Dead in the Water

by Wilfred Jules

  Sean and Ajanta had become inseparable. During the rest of his term in Birmingham they saw each other every day. When her family had found out about her seeing a white Irish Catholic boy, they had given her a stern talking to, but then had chosen to further ignore it, assuming it was an infatuation that would blow over as soon as Sean would have to return to Galway at the end of the term and Ajanta had wanted to finish her policing degree and they had assumed after graduation she would apply to join West Midlands Police force in Birmingham. They had been wrong though. After he had gone back to wrap up his degree at NUI Galway, they had spoken on the phone or video-chatted every day. His family had also been worried about the developing relationship, but when Sean had told them he had no intention of converting to Islam and that indeed Ajanta did not require him to do so, they had been at peace with it. And when Ajanta had joined them for Easter celebrations, they had welcomed her and had said nothing when she had stayed with Sean in his room.

  After graduation, Sean had had a pick of positions in Ireland, but had selected to apply for jobs in the UK to be closer to Ajanta. He had landed an interesting and well-paid position as a Software Engineer with Unity Technologies, the global leader in game development platforms, in their office in Brighton. He had moved there immediately and had found a two-bedroom flat on 40 Buckingham Place, which was very close to the railway station and the Unity office.

  Ajanta’s family had been on high alert by that time, however. It was unthinkable for them that she would continue to be romantically involved with a non-Muslim man. Although it was socially acceptable for a Muslim man to live with or marry a Christian woman, the inverse was intolerable. The view was that women eventually would want to follow their husband’s faith and therefore become apostate, which is a capital offence in Sharia law. Men on the other hand are assumed to be more level-headed and less easily persuaded to give up their beliefs. The minimum that would have been expected was for Sean to convert to Islam. Even then it would not be a walk in the park. The Bengali community in Birmingham was so close knit that it would hardly be admissible from someone outside that community albeit a Muslim to have a relationship with a Bengali girl. Worse, the partners were even assumed to be originally from the same Bengal district in what is now Bangladesh. Ajanta had first been approached by her most senior aunt on the instruction of her uncles. They had communicated the family might be prepared to give her a break if Sean would accept to convert to Islam, even if it would only be in name. He would not be expected to strictly adhere all the pillars of Islam if he did not want to, like pray five times per day or not drink alcohol. Ajanta had refused even to discuss it with Sean as a possibility. She thought the suggestion was utterly hypocritical and even though she did not pray much either or even strictly keep the fast these days during Ramadan, she did believe in a good divine being and thought such a being could not possibly desire or reward hypocrisy. Besides, one of her nieces had married Hamish McManus, a Scot, who had converted to avoid these issues, but he was still being shunned by the rest of the family anyway, not being invited to parties, excluded from iftar invitations and even when they visited he had not been asked to stay for dinner, which was unthinkable really in Asian society. And the reason for that was that he was not Bengali, let alone from the right district.

  Her mother in Bangladesh had been informed as well. She had decided to follow another path to dissuade her daughter. She had consulted a matchmaker and Ajanta had been beleaguered with resumes of all sorts of dashing young Bengal men, either still in Bangladesh and hoping to have an opportunity to come to the UK, or in Great Britain already. It had never ceased to amaze her how many young Asian girls in the end gave in and imported a husband from abroad. Often someone they had hardly met. And while she was not totally against matchmaking or arranged marriages if it were done for the proper reasons and by the appropriate people, she did not think it would be the right thing for her. And indeed, more often than not had she witnessed unhappy couples as a result of this, where husband and wife had become estranged very quickly. In the majority of cases, there was a huge difference in the level of education to start with. Educational standards in the UK, even if they were not on a par with a lot of other countries, were so much higher than in Bangladesh. And Asian girls having been raised in England truly were very dissimilar from girls raised “back home”. The majority of them were only Asian in features but English in every other way. The husbands who had been flown in to marry English born Asians soon realized they were inferior to their wives from an educational perspective and they had a terribly hard time embracing English culture. Very often they also had great difficulties landing a good job, whereas in their home country their local degree would have opened doors in England they were only able to get zero-hour jobs at McDonald’s. As a result, they felt totally inadequate, having to rely on their wives to provide for the family. Some of them did the sensible thing, divorced and returned to Bangladesh. The majority stayed and either tried to make the best of it and accepted the situation. A minority worked it out on their family with sexual and domestic violence known about by Asian society but unreported by women and children who were trapped in a pervasive culture of shame.

  Ajanta had concluded there were only two ways open to her. Either she had to give up on Sean Flaherty or she had to distance herself from her Asian roots and family. She had decided on the second option and had applied to join Sussex Police in Brighton where she had been accepted in the on-the-job training programme. She had moved in with Sean immediately. Her family had not exactly cut all ties but had selected to ignore her behaviour. She was still invited to parties and events, but Sean was not. No one of her extended family ever came visiting, not even if they happened to be in Brighton. There were one or two nieces that she knew were studying currently for undergraduate degrees at the University of Brighton, but not one of them had ever called her or come to visit. No one had asked her how she was doing in her new job. No one ever asked her anything really.

  Her background had instilled a feeling of insecurity on her. The traumatic events of her father’s death and her mother’s desertion had led to her feeling very inadequate to cope with her environment and life in general. She had seen how nephews and nieces had become lawyers and doctors but even so had not been truly accepted outside the Asian community in English society where class was still everything. And her choice to join the police had not been applauded but derided. At the same time, she could not fail to notice that while class was born in and could not be bought, you could build a façade of expensive things. And very few people would see or would even want to look beyond that façade. So, she had started to wear more make-up and bought her clothes from Prada and her sunglasses from Gucci. She purchased Louboutin stiletto shoes and Dries Van Noten business suits. She would not be seen on simple Nike sneakers, but wore Alexander McQueen footwear. And her gym outfit came from Lululemon. The red mini cooper had been a great indulgence she could ill afford, and she spent a massive amount of money on hairdressers, make-up artists and products, all to create and broadcast a successful image of herself. That had fooled quite a lot of people in the force and she had no doubt her aura of achievement had contributed greatly to her fast rise to a Detective Constable position in CID. She loved that job. And the power it gave her. Even Asian men had to defer to her when she was in function. And she had been able on various occasions to assist on inquiries where her instinctive knowledge of what was going on in Asian society had been a great help. She had been particularly proud of having been able to assist in solving a case of intramarital rape in the Asian community, a crime that even most Imams did not realize existed, that it was against UK law.

  Sean was the only one who was not fooled. He never complained about the amount of money she spent. But the few times they had been able to go away together on a short holiday abroad, he had preferred to see her in a pair of old blue jean shorts and a simple tank top wearing no make-up at all. Ajanta knew he loved her very much. And she loved hi
m. But she also knew she had to overcome her demons all by herself in the end.

  Ajanta absolutely stood in awe of DI Ianthe Seymour, who simply appeared not to care about class and was the epitome of self-assurance.

  *

  Ianthe opened the rickety front door to the ground floor flat she shared with Tony in Belvedere Terrace with some apprehension. It was completely dark inside. Had Tony gone to bed already? That would be quite out of character. She kicked off her tired black sneakers, noticing with dismay the sole of the right one had started to give way. She would have to mend that temporarily with some glue. She promised herself to go out on Saturday to finally find a new pair. Perhaps she should ask Ajanta for some advice about which brand to buy but dismissed that thought immediately. Ajanta’s sneakers must cost a fortune. But they did look good. Boy, did she envy Ajanta’s taste in clothes and the way she seemed to feel relaxed in her glamorous style. No, she would go for a new pair of cheaper Nikes, she thought. Not as glamorous perhaps but this pair had lasted her for ages. And they were quite comfortable, too. She put her pink Quechua backpack on the floor next to the door and opened the door to the lounge on her left. Tony was sitting in the burgundy Fleming & Howland Anchor Chair he liked so much, with his back to the bay window. On the side table an almost empty bottle of Bulleit 10 Years Kentucky Bourbon. She had bought the thirty-eight quid bottle in the Waitrose on Western Road only last Sunday. He was definitely drinking too much.

  “Do you know what time it is?” Tony asked. He was slurring his words a little. Definitely too much to drink. Ianthe hoped he had not drunk all of that bottle tonight.

  “It’s only just after nine,” she tried apologetically.

  “It’s sixteen past the hour,” he replied. “Odd that you of all people don’t seem to know the exact time when you have such an expensive timepiece on your tiny wrist,” he added sarcastically.

  It was actually already eighteen past nine, Ianthe knew, but she thought it better not to push the point.

  “Yeah, well, lots of work in the office with this new case, I’m afraid.”

  “At least I hope you’re making some progress on that, if you’re planning to keep hours like this. Think you’ll be catching the sodding criminal any time soon?”

  She was surprised. He usually didn’t show the slightest interest in what she was doing.

  “It’s still early days,” she started. “But it’s interesting that …”

  “Never mind,” he interrupted. “At least I hope you thought of bringing something to eat. There’s absolutely nothing in the frigging fridge!”

  “I didn’t have time,” Ianthe replied. “Perhaps we can order in?” she added hopefully.

  Almost faster than she could register he flew out of his chair, taking two strides to reach her and slammed her painfully with her back against the wall, immobilising her with his right arm across her throat and his left hand locking her right wrist horribly. His whisky laced breath in her face made her almost gag.

  “Tony! Stop that! You’re hurting me!”

  “It is always the same thing with you. You never ever think about me! All you care about is work!”

  “That is so not true,” she protested. “I do care about you! But when there is a new case, I just don’t find the time to go grocery shopping,” she tried. “Come on, Tony, please let me go now!”

  He released his grip slightly, taking a step back. She rubbed her right wrist.

  “If you’re still hungry, let’s order some Chinese tonight or whatever you like,” she tried. “Perhaps we could agree that going forward I do the shopping on Sundays for the whole week and if more is required you …”

  Her head seemed to explode. She had not seen the slap coming that threw her head against the doorpost. Hard. She felt dizzy. Nauseous. Then the pain struck her. Her ears were ringing. Tears welled up in her eyes. She found herself sliding down with her back against the door between the lounge and the hall. Her legs felt like rubber. Something sticky started to slither down her neck. She did not realize for a moment what had happened. Then Tony was next to her on the floor.

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry, baby! Look what you made me do now! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

  She did not respond.

  “Are you okay, baby? Say something! Shall I get you something?”

  She tried to shake her head, but it hurt too much. She tried to get up.

  “Here let me help you.” He scooped her up in his arms and laid her down almost tenderly on the couch.

  “I’ll get you some ice!”

  He bounded off to the kitchen where she heard the tap running. He showed up with a wet towel and an ice bucket.

  “Let me help you clean up a little. You’re dripping blood on the couch.”

  He compassionately started to wipe the blood from her neck. He then put some of the ice in the towel, knotted it and put it against the sore spot on her head. That would be another massive bump tomorrow, she thought. At least the fog had started to lift, and she could think more clearly again. She looked at him as he sat next to her, holding the cold towel against her head.

  “You never hit me before.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “I know, baby. I’m so sorry. The whisky made me do it! I had had nothing to do all evening but to wait for you. I was so worried something might have happened to you. I’m worried about you all the time. You have such a dangerous job! And when you made light of it, didn’t seem to care about my feelings, the drink made me just snap! I’m so sorry, honey! I’ll never do it again!”

  Ianthe felt a bit moved by that.

  “You never told me before you were anxious about what I do. I didn’t know that. I always thought you didn’t care about my job.”

  “But I do care! When you aren’t home on time and I don’t know where you are, I start to imagine you must be hurt in a car crash in a pursuit or so. Or that some criminal came at you and you are in hospital or worse! I just never wanted to nag you about it as I know how passionate you are about your work!”

  She reached out and stroked his cheek.

  “That’s the nicest thing you have said to me in a long time, Tony. I wish I had known that sooner. But you mustn’t hurt me.”

  “It was the drink, darling, really. Look I promise I will never do that again.”

  He got up and went over to the chair where he picked up the almost empty bottle of bourbon. I’m going to throw this away now. I won’t touch another drop of it.”

  He went out to the kitchen where she heard him drop the bottle in the can. She got up from the couch.

  “I have to go clean myself up,” she said. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

  He nodded.

  “Well, that couch is ruined all right,” he added. “You should have put a towel under your head immediately.”

  Ianthe didn’t reply but dragged herself to the bathroom. She looked a spectacle in the mirror all right. How was she going to camouflage that tomorrow? There was a bruise on her wrist and on her check. Fortunately, the bleeding was hidden by her hair. She touched the wound, which was small enough, but headwounds tended to bleed profusely she knew. She touched it and grimaced at the pain. She could feel the swelling already. Boy that would be a massive one. She would take a shower and wash her hair now and again in the morning. No one would be the wiser.

  But she realized they had to talk about this. They could not go on like that forever. He had a short fuse and she knew she sometimes pushed the wrong buttons, but he should not hit her like this. What did she do wrong that triggered him to become violent? Perhaps she should be thinking of applying for a desk job. More regular hours. So that she could take better care of the house and him. How else would they ever take care of the children they wanted? Well, that she wanted anyway. Too many questions without answers.

  She dropped her dirty clothes in the laundry and stepped into the shower. The hot water had run out again. He must have taken a bath before.
Just her luck. Cold water was probably better for the headwound anyway.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was a fairly glorious mid-May morning in Sussex. The past couple of days had been rather gloomy, with a lot of rain and wind but the weather had improved spectacularly overnight, and a spring sun had been rising since six this morning. It was approaching seven now and the leafy elm trees in front of Bert and Josephine Devos’s house were casting long shadows over Prince Edward’s Road.

  DI Ianthe Seymour drove up from Offham Road and just after number six turned her Audi right into King Henry’s Road and right again into Queen Anne’s Close where Ben had told the troops to gather for the search. A very royal environment, suitable for the size and value of the properties in this area, she thought. She parked her car next to Ben’s Jeep, alighted and walked over to where Ben, Ajanta, Geoff and a few uniformed officers were standing.

  “Good morning, team. Is everyone here?” she started, uncomfortably aware of the looks she was getting. The bruise on her arm as always was easily concealed wearing a long-sleeved blouse. A pink baseball cap was the only item she had found that would hide the bump on her head but the bruise where Tony’s hand had connected with her jawbone was more difficult to cover. She had tried to conceal it putting some foundation make-up on it but as usual had managed to mess it up, so she had settled for sporting rather big sunglasses which were not really required for the spring morning light. Even though no one was saying anything, she grimaced, put up her hands defensively, removed the sunglasses and added in as lightly a voice as she could muster: “Okay, okay, before you ask anything : I got into a fight with my bathroom door! I lost!” They all smiled at that.

  “Looks like that was one hell of a fight, guv,” Ben smiled. “Must have hurt like hell. Guess the door didn’t quite survive the battle, right?” They all laughed at that.

  “Seriously now,” Ianthe continued. Do we have the SOCO team and the dog as well?”