Dead in the Water

by Wilfred Jules

  DI Vikram Gorti was having a massive off-day. He had not slept well at all. His youngest girl was teething. He had told Hanusha to go to the pharmacist to get some cream for her gums, but she had refused to do so. The baby had cried herself to sleep and had woken up every hour or so, impossible to soothe. In desperation Vik had emptied half a bottle of Jim Beam, which had not helped to make him sleep but was responsible for the major headache he now had. The only consolation had been the expression on the face of Ianthe Seymour and Norman Stokes this morning during the press conference when Joyce had asked her questions. Simply hilarious. He could not do that too often of course. But feeding the Argus reporter once in a while with some interesting bits would no doubt help his career. He could imagine the difficult questions they would get from the ACC. He smiled to himself. John Ryan would suspect he was the source, but John would not tell on him he felt sure. He was too smart for that. He would know that Ianthe would never trust him again if she knew he had given out information. Vik knew he would not. And besides, John looked up at Vik and respected him the proper way. Even if he had told Ianthe, there was no proof at all he had talked to Joyce.

  *

  Ianthe found DI Vik Gorti sitting at the small lunch table that had been set up next to the coffee machine. He was immaculately dressed as always in a three-piece navy pinstripe with a cobalt blue tie. Perfectly polished black Italian shoes completed the picture. Even though she did not like Vik one bit, nor had she ever met someone who did like him, she had to give it to him: he knew how to dress well. She felt distinctly shabby next to him. As he looked up at her unsmilingly, Ianthe recognized the results of a combination of sleep deprivation and a bad hangover. She had heard his youngest child was not a good sleeper. No reason to antagonize him further, she thought and decided to go easy on him.

  “Good to find you here, Vik. I’m afraid we could use some help on Operation Blackbird. You may have heard there is a drug angle to investigate? We need someone with your experience and connections in the drug scene to explore that avenue. The super told me I can ask you.”

  “He did huh?” Vik snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me at all really. Already thought Operation Blackbird was getting too big for someone of your limited experience on the force. So Norman is taking control and I will handle the narcotics angle. That’s fine with me. Did he say when he wants me to brief him?”

  “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Vik. Norman is not taking control at all. I am still in charge of Operation Blackbird and will report back to him as always. You will need to report to me. Our next team meeting is tomorrow morning at 8 AM in the conference room.”

  “That simply won’t do, Ianthe. We are of equal rank and I have a lot more seniority than you have. It would be only proper if you reported to me instead. Or we both report directly to the super.”

  “The ACC has made me Acting Detective Chief Inspector, Vik. I think the line of command is quite clear. If you aren’t happy with that, do take it up with Norman. Else, I hope I can expect you with your first report tomorrow morning at 8 AM in the conference room. And please be on time. You know I hate to wait. And by the way, let’s try to keep it out of the Argus this time.”

  Ianthe could not help but feel quite satisfied seeing the look of surprise and indignation on DI Gorti’s face while she was walking away.

  *

  At four thirty they were all ready to roll and met downstairs in the parking lot.

  “I will go with you, Ben,” Ianthe said. “If he’s at home, we can bring Brandon back in your car if you don’t mind. And I bet you’re happier driving yourself anyway.”

  Ben smiled.

  “I’ll take John then, Ianthe,” Ajanta added. “Not much use having his motorbike there. Uniform is going to meet us there with Yuki.”

  Ianthe frowned.

  “Who is Yuki again?”

  “The dog, Ianthe,” Ajanta laughed. “You are not a dog person?”

  “Actually, I am. Unfortunately, my boyfriend is more of a cat person and he insists on keeping this naked cat. No way I can add a dog to that.”

  “What is a ‘naked cat’?” John wanted to know. “It cannot be a cat without clothes.”

  “The official name of the breed is actually a Sphynx Cat. It’s a breed known for its lack of coat. It’s completely hairless. Never seen one?”

  John shook his head.

  “I’ve seen Ianthe’s,” Ben added. “And I can tell you it looks absolutely disgusting. All wrinkly. A proper little demon he is!”

  “Come on, Ben, don’t overdo it. It’s just a cat. And Morty is extremely attached to me.”

  “Is he good at catching mice?” Ajanta wanted to know. “I suspect we have some mice in the basement.”

  “Not at all,” Ianthe had to admit. “It’s a house cat. He never leaves the flat. Would be too dangerous anyway as they are often stolen.”

  “A cat? Stolen? Why would one want to steal a cat?” John asked in a surprised voice.

  “To resell them obviously. If I remember well my boyfriend paid fifteen hundred quid for him.”

  “Wow. That’s massive.”

  “Enough with the cat stories,” Ianthe became all business. “Let’s move.”

  She walked over to Ben’s Jeep and they drove off.

  *

  It was one of those grand houses that had names like ‘Meadows’, ‘Olympia House’ or ‘Zalfia’, rather than numbers, which would have been far too ordinary. The views over the rolling green countryside of the South Downs were grandiose. But the panorama over the sea was nothing less than spectacular. The sun was already quite low on the horizon but there were few clouds today. The sea was calm and glittered under the fading light. In the far distance you could just make out the massive wind farm that was being constructed. And tiny specks identified the big ships sailing east to west in a continuous stream of goods from the Continent to one of the big ports that lie west of Brighton, or beyond. A single white sail slowly approaching the coastline could also be discerned. A lonely sailing yacht making way to Brighton Marina that was located out of sight below the cliff on which these houses had been built. As Ianthe was watching, a yellow and red spinnaker sail was hoisted on the yacht, making it a very flamboyant sight against the emerald backdrop of the sea.

  To the East, Roedean Way ended at the entrance gate to the grounds of Roedean School. Founded in 1885 it was one of the top private boarding schools for girls in the UK. Situated between Brighton and Rottingdean, on the cliffs overlooking the sea, it would be hard to imagine a more stunning location. Approximately five hundred girls from thirty-five different countries attended Roedean in sprawling buildings of that typical late nineteen and early twenty century English architecture. While there were more expensive schools, its fees were definitely not for the fainthearted, unless you were one of the happy few to be the recipient of a scholarship. But it would be grand, Ianthe thought, to be able to stroll through its gardens straight into the South Downs National Park at its back. There was supposed to be a secret path to the sea as well, but she had never had the opportunity to explore those grounds, neither had anyone she knew. If she ever did have the opportunity, she thought with a wry smile it would not be good news for the school anyway.

  The Nicholson residence had been named ‘Lohengrin’ after the main character of the Richard Wagner Opera of the same name, which had taken its story from the medieval German romance by Wolfram von Eschenbach about the Knight of the Swan. Ianthe knew the story well which was centred around a question that could not be asked. She was about to ask a lot of such questions. And do not almost all investigations pivot on the right question being asked to the appropriate person at the correct moment, she mused.

  ‘Lohengrin’ was an impressive two-storey corner villa with a drive leading up to a stone stairway giving access to a porch and the main door. Bay windows on both sides of the main entrance went right around the corner of the house and at night would have been lit by great iron-cast lanterns. The second fl
oor equally had bay windows that gave out to terraces sprawling around the house, which must have magnificent views over the sea. There was an above ground level basement floor as well with a separate entrance, probably for the staff. A big separate garage building had been constructed and a maroon Mercedes Roadster sat in the drive. The entire property had been walled off with a brick wall and an iron fence.

  Ianthe saw Pooh Bear arrive in his olive-green Nissan Qashqai, got out of Ben’s jeep and walked over to him. The superintendent clambered out of his car in his typical cumbersome style that had made the nickname stick to him. With a nod and without wasting words he handed her the search warrant. He raised his eyebrows amused as Ianthe found it necessary to scan it quickly to see the address and date were correct. It would not have been the first time evidence had been refused by the courts on such grounds. She nodded and handed it over to Ajanta.

  Ajanta led the team to the gate and rang the bell.

  “Yes?” A disembodied female voice inquired ten seconds later.

  “Sussex Police. Please let us in.” Ajanta showed her warrant card to the camera.

  The gate buzzed and they passed through quickly, followed by the uniformed police who had been waiting in their cars around the corner. They climbed the stairs to the double glass plated door that had been opened by a middle-aged maid servant.

  “Sussex Police. I am Detective Sergeant Ajanta Ghani.” She waved the search warrant at the woman who was clearly baffled. “We have a warrant to search these premises. Is Brandon Nicholson here?”

  “Mr Brandon is in the lounge through the door on your left,” the maid answered in a heavily Spanish accented voice.

  Ajanta and John, followed by the uniformed police and Yuki, the Canadian White Shepherd, pushed past her and spread out through the building, running up the imposing marble staircase to the first floor or going through the doors at the end of the hallway. Ianthe and Ben went through the door on the left into a vast lounge which had an awe-inspiring vista of the sea. A young man had been sitting on the white leather couch next to the fireplace and was getting up as they entered, a copy of ‘Yachting World’ in his hands.

  “Mr Brandon Nicholson?” Ianthe asked. He nodded.

  Brandon Nicholson was a young man of average height who looked just a bit overweight from insufficient exercise and too much of the good life. He had blonde hair and a broad unsmiling face with a hint of a beard. He had green eyes that looked at them frowningly. He was wearing a crocodile crested Lacoste white polo shirt and casual chic Hugo Boss Jeans. No jewellery.

  “I am Detective Chief Inspector Ianthe Seymour, and this is Detective Sergeant Ben Armstrong with the Sussex and Surrey Major Crime Team. We need you to come with us to Sussex CID HQ to answer some questions while my colleagues are searching the house.”

  She noticed Ben looking at her in mild surprise at her using her new title. She had indeed forgotten to tell him. It was not all that important after all.

  “What is this about please?” Brandon Nicholson coolly asked her.

  “All will become clear in good time, Brandon,” she answered. “Please follow us to our car.”

  “Am I being arrested?”

  “Not for the time being. We just need to ask you some questions in an ongoing investigation.”

  “And what is that investigation about?”

  “I am not at liberty to tell you that right now. As I said, if you follow us, everything will become clear.”

  “Can I not take my own car and follow you there?”

  “I’m afraid we need to insist that you come with us in our car. It’s an unmarked car, not to worry. When we are done, my colleague will bring you back here.”

  Brandon Nicholson shrugged and trailed her out of the room and grabbed a black leather jacket with a Ferrari crest from the coat hanger next to the door where the maid was still standing.

  “I am going with the detectives to Sussex Police HQ, Angela,” he told her before stepping outside. “Call my father on his cell to inform him what has happened,” he instructed her.

  Norman Stokes had been waiting in the drive and nodded approvingly at Ianthe and Ben, then proceeded to go inside. Ajanta would not like that one bit, Ianthe groaned silently to herself.

  Ben opened the rear door of his jeep and made sure Brandon could settle in safely and had his seatbelt on. Then he climbed in behind the wheel and Ianthe waited for him to be all clicked in and the engine running before she also got in beside him. Ben locked the rear doors with the children lock and put the Jeep into the drive position. No one was speaking as they drove off.

  *

  Ianthe and Ben arrived back at Malling House with Brandon Nicholson at five thirty-two exactly. They led him to Interview Room One and left him with a PC in search of coffee for Ianthe and tea for Ben and Brandon. They stood at the machine sipping the water pretending to be coffee when Ben remarked:

  “Detective Chief Inspector?” With emphasis on ‘chief’.

  “Forgot to tell you,” Ianthe replied. “Pooh Bear and the ACC thought it worthwhile to make me Acting Detective Chief Inspector. I admit I ignored the ‘Acting’ when I said it earlier,” she grinned.

  “Reason being that DI Vik Gorti has now joined Operation Blackbird.”

  Ben visibly rolled his eyes.

  “I guess it’s true we could use the additional manpower. Does Vik know already he now reports to you?”

  “Yup. Told him even before the search.”

  “Boy, he must have liked the news.”

  She shrugged.

  “I guess he didn’t. But it is what it is. Seriously, as you said, we can use the manpower if we’re going to solve this. And Vik does have some knowledge of the local drug scene. “

  Ben grudgingly had to admit that one.

  “Look Ben. I was not too happy either to involve Vik. For some reason he does not like me. Or you. But let’s try to start from a new slate as far as he is concerned. We have no time to waste on these internal squabbles.”

  “You’re the boss all right, Ianthe. I have no problem at all with that. But I do foresee some storm in the future.”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s see how it goes. I can always take it up when he is becoming a problem.”

  “Anyways,” he added, “what’s your plan with Brandon Nicholson?”

  She shrugged.

  “Let him sweat a little. He’s a smart guy. If there is something hidden at his place, he has realized already that Ajanta and John will find it. In that case, I doubt he’s going to be willing to talk to us without his solicitor. We’ll go back in and ask him in a minute. Same thing if the search comes up empty, and assuming Helen Devos was speaking the truth. We can hold him anyway for forty-eight hours without charging him.”