“I read in the paper that there were to be more patrols.”
He nodded.
“Anyway, is there anything we can do for you, Callie, or is this just a social visit?”
“Has Nigel told you about the cigarette smuggling?”
“I seem to remember reading a memo. Didn’t Trading Standards raid a shop or something?”
So, she told him about everything that had happened, Morris’s two spats with Councillor Claybourne, seeing Morris with the cigarettes, telling Kate about which shop he had bought them in, leading to the abortive raid and finally, that Morris had been badly beaten up.
“So, let me get this straight. You think Claybourne is the man behind the cigarette smuggling and that he suspects Morris grassed him up?”
“Yes.”
“And do you have any evidence of any of this?”
She had to admit it was a good question.
“Not really. Just that I witnessed Morris having a go at Claybourne twice, and definitely coming off the worst at the rally. It stands to reason when he turns up in hospital for a second time, that it’s Claybourne behind it again.”
“I agree that there is some circumstantial evidence there to suggest it, but not enough for me to go charging in asking Claybourne awkward questions.”
“Seeing as he’s a councillor, and all,” Jeffries said.
Callie could have done without him coming over and butting in.
“It’s big business, bringing in tobacco. Lots of money involved,” she continued. “If Claybourne is running a smuggling operation, it stands to reason that he would want to protect it. His treatment of Morris shows he’s prepared to resort to violence, and body number nine, really doesn’t belong on that board there.” She pointed to where the photographs of the dead migrants were.
Jeffries gave an exaggerated sigh.
“Wait. You think he’s part of the cigarette smuggling ring rather than the people smuggling?”
“It has to be possible, hasn’t it?”
“Bloody hell, Doc, now you’re accusing a councillor of bumping people off.”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
Both Miller and Jeffries gave it some thought.
“You have to admit that it seems unlikely.” This was the best that Miller was prepared to say.
“Like a three-legged horse winning the Derby,” Jeffries added as he shook the empty biscuit packet. “Who’s nicked all the custard creams?” he asked belligerently. “Bloody thieving bastards.”
Chapter 18
Another mild summer’s evening, another body washed up on Fairlight Beach, and Callie was once again wishing that it wasn’t in quite such a remote place as she stumbled for the umpteenth time, slipping on the wet rocks. When she finally got to the spot, a bit further along from where body number nine had been found, Callie saw that this was the body of a young woman. The only female so far and that was not the only reason to believe that she was not one of the migrants: she looked Caucasian, with badly bleached hair dyed purple at the ends, a couple of piercings to her nose and eyebrow; and she was dressed in cheap but fashionable clothes. And she had a serious head wound.
Lisa was busy taking photographs while her colleagues, all masked and dressed like Callie in their crime scene overalls, were searching the area around for anything that might relate to this body.
“Who found her?” Callie asked Lisa.
“Same bloke as found the last one. I think he’s probably going to give up being a detectorist.”
Callie thought she probably would too, if she had found two bodies in less than two weeks.
“Thanks for the photo, by the way, it’s really good.”
“No problem.” The photographer looked over Callie’s shoulder and then turned away. Callie looked round and saw two more suited and booted people walking along the beach in towards her, neither had their masks pulled up yet. Miller and Jeffries. As she watched, Jeffries slipped on a wet, algae-covered boulder and landed on his rump. She could hear him swearing from where she was and she turned away, trying not to laugh. It was hardly appropriate at the scene of a violent death.
“What you got for us?” Jeffries asked gruffly as he pulled up his mask, attempting to deflect from his embarrassing entrance. Miller had already raised his mask and was looking at the body. He turned to listen to her answer.
“Body of a young woman, not been in the water long, hard to say if drowning or the head injury are the cause of death, but−”
“Definitely not one of the boat people?”
“Not unless she’s been living somewhere nearby for the last couple of weeks, no. They might know more after the post-mortem.”
Miller looked up at the cliffs above the beach.
“Could she have fallen?”
Seeing his gaze, Lisa started taking photographs of the area above them. The steep cliff was topped with dense woodland, but Callie knew from her walks that there was a path, sometimes steep, sometimes muddy, winding through the trees. It had once gone all the way from the East Cliff of Hastings to Fairlight Cove, but landslides in some places meant that a few sections were now missing or too dangerous to use.
“Anything’s possible,” Callie answered him. “But she’s lying a bit far out for a fall.”
“Could have fallen at high tide, been washed out and back in again.”
Jeffries had a point, but they all knew that could mean she fell in from almost anywhere.
“Colin?” Miller called, and Colin Brewer, the crime scene manager, recognisable in his protective clothing by his short, squat stature, hurried over. Miller pointed up the cliff. “We’re going to need a team to walk along the top of the cliff, see if she fell from somewhere up there.”
“I’ll get a team ready for first thing in the morning, Guv.”
Miller looked as if he was about to argue and ask
