Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,53

shopping and come back on the afternoon boat and half the time they don’t even check your passport.”

“But if it was a large-scale operation—an international group of organized crime?” Evan asked.

“Then it would be HQ, with Scotland Yard providing assistance in all probability. You’re not saying that these restaurant fires had anything to do with that kind of thing, are you?”

“We’re just trying to examine all possibilities,” Watkins said. “We need to find out how a man she apparently didn’t know was found dead inside her locked, burned-out restaurant.”

“I’d check with our HQ if I were you,” Inspector Morris said. “They have a drug task force. All I can tell you is that we never received any hint that there was anything suspect about that place.” He reached for the nearest phone. “Look, do you want me to call Lewes and see who’s around to answer questions today?”

“Uh—no thanks. Maybe we’d better wait until we’ve cleared this with the D.I. at home,” Watkins said quickly. “He might want to have a chat with your drug squad himself. We don’t want to overstep our directive.”

“No, you certainly don’t want to do that.” The inspector gave a tired smile.

Watkins extended his hand. “Thanks for the offer, and for your help.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been of much help to you, but we had no reason to suspect we were dealing with anything other than faulty wiring in an old building. Let me know what the outcome is, will you? I’d like to find out if I’d had a hotbed of drugs under my nose and never knew it.”

“We’ll keep you posted if we find anything,” Watkins said.

They came out to a stiff sea breeze from the Channel. The water was dotted with whitecaps. A ferry was just leaving Newhaven bound for Dieppe. They stood for a moment watching it before Evan said, “I notice you got cold feet suddenly.”

Watkins nodded, still not taking his eyes off the ferry. “It occurred to me that we have no directive to look into anything more than a murder and an arson fire. I don’t want to put my foot into anything that might spoil the D.I.’s big roundup—his Operation Armada. It’s amazing how word gets around, isn’t it?”

“And if the drug route into Wales is part of an organized crime ring, they’ll probably have tipsters all over the place.” He shook his head. “Funny, but I don’t picture her as a cog in the wheel of organized crime somehow.”

“People can find themselves trapped in these things, can’t they? Maybe she owed protection money or she was a small-time user and next thing you know, they’re leaning on her to do them a favor.” The ferry was now just a dark blob in an angry sea. Watkins turned away and started to walk back to the car. “Or it might turn out that this has nothing whatever to do with drugs. I just wish we had one solid lead. I feel like I’m floundering in the dark.”

“So are you going to call the D.I. and then go back to the local headquarters in Lewes?”

Watkins stared out to sea again. “I don’t fancy facing the D.I. at the moment. He thought this jaunt was a waste of time to start with.”

“Maybe we should try the local paper,” Evan suggested. “They would have reported the fire, and who knows—they might have come up with some interesting tidbits the police didn’t know about.”

Watkins sighed. “It’s worth a try, I suppose. It can’t do any harm—although we’re not exactly dealing with the Sun down here, are we? I mean they’re not likely to be digging down for deep dark secrets.”

Evan grinned. “More like who won the baking contest at the townswomen’s guild?”

They checked at the nearest telephone booth for the newspaper offices and then drove back into Eastbourne.

“Nice country, this,” Evan commented as he drove between hills covered in smooth green grass on which sheep were grazing. “Sort of clean and fresh, if you know what I mean.”

“You make it sound like a deodorant ad,” Watkins said. “And don’t go breaking into song, either. I’m not feeling ultracheerful at the moment.”

“Have last night’s steak and wine come back to haunt you?”

Watkins shook his head. “No, I’m just trying to decide what we should do now. We know the restaurant burned down but everyone here thinks it was an accident and they had no suspicions about Madame Yvette or anything illegal going on. It doesn’t look as if we’ll get much further