He hadn’t got that wrong, Callie thought.
The reporter went on to summarise that a RIB (rigid inflatable boat) filled with illegal immigrants had capsized off the Sussex coast three nights earlier. It was thought that the small, overcrowded and unseaworthy vessel had been launched from a larger one, a trawler perhaps, trying to evade the well-patrolled shorter routes to the Kent coast. The migrants had been sent off from the larger one, despite the poor conditions of that night, which showed a reckless disregard for the safety of the men. When the upturned RIB had been spotted at dawn, about a mile off the coast, the lifeboat had been dispatched and three live immigrants clinging to the sides of the ruined boat were picked up, along with a body found trapped underneath and another floating in the water nearby. Two further men had been located, exhausted from their long swim ashore, in a village further along the coast. They were thought to be a mixed group from Somalia, Iraq and Syria, but all were reluctant to talk about how they had ended up in the sea, although it was very likely that they had most recently set off from France.
“With the discovery of the eighth body of a young male this morning, local MP and shadow environment minister Ted Savage had this to say.”
The television cut to Ted Savage standing outside the House of Commons. An ex-fisherman himself, ruggedly good-looking and born and bred in the town, Ted was popular with locals. His unwavering support of the fishing industry, the local hospital and a range of other causes close to the town’s heart had made him a runaway winner at election time.
“The terrible events in my home town of Hastings have struck at the heart of our island nation and I have been warning the Government that it would happen for many months. This tragedy could have been avoided if they had invested more in the Border Force and the Maritime and Coastguard Agency. We need to stop these boats before they enter British waters, and turn them back. For their own sake as well as ours. The Government needs to sit up and take notice. Now. Before more bodies wash up on more beaches.”
True to form, just as he finished his warning of more bodies, Callie’s phone began to ring. She groaned with exhaustion, already putting on her coat as she answered the call.
Chapter 2
Two further bodies had been found along the coast between Camber Sands and Dungeness, as well as one nearer to Hastings. Aware that Callie could hardly be in two places at the same time, the police caller said that her colleague in Folkestone had been alerted to attend the two near Dungeness and Callie had been allocated the third body. According to the information she was given, it had caught in the rocks at the bottom of Fairlight Cliffs, closer to where the first bodies had washed up earlier in the week. Callie was to go to the nearest point where she could park her car at Pett Level, where she would be met and taken to the location.
Bracing herself for what would probably be a battered body, and for the fact the bodies were becoming more and more decomposed as they were found, she walked along the beach from the village where she left her car, following the constable who had been waiting for her.
The pebbles changed to boulders as they grew closer to the bottom of Fairlight Cliffs. In the fast disappearing light, Callie stumbled and tripped frequently, slipping on the seaweed-covered rocks. She wasn’t alone, the constable who was leading the way was finding the going tough as well. She silently cursed the fact that the man had been washed up in such an inaccessible spot, and was glad that she had had the foresight to put on hiking boots because the last thing she needed was to sprain an ankle, or worse. The gently sloping beach at Bexhill would have been a much easier location.
Eventually she saw lights up ahead and the familiar sight of white-suited crime scene investigators. The area hadn’t been fully cordoned off, because of the difficult terrain and an incoming tide, but a constable had been posted at what had been designated the perimeter, to note the names of everyone attending the scene, and to ensure they were all appropriately suited up.
Callie struggled into her overalls, overshoes, mask and gloves and checked exactly where the water had now reached. She was no expert on tides, but she knew that they didn’t have long to document and collect this body before the waves came and washed any evidence away. Any evidence that hadn’t already been washed away, that is. A team with a stretcher was waiting to carry the body back along the beach once they were cleared to do so. Callie didn’t envy them that task.
Suited and booted, she finally approached the body, recognising the slight form of Lisa, the crime scene photographer, already finishing up photographing it. In these circumstances, Callie’s presence was purely a formality. They all knew the man was dead, and that the circumstances could not be deemed to be natural. The decision as to whether it was suicide, accident or murder was down to the coroner, although he could probably rule out suicide if this was another of the young migrants whose boat had capsized.
“Hi, Lisa. What have you got for me?”
Lisa stepped back to allow Callie to see the body wedged between some large rocks.
“Could you give me some more light please?” Callie asked as she leant forward to get a closer view.
Lisa angled a
