to be sure that he really is one of them, or at least, one of the people from the boat.”
“You think he might be one of the smugglers?” Lisa asked.
Callie realised that she definitely had Lisa’s interest with that.
“I don’t know,” Callie admitted. “That’s my point. We can’t know, definitively, not unless we find the proof, and at the moment, no one is looking. DI Miller is over in France, trying to find the traffickers. Mike Parton from the coroner’s office is working with the incident team identifying the bodies, but they are working on the premise that they are all migrants.
“And what if this guy isn’t?”
“Exactly.”
“So, you think he’s one of the traffickers?”
“Not necessarily.” Callie hesitated. “What if he isn’t from the boat?” For the first time, Callie actually voiced what she had felt could be true for some time. “What if he has nothing to do with this at all?”
“What? He just happened to drown on a beach right in the middle of a major incident like this, something that has never happened before? Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Or a deliberate act.”
Lisa looked sceptical as well she might.
“Where better to hide a body than in plain sight,” Callie explained.
“You think this man” – Lisa waved the picture at Callie – “was murdered and his body just added to the ones that were being found on a daily basis anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Genius.”
Callie looked at the photographer in surprise.
“You’ve got to admit, it is bloody clever, isn’t it?” Lisa added.
“If I’m right and it is what happened, I suppose it is,” Callie said. “I hadn’t really thought about it like that.”
Lisa was studying the picture intently.
“I’ll go through my photos and see if there’s a better one to tidy up. Do we know what colour his eyes are, because I’m betting they aren’t bright blue like on here?” She waggled the photo Nugent had sent.
“I can find out for you,” Callie said, then hesitated before adding, “Lisa, about, the um, rally? Did you get in a fight?” Callie indicated her black eye. “Did one of the FNM thugs, or the police…”
Lisa looked at the floor, her lips a tight line; she clearly wasn’t going to say.
“It’s none of my business, right?”
“That’s right, Dr Hughes.” Lisa stood abruptly. “It is none of your business.”
Chapter 17
Callie was having a quiet moment between patients. A rare thing, and one to be savoured. She was leaning back in her chair, reading the local paper, drinking a mug of instant coffee and munching a plain chocolate digestive. What could be better? The news for a start, Callie thought.
The paper was full of the raid on a local shop where thousands of packets of counterfeit cigarettes should have been found. Unfortunately, none were. The shopkeepers were “helping with enquiries” but Callie was astounded, and embarrassed, that there had been nothing illegal to find in the shop. Had she been wrong? But then, it wasn’t just her who had been wrong. The information hadn’t actually come from her in the end, it had come from Kate’s client, who was now not going to be able to use it to shorten his sentence.
Kate said he was as stunned as she had been when she heard. She assumed the mere fact of his arrest had caused the smugglers to change their distribution centre. Either that or they had heard about the raid somehow. Callie quickly went over her conversation with Billy in the restaurant, but she was sure no one had overheard. If they had got wind of the raid, it seemed more likely someone in the police let it slip. She sincerely hoped it was accidental rather than Claybourne having a source there, but she wouldn’t put anything past him.
The article didn’t mention any arrests other than the owner of the shop, though, and he would be out in no time if there was no evidence. Callie took another sip of coffee and thought about that. The police were now very much involved, which was a good thing, and they would hopefully put pressure on the shopkeeper as well as the van driver to tell them where the goods came from and who was the person behind it all. She finished her biscuit with a little sigh of pleasure and chucked the paper in the bin. Even if there was no evidence against the shopkeepers and the smugglers, they had, at the very least, been inconvenienced. With a bit of luck, they might even decide to cut their losses and stop smuggling cigarettes altogether. Or they might have to step up the operation to cover the losses. Either way, there was nothing more she could do, she’d done her bit to get the cigarettes off the market, and help Kate’s client. She had to be satisfied with that.
It wasn’t until later, when she was upstairs tackling her never-ending paperwork, that her day went even further downhill.
Anna Thompson had not turned up at the asthma clinic according to Judy, and David Morris had been admitted to hospital with serious injuries including several broken ribs and a ruptured spleen.
* * *
Despite it being her afternoon off, Callie felt she needed to do two visits before heading home. First stop was Anna Thompson’s home.
If she had expected Anna to be at school, or for any of her siblings to be there for that matter, she was sadly mistaken. The whole family seemed to be running riot around the small terraced house. It was hard to count the younger ones as they never seemed to be still.
Anna, after a prod from her harassed mother, took Callie out into the garden.
“What’s this about then?” she asked in a sulky tone.
“I think you know very well what this is about.”
“I just need my puffers; else I can’t breathe.”
Callie took a deep breath herself.
“Look, I’m going to be straight with you, Anna. You’re old enough to know the consequences of your actions. If you are really needing to use the blue inhaler that much, that means that your asthma is poorly controlled and you are likely to have a serious attack.” Callie held up her hand to stop the girl from interrupting. “And if you do have a se
rious attack, then it’s possible that all the treatments the hospital would normally use to try and stop that attack, would not work.”
“What do you mean?”
Callie hadn’t noticed that Anna’s mother had come out into the garden and heard what she had said.
“I didn’t think her asthma was bad?”
“It’s not,” Anna said. “So long as I get my inhalers.”
Anna stood up, intent on avoiding any further conversation. Technically Callie should not continue talking about it now that her mother was present, but the damage was already done and she might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
“You are getting through far too many. We need to increase your preventer medication, maybe give you a course of steroids.”
“I don’t need that.”
“Then I think we need to get you assessed at the hospital.”
Anna looked sullen.
“Oh my God,” her mother said. “Is it really that bad?”
“No, it isn’t, Mum, the doctor’s just making a fuss. Doesn’t want me to have my inhalers, maybe they cost too much.” She gave Callie a venomous look.
“The cost is nothing to do with it,” she countered. “I am honestly worried as to why you are getting through so much medication. I spoke to the asthma nurse and she says your peak flows have been good, and she can’t understand why you need your puffer so much. I think we need to do more tests and maybe refer you to the hospital.”
“I don’t want that.”
“You’ll do what the doctor tells you, young lady.”
At least she had Anna’s mother onside, although, as she left the house with Anna glaring at her, Callie wasn’t sure if that was going to be enough to get her to attend an out-patient appointment, whenever that came through.
* * *
The second visit of the afternoon was to the hospital. She asked at the main reception and was told which ward had David Morris as a patient.
Speaking to the nurse at the desk, she was directed to the bay and could see him, drip in his arm, and a striped pyjama top, undone, revealed masses of bruising and a large dressing covering the left side of his abdomen.