All that did not worry him really. What did worry him however was that he could not get the thought of Nathan Greystone out of his head. Ever since they had met the image of the exuberant Nathan kept popping up in his mind. And every time it had made him smile. But anxious, too. And something else stirred as well. Something he was not ready to admit. Perhaps he should invite Nathan for drinks and a friendly chat? But what would he read into that? Even if it was not there? And what if someone took notice of them having drinks and decided they were on a date and spread the word in the force or on the street that Ben was seeing a gay person?
Perhaps he should just go over to The Gladstone, the pub next to the mortuary that he knew Nathan frequented. He could just wander in and have a drink by himself. There was always a chance Nathan decided to go there as well tonight. Ben knew he frequented it with his colleague morticians after all. Then they could bump into each other purely by coincidence. And have a chat. That was probably the better plan, Ben decided. He would just go for after work drinks to The Gladstone. He felt less wary now.
DS Ben Armstrong started his Jeep and drove off towards Ditchling Road.
*
Detective Inspector Vikram “Vik” Gorti was furious at the turn events of the day had taken. He was turning them over and over in his head while he was walking up Queensway to the semi he rented. A day which had started out rather promising despite his lack of sleep and hangover. Usually he preferred to have breakfast with his family but just for once he had skipped out this morning to go to the newsagent on the corner to buy today’s Argus. He had smiled when he had seen the big splash on the frontpage. And he had smiled even more when he had seen the disbelief on DI Ianthe Seymour’s face during the press conference. That smile had gone now. Acting Detective Chief Inspector Ianthe Seymour. He failed to understand how she had pulled that one off. Did she have something going with the Chief Constable after all? He would have had to approve such a promotion. Temporary, yes, but he was not stupid. If she managed to solve Operation Blackbird the promotion actually might stick. And it seemed that she was close. It was rather obvious to him that Bert Devos had been trying to get into the narcotics scene in Brighton in a big way, probably by importing them from the Continent using his boat. The existing suppliers tended not to look kindly on new kids on the block. This Brandon Nicholson fellow was either sent out by them to do the job, or he would know who was behind him. And as he had been caught red handed, Vik had not doubt Ianthe would make him sing. Child’s play that would be. He did not quite get why she was not leaning on him tonight to have him confess. He assumed she wanted to get his confession just in time to make the weekend editions of the major newspapers. Hell, if she managed to solve both a murder and uncover a new drug rink at the same time, there would be no stopping her moving up. That girl was so lucky it simply defied belief. And sassy, too! The cheek on her when she told him with obvious glee that she had been promoted and he would now have to report to her! She must have requested to be promoted. If only just to spite him. Where his seniority definitely would have made him the natural choice to lead this Operation. More so because he had been the officer on duty in the first place and it was just because he had forgotten to charge his phone that the switchboard had not been able to rouse him when Bert Devos had been murdered. But Norman had not seen it that way. When he had gone over to complain he had rather received an earful about him not having been available that night and Ianthe had had to step in. And today when he had gone to question the good sense of him having to report to Ianthe for Operation Blackbird, again Norman had turned a deaf ear. And when he had mentioned that even if the decision had been final that he would need to report to Ianthe for this operation, there was still no need to promote her over him, Norman had told him that right there he had given him a very good reason why Ianthe needed to be Acting DCI. And if Vik did not like it, he had added, he could always take it up with the Assistant Chief Constable or the Chief Constable himself if he wanted to. Vik had run out of his office in disgust. He had almost run into that big oaf Ben Armstrong, too. The man should have stayed with volleyball. Completely useless, he thought, and so disgustingly loyal to Ianthe! Just like that fashion postcard Ajanta. An Asian girl living with a white catholic boyfriend! And now it appeared that even his protégé DS John Ryan was smitten with Ianthe. He must have told her about Vik probably leaking to Joyce. And Ianthe must have told the super. But there was nothing they could prove.
He looked at his watch. Almost eight pm. He felt like settling down for the evening with his family in front of the telly. He believed there was some cricket test match tonight. That would be nice. Perhaps Hanusha had made her great chicken tikka dish, he thought hopefully. He would need to talk to his contacts later tonight and for that he would need to go into town again. Maybe he would skip that. Why would he help Ianthe Seymour close Operation Blackbird this quickly and make her shine? On the other hand, he might be able to get something about Bert Devos that he could feed again to The Argus reporter to embarrass both Ianthe and Norman. That would be even better. His mood improved at that thought. Let’s see what they could tell him tonight. He had time to get some dinner first though. And perhaps a little Jim Beam would cheer him up, too, DI Vik Gorti was thinking when he opened the door of his rented semi.
*
It was ten thirty pm when DI Vik Gorti abandoned his plan to go into town again and try to find some of his contacts in the underbelly of Brighton. He had eaten a lot of chicken tikka and had drunk more of the Jim Beam than he had wanted to. The kids had been a regular nuisance and Hanusha had been whining again about the level of his salary and the hours he kept. He was no help at all with the children, she had chided him. She was right about the salary he thought. He had not really had an increase for the past five years or so and a promotion was long overdue. He was starting to become afraid that his career would not go anywhere anymore. So why would he help an upstart like Ianthe Seymour, he thought again. Besides, they did have Brandon Nicholson already in custody. It was rather obvious that he was guilty as hell. He must have procured the drugs from Bert Devos and then killed him in lieu of having to pay for them. Or he was into trafficking with Mr Devos. Or the Dutchman was competition of his. Plenty of reasons. And opportunity. Vik Gorti was just surprised that Ianthe Seymour had chosen not to grill him the same evening. No time better than when you have just charged them in his opinion. That showed the lack of experience of Ianthe, he thought. He would not have waited for the morning. That would just have given Brandon the time to construct a story. So, what if he said he did not want to talk without a solicitor. There were always ways and means to intimidate a suspect into doing that exactly. Perhaps not always according to the book, but who cared about that as long as you got results, right? If it had been Vik, he would have had a result by the morning which he would be able to take to the Chief Constable himself. So why help Ianthe get that result and allow her to shine again, huh? That would only mean her promotion would be confirmed and his probably delayed again. No sir. He was not going to be part of that one, he thought. I can still talk to my guys tomorrow. And anyway, he had drunk too much Jim Beam now.
*
DCI Ianthe Seymour opened the door of her apartment and stepped inside. She put her backpack on the floor, kicked off her shoes and listened for a second in silence to the voice of Nick Cave that drifted through from the lounge. “This is a weeping song / A song in which to weep / While all the men and women sleep / This is a weeping song / But I won't be weeping long”. One of her favourite songs again that always made her a bit sentimental and moody and rather in need of a glass of Jura Prophecy. Or at least a good cabernet sauvignon.
Suddenly the door to the lounge opened wide and Tony stood there. He had a big smile on his face, reached her in two steps and enveloped her in a bear hug, which was a bit awkward as she was still holding her grocery bag.
“There you are honey. Welcome home!”
He gave her a firm kiss on the mouth and let go
of her.
“I hadn’t expected you this early, but that’s a really good thing,” he added. He noticed the grocery bag and frowned.
“Did you go shop in Waitrose?”
“I bought us some fillet steaks and green beans, actually,” she replied.
“I already cooked dinner for you,” he pouted in that adorable way that made her melt.
“That’s great! Thanks so much!” she hurried to say. “I can put the steaks in the fridge for another day! Perhaps we can drink the bubbles I bought.” She triumphantly took out the bottle of Cornish Camel Valley Brut. “We have something to celebrate!”
“Do we now?” He looked at the bottle quizzically.
“I was promoted to Detective Chief Inspector today!” Ianthe said with satisfaction.
“Were you now? I thought you were that already,” Tony replied. “Congratulations, anyway.” He took the bottle of champagne to study the label.
“Champagne from Cornwall? That’s a joke for sure. You better put that in the fridge as well. I got us a nice Faccoli Franciacorta. Put it away and come drink it with me in the lounge.”
She should have guessed he would have preferred something Italian. Her mistake. The kitchen looked like a battlefield. He had been cooking more than a spaghetti all right. She put her shopping away and joined him in the lounge. The table had been set with a clean white cloth and their best china and silverware they had received from her parents when they moved in. The wine glasses came from his parents, supposedly the right size and format to taste Italian wines. There was a little vase with a flower and Tony was just lighting a candle. On the side table a cooler with the Franciacorta was waiting as well as a bottle of what appeared to be a Barolo. Tony popped the cork of the Italian champagne and poured two glasses one of which he handed to her.
“Here’s to my favourite Detective Inspector!” he said.
“Detective Chief Inspector now,” Ianthe corrected him with a smile.
“Right, yes, whatever. To us.” And he drained his glass in one gulp and helped himself to a refill.
“Sorry, the cooking made me a bit thirsty. And hungry. Drink up so that we can dig in!”
Ianthe did as she was told. It was a really nice Franciacorta she thought, and she immediately felt the pleasant impact of the alcohol on an empty stomach. Tony moved her chair back for her a little impatiently and she sat down. This was indeed going to be a perfect ending to a perfect day she thought.
Tony had outdone himself all right. They had a starter of white asparagus in the Flemish way with a sauce of melted butter. Then rack of lamb with hand cut fries and cauliflower followed by crème brulee. Accompanied by an excellent ten-year-old San Tanaro Barolo, which Tony favoured although Ianthe had always preferred the primitivo based wines from Puglia. Ianthe did not really like the tangy taste of lamb either, which she thought she must have mentioned on a few occasions, but she was touched by the effort he so obviously had made so she thought it wiser not to mention it but rather comment very favourably.
After dinner she cleared the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. Cleaning up could wait until later she decided, and she joined Tony on the couch. He had bought a selection of Italian cheeses and they dug into that with some crackers and a nice glass of Niepoort port wine.
“At least the sweet wine is not Italian,” she joked.
“That’s just because Waitrose didn’t stock a good Marsala that I was hunting for,” he replied a bit sourly.
They chatted a bit about how his day had been going. It appeared he was also doing quite well at the office and envisaged having to go more frequently on short business trips that might even require him staying away for the weekend once in a while. As a matter of fact, he said, he would be going on a trip to France on Sunday afternoon coming back only some time Tuesday.
“And how was your day,” he asked after a while. “Are you involved in this case I read about in the Argus this morning?”
She made a face at that.
“Yes, I am the leading investigator in that case. I still can’t believe that information was leaked to the press. Probably even by one of our senior detectives, mind you!”
“Close to solving it, are you?”
“Well you know I can’t comment on that much, but we do have someone in custody all right.”
“Good. Because you guys looked a bit stupid at the press conference on the local channel this morning when that journalist asked you about it.”
“Well she should not have had that information,” Ianthe replied defensively.
“She did though, didn’t she? And the three of you up there were so clearly flabbergasted by the news. Typical of the police, isn’t it, to be always running after the facts.” He shook his head.
“I think we handled it all right though,” she countered a little testily.
“Do you now? I think that’s probably what makes this country go sideways. The police and people like you can’t see what’s in front of them. You’d better grow up and confront those facts, Ianthe. Joining Sussex Police wasn’t your smartest move, admit it.”
“But I like my job. And I excel at it, too!” She protested.
He started laughing.
“At least there is one thing you’re good at then! For sure you’re not a great cook. Nor a great shag. But perhaps we can train you still.”
And he grabbed her head roughly and planted a firm kiss on her mouth, shutting her up effectively.
The sex was pretty rough, the way he liked it she knew. But it left her with a few more bruises albeit ones that she would be able to hide easily. Afterwards she started cleaning the kitchen with a sigh while Tony stayed in bed. He half-heartedly offered to help, but she preferred to be alone. He had made a proper mess all right. The story of her life, Ianthe thought: a proper mess.
CHAPTER 15
“It is now eight AM on Friday fifteen May, the fourth day of Operation Blackbird, our investigation into the murder of Bert Devos.”
Acting DCI Ianthe Seymour looked at her team around the table in Major Incident Room Three.
“Has anyone seen DI Vik Gorti? I was going to welcome him officially to the team, but I see he hasn’t been able to join us.”
DS Ben Armstrong, DS Ajanta Ghani, DC John Ryan, Anne Baker, the analyst, and Duncan Fraser, the press officer who was also present, were all intently looking at the papers lying in front of them on the table and avoided looking Ianthe into the eye.
The door opened and DI Vik Gorti walked in, quite leisurely. He went around the table and sat down next to Ajanta.
“So nice of you to join us at last, Detective Inspector,” Ianthe sarcastically said.
“Traffic was a bitch,” Vik shrugged.
“I can be a bitch, too,” Ianthe shot back. “Anyways. Operation Blackbird. We have one suspect in custody since yesterday evening, thanks to the good work of DS Ajanta Ghani and DC John Ryan and the search of the Nicholson place.” She nodded at them approvingly.
“DS Ben Armstrong and I will interview Brandon Nicholson at ten am. I understand he is meeting with his solicitor as we speak.”
“Do you think he is our guy, guv?” Ajanta wanted to know.
“Let’s not run ahead of ourselves here,” Ianthe replied. “He certainly has the motive, but we don’t know yet if he has an alibi for the night of the murder. He doesn’t really strike me as a killer either. But I admit that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He may just be a very cool customer, a real psychopath devoid of emotions. We’ll know more after the interview.”
“Who is his solicitor, Ianthe?” John asked.
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