by Candy Denman
Reassured that, at the very least, he would get a warning, Callie felt she could safely leave the matter in their hands. She was anxious to finish her surgery on time because she was due to meet the asthma consultant at the school at lunchtime to give a talk to the pupils.
With her conviction that she had at least one of her problems under control, Callie was able to concentrate fully on her patients, and then later on the talk with the pupils. The consultant was clear and direct in his speech, leaving no room for doubt in the minds of the pupils that asthma inhalers did not make you fat and just how important it was to follow the regimen prescribed. There were a few questions at the end, but in general it seemed that the lecture, as well as the experiences of the young girls who had ended up in hospital, might have convinced them. And Callie sincerely hoped she had cut off their supply of illicit medication, well, Callie, the police and the headmistress between them.
Having the rest of the afternoon off, Callie decided on some therapeutic shopping, or rather window shopping, and not at the usual sorts of places she would visit. Miller had called to say that the Chief Super had refused his request to set up a sting operation, so she felt she had little choice but to try and do something herself.
She wandered the back streets of Hastings, looking for small, independent shops that sold cigarettes, and she found that there were an awful lot of them. With the stock all kept in display cabinets that had been screened so that you couldn’t actually see what was in them, customers had to ask for the brand of their choice. Callie had no choice but to go in each of them and ask for the brand which had been targeted by the counterfeiters. In all of the shops, they handed her legitimate packs and she was forced to then ask if they had the “cheaper ones, in the dark green packs”. Most of the shopkeepers looked at her blankly, some suspiciously, but no one brought out any of the counterfeit packs.
She was about to give up, feeling that she had wasted enough of her precious free afternoon already and perhaps her time would be better spent with a browse round some of her favourite shops in the Old Town, when she came across a rundown corner shop in a part of the town known as Bohemia that could possibly fit the bill.
The faded toys and adverts in the window looked to have been there for decades and the cards advertising things for sale and appeals for lost cats were curled and outnumbered by dead flies.
Callie pushed open the door and entered the shop. The smell of stale tobacco hit her immediately.
Inside, goods were stacked chaotically and shoppers were in constant danger of knocking over the boxes of crisps and fizzy pop that partially blocked the aisles. Trying to look like this was the sort of shop she frequented on a regular basis, Callie wandered around, picking her way carefully round the obstructions and collecting a few random purchases: a packet of biscuits, a tin of beans and some tissues. She surreptitiously wiped the worst of the dust off them before heading to the till. The man standing there, watching her every move, was as old and decrepit as the shop and as he went to ring up her purchases, Callie could see his fingers were heavily nicotine-stained.
She asked for the cigarettes and he turned to the secure cabinet behind him, bringing out the by now easily recognisable brand.
“I don’t suppose you do the cheaper ones? In the dark green pack?” she asked, and was surprised when he not only didn’t say no, but silently reached under the counter and pulled out a carton.
“Not sold in single packs,” he said in broken English. “Two hundred only.”
Callie nodded her agreement and held out her debit card.
“Cash,” he said with barely disguised contempt.
With no real idea of how much money was expected, Callie held out some notes and waited while the man gave her some change. With the carton of cigarettes in her hand she hurriedly turned and went to the door, feeling him watch her every step of the way.
Once out of the shop, Callie made a mental note of its name and street number and then hurried round the corner where she stopped to catch her breath. Something about the whole experience had spooked her, and she felt grubby. She would need to shower to get rid of the tobacco smell, she was sure.
So now Callie knew the shop was being used by Claybourne for distribution, or one of them, anyway, the question was: who should she tell? If she was right and someone in Trading Standards had tipped him off about the last raid, there was no point in going to them with this information. But it was their investigation, the police were not about to interfere, given that they had more important things on their plate.
Callie remembered that Lisa Furnow had mentioned a boyfriend in the council. Now that she felt more able to trust her, Callie called and explained her predicament and was delighted to hear that Lisa’s boyfriend didn’t just work for the council, he was in Trading Standards. Of course, that meant that Lisa’s boyfriend might be the source of the leak, but she thought that Lisa wouldn’t go out with him if there was any chance of that being the case. Not when the subject that benefitted from the leak was Claybourne, but perhaps it would help her make up her mind if she met him. And anyway, she had no other choice, all she could do was hope that he wasn’t the leak. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
* * *
They met in a large anonymous chain pub on the outskirts of the town where they all hoped that no one they knew would be there to recognise them. Callie was pleased to see that the bright and cheerful family bar was almost empty when she entered. She ordered herself a fizzy water with ice and a slice, and took it to a table nicely tucked away in a corner. She had put the cigarettes in a carrier bag and tucked that under the table, out of the way.
The last vestiges of concern that Callie might have had about Lisa being involved with the FNM were dispersed when she came into the pub and Callie saw the photographer’s boyfriend. He was black. There was no way she could be involved with a group like that and have a black boyfriend. They would not have tolerated it, and Callie couldn’t believe her boyfriend would encourage it either. Callie was prepared to believe she was at the rally purely and simply to try and get something on Claybourne.
The couple spotted her at her corner table and brought their drinks over.
“This is Phil, Dr Hughes,” Lisa introduced him.
“Callie, please,” Callie corrected her and held out her hand.
“Lisa explained your concerns,” Phil said and Callie hoped he wasn’t going to be hard to convince of a possible leak in his department.
“And do you think it’s possible?” she asked him.
He looked over at Lisa who nodded her encouragement and then turned back to Callie.
“It’s something I’ve been concerned about for a while,” he admitted. “But the abortive raid on the shop means it is even more likely.”
“Oh.” Callie hadn’t expected it to be so easy. “Do you have any idea who the informer is?”
Phil looked embarrassed.
“Oh, come on, Phil, it’s common knowledge that Claybourne’s nephew works in the department,” Lisa chipped in, helping him out.
That explained everything as far as Callie was concerned, and Lisa also, but Phil seemed less sure.
“I know you want it to be him, Lisa, but we have no proof.”
“Well, maybe it’s about time we did,” Callie told him.
“What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked.
“I think we, you, should set up a sting operation to find out,” Callie explained, and was pleased to see that he didn’t object straight away.
“It’s not that easy.”
“I’m sure, but if it helps, I bought these in the corner shop on Bohemia Road this afternoon.”
She pushed the carrier bag towards him with her foot, and he took it and glanced inside.
“You could say that you have information that the shop is being used to sell the cigarettes and set up a raid on the shop, just as you would be expected to do, and make sure Claybourne’s nephew is aware of it,” she continued.
“Bu
t−?”
“Already have surveillance in place, so that you catch them shifting the stock before the raid.”
“And make sure he doesn’t know about that.” Lisa was smiling, she clearly liked the idea, but it wasn’t her who Callie had to persuade.
Phil played with his drink as he gave the idea some thought.
“Is there anyone in the department you feel you could trust to do this with you?” she asked.
“My boss,” he confirmed. “We discussed doing something like this, unofficially, when the last raid was a washout.”
“And you think he’ll go for it?”
“Of course, he will.” Lisa was enthusiastic.
“It’s possible.” Phil was more cautious and Callie liked him all the more for that.
“But you will put it to him?”
He nodded.
“There are a lot of aspects we will have to work out, so I can’t promise if, let alone when, it will happen, and I won’t be able to tell you in advance, you do understand that, don’t you?” He looked at Lisa as well, including her in the question and she nodded.
“Of course.” Callie smiled at him.
“We’ll just have to wait to read all about it in the papers.” Lisa held up her drink. “Cheers.”
They clinked glasses and Callie was more than a little pleased with the outcome. She just hoped they found something to definitively link Claybourne to the smuggling. Like Lisa, she would look forward to reading about his arrest in the papers, and hoped that it was in the not too distant future.
Chapter 29
Feeling pleased with herself that a second area of concern in her life was now on its way to resolution, thanks to her interference – as she had no doubt Miller would describe it – Callie decided to drop into the police station on her way home. She wanted to see how the response to the call for information about the age-regressed photo of body number nine was going. When she went into the incident room, she could see immediately, to her surprise, that there was a name written next to the photograph.
“Daniel Spencer,” she said thoughtfully, going up to the board and touching the photo gently.
“Yup.” Jayne Hales came and stood next to her. They both sighed as they looked at the photo. “Ran away from a children’s home when he was thirteen. Mum was already dead of a heroin overdose, no one knew who Dad was. His gran’s been trying to find him for years and had pretty much given up hope. She’s dying of cancer.”
As before, Callie felt pleased that the body had finally been identified, but sad for the poor woman who now knew that he was dead. Would it be a relief to know?
“She said, bad as it was to hear he was dead, she could die in peace, knowing there was nothing more she could do for him.” Jayne seemed to know what she had been thinking.
“Oh wow! That’s just so awful. Does anyone know where he has been since he ran away?”
“We’re getting some information in. It seems, like Michelle, that he went to London. Like most of them do. The Met Police are looking into that end. Now they have a name, they can track social security information, and The Sally Army are helping. They’ll know more by the end of today, almost certainly.”
Callie knew that The Salvation Army did a lot of work with runaways and the homeless, so they might, indeed, be able to cast light on where the two had been living, and what they had been doing to support themselves, although Callie had a pretty good idea about what they might have been doing.
“Did they show any signs of having been sex-workers or addicts? On the PM report?” she asked and wasn’t surprised when Jayne nodded.
“They were both positive for a number of recreational drugs, although Michelle wasn’t for ketamine, just Daniel, and yes, both had signs of regular and sometimes rough, sexual activity. Anal scarring was present in both cases, but no DNA or signs of recent sex. As you know, there’s absolutely no chance of getting any information out of the GUM clinics, where they were probably treated for STDs or had HIV tests.”
Callie knew Jayne was right, genito-urinary medicine clinics that treated patients for sexually transmitted diseases, would never reveal any details, always supposing the names and addresses their patients gave them weren’t real anyway.
“And no idea what they were doing in Hastings?” she asked, although she knew that might never be known.
“Well, Michelle obviously came looking for Daniel, but what he was doing round here, we have no idea. Meeting a dealer perhaps?”
“You’d have thought there were plenty of those in London without having to come down here.”
“Agreed, but why else?”
They both stared again at the photo and thought about a little boy lost.
* * *
It was a subject that Callie gave considerably more thought to that evening and later she discussed it with Billy.
“Why would Daniel, a rent boy and drug user or possible dealer, from London, be in Hastings?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “You don’t need me to tell you that Hastings has a drug problem.”
“But it’s not, as far as I know, a centre for distribution. So, what could he possibly have been doing to get himself killed and dumped at sea?”
“Meeting someone? A friend?”
“Then they should have come forward, surely? When he didn’t show up? Or when his picture was all over the local news?”
“Perhaps the friend was the killer.”
Billy didn’t seem that interested, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought that he was right. It made sense. Daniel came down from London to meet someone, or confront them, and that person killed him.
Michelle must have known he was coming down, and that he should have come back, which was why she was going round looking for him.
Or perhaps he often came down here? Had a regular client? Someone he had met in London but also had a place in the town. Or who had moved here. There were lots of people who had moved to Hastings from London and there were a number of derogatory names for them. There was the Down from London (DFL) brigade, often weekenders, putting up house prices but also spending their money in the town. And the FILTH, Failed in London, Try Hastings, as the displaced and disgruntled locals tended to call them. Daniel could have come to see any one of them, but it was in one of those groups that they would find his killer, and Michelle’s killer; of that, Callie was sure. The question was, how could she, or the police narrow it down?
Chapter 30
Mid-morning, as Callie took a quick break to make herself a cup of coffee, she got a phone call from the principal of the academy asking if she would be willing to give some more talks to the pupils.
“You rated very highly in our feedback session,” the principal told her, trying to butter her up. “You and the consultant both did, but we thought you would be a great addition to our regular speakers.”
“Thank you, yes, of course.” Flattered as she was, Callie wasn’t quite able to make herself sound enthusiastic. “Erm, talks on anything in particular?”
“We have regular healthy lifestyle sessions with the younger pupils, and I am sure you would have plenty to say there, but I also thought you might like to talk to the older ones about being a GP. Inspire the girls to think about medicine as a career.”
And so it was that Callie found herself agreeing to give talks two or three times a year, dates to be arranged.
Once she had put the phone down, she found herself instantly regretting the decision, wasn’t her life busy enough? But it was too late to back out now. She took a sip of coffee and gave herself a mini-lecture on learning to say no before calling in the next patient on her list.
At the end of the session, she was surprised to see Miller sitting in the waiting room waiting for her.
“You should have asked them to let me know you were here,” she said as she ushered him into her consulting room. “I would have fitted you in.”
“Your receptionist said you were on your last patient, so I knew you
wouldn’t be long,” he explained, as he sat in the patient’s chair.
“How can I help?” she asked him.
He wriggled uncomfortably in his seat for a moment, clearly unsure that he was doing the right thing in confiding in her.
“Come on, out with it. I don’t bite.” She encouraged him with a smile and was pleased to see him reciprocate.
“The Met have found where our two victims lived. It’s a council flat that’s been sublet illegally and is only meant for two people, but actually about eight seem to have been living there. Daniel and Michelle had been friends a long time. Best friends, but not boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“If they were both on the game, a sexual partner might not have been what they were looking for.”
Miller nodded.
“And did they find out anything interesting from the others who lived in the flat?” she asked.
“Not really. To say that the occupants were uncooperative would be an understatement. They did manage to find a number of people who knew them, but most of them could not be said to be on good terms with the police, let’s say.”
“So, they haven’t found out anything useful?” Callie couldn’t hide her disappointment.
“Yes, and no. Most of them had no idea Daniel and Michelle were dead, it seems. There was no TV in the flat and they’re not likely to be newspaper readers.”
“And even if they did see their photos and an appeal for information, they probably would think it was because they were wanted for something, not that they were dead.”
“Exactly, but once they knew both of them were dead, it did change things, for some of them at least, and they were willing to talk. It seems that Daniel had been telling everyone that he was onto a nice little earner. He’d seen a picture of one of his regular clients on the front page of a newspaper.”