Dead in the Water

by Wilfred Jules

  *

  He saw the bright red mini cooper of DC Ajanta Ghani driving into the garage. Figures she had a mini cooper and red as well. For lack of funds to buy a Porsche, he thought sarcastically. He liked Ajanta though. She was a competent officer, which was really all that mattered, but below the glamour there was also a sensitive person, who was well read and had had her part of life’s tragedies already, he knew, having fallen out with her family over her boyfriend. At least that was what he had heard. So far, they had never discussed anything but the job.

  She parked next to his Jeep and they both alighted.

  *

  DI Ianthe Seymour was obviously in a foul mood and glaring at him.

  “Uhm, good morning Detective Inspector, sorry I am a wee bit late,” DC John Ryan stammered.

  “Good morning. We had arranged to meet here at quarter past eight and you opened the door at precisely nineteen minutes and twenty-five second after the hour. That does not make you a ‘wee bit’ late, but extremely late in my book! What part of ‘quarter past’ do you not understand?”

  “I am terribly sorry, guv’, I would have been on time if I had not been stopped …,” he tried to explain, but Ianthe would have nothing of it.

  “Excuses, excuses, are you one of those people who will always find an excuse for their shortcomings? You may think I am making a great fuss about nothing at all, but there will be a time when not living up to a deadline or arrangement will make all the difference. Look, we haven’t had the chance to work together yet so I’ll let this slip, but next time we agree on a time to meet or on a deadline, you’d better make sure you keep up your end of the arrangement, or, if you cannot, you tell me in advance. And you can call me Ianthe, by the way.”

  John nodded, thinking by himself that there might be some truth in what Vik had been telling him. On the other hand, there was some value in her admonishment. Delivery had been a bit harsh though, he thought.

  “Right,” Ianthe continued in a much more pleasant tone, “I believe you know what Operation Blackbird is all about?”

  John nodded.

  “Yes, guv’ … I mean Ianthe, I had a brief chat with DC Ghani earlier this morning and she briefed me in full.”

  “Excellent. Good thinking. And DC Ghani forgot to tell you I am rather particular when time is concerned?” she said sarcastically. “Still, that is saving us some time. You and I are going to have a second interview with Mrs Josephine Devos, the widow of our victim. She does not officially know yet that we are treating this as a murder case, so we’ll break that to her, see how she reacts. We also need to find out more about his job and his promotion. The obvious display of wealth makes me a little wary.”

  “Why is that, Ianthe?”

  She shrugged.

  “Don’t know, really. Call it coppers’ nose. Might be nothing at all. Right. Your car or mine?”

  Oops, John thought and said with some embarrassment: “I believe it will have to be yours, Ianthe. I don’t have a car. I came on my motorbike.”

  Ianthe lifted her left eyebrow, which was something he had never seen anyone do before.

  “No car? That’s special. What kind of motorbike do you ride?”

  “A Harley-Davidson Forty-Eight Special.”

  To his relief, she smiled.

  “A Harley, huh. I would not have taken you for a Harley guy. That is something, all right.”

  “Do you know about motorbikes and Harleys, Ianthe?”

  “Not a lot really,” she smiled. “But I do love the plop plop sound of a Harley. No mistaking that. If ever I buy a motorbike, it would be a Harley all right, if only for that sound.”

  “Did you know Harley-Davidson actually filed a trademark for that sound?”

  “Nope. You learn something every day, don’t you? Perhaps we should go together on your bike.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a one-seater.”

  “Then it will have to be my car. Nothing as fancy as your bike I’m afraid. Just an Audi.”

  She picked up her cheap little backpack and stepped out with John in tow.

  *

  “Sussex Police,” Ben said to the freckled young lady at the reception desk of the office at the end of the West Jetty of Brighton Marina. “We’d like to have a word with the harbour master. Is he around?”

  She smiled.

  “Actually, I’m the harbour master. Moira Kelly. What can I do for you?”

  “Oops,” Ben said. “Sorry about that. Can we talk somewhere privately?”

  “No worries. I get that a lot. We can step into my office of course. Perhaps you would like to see the Security Manager, too? He’s a proper bloke, mind you,” she smiled, leading them into a small office.

  “Sure, but we will speak to him afterwards.”

  They settled in the rather basic chairs. Moira offered tea or coffee, which both Ben and Ajanta declined politely.

  “So, Ms Kelly, I am Detective Sergeant Ben Armstrong, and this is Detective Constable Ajanta Ghani. We are part of the investigation team into the murder of Mr Bert Devos last Monday night here in the marina.”

  Moira’s eyes enlarged visibly, and her mouth formed a silent “oh”.

  “Wow, murder. I had no idea. Of course, I knew Bert passed away while on Polaris, but I thought it would be ruled an accident.”

  “Why would you say that, miss?” Ajanta asked.

  “Feel free to call me Moira and, well, you know, accidents happen all the time in marinas and ours is no exception. And as we are the biggest marina in the UK, we have our fair share even if we run prevention campaigns. People trip over ropes, slip on the finger piers, fall down the ladder bumping their heads, often enough even end up in the water. But usually it ends with nothing more than cuts and bruises. We haven’t had anyone die here on my watch.”

  “Did you know Mr Devos well?” Ben asked.

  She nodded.

  “I did know him quite well, for sure. After all, he spent most of his time on Polaris, and he was an active member. One of the most active members we have I would think.”

  “In what way, Moira?” Ben added.

  “He was out sailing a lot. Perhaps as much as three days a week. Most of the time he even spent the night away. That’s unusual you know. We have in-water berthing for up to 1,200 boats here in Brighton. At any time during the season from May to September we have perhaps around 1,000 boats moored. Now you would think that if you have an investment like that you would want to make the maximum out of it, would you not? No sir. Ninety percent of those boats don’t move even once during the sailing season. Just ten percent go out on the water more or less frequently. And almost all of these just do day trips. Perhaps one percent ever is gone for a couple of days. So, yes, Bert was a highly active member. He even sailed outside the season in fall or winter.”

  “So, when you say he sailed for three days a week, I assume he was gone from Friday to Sunday, most of the time?” Ajanta inquired.

  “Not at all. It was almost always weekdays. I saw him working on his boat for instance Monday to Tuesday, and then he would be off Wednesday to Thursday or Friday.”

  “Every week?” Ajanta asked with a frown on her face.

  “Used to be less, but for the past six months, yes.”

  “Did you discuss it with him,” Ben wanted to know.

  “Sure. I was a little curious of course. And we like to keep our active members happy. They are especially important for the marina. Without active members like Bert, it would feel a bit like a sham, would it not? So, he told me he was semi-retired and could do the work from the boat anyway as we have exceptionally good Wi-Fi connections. And he was on the water a lot as he was training for “The Royal Escape” rally our club organises end of May.”

  The Royal Escape was an extremely popular sailing boat race and rally from Brighton to Fecamp in France that was always organized by the Sussex Boat Club at the end of May. It commemorated how King Charles II following defeat in the Battle of Worcester in 1651 escaped to the
Continent in a coal brig from Shoreham on the west end of Brighton & Hove. Every year more than 50 sailing yachts compete.

  “He actually didn’t venture out much during weekends. I know sometimes he took Josephine, his wife, and the kids out, but they are not really into it I believe. And he always said he found the marina too crowded during weekends. Can’t blame him for that, really,” she added.

  “Did he sometimes take guests or charter Polaris out?”

  She hesitated a second, but it was noticeable.

  “Obviously, he did take a few guests once in a while. Not a lot really. If you mean by chartering, having paying guests, that would actually not be allowed without permit. I admit we might have turned a blind eye if that happened not all that often. But I doubt Bert did that. Why do you ask?”

  “We just want to get as complete a picture as possible.”

  “And did you ever notice anything unusual going on? Odd characters hanging about? Other members he had had arguments with?”

  She shook her head.

  “Nope. Can’t say I ever heard him say anything untoward. Everyone seems to have liked him.”

  “Not everyone, obviously,” Ajanta added drily.

  They got up and fished out a card to give to Moira Kelly.

  “If you think of something, please give one of us a call on those numbers. Perhaps we can talk to the Security Manager now?”

  “That would be Theo Griffiths. Sure. This time of the day he would be doing his tour of the marina I think.”

  They went out on the jetty, and Moira pointed in the direction of Polaris.

  “I see he’s over there at the ablution block on the East Jetty. Those must be your divers he’s watching I guess?”

  Ben and Ajanta said goodbye to Moira and via the main walkway they went to the East Jetty where they were met by Theo Griffiths, who was talking in a handheld radio when they approached.

  “Sussex Police, I assume? Moira just informed me over the radio you wanted to talk to me about what happened to Bert. That’s a shocker all right. I guess these guys,” he pointed to the divers, “are with your team?”

  The Security Master of Brighton marina was a special constable with Sussex Police in his spare time, so he was well aware of the protocol. He also confirmed what Moira Kelly had been telling them about Bert Devos. There was little he could add. He had already secured the CCTV footage for the past week for the entire marina and told them he had actually taken it to Sussex Police HQ himself this morning, care of Operation Blackbird.

  After, Ben and Ajanta went to visit Laverne Robbins and her team. No luck so far.

  “Well, that conversation didn’t really help us clear up anything, did it?” Ajanta said. “Mr Devos seems to have been quite a mystery.”

  “Let’s go back to Malling House,” Ben suggested, “and start on those tapes. Ianthe and John Ryan will be at Mrs Devos’s right now. I bet you anything Ianthe will call me the minute she’s out of that meeting to see what we came up with.”

  “John is a good lad. He thought of calling me last night to be briefed so that he was fully ready for Ianthe,” Ajanta answered.

  “Did you warn him about our boss’ fascination with time?”

  “Nope,” Ajanta grinned. “I must have forgotten about that.”

  Ben was still smiling when he opened the door of his Jeep.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ianthe and John had just brought Josephine Devos the bad news that her husband had been murdered. She had been flabbergasted and had not been able to offer any information at all about a potential culprit. As far as she knew, Bert had no enemies at all. He was socially involved in the community in Lewes, president of the wine tasting club, participated in a number of charities, etc.. In brief, everything one could expect from a middle-aged businessman.

  As soon as they were back in her car, Ianthe called Ben on her handsfree to get an update on any progress they might have made in the marina.

  “So, Bert Devos is becoming more and more an enigma,” she frowned. “Mrs Devos was not able either to give us any clues as to who or why. John and I will arrange for a meeting with his Nokia manager in Reading. That’s about an hour and a half drive. Let’s hope they can give us more insights in what Bert has been doing. He must have had a great job that was paying him that well and still giving him the spare time to go sailing so often. Can you and Ajanta come up here to Lewes and do a bit of canvassing around the neighbourhood? Talk to his neighbours to hear what they have to say about Bert.”

  “Sure, guv’, we can do that right now. After that, I was thinking to go back to Malling House and have a start on the CCTV with Ajanta, if that is fine with you.”

  “If there is time that may be a good idea. We will meet you back at Malling House at five for our briefing then.”

  While she drove off, John found the number for the Nokia office in Reading and arranged for the Country Senior Officer to meet them there at eleven. He had not wanted to give them too much of preparation time, so he just said they were from Sussex Police and needed information about one of their employees.

  *

  At ten forty-nine Ianthe drove her car onto the parking lot of Arlington Business Park in Theale, close to Reading. They had not talked a lot during the drive, which was fine by her. Just some small talk about where John was living in a flat in Lancing with his mum. He was an only child. His father had been a travelling salesman but had sadly passed away in a traffic accident over ten years ago already. His parents had been quite advanced in years when they got him so his mum who had been working in the local Tesco had never returned to work when his dad had died. Quite recently she had officially retired. They had been living off his dad’s life insurance and some money they had managed to put aside. Even though they were not quite comfortably off, they managed to make ends meet. They never went on a holiday abroad and his mum did not like the crowds, so she hardly ever left Lancing, spending most of her days doing crosswords or cleaning, and most of her evenings watching the telly with him next to her on the couch. A pretty sad life, Ianthe thought. Not that her private life was so exciting.

  “Don’t tell me you stay in Lancing all through the weekends as well,” she said.

  “I try not to,” he smiled. “I like to take long drives on my bike through the countryside. I’m club secretary of the Sussex Coasters, which is based out of Steyning. We are part of the Harley Davidson Riders Club of Great Britain and meet once a month in the Castle Inn. And we organize drives mainly through Sussex and along the south coast. I’ve been all the way to Falmouth,” he proudly added.

  Falmouth!, Ianthe thought. How exciting. Not.

  “And I do a bit of sailing as well of course,” John added.

  “Oh yes, Pooh Bear already mentioned that one. You have your own boat as well?”

  He laughed at that.

  “Not at all. Far too expensive on coppers wages. It’s not just the boat, but you have the berthing costs, maintenance, regular updates and so on. A boat is a bottomless pit you throw money in. My dad used to have a dinghy and taught me to sail in that one, but when he passed away my mum sold it. No, I don’t have a boat myself, but fortunately there are enough skippers who are looking for crew all the time. So that is what I do. I have a mate who keeps a twenty-four-footer on a swing mooring in Chichester, so when the forecast is good, we regularly go out on Sundays. Nothing spectacular, just a bit of cruising along the coastline.”

  “What do you think a boat like Bert’s would cost? It’s a ten-year old Beneteau Oceanis 46.1.”

  “Well it makes a big difference if you buy it new or second hand. Beneteau is a noticeably big brand so you can probably find one that size and about ten years old for just over one hundred grand. A berth at Brighton marina would set you back at least three grand a year, maintenance you should consider another ten grand per year. At minimum.”

  “Costly hobby. And that size of boat, can someone handle it by himself, or would he need crew in your opinion?”

 
“It would definitely be more comfortable if there are two or three of you, but those modern boats are set up for shorthanded sailing anyway, so an experienced sailor would have little problem sailing it by himself. And definitely not if the weather is good.”

  “Good to know. Let’s go in and see what we find out here.”

  She had parked close to the entrance of a low-rise building that carried the rather odd name ‘Hive 1’. At ten fifty-nine they went in through the turnstile and followed the sign to reception. At the desk they flashed their warrant cards. The receptionist called someone to announce their presence and then brought them to a small meeting room. She asked if they wanted any beverages, which they declined, and disappeared again. Just a few seconds later, a broad middle-aged man breezed in and offered his hand.

  “I’m Conor Bates, Country Senior Officer for Nokia in the UK. What can I do for you?”