The Lady of the Lake

by Peter Guttridge

‘Ma’am?’ Gilchrist said. ‘You think the savage murder of Joe Jackson is linked to where he was living?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Ma’am, there is potentially a link between this murder and that of Richard Rabbitt. The solution to Joe Jackson’s death may be on the other side of the Downs. That’s why we should be over there and not here. Ma’am.’

  ‘I’m not taking you totally off that case; I’m just suggesting Donaldson does the heavy lifting over the Downs. So are you saying you have already made progress with the Joe Jackson murder?’

  ‘Well, he’s renting from Said Farzi, who lives over the Downs and has as yet unspecified links with Richard Rabbitt. Our initial thinking was that Jackson was being persuaded to move out of his flat so that twenty illegal immigrants could be stashed there and it got out of hand. But Jackson has a connection with the lake too in that he was making a short film there last week.’

  ‘Well, your first proposal sounds like a reasonable hypothesis. Farzi sends his thugs in to persuade him to leave and they get carried away. I assume you’ve discounted robbery as a motive?’

  ‘His phone and laptop were still in the room. The techies are working on breaking into them. But the connection with the lake—’

  ‘Offers a more nebulous theory,’ Hewitt said. She looked from one to the other of them. ‘All right then. Get on with it and keep me informed.’

  Gilchrist and Heap parted outside the station. Heap was going up to the crematorium in the official car and Gilchrist was making her own way there. She actually arrived before the hearse to find Bob Watts standing outside the crematorium with a couple of perfectly coiffured and turned-out older women Gilchrist didn’t recognize, except as the type that lived in Brighton’s Regency squares.

  The hearse was preceded by a black limo carrying Kate, Bellamy and William Simpson. Kate clung to Heap and William Simpson walked up to Watts, holding out his hand.

  ‘Bob, it’s been a long time.’

  Watts took the hand reluctantly.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Simpson continued. ‘Not just for Lizzy’s sake, although she was always fond of you, but because there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

  ‘This isn’t really the time and place.’

  ‘I go off again later today,’ Simpson said, ‘I don’t know when there’ll be another chance.’

  ‘You’re not going in the balloon?’

  ‘No time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘All right then,’ Watts said as Simpson moved on to introduce himself to the two women. Watts raised his eyes to Gilchrist.

  It was a gloomy service. Nobody else came. Kate had decided not to speak and William Simpson chose not to, so the vicar rattled through a lacklustre eulogy, complete with the usual muddling up of name and details typical of such events. Kate had told Gilchrist the one thing her father had insisted on was the choice of music for when the coffin trundled behind the curtains at the end of the ceremony. God, Gilchrist hated the mawkish sentimentality of ‘Candle in the Wind’.

  There was not going to be any formal wake but Kate had suggested they all raise a glass in the pub beside the entrance to the cemetery. The two frosty women were invited but they politely declined. Watts said he’d be along shortly then hung back with William Simpson.

  Watts looked Simpson up and down. He still had the lean and hungry look of Cassius, the man that Julius Caesar hadn’t trusted. And, yes, when he was chief constable, Watts had seen his fall as similar to that of Caesar, though less lethal. Hubris was nothing new to him.

  Watts hadn’t seen Simpson for several years now, ever since the farrago of the Milldean Massacre that had wrecked the career of Watts as chief constable. Simpson’s involvement was suspected – more than suspected – but unproven. But he had definitely played a major part in bringing Bob Watts down.

  ‘How are you, brother?’ Simpson said. His face was drawn and his expression solemn.

  ‘Half-brother,’ Watts said automatically. He towered over Simpson.

  ‘I’ve heard about your penthouse in Brighton on the seafront. Well, who wouldn’t want a slice of that? I hadn’t realized clean coppers earned so much. Or did our father’s money pay for that?’

  ‘What do you want to talk about, William? Surely not Lizzy? I don’t believe you’ve been in touch with her for years.’

  ‘And you know that how?’ Simpson said, his eyes alert.

  ‘Because Kate has seen her regularly and she told me.’

  ‘My Channel-swimming daughter. How is she?’

  ‘Channel swum, more or less. But you don’t think it odd that you ask somebody else how your own daughter is when you’ve just travelled here in a car with her?’

  ‘Conversation didn’t exactly flow,’ Simpson said. ‘So how is she?’

  ‘In the circumstances she’s doing fine.’

  ‘And that midget?’

  ‘Don’t be childish. His name is Bellamy and your daughter doesn’t discuss her relationships with me.’

  ‘What do you discuss exactly?’ Simpson said.

  ‘Lately? Swimming strokes, mostly. Now why are we here?’

  ‘That’s the big question for all of us, isn’t it?’

  Watts turned away.

  ‘I’m not interested in playing silly games with you. If you won’t tell me why you’re here I’m off down the pub to join the others.’

  ‘I’m here about your wife actually.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘No – your wife.’

  ‘My ex-wife, Molly?’

  In his rush to the top, Bob Watts had ignored his wife, Molly, and the anguish she went through when their children left home. She had turned to drink. Then he had his one-night stand with Sarah Gilchrist and the scummy tabloids found out. And that was the end of his marriage and his children’s relationship with him.

  ‘What have you to do with her?’

  ‘Life works in mysterious ways, does it not? A business deal I have going in Canada is going a bit tits-up because of a flaky business partner. The other partners are getting impatient. The other partners are not people you want to make impatient.’

  ‘Dangerous business partners? There’s a surprise. What has this got to do with Molly?’

  ‘Can’t you guess? The flaky business partner is Molly’s bloke.’

  Watts exhaled quietly.

  ‘What has this got to do with me?’

  ‘He needs bailing out. Pronto. Which means your wife needs bailing out.’

  ‘Ex-wife.’

  Simpson laughed.

  ‘Come on, Bob. You’re not going to abandon the mother of your kids. I know you that well. You’re a soft touch. Always have been. You still feel for her, even if it’s only guilt.’

  ‘The penny has dropped. You want money from me.’

  ‘Your father left you a pretty penny I know. And by rights some of it should be mine as he was my father too.’ Simpson clasped his hands. ‘But this isn’t about me. It’s about helping your wife.’ He scratched his nose. ‘Maybe saving your wife.’

  Watts came up close.

  ‘Are you threatening my wife, you little shit?’

  Simpson looked up at him.

  ‘Please don’t do the macho thing, Bob. I wasn’t threatening.’

  Simpson moved round him and walked over to his car.

  ‘Think of it as a heads-up,’ he called back. ‘Her bloke has a month to come up with the money or bad things will happen.’ He put his finger to his lips theatrically, considering something. ‘I have this secret – my guilty secret. You see I live with guilt too. I wonder, should I share it with you so that you can decide whether to share it with my daughter.’

  Watts didn’t say anything.

  ‘It’s about Lizzy. It’s her secret really that she didn’t want anyone to know. She stupidly felt guilty, even though she had nothing to feel guilty about as she wasn’t to blame. I was to blame, if anyone was, for putting her in that position.’

  ‘What position?�
��

  ‘Back when things were complicated after the Milldean Massacre a gangster was putting pressure on me and he tried to get a message to me through Lizzy. But it didn’t work because she never passed the message on. In fact, she left me rather than tell me.’

  ‘But at some point she told you.’

  ‘Much later. In a rage. It wasn’t a proper message, more of a warning that he could mess up my family and me. He came to the house and raped her. And she’s never been the same since.’ Simpson opened his car door. ‘So that’s my dirty secret and my guilt.’

  ELEVEN

  ‘You OK, Bob?’ Gilchrist said when he went in the pub. There was a pint of lager waiting for him on the table and four packets of crisps torn open.

  ‘Just had an odd conversation with Kate’s father.’

  ‘Nothing new there then,’ Kate said. ‘You know he didn’t say two words in the car coming here.’

  ‘He has his mind on a business deal in Canada that there seems to be some urgency about.’

  ‘Canada?’ Kate said. ‘What can there be in Canada that Dad would want to invest in?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that on the way down and I think I know but I need to call my ex-wife to confirm my suspicion.’

  ‘Your ex-wife,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Does she talk to you?’

  ‘Rarely. But her chap has got himself caught up in something with your father, Kate, which he apparently can’t handle.’

  ‘Something illegal?’ Kate said.

  ‘Oddly, something utterly legal if my guess is right,’ Watts said.

  ‘Marijuana,’ Heap said.

  ‘Give that man a coconut.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Kate said.

  ‘Did you miss it in the papers?’ Watts said. ‘It was big news at the time. Canada is the first G7 nation to legalize cannabis for recreational use nationwide. The shops are open, business is already booming and money men are buying what are being called “pot stocks”. What was earning criminals billions illegally is now earning a fortune legitimately.’

  ‘It’s always better to bring a product under control rather than let it flourish underground,’ Heap said. ‘It’s been slow happening in the United States, although medical marijuana has been available in some states for some time now. Only nine states have made it legal for recreational use.’

  ‘Bellamy,’ Gilchrist said. ‘I didn’t expect you to be so liberal.’

  ‘Then, with respect, you don’t really know me as I thought you did.’

  ‘Go on, Bellamy,’ Watts said. ‘You obviously know what you are talking about.’

  ‘I was just going to say that aside from anything else it’s a pragmatic thing. The stuff is tested for impurities so consumers know it is high quality. In the UK at the moment the money from drugs doesn’t benefit anybody except the criminals it enriches. Enriching criminals is not exactly going to enrich society. The war on drugs costs a fortune and fails miserably. We all know the statistics. Crime caused by the drugs; dealers promoting high-strength, psychosis-inducing skunk. Drug-related deaths are rising not falling despite government clampdowns.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll get off my soap-box now.’

  ‘But you’re right, Bellamy,’ Watts said. ‘And legalising it is going to be a game-changer. When other countries follow Canada’s lead marijuana is going to transform agriculture, pharmaceuticals, mental health and the drinks trade. Cannabis products are going to outsell beer. There’s already a crossover into food and drink. You can already buy a sauvignon in LA infused with cannabis – and the wine producers in the Napa Valley and Sonoma County have set aside land for marijuana estates alongside their vineyards. There are sommelier classes training cannabis sommeliers.’

  ‘But if it’s all going to be legal and above board, why is your ex-wife’s partner in deep shit?’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘I’d guess that the crime syndicates that currently control the illegal drug trade are not going to let their cash cow leave their greedy grasp,’ Heap said. ‘They’ll be moving into the legitimate businesses, founding them or becoming partners in them. Every gangster film you ever saw the gangster dreams of getting out from under and going legit. With this they can. The new global industry is estimated at $200 billion a year.’

  ‘I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, Bellamy,’ Watts said. ‘We know William Simpson – no offence, Kate – will get into bed with anybody if he can see profit in it. Molly’s partner maybe just got into the wrong bed.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘Well, after our balloon ride I’m going to make some calls and then decide.’

  ‘And on that note, we need to be going,’ Kate said. ‘We’re going to set off from the Downs near Lewes prison and then the plan is to come down at Plumpton racecourse. There’ll be a minibus there to bring us back to Lewes. All this is wind dependent, of course, but the minibus will come to wherever we do land.’

  They went to the launch pad in Watts’s car. Gilchrist sat in the front seat with him, Heap sat in the back with Kate. Gilchrist’s phone rang almost the moment they got onto the Lewes Road. It was Sylvia Wade. Gilchrist twisted round and said to Kate: ‘I’m so sorry but I have to take this.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Kate said. ‘You’re in the middle of two murder investigations.’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you on such a sad day, ma’am, but I finally heard back from Bosanquet’s agent. He was here on a private visit. She said he was “on hiatus”, whatever that means.’

  ‘It means she’s very American,’ Gilchrist said, putting her phone on speakerphone. ‘How long was he here?’

  ‘Just those three days over the period Rabbitt was killed.’

  ‘And now? Is he still on hiatus?’

  ‘No, he’s making a film in a place called Wazzazat. It’s spelt Ouarzazate and it’s in Morocco.’

  Gilchrist disconnected the number. ‘Did you get all that, Bellamy?’

  ‘Most of it, ma’am.’

  ‘Morocco, eh?’ Watts said. ‘That’s where most of the cannabis in Europe and Britain comes from, through Spain and Gibraltar. Wow, look at that!’

  The balloon was sitting about a hundred yards in front of them looking like a big, fat exclamation mark. Kate, Heap and Gilchrist all jumped out and headed over there while Watts parked. As they drew nearer, they could see the burning gas jet spurting into the balloon every few seconds with its distinctive sound, somewhere between a hiss and a roar.

  ‘Crazy concept, isn’t it?’ Watts said cheerfully as he caught up with them, lugging a large wicker basket. ‘You float by putting a fire inside a flammable object.’

  ‘They provide the basket to sit in you know, Bob – you don’t have to bring your own,’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘Ha – I thought a couple of bottles of champagne to toast this little adventure in honour of Lizzy wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘That’s so thoughtful,’ Kate said.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ the pilot said from inside the basket. There was another man standing a few yards away looking up at the balloon. The pilot introduced himself as John Benfield. ‘Can you get into the gondola OK or do you need the rope ladder? You’re OK – great.’ They all got in easily enough. ‘Now when we’re in the air, try not to all move to one side. You’ll be safe but you might be alarmed by the wobble.’

  Gilchrist and Watts took one side, Heap and Kate the opposite side. Heap put his arm round Kate.

  ‘Ready for lift off?’ Benfield said. The other man was unhitching the ropes that were mooring the gondola. When the last one had been unhitched the balloon lifted up, surprisingly quickly.

  ‘Whoa,’ said Gilchrist as the gondola rocked. Then: ‘Wow.’

  The balloon was drifting in the direction of the Ditchling Beacon. It seemed only a matter of minutes before they reached Plumpton Hill. ‘Look,’ Watts said, ‘there’s the Half Moon. And beyond, can you see the racecourse?’

  ‘What are those squares and rectangle shadows kind of underneat
h the grass in that field?’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘The outlines of a long-gone Roman villa and its outbuildings. That stuff never disappears from the landscape. You could see much more all around the country last summer when it was so dry.’

  ‘I think we’re going to go over Nimue Grace’s house,’ Gilchrist said. ‘I’m going to phone her.’

  ‘That’s the lake and the wood there,’ Heap said to Kate, ‘and the house and gardens and the orchard just up there.’

  ‘Ms Grace? Sarah Gilchrist. If you feel like coming out and waving that balloon heading your way is us. We’re just at the bottom of your orchard.’

  Far below, Grace appeared on her terrace a moment later, her phone in her hand. ‘If you try to drop something on me I will be so pissed off.’

  ‘Actually,’ Gilchrist said, turning at the sound of a pop behind her, ‘we’re just about to have some champagne.’

  ‘Where are you going to land?’

  ‘Theoretically at Plumpton racecourse.’

  ‘Why don’t you all come up to the house after?’

  ‘I’m not sure what our plans are. Wow, I didn’t realize how many greenhouses Farzi had.’

  ‘Well, his property was the market garden for Plumpton Down House in Victorian times,’ Grace said. ‘His fields were essentially a market garden and the greenhouses produced more exotic, weather-sensitive stuff.’

  ‘What does he use them for now?’ Gilchrist said as they passed over them.

  ‘Nothing as far as I know. I don’t think it’s a producing farm.’

  ‘There seem to be lights on,’ Heap said. ‘Or heaters.’

  Gilchrist repeated that to Grace.

  ‘I have no idea about greenhouses,’ Grace said. ‘Do they get damaged left to themselves? Do you need to keep them heated? Maybe it is something to do with his vines?’

  ‘You know as much as me,’ Gilchrist said, conscious the others were waiting to make a toast. ‘I’d better go now. We’ll maybe see you later.’

  They toasted Lizzy Simpson and each other as they passed over the Jolly Sportsman but Gilchrist was thinking about Said Farzi and how they had enough on him from their raids in Brighton to justify a raid on his farm. Sipping her champagne she texted Sylvia Wade, instructing her to sort out a warrant.