Breaker

Galbraith made a rough count of the wine boxes. 'There's six-hundred-odd bottles of wine here. It'd take him hours to move these a dozen at a time, not to mention the lager and the cigarettes. Are you seriously saying no one's ever questioned why he's plying to and fro in a dinghy with a rucksack?'

'That's not how he shifts the bulk of it. I was only pointing out that it's not as difficult to bring stuff off boats as you seem to think it is. He moves most of it at night. There are hundreds of places along the coast you can make a drop as long as there's someone to meet you.'

'You, for example?'

'Once in a while,' Bridges admitted.

Galbraith turned to look at the rib on its trailer. 'Do you go out in the rib?'

'Sometimes.'

'So he calls you on his mobile and says I'll be in such-and-such a place at midnight. Bring your rib and the mate's van and help me unload.'

'More or less, except he usually comes in about three o'clock in the morning, and two or three of us will be in different places. It makes it easier if he can choose the nearest to where he is.'

'Like where?' asked Galbraith dismissively. 'I don't swallow that garbage about there being hundreds of dropoff points. This whole coast is built over.'

Bridges grinned. 'You'd be amazed. I know of at least ten private landing stages on rivers between Chichester and Christchurch where you can bet on the owners being absent twenty-six weekends out of fifty-two, not to mention slips along Southampton Water. Steve's a good sailor, knows this area like the back of his hand, and providing he comes in on a rising tide in order to avoid being stranded, he can tuck himself pretty close in to shore. Okay, we may get a bit wet, wading to and fro, and we may have a trek to the van, but two strong guys can usually clear a load in an hour. It's a doddle.'

Galbraith shook his head, remembering his own soaking off the Isle of Purbeck and the difficulties involved in winching boats up and down slips. 'It sounds like bloody hard work to me. What does he make on a shipment like this?'

'Anything between five hundred and a thousand quid a trip.'

'What do you make out of it?'

'I take payment in kind. Cigarettes, lager, whatever.'

'For a drop?'

Bridges nodded.

'What about rent on this garage?'

'Use of Crazy Daze whenever I want it. It's a straight swap.'

Galbraith eyed him thoughtfully. 'Does he let you sail it or just borrow it to shag your girlfriends?'

Bridges grinned. 'He doesn't let anyone sail it. It's his pride and joy. He'd kill anyone who left a mark on it.'

'Mmm.' Galbraith lifted a white wine bottle out of another box. 'So when was the last time you used it for a shag?'

'A couple of weeks ago.'

'Who with?'

'Bibi.'

'Just Bibi? Or do you shag other girls behind her back?'

'Jesus, you don't give up, do you? Just Bibi, and if you tell her any different I'll make a formal complaint.'

Galbraith tucked the bottle back into its box with a smile and moved on to another one. 'How does it work? Do you call Steve in London and tell him you want the boat for the weekend? Or does he offer it to you when he doesn't want it?'

'I get to use it during the week. He gets to use it at weekends. It's a good deal, suits everyone.'

'So it's like your house? Anyone and everyone can pile in for a quick shag whenever the mood takes them?' He flicked the young man a look of disgust. 'It sounds pretty sordid to me. Do you all use the same sheets?'

'Sure.' Bridges grinned. 'Different times, different customs, mate. It's all about enjoying life these days, not being tied to conventional views of how to conduct yourself.'

Galbraith seemed suddenly bored with the subject. 'How often does Steve go to France?'

'It probably works out at an average of once every two months. It's no big deal, just booze and cigarettes. If he clears five thousand quid in a year he reckons he's done well. But it's peanuts, for Christ's sake. That's why I told him he should come clean. The worst that can happen is a few months in jail. It would be different if he was doing drugs but'-he shook his head vigorously-'he wouldn't touch them with a bargepole.'

'We found cannabis in one of his lockers.'

'Oh, come on,' said Bridges with a sigh. 'So he smokes the odd joint. That doesn't make him a Colombian drug baron. On that basis, anyone who enjoys a drink is smuggling alcohol by the lorry load. Look, trust me, he doesn't bring in anything more dangerous than red wine.'

Galbraith moved a couple of boxes. 'What about dogs?' he asked, lifting a plastic kennel out from behind them and holding it up for Bridges to look at.

The young man shrugged. 'A few times maybe. Where's the harm? He always makes sure they've got their anti-rabies certificates.' He watched a frown gather on Galbraith's forehead. 'It's a stupid law,' he repeated like a