* * *
Billy was working late, catching up with his normal workload now that the bodies had stopped washing up on the beach, so Callie was meeting Kate at their usual haunt, The Stag. It was music night and there was bluegrass in the back bar making conversation a little hard. As it was a warm evening, they decided to sit out in the garden where the music volume, not to mention the whooping and hollering of the music fans, was less, but ready to move back indoors if their peace was disturbed by flies, mosquitoes or particularly noisy children. They were discussing Callie’s meeting with Ted Savage and her suspicion that he had primed the reporter in advance of his interview.
“It’s sort of a variation on the lawyerly rule of ‘never ask a question to which you don’t know the answer’,” Kate commented. She was wearing layers of linen, comfortably creased. Callie wished she could be that relaxed about her style.
“Yes, but one step further.” Callie smoothed out an imagined crease in her skirt and picked at a bit of fluff.
“Exactly. If you have an answer you want to get out there, make sure you tell them what to ask. You have to admire him for it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he managed to do exactly what he wanted. He ramped up the protest movement by planting the idea that the deaths were a deliberate act of murder by the FNM, or whoever sabotaged the boat, and it disrupted their rally.”
“And got Hastings even more bad press. Something it really doesn’t need right now.”
“That is also very true.” Kate sipped her beer and stretched out her legs. “But at least it brought in some work for yours truly.”
“What do you mean? Surely you aren’t defending any of those people?”
“Why not? You wouldn’t refuse them medical treatment, would you?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t. Anyway, I can’t afford to have principles, Callie. I have bills to pay and a few hours of legal aid work on a couple of affray charges that will probably be dropped for lack of evidence anyway, will do me nicely, thank you. And” – she did a little drum roll on the table – “I have a very nice case involving cigarette smuggling.”
“I can’t see that there’s much money in a bloke bringing in a few extra packets, much as I’m pleased he got caught.”
“This is more than just a few extra packets, let me tell you. This was a vanload of counterfeit smokes. And a big van at that. Not that he’s admitting it’s anything to do with him, of course.”
“Counterfeit? You would think it was enough just to smuggle them in and avoid the tax.”
“But if the cheap ones from goodness only knows where, have been made to look like genuine brands, they can be sold for an awful lot more profit. The EU decree that all cigarette packets should look the same and branding be removed has made it much easier for the fakers.”
“Bet they didn’t foresee that.”
“Exactly.”
“And they could have all sorts of dangerous chemicals in.”
“I rather think all cigarettes do, don’t they?”
“You know what I mean.” Callie smiled despite herself, pleased to know that a vanload of harmful toxins had been kept off the streets and out of her patients’ lungs. “I’ve heard stories of arsenic, mould and even asbestos in them.”
“That’s probably just to try and scare people off buying them.” Kate was trying for dismissive but didn’t seem overly confident in her words.
“I do hope you don’t get this man off.”
“Not much chance of that, not unless he decides to give the police the people who are actually behind it, or where they are distributing them and even then−”
“The CPS don’t do deals.”
“Not like they do in America, anyway, but it would at least help at sentencing to be able to show that he was cooperating.”
“Where on earth do these counterfeit cigarettes come from, anyway?”
“I couldn’t possibly comment, but Poland, Romania and Ukraine have been sources in the past, so I am told.”
“Well, you have a pretty reliable source from what you’ve been telling me.”
“If only I could get him to talk to the police.”
* * *
Next day the local papers were full of news of the arrest of a man suspected of smuggling cigarettes. Thousands of cartons of counterfeit cigarettes had been found in the back of a van that had been the subject of a ‘routine stop’. Callie smiled to herself, that was almost certainly code for a tip-off, she thought. Kate was right, it would keep her in work for months and the fake cigarettes were safely off the street.
There was a picture of a van, full of cardboard boxes presumably containing the confiscated cigarettes, and a larger picture of one of the packets displayed next to a skull and crossbones motif and a warning from Trading Standards that they could contain poisonous substances. The public would be able to tell if they had bought a packet, always supposing they didn’t know full well that they were buying illegal cigarettes, because they were a darker green than they should be and the health warning was in an Eastern European script. Callie took a closer look at the picture; it looked suspiciously like the ones in the carton she had seen David Morris carrying the day she saw him coming out of the convenience store. Callie read the full text that went with the report. The packs were described as being a dark green, whereas real cigarettes all have to be in packs that are a regulation lighter, browner green colour.
Callie was the first to admit that she was no expert on makes of cigarettes, never having
