The Lady of the Lake

by Peter Guttridge

  ‘No sign of violence to them?’

  ‘No, ma’am. But, ma’am, if this building is typical of Said Farzi’s scores of other properties, we have a major scandal on our hands – and a major lawbreaker.’

  Gilchrist nodded. ‘We need to find out from Abbas exactly where in Morocco Farzi is. We need to get him back here. Do our governments get on, do you know?’

  ‘I believe so, ma’am,’ Heap said. ‘It’s a kingship, I believe, and the king is our ally in the war against terror. He runs a pretty authoritarian set-up – major repression of dissident voices.’

  Gilchrist turned back to Sylvia. ‘You have the footage from the lake, I believe?’

  ‘I forwarded it to you and DS Heap. Bunch of young people, on the whole, as best you can see.’

  ‘I’ll look at it on my laptop this evening. Bellamy, you should go to Kate now.’

  ‘You should come with me, ma’am. You’re booked into Pelham House, remember? And I think your laptop is there.’

  ‘Ha – I’d forgotten. I can do a bit more digging up there this evening then.’ She turned to Sylvia Wade. ‘Good work, Sylvia. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘By then we should have been able to access the phone and laptop of Joe Jackson.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  NINE

  Heap dropped Gilchrist off at Pelham House and set off home. They had scarcely spoken on the way up from Brighton. Gilchrist felt bad she didn’t offer to go home with him to comfort Kate but that kind of thing wasn’t her strong point. Actually, this was one of those days when she struggled to think what her strong point was.

  As she was registering at reception, the receptionist said: ‘Will you be seeing the American lady you were having coffee with this morning again before she leaves the country?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to – why?’ Gilchrist said, writing in her home address on the card in front of her.

  ‘She left the cable for her laptop in her room. I thought she might need it before she gets back home.’

  ‘I don’t think I can help you but I can check with her friend.’

  ‘Only if it’s no bother.’

  ‘It’s no bother.’

  ‘Is she an actress?’

  ‘An agent for actors and actresses.’

  ‘Oh, that explains it,’ the receptionist said, taking the card back from her. ‘I just need to take a swipe of your credit card for any extras and we’re done. I’m afraid there’s no lift – listed building – so you have to walk up those stairs to your room, but it is only one flight up. Your bags are in your room.’

  ‘Explains what?’

  ‘We had an actor staying in here for a few days before she arrived. He didn’t have much to say for himself but I recognized him. Anyway, the two of them were having a conflab the other night.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t say, as we take our clients privacy very seriously, but my boyfriend is a bit of a fan of horror movies and that dark stuff. Give me Mary Poppins Returns anytime. Anyway, he’s quite hunky in real life.’ She giggled. ‘Don’t tell my boyfriend I said that! But I wouldn’t have minded. Definitely don’t tell him I said that either! In another life, of course.’

  ‘Who was it? I’m a police officer – you can trust me.’

  ‘Oh – you do know who he is!’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You just quoted him in that film where he’s an insane policeman who gets into women’s apartments then strangles them with their own stockings during kinky sex. I must say, I wouldn’t have minded going all Fifty Shades of Grey with him.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Look at me, getting all flustered.’

  ‘Did he have a boxer’s punching bag with him by any chance?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly say,’ the receptionist said, making a gesture to zip her mouth while nodding at the same time.

  Gilchrist nodded too, took her pass key and went up the ornate stairs. When she was in her room she immediately phoned Sylvia Wade. She wanted to phone Heap but knew she needed to leave him to have time with Kate.

  ‘Sylvia – George Bosanquet was here in Lewes around the time Richard Rabbitt was murdered.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sorry – you’re not up-to-date on our investigation, are you? He’s a sociopathic actor who in the past has made death threats to Nimue Grace. Can you find out how long he was here and where he is now? He must have an agent in Los Angeles – check with her or him.’

  ‘It’s still early in Los Angeles, ma’am.’

  ‘So it is. Do you mind trying in a couple of hours?’

  Gilchrist paced the room. She looked in the minibar but there was a card stating that if she wanted it stocked she should call reception. She grabbed her laptop and phone and went down to the bar. It was pretty empty. She ordered a large Chardonnay, sat in a corner and flipped open her laptop.

  She would really have valued Bellamy’s counsel but knew it would be outrageous to disturb him tonight of all nights. She half hoped he and Kate would walk in. She got the next best thing when her phone rang. Kate.

  ‘My mum didn’t talk to me much but one thing she did say a few times was that she’d always wanted to go ballooning but was scared to. I actually bought her a ride that she never used. I found the voucher among her things. It’s still valid. So I thought I’d like to do it to remember her. I thought I should probably ask Dad but I need moral support. The basket can hold six. I wondered if, in addition to Dad and Bellamy, you and Bob would like to come. I can’t think of anyone else but that doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Bellamy mentioned it. I’d love to.’

  ‘Great – see you tomorrow then.’

  Gilchrist finished her first glass of wine pretty quickly. When she’d made her way through most of the second she decided to call Nimue Grace.

  ‘I don’t want to freak you out, Ms Grace, but George Bosanquet has been staying at Pelham House in Lewes for the past few days. He left the day Rabbitt’s body was discovered. Did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t know but it gives me a chill to think of it. And something else makes sense now. I thought I was going nuts because – I told you, didn’t I? – I thought I saw his face at the window one night. You know, pressed against the pane, trying to look in. Scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘Can you remember what night?’

  ‘Please. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning. Or even if I had breakfast. That’s what I used to have a secretary for – to keep track of all that stuff. And two people to read my scripts.’

  ‘To read your scripts?’

  ‘Yeah. There was a time when I was big enough for the “Get Me Cary Grant” part of that joke. I was inundated with them. It’s not the done thing to say which roles you turned down that made stars of other actors but let’s just say there was a period when I got offered everything first and turned down pretty much everything.

  ‘But when you keep turning stuff down, eventually, of course, they stop sending you scripts and you’re forgotten. What was that phrase coined by some labour politician back in the sixties? “Ten minutes is a long time in politics”? Well, you get a nanosecond in Hollywood. Your star glimmers, shines bright then is extinguished – phttt. Just like that. You’re past history. Forgotten.’

  Grace seemed to have a rare talent for going off at a tangent. Was it a drug-related thing? Or just an actor thing?

  ‘You’re not forgotten, Ms Grace,’ Gilchrist said, trying to get it back on track. ‘Did you say Bosanquet was violent?’

  ‘Only to women. Oh, and his punching bag. When he had a bit of money – in the time we were together that would be my money – he never travelled anywhere without the punching bag. I told you, didn’t I? He was obsessed with his body and had decided punching this thing was the best way of keeping fit. But he was too cowardly to try punching men. He was frightened of being hit and couldn’t take a punch anyway.’

  ‘Would he have any other reason to be
here in this area? Other than you, I mean?’

  ‘Not that I can think of – unless it was some woman he’d come to fuck. But he’d probably just go to the nearest brothel. Is there a brothel round here? He’s big on hookers because he doesn’t have to make an effort.’

  ‘No business interests here?’

  ‘I don’t think so. In the States he does invest in shopping malls and vineyards.’

  ‘Shopping malls?’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘Yes – he owns three or four. And vineyards. He doesn’t grow his own wine, like Sam Neill or Gerard Depardieu, but he invests in them in Napa Valley.’

  ‘How are you doing, Ms Grace?’

  ‘Fine and dandy. Why? Do you want to drop by for a drink?’

  ‘I would be happy to say yes – I’m down at Pelham House – but I have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Admin is so tedious,’ Grace said.

  Gilchrist finished her drink. ‘Actually, it’s another murder in Brighton that may or may not be linked to Said Farzi.’

  ‘What?’

  Gilchrist bit her lip. Why had she said that? To impress a movie star? Or was it because she wanted to shake something up, in case Grace knew more about Said Farzi than she was saying? She didn’t know but she ploughed on.

  ‘There’s no need for alarm, Ms Grace. It was a young student renting from Farzi in Brighton.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘If somebody has died I think it’s only respectful to give him a name.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t released it yet but, OK, I’ll tell you in confidence. His name is Joe Jackson.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Ms Grace?’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you call me Nimue or Nim or Grace or You – anything but this Ms Grace shit?’

  Gilchrist was startled by Grace’s vehemence. She thought for a moment, listening to Grace’s breathing down the phone line. She held her own breath.

  ‘Do you by any chance know the victim?’ she said slowly.

  ‘I’m going to send a taxi for you – one of the few guys who knows how to find my place.’ Grace hung up.

  Gilchrist and Grace were sitting on Grace’s terrace either side of the long table. It was almost dark but there were solar lights popping into life all around them. There was a bottle of wine in an ice bucket and Grace and Gilchrist were both sipping from large glasses.

  ‘I know Joe Jackson, although I’ve never met him.’

  ‘That comes as something of a surprise. How come?’

  ‘Drama students and film students write all the time to people like me – stars – asking for financial help for their studies or a film. I’m selective but I do help – not with vast amounts of money but a bit more than a token gesture. He was one of them.’

  ‘Why did you select him?’

  ‘I can’t honestly remember. How did he die?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘But you’re treating it as murder?’

  ‘We are. And I will say he died badly.’

  ‘Poor Joe.’

  ‘You say you never met him.’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve never met any of the youngsters I support.’

  ‘About how many do you support?’

  ‘Why? Do you think some weird serial killer is going to knock them off one by one? Although, of course, all serial killers are weird.’

  ‘No, I don’t think that. I was just curious.’

  ‘About fifty over the years. Maybe a couple a year.’ Grace took a deep breath. ‘Look, I forgot to say Joe and some film students were making a short down at the lake last week.’

  ‘A short?’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘A short film. They’re usually fifteen minutes of not making any sense but film courses swear by them and I’ve made a few for friends over the years. There are short film festivals all over the place. Doesn’t make the short films any better, of course.’

  ‘How long were these filmmakers down at your lake?’

  ‘Four days, I think.’

  ‘You didn’t go down there to keep an eye on things?’

  ‘Er, not likely. Joe was the director so I let them use it as a favour. They still signed the usual waivers so I didn’t have to worry about any injuries – or, rather, I didn’t have to worry about being sued for any injuries. And while I am thought of as being retired that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t be exploited if I’d turned up. I find it hard to say no. In that regard at least.’

  Gilchrist remembered the footage Sylvia Wade had sent on to her. Presumably that was the film people. Could Jackson’s death have something to do with him being at the lake rather than him living in Said Farzi’s slum property? Or could it all be connected? She excused herself and went inside to phone Donald Kermode. He didn’t answer but she left a message on his voicemail asking him to call her as a matter of urgency. She wanted to know what he had to say about the filming as the footage showed him with the film students.

  Gilchrist went back out and sat at the table again. ‘If the wind is in the right direction I may be passing over your house tomorrow. If I do, do you want any photographs?’

  Grace frowned then grinned. ‘Are you the Snowman now? You’re a bit early, aren’t you?’

  ‘The Snowman?’

  ‘You know Raymond Briggs lived over in Westmeston and with his wife just down the road here in Plumpton. The Snowman actually flies over this house.’

  ‘I didn’t know any of that. But I’ll be in a balloon.’

  Grace giggled. ‘Isn’t ballooning a bit old school policing? There are these things called drones, you know – although I recognize by that Gatwick debacle nobody in Sussex police actually knows how to use them. I should put you in touch with some of my old stalkers and the paparazzi – they use them all the time over my lake and house. They seem to be pretty expert. And in the movies certain film cameramen specialize in using them. The old days of crane shots or breaking the budget to do a helicopter shot from above are long gone – a drone can do all that at a tenth of the cost.’

  ‘It’s not police work – it’s a private thing.’

  ‘Room for one more?’

  ‘As I said, it’s a private thing, in memory of a friend of mine’s mother. Kate – Bellamy Heap’s partner.’

  ‘Oh, yes – Bellamy told me about Kate’s mother’s suicide. You’re scattering ashes over my house?’

  ‘No – there’s a tree being planted somewhere. The ashes will be scattered there sometime in the near future.’

  ‘Did she balloon over here a lot?’

  ‘She had a vertigo problem. So she never ballooned anywhere.’

  ‘OK,’ Grace said slowly.

  ‘It’s to honour her wish to do it.’

  ‘Fair enough. Balloons are beautiful things but for me, because of who I am, they can be a bit intrusive. I’ve seen balloons coming over, guys leaning out of the basket snapping me in the hope I’m sunbathing nude. I never sunbathe nude these days.’

  ‘I’d like you to meet Kate. I think you’d like her.’

  ‘I’m sure I would.’

  ‘Although I’d be worried you’d call DS Heap your Sir Galahad in front of her. That might cause him complications at home.’

  ‘Don’t worry; it wouldn’t be my first barbecue. I know how to behave with women, even if their men don’t know how to behave with me.’ Adding quickly: ‘Not that I mean that about DS Heap for one single second.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘More’s the pity.’

  TEN

  Chief Constable Karen Hewitt didn’t raise her head when Gilchrist and Heap walked into the room at 8 a.m. on the dot. Donald Donaldson, however, peeled himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and walked over, sticking out a hand to Gilchrist.

  ‘Sarah, it’s been a long time.’

  Gilchrist took his hand reluctantly, expecting a fierce handshake but Donaldson’s grip was gentle, almost soft, even though he was as pumped
up as ever. Over her shoulder, he grinned at Heap. ‘How are you, Junior G-man?’ he said.

  Heap nodded but didn’t speak.

  ‘Good,’ Karen Hewitt barked from behind her big desk. ‘I’m glad you’re all getting reacquainted. Detective Sergeant Donaldson is keen to be informed of all the fine work you have done so far on this case.’

  Gilchrist looked at Chief Inspector Hewitt, still Botoxed to the hilt, still corseted in her latest tight-fitting power suit – and probably corseted beneath it, truth be told.

  ‘I think there’s more for us to do on the other side of the Downs,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure DS Donaldson can do it for you,’ Hewitt said shortly, with a tight smile on her face.

  ‘I’m sure I can too,’ Donaldson said, the big smile intact on his face.

  ‘Share all your notes as a matter of urgency with DS Donaldson – DS Heap, you can see to that – and then I have this murder and illegal immigrants thing to talk to you about.’

  Heap nodded. ‘DS Donaldson, I’ll get everything to you by the end of the day.’

  ‘Call me Donny, Bellamy, or Don-Don. No need for formalities between old sparring partners, eh? Great stuff. It will be in safe hands.’ He looked round the room. ‘OK then, I’ll make my departure with your permission, ma’am.’

  ‘Keep me informed,’ Hewitt said.

  ‘That goes without saying, ma’am,’ Donaldson said as he exited the room.

  After the door had closed Hewitt looked from one to the other of them. ‘Personally,’ she said, ‘I think he’s a total dick but what can I do when you’ve been trampling over boundaries?’

  ‘We have some delicate stuff given to us by Ms Grace because it was us and we were trusted,’ Gilchrist said. ‘That needs to be handled sensitively.’

  ‘You mean the woman who is one of your suspects? Pass it along to Donaldson. It will be fine.’

  ‘Ma’am—’ Gilchrist started.

  ‘It will be fine,’ Hewitt said peremptorily. ‘Now we have this illegal immigrant problem, which is entirely within your Brighton bailiwick so at least you won’t need wellingtons.’