He travelled past The Gladstone pub next to the gates to the Brighton & Hove Mortuary and thought for a moment he saw Ben’s Jeep parked there in Melbourne Street, right on the corner of Lewes Road.
*
DS Ben Armstrong drove his Jeep out of the Malling House parking lot and took a right turn into Church Lane. In his rear mirror he noticed the dark Mercedes of Alistair Holloway parked in front of Malling House and someone getting into the back seat. Probably Brandon Nicholson, he assumed. Not the last time we have seen you here, matey, he thought. Conditioned by DCI Ianthe Seymour, he automatically glanced at his watch: it was six thirty-four pm.
At the junction of the A27 and Lewes Road just after the American Express stadium he hesitated a fraction of a second. Normally he would continue on the A27 towards Hollinbury, which tended to be less busy at this time of the evening. That way he could also make a stop at the Sainsbury Local to pick up some groceries. Tonight he decided to take the exit towards Universities. He then continued on Lewes Road. He passed The Gladstone pub on his left and turned left just after the entrance to the Mortuary into Melbourne Road where he parked his Jeep right at the real estate offices at the corner of Lewes Road.
He sat in his car for a few minutes. He wanted to go see Dutchy again tonight, but it was obviously too early for that. He had some time to kill and it would make more sense to do that in company than alone at home. He might get a bite as well. He had been sort of surviving on soggy sandwiches from ASDA this week and that was not particularly good for either his health or his physical condition.
He walked to the cheerfully yellow painted pub and entered through the green corner door next to the huge sign that announced happy hour was unfortunately over at six pm. There was a mixed crowd generating a cosy buzz inside. He walked over to the blue bar and ordered a pint of Carling. He paid contactless and took the pint with him to the beer garden at the back of the pub. He immediately noticed a small group around a table at the far end. He recognised the Assistant Mortician Claire Burroughs, the pathologist Astrid McManus, the senior SOCO officer Geoff Simmons, Bill Westcott from the Coroner’s office and of course Nathan Greystone, the Chief Mortician, who, as always, was wearing the most outrageous jacket, bringing a smile to Ben’s lips. Nathan had spotted him as well and was waving him over.
“You’re too late for our Friday afternoon post-mortem examination,” Nathan said cheerily. “Although I can’t understand why the accidental death of an eighty-nine old granny would concern you, Ben,” he teased. “But welcome to our post post-mortem drink!”
Ben laughed.
“One post-mortem examination a week is more than enough for me, Nathan. I’m actually on my way to see an old contact of mine. But it’s a little early for that, so I thought I’d stop here for a pint and some nibbles first.”
“Is that regarding Operation Blackbird still? How’s that going? Heard you charged someone.”
“We had someone in custody for a drug related charge who is linked to Operation Blackbird all right. But we had to let him go on bail as he had an alibi for the time of the murder. Ianthe was pretty pissed at that one, I believe.”
“Detective Chief Inspector Ianthe Seymour now Andrew told me,” Astrid McManus chimed in. Her husband Andrew was the divisional HR manager of Sussex Police. “Speaking of an amazing career. And her not even thirty years old.”
“Acting DCI, but yes. And well deserved it is, too.”
“I’m sure it is,” Astrid confirmed. “Andrew tells me he’s certain the promotion will stick if she’s able to solve Operation Blackbird successfully.
“I just got off the phone with her, actually,” Geoff Simmons added. “She wanted to know if we have been making any progress on the remainder of the samples from the boat.”
“You’re still working on those?” Ben asked curiously.
“Sure. Some of the DNA tests we are running take quite a lot of time. People think that what they see on telly that a DNA test renders full results after a couple of hours is correct, but unfortunately that is not the case. These days we can rapidly establish certain elements like the sex and the ethnicity of someone, but DNA can give you a lot more information that however takes days to extract. Ianthe is well aware of that, which is why she called me. I hope to have the final results by Monday, actually.”
“She didn’t tell me what more she hopes to get out of those tests,” Ben commented. “But I know she was not altogether convinced by the drug angle we’re exploring right now. She’ll figure it out. She’s a smart one she is.”
They all nodded in assent at that. The conversation turned to the number of drugs related post-mortem examinations that had to be performed each year in Sussex, which was rising dramatically, and the ghastly elements that were sometimes discovered by Astrid and the mortuary team.
Just after seven Ben thought it was time to leave. He fancied having a quick steak at a diner he knew on King’s Road, not far from the George Inn he would be visiting later. He said goodbye to all and left through the main room and the green corner door. Just as he had passed the gates to the mortuary on his way to his Jeep, he heard his name being called. He turned and waited a little nervously for Nathan to reach him.
“Hey Ben,” Nathan said. “Just wanted to ask if you fancied having a pint with me tomorrow evening.”
“Sure,” Ben heard himself answering. “What time?”
“Would eight pm suit you? Yes? At The Cricketers perhaps? You know it?”
Everyone who’s ever lived in Brighton knows The Cricketers in Black Lion Street. Ben nodded, not able to say much more than one syllables.
“Great. Hope to see you then. Have a nice evening informing yourself,” Nathan grinned and went back to The Gladstone.
Ben caught himself grinning foolishly, turned quickly and almost ran to his car. He sat inside for several minutes and felt himself shaking. Get a grip, he told himself. You’re just going for a pint. It isn’t as if he’s made a pass at you or anything. And he didn’t know whether he would have liked that or not.
*
DI Vik Gorti sat seething in his lime green ageing Vauxhall Corsa in the Malling House parking lot. Ianthe should have invited him to join the briefing with Norman. He had kindly offered that as an olive branch, showing to all he was prepared to bury the hatchet and give her the benefit of his vast experience to solve Operation Blackbird. But instead she had slammed that door in his face for all to view. Obviously, she wanted to put all feathers on her cap! With the ACC now interested in the case, she wanted to make sure she appeared to be the one fully in control and completely responsible for solving this. She would certainly not allow anyone else, let alone Vik to share in the glory. No doubt her only concern was that when it would have become clear she had only been able to come to a solution after Vik had joined, the ACC might think that it was actually Vik who should have been promoted! He just did not understand that Norman or Olivia West actually fell for that.
He saw DS Armstrong leaving in his Jeep. The little clock in his Corsa was malfunctioning, but it must be around six thirty. An expensive looking Mercedes was following Ben’s car. He had noticed someone getting in and wondered who in Sussex Police had such an expensive ride. Then he observed DS John Ryan climbing on his motorcycle and setting off as well. That boy was clearly smitten by Ianthe Seymour. He even blushed every time she addressed him. He wondered if the others had noticed that, too. Not that he understood why. She was small, even tiny, was always wearing the same sort of drab clothes and did not even wash her hair every day. She had nice eyes, he had to admit, and they had steel in them. But then she did that ridiculous trick with her eyebrows when she was surprised. And she was not half as smart as she pretended to be. By Jove, that absurd fascination with time! As if a few minutes would matter that much in a murder investigation! Today at least she had made the effort to put on some make-up to hide that bruise on her face. Now that was interesting, Vik thought. Bumped into her bathroom door, she had said. Yeah, sure. That
had been the excuse his mother had used time and again when his father had terminated a difference of opinion with his fist. Now that was something Vik grasped. Wives could really get under your skin and after a hard day’s work a man wanted to be left alone and just move ahead with things rather than having to listen to that endless nagging. He had never hit Hanusha yet, but he had come close. But society was not so comprehending any more that what happened between man and wife was private. And if the wife of a police officer made a complaint about domestic violence, that officer’s career would be over. He knew Ianthe was not married to that Tony Zanelatto, but that did not matter too much these days in his opinion. Kudos to Tony he thought for putting her in her place once in a while. He should have been smart enough though not to touch her where it was visible.
He then spotted Ianthe exiting the building and walking to her shiny Audi Q3. How could she afford such a car on her salary? She set off after the others. He wondered if she had noticed him sitting in his car in the lot. Probably not.
The last member of the team, DS Ajanta Ghani appeared as well in the parking lot. She was over the top that girl was. He assumed the trinkets, layers of make-up, the fashionable clothes were a typical Bengali demonstration of wealth. He had wondered how she could afford all that on coppers wages. Her boyfriend must be wealthy, he assumed. Now that was something he totally failed to understand: he knew she was living with a white boyfriend of Irish descent. How had her family ever approved the match? And her not even married to him! That was in his experience unheard of. He must have converted to Islam. Maybe they had had a Nikah, a Sharia marriage ceremony only, without the required civil marriage. But even then. He shook his head at that. His daughters better not consider bringing a white boyfriend home. He would never approve. Nor would Hanusha. But there was little chance of that ever happening. They were not Bengali after all but Telugu.
He watched Ajanta take pause at that ridiculous red mini cooper of hers. She leaned against the door, elbows on the roof, head in her hands. Perhaps she had a headache. Half a minute passed. She then glanced around and obviously froze when she noticed his car was still there. She opened the door, got in, started the engine and tore away faster than she should have. She must have noticed him watching her.
He glanced at his watch. Sevenish. That should be a good time. He took his phone and dialled a number. After three rings, a male voice picked up.
“Good evening, Vik. It’s been a while.”
“Good evening, Ricky. I need to come see you. Is now a good time?”
“I’ll be expecting you. You know the way.”
They both hung up.
CHAPTER 17
At eleven minutes past seven pm Acting DCI Ianthe Seymour parked her Audi Q3 in the parking lot of the ASDA superstore at Brighton Marina. She got out and made her way across the road to the roundabout. She crossed it and went up the stairs to the main walkway along the marina. CCTV had picked up Bert Devos do exactly that. He had parked his car in the parking lot of the ASDA rather than in the west or east parking lot. It was not quite clear why he had done so, but Ianthe thought there might be a simple explanation. The parking lot of the store was out in the open while the other were covered parking lots. She herself was not always comfortable parking at night in a covered parking lot where there was no security and you never knew which homeless people or drug addicts would be using the cover the parking lot provided.
She walked past the big Wetherspoons on her right and entered the marina proper, following the boardwalk past all the other pubs and restaurants now on her left. She liked the view of the yachts in the evening sun. She was not much of a yachtie herself, although she had been out a few times on a sailing yacht, but she appreciated the nautical atmosphere. Brighton Marina was the biggest marina in the country and even assumed to be the biggest in Europe, even though she actually knew that title was contested by the marina at Nieuwpoort in Belgium.
She turned into the East Jetty, walking down the ramp to the gate, which she found properly locked. She noticed the CCTV camera watching the gate but knew that this particular camera had been malfunctioning on the night of the murder, as was the one further down that was monitoring the finger piers. Conveniently so for the killer. She saw it would not be impossible for an agile person to climb the fence on either extremity, but it would have been in full view of anyone watching by coincidence from the flats that practically semi-circled the marina. Even though they might have neglected to contact marina security or the police about such an event, it was hard to imagine they would not have mentioned it to the police officers that had interviewed all the marina residents. That meant, she thought, the killer must have been on the jetty inside the gate already, either as one of the boat owners, or a guest of a boat owner. It was also not inconceivable that someone might have slipped through with a boat owner posing as someone who had forgotten their key fob onboard for instance. But again, it was unlikely the key fob owners would not have remembered such an event when interviewed. They had all been contacted and no one had lost their key fob either. Another possibility was that the killer was someone who worked at the marina. Perhaps even with Marina Security. Gerry Nichols had found the body, but Ianthe thought he was an unlikely suspect. He could have taken the opportunity to disturb the evidence at will but had done everything according to the book. His manager, Theo Griffiths, was a special constable with Sussex Police and had a perfect alibi for that night, as did everyone on his staff. Her team had vetted all of them.
Deep in thought she walked back to the West Jetty and the Marina offices. She noticed it was now seven thirty-nine pm. The office appeared to be open still but there was no one at reception. She stepped inside and called out. A few seconds later a young woman appeared. Red hair and freckles.
“Good evening. I am Detective Chief Inspector Ianthe Seymour of Sussex Police, Major Crimes. I am the investigating officer in charge of the inquiry into the murder of Mr Bert Devos of Lewes, which happened here last Tuesday early morning.”
She showed her warrant card.
“You must be the harbour master, Moira Kelly? My officers DS Ben Armstrong and DS Ajanta Ghani had a chat with you earlier this week I believe.”
“That is correct. What can I do for you?”
“I just had another look at the East Jetty where it happened. Appears to be quite difficult indeed to get in without a key fob. Can you tell me again who has one of these?”
“Well, there is the marina staff of course, both security and maintenance. I gave a list of people who have keys to your officers already and I believe they have all been interviewed. Beside them, the boat owners each have one, sometimes two. A list of key fobs and their owners has also been supplied to you. Finally, when there is a visiting boat, they will also get a key when they register. They have to drop it off when they leave. The thing is, there were no visitors on that particular night.”
“What happens when a visitor loses his key or simply forgets to bring it back.”
“Well, a key fob has a small chip inside that works with Near Field Communication, much like your debit card or credit card. When the key is used, the system first checks with a central database whether the key with that particular code is in the list that is allowed in and if so, the computer sends a command to the gate to open. If the key is lost, we simply have to eliminate it from the database and whoever finds it cannot use it to get access.”
“Would it be possible to copy a key fob?”
Moira Kelly shrugged.
“I’m not a technical expert, but I suppose it is possible. I mean, we do program our key fobs ourselves here as well, so I guess someone else could create one, too. You’d better ask Theo about that, though. He’s in charge of security as you know, and he makes new key fobs if required. Well, him or his team I suppose. He’s gone home for the weekend, but I can give him a call if you like.”
Ianthe nodded and Moira picked up her smartphone, looked up his name and dialled the number. When Theo Griffiths h
ad picked up, she put the phone on speaker, explained and then handed the phone to Ianthe.
“Hello Mr Griffiths. My question is if you think someone could have cloned a key fob to gain access to the jetty where Bert Devos was murdered.”
“Good evening, detective chief inspector. I guess that technically it would be possible. First, you’d need to have an actual marina key fob and a blank one that works on the same frequency, which in our case is one hundred and twenty-five kilohertz. You can buy blank ones online so that is not difficult at all. Then you need to have an RFID reader and an RFID writer. RFID is the acronym for radio frequency identification, which is in fact the code the chip inside the key fob has been programmed with. Such equipment can also be easily found on the internet. They only cost thirty quid or so. But you need an original one first, at least for a bit.”
“That would mean that anyone who has visited the marina with his boat would have had the ability to copy such a key,” Ianthe commented.
“Well, yes and no,” he replied. “When a key fob is returned or lost, we rewrite it with a new code and erase the original code from the database, to avoid exactly that. We don’t use encrypted keys, as they would be too expensive and keys get lost all the time, but we use this sort of security.”
“And if someone arrives by sea, how does he get his key?”
Moira answered that one.
“When a new boat arrives, the crew can always leave the jetty through the gate. You don’t need a key to leave the jetty. But to re-enter you would first need to come here to the office to get registered and get a key. We have to do it that way because the marina is so big otherwise people would just come in for an overnight stay and leave again without paying. Which is actually why I am still here now as I expect a yacht to arrive from France any time now.”
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