Dead in the Water

by Wilfred Jules

  “Let’s go over there straight away after this. I need to check with them anyway on the CCTV from the Marina. Please let them know we will meet them in their conference room on the second floor. Was there anything else?”

  Ben said: “Yes in fact there is. Nathan Greystone told me he is one hundred percent certain that Brandon Nicholson is gay but is still ‘in the closet’ about it. That must be why he has been so secretive about his whereabouts. He doesn’t want anyone to find out.”

  Ianthe sighed.

  “Hard to imagine in this day and age someone is still feeling uncertain about coming out about his sexual preference. I’m glad to hear he isn’t into underage girls or worse. Can you discreetly check with him, Ben?”

  Ben nodded. He and John looked very relaxed, Ianthe thought. They must have had a nice Sunday.

  *

  Except for Anne Baker and Geoff Simmons, they all walked across the yard to the Operations Building that also held the IT department. They went up to the second floor conference room where they found a young man waiting for them, his laptop open in front of him projecting a map of the Channel on the screen at the far end of the room. He presented himself as Cliff Hodge, IT Technician on duty. Ianthe presented her team as they seated themselves around the table, then asked what he could show them.

  “We analysed the data on the GPS and Plotter we received Saturday afternoon from DC John Ryan.” He nodded at him.

  “It was actually not difficult at all to extract the data, as this is a high end system but at the same time a very common brand that uses standard files throughout its range. On the screen you can obviously see the English Channel with Brighton marked there.” He pointed at the screen.

  “I will now overlay the routes and waypoints extracted.” He hit a few keys on his computer, and on the screen appeared a cluster of red lines crossing the Channel from Brighton to France.

  “As you can see, all routes extracted go from Brighton area to France and back in almost a straight line. But analysis showed that all routes taken had the same endpoint at a waypoint set right off the French coast. If I zoom in on the French coast, you will first see the port of Fecamp appear and you would think that is where he was heading. But if I zoom in closer, you will notice that the endpoint of the route is actually about two nautical miles south of Fecamp port entry, approximately one nautical mile from the coast at the level of a set of leading lights on land called “Pointe du Chicard”. This is close to a village called Yport. And all that is north of the main port of Le Havre. I checked and the town of Yport looks like a little holiday place built at the base of cliffs not unlike those at Dover, with beaches that are well protected from the elements. If I combine this with the GPS signal data themselves, they showed that this yacht went to that waypoint and stayed there for one to two hours maximum before it returned to Brighton.”

  “That must have been his pick-up point then,” Ben commented.

  “Makes sense,” John added. “He sailed as close to the coast as his draught allowed. You see the waypoint is exactly on the five-meter depth contour. They must have come out to meet him there in a rib or so.”

  “So, he took delivery of the narcotics and the illegal immigrants there, turned and sailed them back to Brighton Marina,” Vik remarked.

  “Not quite the Marina,” Cliff Hodge mentioned.

  “You see when I now zoom into the details on the English side of the Channel, you notice immediately he first diverts to a waypoint about one nautical mile off the entrance to the port of Shoreham, close to that Cardinal buoy you see there, and after that he sails back along the coast to Brighton Marina. I guess that means that he delivers the goods to someone in a smaller boat that can enter Shoreham, which is not deep enough for a big sailing yacht.”

  “Shoreham is perfect for that sort of activity in my opinion,” John commented. “The entrance to the port is quite well protected by the two concrete breakwaters you see on the map. Visiting vessels would always turn right to the locks because the Western Arm is too shallow for either yachts or commercial coasters. There are some houseboats moored there but in general it would all be very discrete. A RIB could easily pick up people from a bigger boat at that South Cardinal Buoy and sail all the way up the Western Arm and the River Adur. You could drop your cargo, narcotics or people, quite far inland. There are RIBs going about all the time, so hardly anyone would take note. He could easily do two or more trips to limit the number of people he’d be taking onboard. Even if he goes all the way up to the Adur, it’s still only two or three nautical miles, so maximum half an hour each way for a RIB if he drives at six miles. Which is slow for that type of vessel. He might of course have more than one boat.”

  “If he has quite a few people onboard it would indeed be far less conspicuous if they were unloaded onto RIBs first,” Ianthe agreed. “How long would the journey take from Brighton to France and back again?”

  “Well we have good information from the plotter and GPS there as well. It has taken him between eleven and thirteen hours each way.”

  “Big difference,” Ajanta noted. John answered:

  “It very much depends on the wind and the tides. I guess it sort of means that he did sail and not just use the engine all the time.”

  “Can you get from the system exactly on which dates he has made those trips with an accuracy that would stand up in court?” Ianthe wanted to know.

  “Not a problem at all. The GPS system is based on satellite time so it is extremely accurate. No expert could possibly doubt that. I can email you a list of dates and exact times if you want, ma’am.”

  “That would be marvellous. How many people would he be able to take on every trip you think, John?” Ianthe asked next.

  “Big yacht like that? Keeping everyone below though I guess. At least twenty I would say. Perhaps even thirty or more if they don’t mind being squeezed in uncomfortably most of the journey.”

  “Not sure what the going rates are, but probably not a bad business with healthy margins,” Ben whistled.

  “I have read an article recently in the national press that claimed truck drivers could get up to a grand per person,” Ianthe said. “Say Bert Devos took on average thirty people per trip, that would make a handsome income. All tax-free.”

  “Which would be quite in line with the cash bank deposits we have seen Mr Devos make. If you remember, that was twenty-thousand pounds on average, sometimes more,” Ajanta commented. “If we get the exact dates from Cliff, I bet you anything these dates will closely match the dates of the actual deposits.”

  “This comes just in time for my meeting with the ACC at noon,” Ianthe mentioned. “It looks like we have something to go on here. Thanks for this Cliff.”

  *

  After they had finished the meeting with Cliff Hodge, they went to the CCTV room where they were met by an excited Ronnie Henderson. They settled around him and he pointed at the screen where he would show the footing he had enhanced.

  “I was able to improve much of the footing, Chief Inspector, but it didn’t give us any new information. Or at least that is what I first thought. But then I had a second look at this particular section.”

  He pointed at the screen and fiddled with his keyboard.

  They watched but saw nothing but dark water. Ianthe looked at him puzzled.

  “You didn’t see it? It took me a while too to see the anomaly as it is almost in the dead corner of the camera. Look at the left bottom corner while I replay in slow motion.”

  They watched. Nothing at first. Then suddenly Ianthe saw movement as something glided through the image.

  “What is that?” she exclaimed.

  Ronnie Henderson looked pretty smug when he said: “Glad you finally saw it, too, Chief Inspector. What we see there I believe to be a black RIB that was probably being used by your murderer when he left the Marina. I’m guessing he entered the Marina the same way but he took good care staying so close to the buoy the camera didn’t catch him. Other boats can
not go that close, but a RIB can rub up to the buoy all right and stay invisible. He was probably a little impatient getting away and slipped into view for just a very brief while.”

  “That’s all fine,” Vik drily commented. “But it’s only part of a RIB with no discerning marks. Doesn’t help us much, does it?”

  “It does explain how he could enter and leave the Marina unseen,” Ianthe mused. “That means it corroborates our theory on that. And that’s good news.”

  *

  It was already four minutes past ten am, Ianthe noticed, so they hurried back to see if Ricky Rowlands and his solicitor had arrived. They had.

  Ianthe had decided to take the interview together with Vik. Ben and Ajanta would watch it remotely, while John would check with Moira Kelly if she could help identifying the RIB.

  *

  “Good morning, Mr Rowlands and thank you for coming in to see us,” Ianthe said, stepping into the room and switching on the tape.

  “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Ianthe Seymour, in charge of this investigation. For the benefit of the tape, can you please identify yourself.”

  They each said their name. The solicitor Ricky Rowlands had brought was Bernard Lynch himself, the senior partner at ‘Lynch, Godfrey, Montgomery and Holloway’.

  “Nice to make your acquaintance Mr Lynch,” Ianthe commented. “I have had the pleasure of speaking to your colleague Mr Holloway earlier this week.”

  “Yes, chief inspector, I am aware of that coincidence. May I know why we’re here? Is my client a suspect in your investigation?”

  “As you know, Mr Lynch, everyone is a suspect in a murder inquiry. But we are here to go over and clarify the statement Mr Rowlands made to my colleague here, earlier this week. Nothing more than that.”

  That seemed to satisfy Bernard Lynch for now. Ianthe directed her attention to Ricky Rowlands, who seemed to be totally at ease.

  “Mr Rowlands, is there anything you would like to change in the statement you have made to DI Gorti earlier this week?”

  Ricky Rowlands replied he would not. Ianthe had decided to immediately attack him.

  “Mr Rowlands, you said in your statement that on the evening of Monday thirteen May, which is last Monday, you were playing a game of poker with friends at the Metropole Hotel here in Brighton.”

  Ricky Rowlands nodded in agreement and said that was correct.

  “But you stated that you were there until three am, whereas the hotel has confirmed to us that the Metropole Bar closed that day at two am. Can you explain that, please?”

  Ricky Rowlands did not have to think about his response at all, Ianthe was surprised to see.

  “What I meant, Chief Inspector, was that we played cards until the bar closed. I didn’t look at my watch, but it must have been around two am as you say. Then we stood outside chatting for a brief while before we each went our own way. I had parked my car in the parking lot of Churchill Square. When I finally arrived home, it was close to three am, actually.”

  “At that time of the night, it would only be a ten-minute drive though,” Ianthe commented.

  Ricky shrugged.

  “What can I say, Chief Inspector? I’m a slow driver. Besides, I paid for the car park using my Mastercard. I brought the payment slip with me. You will see it corroborates what I have just said.”

  He pushed the small piece of paper to her.

  “Thank you for that. I understand from the Hotel staff as well that you are a regular guest there. It appears your poker game usually breaks for thirty minutes around midnight. During which time you go out of the room by yourself.”

  Again, the reply was instantaneous.

  “Correct, Chief Inspector, you are very well informed I must say. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning but indeed we break about mid-way, probably around midnight as you say. We go out for a smoke or a leak, or both. Sometime I have urgent business to attend and I do a phone call or two as well. Mind you, I don’t always go out of the room alone. Except to go to the bathroom, obviously.”

  He smiled.

  Vik chimed in: “And is there someone who can corroborate your story, Mr Rowlands?”

  “Actually, there is. Last Monday you remember the weather was not so good. I accompanied one of my friends to the garage of the Hilton where he had a smoke. That’s Marcus Johnson, actually, in case you wanted to ask. I realized I forgot to tell you the names of the people in my party, so I gave a list to my solicitor.”

  Bernard Lynch took a page from his bundle and handed it to Ianthe. She studied it briefly, then handed it to Vik. Bernard Lynch said:

  “I believe my client has been very forthcoming, Chief Inspector. If you don’t have any other questions, perhaps we can finish the interview here? I am sure you realize my client is a terribly busy man.”

  Ianthe looked at Vik, who nodded. They terminated the interview, asked Ricky Rowlands to wait for the statement to be changed and to be signed by him. Then they left the room and went to the conference room.

  *

  In the conference room Ianthe and Vik were joined by Ben and Ajanta. Vik said:

  “Well, that didn’t help us much, did it? Looks like he’s got a firm alibi all right.”

  “I wouldn’t jump to conclusion just yet, Vik,” Ianthe replied.

  “What do you mean by that, guv,” Ben wanted to know. “He seemed to have the answers to all your questions.”

  “Well, that’s exactly the thing that is bothering me,” she responded. “It was all a bit too easy, too smooth. He wasn’t surprised at all by my questions. He didn’t have to think about his answers at all. It was as if he knew what I was going to ask and had prepared his response.”

  “Do you think he was briefed by someone?”

  Ianthe sighed.

  “That or his solicitor noticed the holes in his statement and had discussed the responses with him. That’s what I prefer to think anyway.”

  She turned to Vik.

  “Tell me, Vik, why have you not checked his alibi with the other people in his party?”

  “I couldn’t reach them in time,” Vik answered defensively. “And anyway, if he were involved, I was certain he would have briefed them what to say. They’re all old pals of his. Some work for him I know, either in an official capacity or not.”

  “Guess you have a point there, but I would have preferred to have all their statements to see if they differ on any point. It’s a bit late now, but can you please try to get those statements still? Ben and Ajanta can help.”

  They agreed and left. Ianthe stood deep in thought. Vik’s behaviour was weird, she thought. Why had he not put more effort into getting those statements earlier? She should have checked with him that he had. She had just assumed he had but it now appeared he had considered it sufficient to get the alibi confirmed by the hotel staff. That was a little flippant she thought, especially for someone as senior as Vik was. But then there was a reason he had not yet been promoted.

  *

  DC John Ryan was smiling in anticipation as he parked his bike at the Marina car park. Moira and he had had a great Sunday afternoon. After their walk at Devil’s Dyke they had gone for Sunday Roast at the Daddy Longleg’s which was close to her flat. The date had stretched into the evening and since the weather had continue to hold, they had had drinks in the garden of the same pub until nine pm or so. Just as he had been wondering whether she would ask him to come up to her flat with her, she had all of a sudden told him she had an early start Monday and had gone home to bed. A kiss on his cheek, but still a kiss. They had not set a new date, so he was pleased the have the opportunity already to talk to her and perhaps ask her on another date the next weekend.

  He entered the office. She was not there but a man in his thirties was sitting behind the desk reading the paper. He looked up when John came in and asked what he could do for him. John introduced himself and told him he was looking for the harbour master.

  “Well, you’re looking at him.
What can I do for you, officer?” He said to John’s surprise.

  “Actually, I’m looking for harbour master Moira Kelly,” he answered.

  The man frowned.

  “Moira Kelly? She doesn’t work here any longer, actually. I’m harbour master Stanley Watson. Moira has been substituting for me during my leave of absence.”

  John was flabbergasted by the news.

  “Was that a recent decision for you to come back?” he asked.

  “Not really. I took a leave of absence for a year to sail around the world. Everyone knew I was going to return around this time. I told Moira three weeks ago I would start again today. I guess she didn’t find it necessary to inform you.”

  John managed to recover and briefly told Stan Watson what he needed to know about Operation Blackbird. Fortunately, he had been briefed by security about what had happened. John showed him the screenshot of the black RIB, but not surprisingly he was not able to help with that.

  “There are just too many of those RIBs around to be able to tell you whose it is. Mind you, I’m surprised no one noticed it if it went out Monday night.”

  “Why is that? It would have been around midnight after all.”

  “You remember what kind of weather it was Monday night? There would have been quite a nasty swell in the entrance, which means the RIB would have to have gone full throttle to push through. Which is probably why he was unable to stay as close to the buoy as when he entered. And a full throttle RIB makes an awful lot of noise. It would have woken up people in the flats there.”

  “Interesting. And no way to avoid that racket?”

  “Only if you have a RIB with one of those new electric engines. They hardly make any noise at all.”

  “But would they be powerful enough?”

  “Hard to say. Power and range are still a problem for electrical engines. But if you had one of those Pulse58 Electric Drives, it might work. Mind you, these are brand new technology. I can send you some information if you like.”

  They agreed and John gave him his email address to send the information to. He walked back to his bike, still totally non-plussed about what he had been told about Moira Kelly. Why had she not told him she was leaving? He climbed on his bike and rode to her address. Her name did not appear on any of the bells though. He pushed one of them randomly and when there was no answer, he tried another one until someone answered who told him that he did not know a Moira Kelly. He tried another flat until he had spoken to three of the eight residents. None of them seemed to have been aware that she had been living here. It was getting stranger all the time. He called her mobile number but received the response that the mobile was either switched off or had no service.