‘Yes. Actually, it wasn’t quite an introduction, more of a re-introduction. He was reminding this man who he was. He then gave him a one line account of his marriage break-up and subsequent acknowledgement of his “true nature”.’
‘He used those words?’
‘Yes. Rather old-fashioned, wasn’t it?’
‘How did the other man respond?’
‘This was a couple of months ago, Sarah.’
‘You don’t remember?’
He smiled. ‘Actually, I do, though I don’t know exactly why. He said something like – no, exactly like – “your true nature has been known to the rest of us for a long time”. Then they both laughed.’
‘Gulliver wasn’t offended?’
‘Didn’t seem to be but I wasn’t looking at them, just listening.’
Gilchrist nodded. ‘I don’t suppose you remember the name of the man Gulliver was talking to?’
Bilson thought for a moment.
‘There might have been a first name but I don’t really recall.’
‘A regular at the pool?’
Bilson shook his head. ‘Actually, no. I’d never seen the man before. Or since.’
‘Description?’
‘You think this man might have had something to do with the stabbing? Bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’
‘I have no idea whether he did or not, Frank. I’m just trying to build up a picture of Gulliver’s life.’
‘Paunchy, but strong-looking arms. Not gym work out pretend – properly exercised. Tanned. Dark hair, neatly cut. Late forties, early fifties.’
‘Facial features?’
‘Didn’t really notice. So regular featured, I’d guess.’
‘Tell me about the Save Salthaven Lido people.’
‘It would seem to me you might find it more profitable to investigate the businesswoman they are opposing.’
‘Do you know her too?’
He shook his head. ‘I think she’s based up north somewhere. Scarborough, perhaps.’
Gilchrist followed his look out to sea. One of the tankers had disappeared. The other was just slipping below the horizon.
‘It’s my birthday today,’ Bilson said.
‘A significant one?’
‘I don’t regard any of them as significant, Sarah. We’re born, we suffer and we die.’
‘Jesus, Frank.’ She nudged him. ‘Don’t be such an optimist.’
He smiled. ‘Realistic, Sarah. That doesn’t mean I don’t make the most of life.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘So if you were inclined to give me a birthday treat …?’
She laughed. ‘I’ll buy you a bag of Percy Pigs.’
Bilson shrugged.
‘I don’t know what they are but I’m sure I wouldn’t like them, even coming from your fair hands.’
Gilchrist squeezed his arm. ‘Best offer you’re going to get from me.’
She saw Heap approaching in their car. Bilson saw it too.
‘Bright lad, that Bellamy. He’ll go far.’
‘Yes, he will,’ she murmured, thinking about him going out with her best friend, Kate. She looked back at Bilson. ‘Anyway, happy birthday, whether you like it or not.’
‘Do you mind if we put the windows down, Bellamy?’
‘I have bathed this morning, ma’am.’
‘I like the wind blowing in off the sea.’
They were high up on the cliff road, driving past Rottingdean School on their right, Brighton bay spread out below them to their left. The sea looked jolly, like something out of a children’s picture: against a backdrop of fluffy white clouds and bright blue sky, the sun darted off the water and dozens of sail boats flitted back and forth.
‘The negative ions,’ Heap said.
‘Something lifts the spirits, that’s for sure,’ Gilchrist said, pushing her face into the breeze flapping through the window. ‘But actually I think it’s just the salty tang.’
‘Do your spirits need lifting, ma’am? If you don’t mind my asking.’
Gilchrist kept her face towards the sea.
‘I think sometimes we all get in a slump or take a wrong turn. Don’t you, Bellamy?’
‘Of course, ma’am. But what makes us special, it seems to me, is our ability to work our way through such slumps by force of will or change of ideas or whatever the solution might be.’
Gilchrist nodded, although Heap’s eyes were on the road, so he wouldn’t see. Perhaps Heap wasn’t the person with whom to discuss late-onset promiscuity. Not that she had anyone else to discuss it with. In the past she would have talked to Kate, but if she did that now it would only get back to Heap anyway because of the way that couples share other people’s secrets. So maybe she should just cut out the middle-person and go straight to Bellamy, after all.
‘There’s a Yorkshire woman owns the freehold on the lido, ma’am. Tough-sounding cookie called Alice Sutherland.’
‘Bilson mentioned her. Based in Scarborough, he said.’
‘She’s a developer. There’s a big old hotel in a dominating position in Scarborough she wants to buy but the owners are resisting. She looked at a development at the West Pier but backed out when the i360 got the go-ahead. Her usual model is conversion into flats with some offices and a couple of restaurants.’
‘Doesn’t sound a bad model,’ Gilchrist said. ‘But what makes you say she’s tough?’
‘She was married to Harry Henrickson, that guy from the telly who runs all the spas? He’s thirty years older than her. They’d been living together and a year after they married she left him. Screwed him for £30 or £40 mil and used it to set up her own chain of health shops.’
Gilchrist nodded. ‘She’s the one who put up a billboard directly opposite his HQ in Canary Wharf advertising her shops?’ she said.
‘She’s the one. Well, now she’s diversified into these kinds of developments. There’ll be flats and offices in the lido if she has her way.’
‘I don’t see what’s wrong with that. The lido is pretty much derelict anyway. No investment for decades, hardly anyone wants to swim in it because the water is so bloody cold. Far too expensive to keep up. What are the Save the Lido gang proposing to do with it?’
‘Community use. Gym, heated pool, couple of restaurants, hiring out spaces. The local library is already there and will stay.’
‘Same sort of idea then with a bit of community use thrown in. The two sides don’t seem so far apart.’ She smiled at Heap. ‘You have been a quick worker this morning.’
Heap shook his head. ‘I knew most of this stuff anyway. Kate is a signed-up Save the Lido person.’
‘You?’
‘I’m a copper, ma’am. Not allowed personal opinions.’
‘Is the future of the lido enough motive to kill though?’
‘Money is always a motive to kill, ma’am.’
‘Yes – but linking it so obviously to the lido? Shouldn’t he have been gift-wrapped too with a card from her attached to him?’
‘Perhaps when we’ve spoken to some of the Save the Lido people it will make more sense.’
Gilchrist nodded and closed the windows as they approached the aquarium and the road junction at the bottom of the Old Steine. As usual, the area in front of the Palace pier was thronged with people.
Gilchrist yawned.
‘I’m knackered and the day hasn’t even started yet.’ She flushed when she remembered Heap had seen her last night’s visitor leave her apartment. Heap kept his eyes on the road.
TWO
The chair of Save the Lido, Mrs April Medavoy, worked in Brighton, as most people from Salthaven did. She arranged to meet them in Browns café opposite a church that had been converted into an art gallery. Last time Gilchrist had wandered into the gallery she found herself in the middle of an exhibition comprising layer after layer of washing lines hung with hundreds of shirts. There was a lot about the arts in Brighton she didn’t get.
‘I thought it would be more private,’ Mrs Medavoy said, as cutlery clatt
ered and waiters and waitresses bustled around them.
‘Not entirely,’ Gilchrist said.
‘My office is definitely not private,’ the woman said. ‘Open-plan.’
‘This is fine,’ Heap said as their drinks arrived. Two coffees and his mint infusion.
‘So, Mrs Medavoy,’ Gilchrist said. ‘How well do you know Roland Gulliver?’
‘Please, call me April – if you’re allowed to, that is.’
‘I don’t think that would be seen as fraternizing with a witness,’ Heap said, sipping his infusion. The smell of mint spread around them.
‘Is that what I am? A witness? Witness to what?’
Gilchrist glanced at Heap. He shot her an apologetic look. Gilchrist scanned the woman’s face. Well preserved fifties, she judged, carefully made-up and with an expensive haircut. Good figure.
‘What kind of business are you in, April?’ Gilchrist said.
‘We wholesale alternative therapy products,’ she said.
‘Interesting,’ Gilchrist said, without conviction. ‘And how long have you known Roland Gulliver?’
‘Well, I’ve known of him for longer than I’ve known him,’ she said, blowing on her latte before taking a sip. ‘You know – his Channel swim using that bullying stroke.’
‘Butterfly,’ Heap said.
‘Yes. Personally the Channel or some other massive area of water is the only place I’d allow anyone to do it. So antisocial.’
Gilchrist nodded. She might end up liking this woman. ‘A remarkable achievement though,’ she said.
‘You have no idea,’ Medavoy said. ‘Do you know how many muscle groups are involved in that ludicrous stroke?’
‘I’m guessing you do,’ Gilchrist said.
Medavoy smiled. She had good teeth. Artificially whitened. Gilchrist had been thinking about having it done.
‘Actually, I do. I used to be a county swimmer, though backstroke was my preference.’
‘Did you get near to the national team?’ Heap said.
‘I trained with them but, you know, life got in the way …’
Medavoy smiled again, more brightly. Gilchrist smiled back, not persuaded by the brightness.
‘And then you met Roland?’
‘Only when we launched the Save the Lido campaign.’
‘Which was when?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Six months ago, in the Salthaven library. He turned up drunk.’
Gilchrist forced herself not to glance at Heap.
‘Was he difficult?’
‘Not in the least,’ Medavoy said. ‘In fact he made some very good points.’
‘In a slurred sort of way,’ Gilchrist said with a smile.
‘Actually, I don’t recall him slurring. But his exuberance indicated he was drunk.’
‘Why was he there?’ Gilchrist said.
Medavoy shrugged. ‘He didn’t want the lido to close,’ she said.
‘Did he say why? Was it the swimming?’
‘That and the beauty of the building. It’s pure 1930s Art Deco. We’re trying to get it listed.’
‘Did Roland Gulliver have something special to offer the campaign to save the lido?’ Heap said.
‘Enthusiasm. Some expertise in building development.’
‘Building development?’ Gilchrist said. ‘What’s that? Refurbishment?’
‘Sort of – more about finding new uses for old buildings.’
‘Isn’t that what Alice Sutherland is proposing?’ Gilchrist said.
Before Medavoy could reply, Heap asked: ‘Had he lived in Salthaven long?’
Gilchrist pursed her lips at the interruption.
‘I don’t believe so,’ Medavoy said. ‘I hadn’t seen him around and it’s a pretty small community. But perhaps he kept himself to himself.’
‘So he joined your committee,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Was he helpful?’
‘Efficient. He did whatever he was given to do efficiently. Helping draft letters to councillors and English Heritage, working on the news sheet and keeping the website updated. And he helped organize the security rota.’
‘Security rota?’
‘He persuaded us that we couldn’t expect to rely on the police to prevent vandalism at the pool. There are grown men and women who regard that man who defaces buildings in Bristol and elsewhere with graffiti as an artist.’
‘Banksy?’ Heap said.
‘I believe so. Roland believed that the best communities were most safe and secure if the community worked in partnership with the police and other appropriate agencies.’
Heap glanced at Gilchrist, whose face had gone stony, and she saw him hold down a smirk. That was the kind of rubbish she and her detective sergeant had been wading through for the past three months. As far as she was concerned, such collaborations just diluted the effectiveness of both preventative and reactive policing. However, she knew that Heap disagreed with her.
‘Did Mr Gulliver have policing in his CV, do you know, April?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Not so far as I’m aware,’ Medavoy replied, ‘but he was a highly intelligent man. Highly intelligent.’
‘Is it possible he was at the lido because it was his turn on the security rota?’
‘I don’t think he was usually on it. But perhaps if someone had dropped out at the last minute …?’
‘Do you have a copy of the rota?’
‘Probably – somewhere. Roland was very good at copying the committee into everything.’
‘If you could find that as a priority when you get back to your office, Mrs Medavoy,’ Gilchrist said.
‘April,’ Medavoy repeated quietly.
Heap leaned forward. ‘Did Mr Gulliver have dealings with Alice Sutherland?’ he said.
Medavoy looked from one to the other of them. ‘Has something happened to her?’
‘Why would you think that?’ Gilchrist said mildly.
Medavoy wrinkled her nose in an oddly girlish expression. ‘Hope, not think. She is a very difficult customer who cares nothing for our community – or, I imagine, any community – but only for her own profit.’
‘You have had dealings with her?’
‘Yes, through our lawyer. I have tried to arrange meetings with her but have been rebuffed on each occasion.’ Medavoy clasped her hands in front of her. ‘But I shouldn’t have said what I said. I wouldn’t wish harm to anyone.’
‘I’m afraid it’s Mr Gulliver who has come to harm,’ Gilchrist said gently.
A look Gilchrist couldn’t read – alarm or fear – crossed Medavoy’s face.
‘What’s happened to him?’ Medavoy said breathlessly.
‘I’m sorry to tell you he’s been killed,’ Gilchrist said. ‘He was discovered this morning on the steps of the lido.’
Medavoy took an audible gulp of air.
‘An accident?’
‘We don’t know the circumstances, but he was stabbed.’
Medavoy almost shrank back in her chair.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Medavoy?’ Heap said.
She flashed a look at him. ‘Of course I’m not, you stupid boy,’ she said. An instant later, she put her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she stammered. ‘The shock …’
‘Just take a moment, Mrs Medavoy,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Such things are a shock.’
Medavoy looked from one to the other of them. ‘Perhaps not to you,’ she said weakly after a moment. ‘But in my world …’
‘In anyone’s world,’ Heap said quietly.
‘Can you think of any enemies Mr Gulliver might have had?’
‘I didn’t know him well enough, Detective Inspector.’
‘Can you think of any particular friends – maybe on the committee?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. But then we’re not the kind of committee that goes down the pub after a meeting. We have a job to do and that’s what we concentrate on.’
Gilchrist pressed her palms on the table and started to stand. ‘I think we’re done for now then,’ she said
. ‘If you could let Detective Sergeant Heap have contact details for other committee members and, indeed, anyone who has signed up to save the lido.’
‘Well, we have a petition of three thousand people but I’m not sure we can release those names. Isn’t that against Data Protection or something?’
‘If it’s a petition, the names and addresses are public anyway, Mrs Medavoy,’ Heap said, his voice still quiet.
Medavoy gave a little laugh. ‘Of course.’
Heap passed her his card. ‘My email address is on here. We need the security rota too. If you could send everything through by lunchtime that would be great.’
These days Gilchrist and Heap had an office to themselves. The dreaded DS Donald Donaldson, who had a somewhat combative relationship with Heap, was on loan to the Gatwick Airport division. Gatwick had the biggest arsenal of weapons in the whole force. Gilchrist was too professional to say anything to Heap but she seriously wondered if putting the fiery-tempered Donaldson so near to it was wise.
They discussed April Medavoy on the way in.
‘There was something off about her,’ Gilchrist said.
‘You think she’s a suspect?’ Heap said.
‘No, not that. Just something not quite right. What about when she snapped at you after she’d been all nicey-nicey?’
‘I think it’s understandable in the circumstances,’ Heap said. ‘But let’s see what Bilson has to say when he phones.’
He phoned on the landline half an hour later.
‘And?’ Gilchrist said.
‘And hello again to you, Sarah,’ Bilson said. ‘How quickly they forget once they have used you.’
‘I haven’t used you yet, Mr Bilson.’
‘And first names go too, even on one’s birthday.’
‘Sorry. I forgot it was your birthday. What are you doing with the rest of your day, Frank?’
‘Scuttling beneath a silent sea. You haven’t seen my ragged claws, have you?’
‘That’s a bit over my head, Frank, but then many things are. What do you have?’
‘Alcohol in the system though nothing excessive.’
‘We found an empty bottle of wine with two glasses at the house.’
‘I know. The DNA on one glass is his. The second glass does not match the DNA splashed around his body. I hope you have a budget for turning those DNA tests round so superhumanly quickly, by the way. And as yet there’s no match with anyone on the database for either.’
Swimming with the Dead Page 2
