dead in the water
by
Wilfred Jules
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
For Ingeborg
CHAPTER 1
The westerly drove the rain right into Bert’s face. He cursed his luck as he was fumbling for his key fob to open the gate to the east jetty of Brighton Marina. The bleak yellow light of the lamppost was not helping much either. After three tries he finally managed to fish the key out of his left pocket and the metallic gate swung open. Pulling his cap down in a futile attempt to keep his glasses dry Bert hurried through. Just his luck, he thought, that it would be raining cats and dogs when he had to come down here to check on his sailboat.
“Polaris” was a 46-foot Beneteau Oceanis he had purchased two years ago. He had a permanent berth here at Brighton Marina. There had been a warning of thieving at the marina, so he had recently installed a Yacht Sentinel system that enabled him to remotely check the boat’s status through a mobile app. At 11:45 PM his wife Josephine and he had just been about to retire for the night at their comfortable home in Lewes when he had received an alarm from Yacht Sentinel that the position of “Polaris” had changed. Bert had called the Berthing Master of the Marina who patrolled at night, but he had not picked up. He had had a false alarm before – a strong wind like tonight could set off the position alarm and he had been thinking he should recalibrate the sensor to make it less sensitive. He considered it better not to call the police. So, while his wife had gone to bed, Bert had driven his black BMW X5 down to the Marina to check on the boat himself. He had parked at the parking lot of the ASDA Superstore as he knew some work was being done on the boat owners parking lot which was closer to the East Jetty and it was locked at night for this and next week. While the first drops were coming down and the wind had picked up, he had hurried across the walkway passing the pubs and restaurants that had opened along the quays in the past few years. No one was around as all these places had been closed on this cold Monday evening in May.
“Polaris” had a draught of just over 2 meters so was berthed at the very end of the East jetty on pontoon 24. Bert walked quickly past the shower block in that direction. The sailboats’ rigging was banging under the Force 6 westerlies. Quite a lot of boats had already been moved from their winter berths on the dry to the water as the weather had been quite fine over the past couple of weeks. He could not yet make sure “Polaris” was there, but he did see an anchor light in the top of a mast that could be hers.
He turned right onto pontoon 24 and was relieved to see that indeed she was there in her own berth, tied up bows-to as usual. As expected, the anchor light was glowing white in the top of her mast. Would that have triggered the alarm? Weird, he was usually quite a stickler for switching the lights off, even if she was connected to shore power. Okay, he would get in, switch off the lights and the alarm, and then he might decide to stay on the boat and sleep here, so that he could have a look at what must have caused the false alarm in the morning. He should probably put a call in to the chandler that had sold him the Sentinel, he thought crossly.
Bert put his foot on the anchor and holding on to the forestay pulled himself up. He walked quickly across the deck to the cockpit and removed the entry hatch. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. Obviously, a false alarm he thought. Glad to be out of the rain, he went down the ladder to the saloon and turned left to switch on the overhead light.
CHAPTER 2
“Tell me more,” a voice told her. It was like the voice of Mary, her psychologist, but not quite. And she was not quite alone either in her living room. There was a sort of haze drifting all around her. Tony must have forgotten to cover the fireplace. As if that was anything new, she thought. She must remember to do that herself before she went to work. Smouldering fireplaces could become dangerous, her dad kept reminding her. But who else was here? “Tony?”, she whispered. Something moved. Panicking she looked around but had nothing to defend herself with. He rushed her with a knife in his outstretched hand.
Ianthe woke up screaming. Immediately realizing she was safe in her own bed, she sat up, breathing heavily. The other side of the bed where her boyfriend Tony normally slept was empty. She was relieved to see he was not there. He would not have been happy waking up to another one of her nightmares. Then she remembered he had left on one of his short business trips yesterday and was only due back tonight or even tomorrow. He had not been sure of when exactly he would return or had not wanted to tell her. Which was so typical. It was as if he were hoping she would do something to cause his displeasure in his absence. He always managed to find something about her or what she did that displeased him anyway. And still he always managed to make her feel guilty.
She sighed. How it had ever come to this she did not understand. As certain of herself as she was in her job, that insecure she had become in her personal life. Tony had swept her off her feet with his natural flair, which probably was the result of his Calabrian upbringing, being the son of an Italian father and an American mother, who had chosen to continue to live in Napoli, even after their divorce. His father pretended to be some sort of artist, while his mother could only manage to hold odd jobs like guiding tourists around Naples during the summer season. So, while they had not exactly been poor, thanks to handouts they received from his American grandparents, it had not been grand either. Tony had spent his secondary education in Italy, as it was almost free of charge, and then had escaped as soon as possible to Britain where he had enrolled in Computing Sciences at the University of Glasgow. As he carried an Italian as well as an American passport, he was entitled to the same advantages Scottish students had in terms of college fees. And that is where Ianthe had met him when she was studying Social Sciences, specializing in Criminology at the Caledonian University. Having been raised mainly abroad as well, she had found him less dour and more open minded than her British fellow students. She was attracted by his pretend bohemian lifestyle. And by his hipster looks of course. Yes, she still considered him physically incredibly attractive. Her family had been less enamoured by Tony, and even though they had supported both of them, her dad going as far as paying for his study material, it had been obvious to both of them that they did not like him much. So there were big smiles all around when Tony had announced that he had found a job with one of the tech firms in Brighton, their hopes immediately shattered by Ianthe’s announcement she was planning to go live with him there and apply for a job with Sussex Police. Which she had done.
That was just 5 years ago. She had had a stellar career so far. The only copper in the history of Brighton police who had been on the beat for less than a year before the Senior Investigating Officer of a particularly gruesome rape case she had been involved in, recognized her talents and promoted her to CID. And even though Tony liked to say that she just had had dumb luck, she knew that was certainly not the case. As a young woman from a rather protected background, she had had to prove herself more than her male colleagues. That was still a fact in all police forces, not just Sussex Police, even though she could not really complain about the local force in terms of diversity and inclusion. What did not help either was that physically, at 5 ft 4 inches, she did not really strike an imposing figure. Sh
e knew she was pretty in a not too obvious way. Even though Tony did his best to minimize that fact, she had had enough compliments to that effect that she had come to believe it. She did like her oval face, crowned by raven black wavy hair that descended just below her shoulders, her smallish ears and huge brown glittering eyes, that were no doubt her best feature. Lips, too, that were such a natural red they did not need lipstick, to the envy of her female colleagues. And a classic Greek nose, fortunately not anything like the big gob that ran in the family. But she was small, that much was true. And that could not be helped. But being extremely strong willed when she set her mind to something, she had started to counter her limitations in size by exercising obsessively. She always rose very early to be first in the gym, usually showered there before returning home and driving her white Audi Q3 to CID HQ at Malling House in Lewes where most of the time she was again the one who switched on the lights in the morning. And switched them off in the evening. She had put in lots and lots of hours, more and more so she realized as her relationship with Tony had deteriorated.
He had not fared so well at his IT company. He had boasted he would be promoted very quickly. But as he liked to play games on his PlayStation until the wee hours, he slept late, started going to the office way past decent starting hours and even took sick days off. So even while his company kept him on, as B.Sc.’s in Computer Science were hard to come by, they did not dream of promoting him anywhere beyond the rather basic support function he had now. The funny thing was that everyone saw that, except Tony. He was convinced there were some office politics that discriminated against people from the EU and he continuously ranted against them to whoever was in listening range. When they had first come to live at 25 Norfolk Terrace, they had easily made some friends in the very international crowd that lives in Brighton. Sunday roast with her friend Jocelyn from New Zealand and her boyfriend James who she had met in the gym had become a tradition quickly. But as Tony started to drink more heavily, Joss and James had started to leave early, or had other stuff to do on Sundays. All other friendships slowly vaporized around them. Ianthe used the time more and more to go to the office, even on weekends. Her case load was piling up anyway. She could not really take the cases home with her either, as she had caught Tony once going through some sensitive documents and had realized if she wanted to keep her job, she would have to leave her documents in the office as she could not trust him not going through them. Not that he was so interested in what she was doing at work. He was just very jealous and continuously accusing her of flirting with her male colleagues and superiors.
So, she left early when he was still asleep, and came back late to find him stretched out in front of the PlayStation fighting some remote adversary, often with a half empty bottle of Finlandia next to him and surrounded by empty crisp packets. She cooked and cleaned and listened to his complaints. About her.
The odd thing was that he was paid very well. And even though he was not being promoted, he did get a pay raise or an additional bonus quite often. More often even recently when he had started to travel for business to customers to give them on-site support. Support in what exactly, Ianthe did not know, even though she was quite computer savvy herself. But she did not care too much. She found herself quite liking the time she had to herself when he was away on business even if it was just the one or two nights. She had the time then to clean house and found herself enjoying coming back earlier than what had become her custom and drink a glass of Primitivo all by herself. Sometimes, not often, she even had a lie-in and skipped morning gym.
Perhaps she would invite Joss over tonight to share that glass of Primitivo with her, she thought, almost contentedly, switching off her alarm clock before it sounded, while she started to get out of bed. It was 4:28 AM and pitch dark outside. Her gym was open 24 hours a day and she usually got there at 5:00 AM. She might be even earlier today, she thought. Her routine took exactly one hour, so with a ten-minute shower, she would probably be in the office at 6:45 AM. That would give her a head start on some of the cold cases that had been assigned to her by her boss, Detective Superintendent Norman Stokes, also known as “Winnie the Pooh” due to his profile’s quite remarkable similarity to that character. Although in character he was more like that other person who resembled the cartoon character, the president of China, Xi Jinping. Not that Ianthe had ever met the Chinese president (she had come close once), but he was supposed to be both extremely clever and ruthless. Yeah, she thought, quite like “Winnie”.
Ianthe brushed her teeth and slipped on her old gym outfit that Tony said made her look fat. But he was not here, was he. She slipped into her pink Janoski sneakers (a hand-me-down from her sister) and grabbed her bag and her keys when her mobile rang at exactly 5:01 AM.
Private number, she noticed. That usually only meant one thing. She dropped her bag and keys again while she pushed the green button on her phone.
“Good morning. This is DI Ianthe Seymour,” she said.
“Good morning, Detective Inspector, this is Patrick at the switchboard. I hope this is not too early for you. The duty officer unfortunately is not picking up and we have a situation at Brighton Marina that needs the attention of a senior officer.”
“No worries, Patrick, I was up anyway. Mind you, the duty officer won’t be too pleased you called me. But give me the details and I will be on my way.”
“OK, ma’am. The location is the East Jetty of Brighton Marina. A PC is there now with someone from Brighton Marina security. SOCO are on their way already as well.”
“All right, I will go over immediately. Can you please see if you can reach DS Armstrong for me and ask him to join me there?”.
Ianthe changed into her business suit. Five minutes later she picked up the holdall containing her crime-scene kit, stepped out of her door into the rainy night and drove off down Norfolk Road towards King’s Road.
CHAPTER 3
The lamp posts shed their gloomy light when Ianthe Seymour parked her Audi on level five of the Brighton Marina Car Park at 5:26 AM. At this time of the early morning, the drive had just taken her 12 minutes, even if she was an incredibly careful, even hesitant driver. Fortunately, it had stopped raining. She got out of the car, got her holdall from the booth and hurried up the stairs to the bridge that led her directly along the boardwalk to the main fairway at the West Quay Pub. Tony and herself used to have some good times, she thought morosely, at the pubs and restaurants along the walkway. The Prezzo Italian restaurant had been a favourite of them both, although Tony would always comment the food had been Anglicized too much and was not genuinely Italian, whatever that might mean.
There were two jetties at Brighton Marina, which was the largest pleasure craft marina in the UK, with sufficient berths for 1,200 boats, owned by Premier Marinas. The switchboard officer had told her to go to the East Jetty, which was about 300 yards down the main walkway. She had considered trying to park in the East Parking lot, but she knew that was only for people that were fortunate enough to possess a boat that was berthed here and you needed to access it using a key fob. She had not wanted to risk having to drive back if there was no one around to give her access.
A big man sporting a black Northface jacket displaying the Premier Marina logo was waiting for her at the gated entrance to the East Jetty. Ianthe showed him her warrant card and he took a key fob from his pocket to open the gate for her.
“Good morning, detective,” he greeted her. “The constable who was here first is waiting for you at pontoon 24 with some of your colleagues. Just go down the jetty and you can’t miss them.”
“It’s detective inspector actually,” she said. “Is this the only entrance to the jetty?”
“Yes, ma’am, on the other side it’s just open water so that the boats can pass to and from the lock to the inner harbour.”
“And you must use a key fob like you have to enter?”
“Quite.”
“All right. Can you please make sure that no one touches that gate?�
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“Yes, ma’am. The constable had already said the same and your colleagues in the white suits have already dusted it for fingerprints.”
“That’s great. Can you please wait here and not allow anyone else but police officers to the jetty?”
“Not even the boat owners?”
“Definitely not. If anyone shows up, please take their names, or make them wait. I will send a constable to relieve you as soon as possible.”
With that she walked down the jetty in the direction of the great lights her SOCO colleagues must have set up at the boat. At the entrance to pontoon 24 that had been taped off a young PC watched her approaching. She flashed her warrant card at him.
“DI Ianthe Seymour. I guess you called us in?”
“Yes, ma’am. PC Ian Thompson. Switchboard received a call at 4:15 AM from Gerry Nichols from Premier Marina Security who you must have met at the gate. He had found something awry when he was doing his early morning round of the marina. He had noticed the entry hatch of “Polaris” – that’s the boat’s name – had been left open. As it was raining rather heavily, he wanted to close it and then saw there was someone lying at the foot of the entrance ladder inside the boat and there was blood. He said he only went in to check for a pulse and immediately called 999. I got here at 4:25 and had switchboard call you in and alerted SOCO. A pathologist is also on the way.”
“Excellent thinking, constable. Did you enter the boat?”
“Only to check for a pulse, ma’am. And I had put on latex gloves I always carry around. I then left the boat immediately and allowed no one on it anymore.”
“You will make a good CID detective. Can you double check if anyone is staying on any of the other boats on this jetty? If there are, take their details and tell them we will want to speak with them. Then please go relieve Mr Nichols at the gate. Call in another PC to assist you.”
Dead in the Water Page 1
