“He may have found out Bert Devos was the Dutch man he had been looking for though.”
“True, but even then. Let’s say he did find out. That would have been only a few days before the murder happened if I understand Ben’s conversation with Dutchy correctly. To immediately take drastic action like this? Knowing a full-scale investigation would be launched? My guess is he would first at least have tried to scare him away.”
“I agree. But the act of scaring him away could have gone awry. As you said earlier, he would not do this himself so perhaps someone from his entourage simply messed up. Do we know who Ricky sent to interrogate Dutchy?”
“I don’t think so. Perhaps Ben can ask Dutchy again. But he will be loath to give names.”
“I think we should invite Ricky Rowlands for an interview, Vik. Let’s say to clarify some parts of his statement.”
Vik looked doubtful at that and did not comment.
“You don’t agree?” Ianthe asked. “I think he would be expecting this, in particular if he has nothing to do with it. Hardly the first time he has been invited for sure. Which station did he go to for his statement? Did you bring him here?”
Vik looked distinctly uneasy at that question.
“Actually, I took his statement at his home in Whitdean Road, here in Brighton.”
Ianthe’s left eyebrow shot up in astonishment.
“That’s quite irregular, to say the least, Vik, I’m sure you know. All right, why don’t you ask him to either join us here at Malling House Monday morning at ten, or I go with you to his place on Whitdean Road?”
Vik acquiesced unhappily.
“Let me see if I can set that up. He will want to bring his lawyers no doubt.”
“No problem. Feel free to blame it on me. Tell him I want him to make his statement here. Not at home. While he won’t like that, he’ll understand.”
Vik looked distinctly unhappy, Ianthe thought.
*
As soon as Vik had left, Ianthe called the superintendent and gave him a summary of what had happened so far. Now that Ricky Rowlands was involved, Norman wanted her to brief the ACC on Monday after the interview which Vik was going to try to set Monday early morning. They agreed on that and Ianthe then sent out invitations to her team for a briefing session at eight AM sharp on Monday morning. The interview with Ricky Rowlands would be at ten and the ACC briefing at noon.
She closed her laptop, gathered her things and considered her next action. It was twelve fifty-one pm. She needed some food first. Then she would go do some shopping, she thought. That was long overdue. Perhaps it would make her feel better, too.
CHAPTER 19
DI Vik Gorti had not felt this glum for a long time. He realized he was knee deep in shit. Of his own making it was, too. First, he had been a fool to allow Ricky Rowlands to make his official statement at home, without any proper witnesses. He should have told him to go to his local police station. It was much worse however that he had not actually checked his alibi and had lied about it to Ianthe Seymour. Right after he had taken that statement in Whitdean Road he had noticed he had several missed calls from his wife Hanusha. He had called her immediately and she had reminded him he had promised to pick up his oldest daughter at ballet class at nine pm, which he had completely forgotten. He had rushed over and taken her home. Then he had not felt like going back to the Metropole. A little inspired by the Macallan he had had at Whitdean Road, he had reasoned with himself that Ricky would not give him a fake alibi. But this morning that had not felt as such a great idea any longer. And why had he lied to his colleagues about it? He did not know. He could just as well have said he still needed to check these. His pride as the senior detective inspector of the team had caught up with him. Stupid. He was still convinced the alibi would hold but imagine Ianthe some way or other found out he had lied about it. She could use that to terminate his career. God knows he would. He looked at his watch. Almost one pm. There was still time to do that now in fact. No one would be the wiser if he did. But he had to call Ricky first to set up the meeting for Monday. No answer when he tried. He sent him a quick text message to call him back as soon as possible. Then he got into his tired Toyota and decided to drive to the Metropole to start checking that alibi.
*
DC Ajanta Ghani had left DCI Seymour and DI Gorti in the conference room and had walked with DS Ben Armstrong back to the interview rooms where Brandon Nicholson and his solicitor had been waiting for them. She had restarted the tape and Ben had asked Brandon for the record if he had anything to add to his previous statements and desired to explain the location data of his phone now that he had had the time to think it over and discuss it with his solicitor. Which was not the case. Ben then had proceeded charging him officially with obstruction of police work, ignoring the protests of Alistair Holloway. Brandon Nicholson had just sat there, looking gloomily straight ahead, but had not commented at all. He had looked relieved however when Ben had explained that even if charged they intended to release him on police bail under the same conditions as before. They had next proceeded to arrange bail and Brandon and his mother Rowena were then taken home by their solicitor.
Ben had disappeared somewhere. He probably had left for home. He had told her he had a date tonight and needed to get ready for that. She had teased him with it, saying he was worse than a woman needing so much time to get ready for a hot date. But even though normally he was very laid back and quick to respond with his own wit, this time he had just smiled thinly. He had obviously been nervous about it. She had been surprised at that. He seemed to be so balanced most of the time. Must be some date, she thought, wondering briefly which type of girl he fancied. Even though they had spent like a million years around each other, in the same cars, same office, same pubs and lunch bars, they had never really discussed his love life. Come to think of it, they had not discussed hers either. Sure, he knew she had been living with Sean for a while, and where they had met, but that was the breadth and width of what she had been prepared to divulge. He did not know about the issues her relationship had caused with her family. Nor had he ever probed to know more. She appreciated that about him. He was able to listen, ask the right questions, but backed off immediately when she was not forthcoming with information. Nor had he ever made a pass at her, although she knew for a fact he was not romantically involved at the moment with anyone. Unlike many other male police officers, unfortunately, who seemed to consider all female officers to be fair game. Well, to be fair, a lot of female officers were not much better in her opinion. They spent so much time together that one thing could easily lead to another. Training was actually infamous for that. And white officers for some reason always seemed to think that Asian girls were easy. Which was sort of the opposite of reality she thought. It was just a racist thing, really, she had always thought. White males assumed that they were irresistible to Asian women. God’s gift to them. Which was obviously not the case. But it was the reason Ajanta did not like to spend too much time in the force’s gym. She actually changed gyms every few months to avoid having to fend off unwanted suitors. White men were not the only ones of course that tried to get her attention. Asian men were if possible even less subtle. If they were aware that she was actually living with a non-Asian, the Muslims considered her a slut, who would be open to anything. And they tended to be macho enough as it was. The non-muslim Asian men were not much better. She had not failed to notice the expression in the eyes of DI Vik Gorti when he looked at her. He was from Hyderabad. A Telugu, so most likely not a Muslim. But it was obvious he did not appreciate her lifestyle or life choices. And at the same time, he sometimes undressed her with his eyes. Most uncomfortable. But this morning he had decidedly looked uncomfortable himself when he had been talking about Ricky Rowlands. She wondered why that was. It had been a major thing. Might actually be the breakthrough they had been looking for and he would be the one who had come up with the information. How had he been able to get access to Ricky Rowlands that quickly, she
wondered. That was impressive, she had to admit. And while he was a creep in her honest opinion, that had to be respected. Respect as well for Ianthe who had been able to make him work with the team despite his initially explicit hostile attitude. She smiled to herself when she thought how difficult it must have been for him to learn Ianthe not only had been promoted over him, but that he now had to report to her as well. He still refused to call her ‘guv’, or ‘boss’, unlike the rest of the team. It was quite obvious he only addressed her by her first name. But Ianthe either had not realized that or did not care. Probably the latter, she thought. She was not into formalities. Results was all that counted with her. That woman was able to take decisions lightning fast, too. How long had she considered her decision this morning what to do with Brandon Nicholson? The majority of officers Ajanta had known in her career would have taken hours if not days where Ianthe had literally taken seconds to decide it was unlikely he was going to continue to be important for Operation Blackbird. And while he was obviously guilty of dealing drugs and he might even be involved in something more sinister, their focus was Operation Blackbird. So she had released him on police bail. Focus. That was all that mattered in a complex inquiry like this one. Ajanta had certainly learned that from DCI Ianthe Seymour. The target was to solve the murder of Bert Devos. Everything that is not directly related to reaching that target was completely irrelevant. But it took guts to make that decision. If the crime could not be solved eventually, which was always a risk, particularly if people like Ricky Rowlands were involved, she senior officer in charge would be easily blamed and her decisions questioned by the likes of DI Vik Gorti. Ajanta wondered if she would ever be capable of handling that kind of stress, which seemed to slide off Ianthe like water from a duck. Cool and composed she had made her decisions again. As always. She loved her boss for it. And envied her.
Ajanta sighed. She was the opposite of decisiveness she thought. She had gone back to her workplace and opened her laptop. She was now looking at flights from Heathrow to Chittagong. There were no direct flights, but Qatar Airways had a connection through Doha and Dacca. Twenty hours of travel. The cheapest ticket was seven hundred quid. A lot of money to sit in a cramped space for that long. And from Doha to Dacca the plane would be full of migrant workers who had been slaving away in Qatar and only went home once a year or even once in every second year to impregnate their wives who they had left behind to take care of the parents. And she knew they tended to take too much luggage and were so much more Asian than she felt. She only felt Asian in England, really. When she was in Bengal, she felt distinctly English. Should she now book that flight or not? With or without Sean? She grimaced. No doubt Ianthe would have made that decision instantly. She was probably just as decisive in her personal life, she thought enviously.
Eventually, she made another decision. She took out her iphone and texted her sister Aswini to thank her for the information she had sent her. She waited. No reply. She hesitated, then sent another text asking Aswini to meet Sunday afternoon in London to discuss the situation. This time the reply was instantaneous. Aswini accepted. They then agreed to meet in the lounge of the Doubletree Hotel close to King’s Cross at three thirty pm on Sunday.
Ajanta glanced at her watch. It was four minutes past one pm.
*
At about one thirty pm DI Vik Gorti had parked his car in the Churchill Square Parking lot with its extortionist fees and was walking down Cannon Place towards the Metropole Hotel on King’s Road. He admired the view of the glassy sea. There was almost no wind and it was hard to believe stormy weather had been announced for Monday. He turned the corner, past The Salt Room restaurant and entered the red-brick hotel through the turnstiles under the glass canopy. A striking Victorian hotel with its red façade and white balconies, built in 1890 by Alfred Waterhouse, with its 340 bedrooms at the time the largest in England, it had been part of the Hilton chain since 2000. However, most Brightonians still called it simply The Metropole.
He walked past the registration desk in the lobby and turned left down a short corridor and entered the lounge. He went straight away to the bar at the far side and showed his warrant card to the young man behind it. He explained who he was and that he needed to talk to the people on duty last Monday night. The bartender explained they were not here right now but he offered to call the general manager who happened to be on the premises. Vik settled in a chair close to the bar and waited. About thirty minutes later, a tall balding man hurried over to him, profusely apologizing for having him wait. Vik explained again that he was looking for the members of the night shift of last Monday to Tuesday.
“That would be Roman Sharp and Freddie Hunt. I’m afraid they will join us only at six pm tonight,” the GM said. “Their shift is from six pm, after we will have cleared the afternoon tea service, until we close at two am.”
Vik felt a jolt. Ricky had told him he was at a poker game from ten pm to three am, not two.
“You always close at two am? If there are people present, would you remain open until three am if they were to ask you?”
The GM frowned at that question.
“We should not, obviously. The team is supposed to lock up at two am and then they spend an hour or so cleaning the place and making it ready for the next morning. I’m not saying it never happens if a good customer is here that they lock up and clean up while letting the customer stay a little longer, but they shouldn’t. Did someone complain about that, Inspector?”
“Not at all. I am just checking some things.”
He looked relieved at that.
“All right. I’m happy to give you their names, inspector, but to be honest they will either be still in bed or having a late breakfast. Roman lives in Petworth and Freddie I believe in Chichester. They normally wouldn’t get home before four am, you see. It would be better if you can come back at six. If you prefer to wait here, I will be happy to offer you afternoon tea on the house.”
Vik was tempted at that but declined.
“That’s fine. I will come back to speak to them at six in that case. I would appreciate if you did not tell them what this is about.”
“Of course, Inspector. Would you like me to be present at the interview?”
“Rather not if you don’t mind. They aren’t suspected of anything really and I don’t want to put undue pressure on them.”
The GM acknowledged that, said good-bye and left.
Vik turned to leave as well, and found himself face-to-face with DCI Ianthe Seymour, who had a very puzzled expression on her face.
*
DCI Ianthe Seymour parked her Audi at sixteen minutes to two pm in the Regency Square Car Park where fees were a little better than in the Churchill Car Park, then walked to Sushi Garden on Preston Street for a bento box with a sashimi and sushi mix, which she ate on one of the benches on King’s Road, enjoying the May sunhine and watching the sea. It was a clear day and she could easily see the windmills in the distance. She thought they spoiled the view, which was also a sort of pollution in her opinion, but cheap and clean energy required sacrifices she assumed. At two twelve pm she had finished eating and started walking along King’s Road in the direction of West Street and The Lanes. She passed the Metropole Hotel, which she had always liked, despite its rather tired innards, the musty carpets and the maze of small and dark corridors. Beside the elegant cast-iron white balconies wrapping themselves suavely around the daringly red façade, the grandness of the excessively high ceilings in the ballroom-like restaurant had always charmed her. But perhaps the biggest appeal she found in the fact that it was referenced in the third part called The Fire Sermon of her favourite poem, The Waste Land. When T.S Eliot wrote that masterpiece, the Metropole was infamous as a hook-up place for homosexuals, at a time when being gay was still considered a crime. She thought she would go inside and have coffee in the Metropole Bar, perhaps even indulge in some dessert before she went to The Lanes. She pushed through the turnstiles, which were ridiculously small for such a big
hotel, and went straight to the bar. She was looking if there were any tables at the window that were free, when she was surprised to spot DI Vik Gorti standing at the far end of the room, deep in conversation with a man, who from the nametag she noticed on his suit, was likely to be one of the managers. What would they be discussing? Vik had told her he had already checked the alibi of Ricky Rowlands. He was probably double checking what the staff had been telling him with management, she thought. She walked over just when the manager was taking his leave. Vik turned around and almost bumped into her. His surprise and annoyance were immediately obvious.
“Ianthe. What brings you here? Checking up on me?”
“Not at all, Vik. What makes you say that? I just wanted to have coffee and perhaps something to go with it when I saw you. Care to join me? They have good coffee here.”
“No. … But thanks anyway. … I need to get home …. I was just double checking something with the general manager here …”
“That’s exactly what I thought when I saw you talking to him. Anything interesting?”
“Not really. They close at two am, not three. We need to double check that against Ricky’s statement.”
“I guess we’ll see him Monday anyway.”
“Haven’t been able to reach him yet though.”
“I trust you’ll manage. I have a meeting with the ACC after.”
Vik nodded.
Ianthe lowered herself in a chair at the table he had vacated and watched Vik leave. That had been awkward, she thought. There was something he was not telling her, she was certain, but she could not put her finger on it. The waiter came over and she ordered an espresso, having suddenly lost her appetite for sweetness.
*
DI Vik Gorti was already halfway to the Hilton Car Park when he remembered he had not parked his car there but rather in the Churchill Square Car Park. Never mind. He was not going to turn around and risk running into Ianthe Seymour again. He could go through the hotel backdoor instead and take a slight detour via Queensbury Mews. Honestly, he could hit himself for not having noticed her sneaking up on him. Why had she come into the Metropole? Had she followed him? Had she been checking up on him? Did she suspect he had not told her the truth about Ricky’s alibi? Had she found out how chummy he really was with Ricky Rowlands. He cursed and cursed again under his breath while hurrying towards Russell Square.
Dead in the Water Page 24
