Dead in the Water

by Wilfred Jules

  Inside they suited up in the standard outfit to attend a post-mortem. Yellow vest and green trousers with white wellington boots. They entered the examination room through the swing doors, to the ominous sound of the church bell like opening bars of Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto, one of Ianthe’s favourites. She enjoyed classical music a lot more than modern music, even though she had never enjoyed a musical education. She did not play herself though, as she was notoriously bad at keeping tune.

  “Good morning, Ianthe,” they were greeted cheerfully by the Chief Mortician. “How is Tony doing? We never see you guys any longer!”

  “Hi Nathan. He is doing okay, I guess. Away on a business trip actually. This is Detective Sergeant Ben Armstrong. It’s his first post-mortem.”

  “Oh great,” Nathan laughed, looking at Ben appraisingly. “If you feel ill, tall one, toilets are right where you just came from.”

  “Nice piece of music, Nathan.”

  “Thought you’d like it. Astrid is also a major fan of Rach two and three it appears.”

  They walked over to the last table where Astrid was already remarkably busy with the post-mortem, helped by Nathan’s assistant mortician, Claire Burroughs. Behind them stood the Coroner’s representative, Marc Dunham. The Victim had been opened and all organs had been taken out and weighted. Afterwards they would be put back inside, and he would be sewn up professionally, them made ready for viewing by Nathan. That was the part he really enjoyed most, using all sorts of techniques to make the deceased even of the most gruesome accidents or crimes presentable to their loved ones. It is the last act of kindness a human being can do for another human being, he explained at one time to Ianthe to be the main attraction in it for him.

  “Hello again Astrid,” Ianthe said. “Anything you can tell us already?”

  The pathologist looked up and smiled at them.

  “Yes, absolutely. The Victim was a healthy fifty-four-year-old white male, fit, no smoker, no big drinker. I got his age from his driver’s license to be honest,” she winked.

  “Cause of death?”

  “Trauma by a blunt object to the back of the head. You can see it clearly here,” she explained, turning the victim on his side and mentioning Ianthe and Ben to come closer.

  “Is it possible that the trauma was caused by him falling on the edge of the table where the blood was found?”

  “That would be very unlikely. I have a picture here of the table and the rounded sides do not look at all like what would be needed to make this sort of impression. I am rather thinking a hammer-like instrument. Perhaps a winch handle.”

  “So, we can rule out an accident then. Suspicious death.”

  “Most suspicious indeed. The way I see it, the victim came in through the ladder, then turned left to take something or do something and was hit on the back of his head by someone who had been standing to his right. I remember there were cabins on both sides of the stairs, so I am assuming the assailant may have been hiding in the starboard cabin. He may then have fallen against the table. SOCO should be able to tell you more about it. But by the time he was on the ground, he was either dead or dying.”

  “Anything you can tell us about the timing of all this?”

  “Not that long ago actually. The nice thing is that he lay completely protected from the elements down in the boat, so there was no wind factor or rain we must consider. Stomach examination may give us more information if his next of kin still know when he had his last meal. But based on body temperature I would be confident to put the time of death somewhere between midnight and 1 AM this morning.”

  Exact time of death is awfully hard to establish. In CSI TV series pathologist were always able to establish that almost down to the very minute, but Ianthe knew that was crap. A window of one to two hours was already considered extremely good.

  “Thanks. OK, we will go back to Malling House and set the wheels in motion for this to be treated as a Major Incident. I assume you will keep the body here for now. The widow has been informed and if you give her a call when you are ready for her to come and identify the body, that would be helpful.”

  “That will be some time this afternoon,” Nathan said. His face is relatively unblemished, so it won’t be too tough a job to make him look nice enough for her.”

  Ianthe and Ben hung around for a while waiting, but nothing new or interesting came up from the post-mortem. When it was over, they changed into their normal clothes again in the dressing room. They were about to leave when Nathan joined them briefly.

  “Haven’t I seen you before, Ben?” he said innocently.

  “Could well be,” Ben replied, “if you like volleyball. I used to play for the Brighton Jags for a while”.

  “Don’t particularly like volleyball, actually. No, I meant last week or so. Weren’t you at that party in the Revenge last week?”

  Club Revenge was Brighton’s number one LGBTQ+ venue on Old Steine, remarkably close to the Royal Pavilions. When the later George IV had the Royal Pavilions built in the late eighteenth century for his Brighton born mistress Maria Fitzherbert, no doubt he would never have imagined he would be neighbour to the biggest gay club on the south coast in the twenty-first century.

  Ianthe could see Ben turning an interesting colour.

  “Hmm, the Revenge, don’t think so. Haven’t ever been there I think,” he added, sounding embarrassed.

  “Must have been someone else then,” Nathan backed off immediately. “Anyways, like your suit, big man. Come see us again soon! And that goes for you as well, Ianthe,” Nathan turned to her. “It’s been far too long since we have gone out clubbing together.”

  “Tony is not so much into that scene anymore,” Ianthe used as an excuse. “He prefers to stay at home these days.”

  “That doesn’t mean you cannot go by yourself, girl! You must live a little! Let’s meet up for drinks soon. Perhaps after work tonight?”

  Ianthe tried to make some half-baked excuse but had to promise to try and find time at the end of the day to meet in the Gladstone pub, just down the road from the mortuary.

  Leaving Nathan to go back to the examination, they stepped outside in the drizzle again and went to her car. Inside, Ianthe turned to her companion and asked curiously:

  “What was that all about?”

  Ben shrugged. Clearly uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know really.”

  “I think he fancies you, sergeant,” Ianthe smiled. “That sounded like a very cheesy pick-up phrase to me. At least if you were indeed not in the Revenge. Guy like you with your size would stand out there. Would stand out everywhere I guess!”

  “What now, boss,” Ben changing the subject asked.

  “Well I need to go and talk to the super about promoting this to Major Incident. Then we get it all sorted to start digging what really happened. We will need to talk to Josephine Devos again, but I guess that will have to wait until after the viewing, so we will do that either later tonight or tomorrow morning. We need to get the results of SOCO as well. And I need to clear up some other pending issues for a court case I need to attend tomorrow. Let’s say we have a briefing tonight at 5 PM. Can you talk to Tanya and the PCs again to see if the door-to-door has come up with something?”

  “Sure, boss,” Ben replied. “If you don’t mind dropping me off at home, I will pick up my car and have another look at the marina. Perhaps I can join the door-to-door if it hasn’t finished yet. After that I assume Mr Devos will be ready for viewing and I can come back here to watch her when she is identifying him. Just in case there is something to be noticed.”

  “Good thinking, Ben. I don’t think she has anything to do with it, but still. But please don’t mention yet we are treating this as a murder case. I want to drop that one on her in the morning myself.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right. Where do you live again? “

  “Balfour Road, just off Preston Road.”

  *

  At 12:03 sharp, after she ha
d dropped Ben off in Balfour Road where he lived in a semi-detached right across from the Primary School, Ianthe drove into the parking lot of Malling House in Lewes. The Sussex and Surrey Major Crime team was housed in the same grounds as Sussex Police Headquarters. These were in a stately Queen Anne building on a street that Ianthe Seymour had always considered to be aptly named Church Lane. The offices of the top people of Sussex Police Force were in that building and it always felt a little like being called to the confessional if you were summoned there in person. The Major Crime team itself was located in an anonymous brick building at the back that had served before as a dormitory for police recruits. A few years earlier they had moved here from Sussex House, which was an unpresumptuous factory like building in the suburb of Hollinghurst, quite on the outskirts of Brighton and Hove. The advantage of being in Lewes was that the buildings had been modernized quite recently and there were sufficient parking and work spaces. And if you needed to see the brass, you just had to cross the grounds to the main building. But it was slap bang in the middle of nowhere, she thought. And quite far from where the criminal action tended to be. At least 15 minutes from what counted as downtown Brighton, like the Palace Pier, and that was off peak.

  She parked in front and hurried to the second floor where the detectives had their workspaces. She had stopped on the way at a Waitrose to buy a soggy tuna and egg sandwich that she washed down with a can of Diet Coke at her workstation, while she checked her email and routinely went through the serials, which was the list of police related events that happened in Sussex and that was refreshed continuously. Nothing particularly interesting she saw.

  She needed to have a word with her boss, Detective Superintendent Norman Stokes, but she knew he hated to be disturbed over lunch unless it was absolutely necessary. At 1 PM however she could no longer contain herself and went down to check if he was in his office. He was sitting behind his desk, eating what looked like a salad, which was unusual, and watching his computer monitor at the same time. She knocked on the door and he waved her in and motioned her to sit down on the one spare chair that his tiny office had, while he continued to type and eat at the same time.

  Done typing, he turned to her.

  “Bloody salad,” he said morosely, picking up a dreary looking iceberg leaf with a plastic fork. “Elaine wants me to start eating in a healthier way. She says she’s afraid the junk food will kill me some day. Don’t know where she gets that. I’ve never felt in better shape than now,” he started.

  Shape of a pear, Ianthe thought. His nickname was Winnie the Pooh for some reason all right. But she was too polite to say that and kept herself to nodding in agreement.

  “So, what’s going on, Ianthe. I heard you were called in for that death at Brighton Marina, right? What happened, Vik couldn’t bother to get out of bed?”

  Vik was Vikram Gorti, the Detective Inspector that was Ianthe’s peer and who had been the duty officer last night. He was the one the switchboard had told her they had been unable to raise. Vik had been a DI for quite a few more years than Ianthe and was very envious of her stellar rise. Given his attitude to work these days, he was probably not going anywhere, Ianthe thought.

  “Well, I don’t know, sir, what happened,” she shrugged. “Perhaps he was busy elsewhere in an area with bad reception. I only know the switchboard was unable to reach him.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Winnie snorted. “I heard he has a new baby and the wife has not been going easy on him for the hours we need to keep. Story of our life as coppers, I guess. Still. But anyway, what’s with the body at the marina?”

  Ianthe briefed him about the situation.

  “So, the guy gets an alarm in the middle of the night, runs off to his boat and gets his head bashed in, right?”

  “Yes, that’s about it, sir. If you don’t mind, I would like to keep the case and have it raised to a Major Incident.”

  Winnie nodded.

  “Sounds ok to me if you want it.”

  “Vik might not be happy about me taking the case,” Ianthe warned.

  “I’ll have a word with him. Who do you want on your team?”

  “I would just like to have DS Ben Armstrong and DC Ajanta Ghani, please. Ben has already been working the case with me and is out there now again to make inquiries.”

  “Fine, but that is a pretty small team for a Major incident, Ianthe.”

  “If I need more, I will make sure to come and ask for them on time, sir.”

  “And what’s the plan right now?”

  “Well, I still need to hear back from SOCO on forensics. Then we need to talk to the widow again. I also need to speak to his employer. I probably must go to Reading for that one. His lavish lifestyle is a cause for concern.”

  Pooh bear nodded approvingly.

  “Keep me posted on progress. Do you foresee a press conference?”

  “We may need to ask the public if anyone has seen anything suspicious in or around the marina area. I haven’t had a call from the press yet, but that won’t take long for sure.”

  “All right. Let me know if you need it and I will have it arranged with the press officer asap.”

  “Thanks, guv,” she said, “I’ll start cracking then.”

  *

  Walking into the Intel suite on the first floor, a spacious conference room with monitor lined walls, she called DC Ajanta Ghani to inform her she had been drafted into her small team, which was met with enthusiasm, as always. Ianthe got on very well with Ajanta, who had a very bubbly personality and was always off doing all sorts of physical stuff like mountain climbing or hiking with her boyfriend, who was a good natured albeit a bit dim bloke from Liverpool.

  Less than a minute after she had settled down in the conference room, Vik stormed in.

  “What is this I hear about you going around telling people I am not fulfilling my duties properly?” he accosted her.

  “Hello Vik, and a good day to you, too?” she responded calmly. “And I did nothing of the sort. The switchboard told me they weren’t able to get hold of you early this morning and the matter couldn’t wait. I thought you were probably doing something outside a reception area, so I stepped in. That’s all.”

  “You should have told them to keep trying! In any case, I am here now, so I am taking over the case from you right this instant!”

  “You would need to convince the super of that, Vik,” she said. “He just told me to get on with the case. There’s enough to do anyway, wouldn’t you say?” she added.

  “I will go find him right now! You don’t have enough experience to handle a case like this properly. The super will see that too and remove you before you make another mess of it!”

  “You do that, Vik,” she said rather annoyed now. “Please get out of my hair and take the problem you have with female colleagues to the super and let me go on with the job and find our killer. I have the press waiting for information,” she added a little nastily, as she knew that attention from the press was all ambitious officers like Vik wanted. He was the sort of person who preferred other people to do the heavy lifting, while he would put the feathers on his cap.

  Her phone started ringing when Vik was leaving, seething in anger. She didn’t recognize the number.

  “DI Ianthe Seymour.”

  “Good afternoon, inspector, this is Joyce Rindell from the Argus. Do you have a minute?”

  “Hello Joyce. I don’t really but what can I do for you?”

  “I understand you found a dead body at the Marina on one of the boats there. Care to comment?”

  “It is far too early to say anything worth printing about it, Joyce. We are still looking into the circumstances of what happened exactly.”

  “But are you treating this as murder?”

  “Again, it is too early to say anything about this case except that we did find someone and as you know all deaths are being treated as potential cases until they are cleared by the Coroner. Besides, we still need to speak with the next of kin, so I would be grateful
if you were not printing anything about the case just yet.”

  “If I don’t, what’s in it for me?”

  “Well you will be the first to know how we are going to treat the case. Can I reach you at this number?”

  “Absolutely. I am available 24 by 24, inspector!”

  *

  Ianthe’s quasi obsession with time was well known, so at a few minutes before 5 PM her team started coming in. Ajanta Ghani was a striking young Asian woman, originally from Birmingham, but she had moved to Brighton with her boyfriend who himself was not Asian, which had been causing some issues with her family. She had joined the force just over two years ago and was recently recruited into CID after she had done the mandatory two-year stint on the beat. Ianthe had worked with her on one case involving a rape on campus and she had proven to be quite resourceful. What had helped immensely was that the victim had been Bengali herself and Ajanta had been able to connect with her cultural know how and empathy. The fact that she spoke Bengali and Urdu was also valuable. Asian people and women in particular still had a lot of bias to overcome and hurdles to pass in their career, even in the force where they were perhaps more appreciated than in other positions, but Ianthe considered Ajanta to have great potential to break through the glass ceiling. She was ambitious and hard working. And, very fashion conscious, never to be seen without a Prada handbag and Gucci sunglasses not to forget the Christian Louboutins with red soles and immense heels she was regularly seen in when not on the job. Ianthe was silently somewhat jealous of her style when she herself had to make do with H&M polo-shirts or simple blouses, a single pair of blue jeans that had lasted her now for two years and her simple black Nike sneakers that were about to fall apart, where Ajanta obviously was wearing a pair of Alexander McQueen oversized footwear that must have set her back more than 500 quid. Tony would never approve of such lavish expenditure. Her only object of value was her Astron Seiko timepiece, and that had been a Christmas gift from her dad. Her car, too, had been a gift from her parents. Since she absolutely needed a car as a police officer, Tony had insisted she would buy a small third-hand Toyota as he already had a BMW anyway. When her parents had learned of that, they had insisted that was far too dangerous, also because she did not know the first thing about cars and would not have known what to do when it broke down. So, they had bought her the Audi Q3.