Dead in the Water

by Wilfred Jules

  “That jacket should do just fine,” he replied. “Goes well with the helmet, too,” he grinned, giving her his spare helmet, which was also a bright yellow.

  He helped her strap on the helmet, then got on the bike first and told her to climb up behind him and hold on to him. Without hesitation she put her arms around his waist and held on tight as he rode off, slowly at first, then a bit faster. She naturally leaned with him when he went through corners. It was a very enjoyable thirty minutes for him. He hoped for her the same. But any doubts he might have had were gone when they dismounted in the parking lot of the Devil’s Dyke pub and she took of the helmet to reveal an extremely broad grin.

  “That was fantastic,” she sighed. “Although next time you can go faster, you old geezer!”

  He laughed.

  “Glad you enjoyed it! I’ll turn it up later when we go back.”

  He secured the bike and his gear, then they set off for a walk down to Fulking and back up again. The weather was still a lovely English spring. Moira said that storm was expected for Monday evening and with her sailor’s eye could discern the first indications of that through the cirrus clouds that started to appear during their walk. They chatted happily all the way and arrived back at Devil’s Dyke pub after a two-hour walk. They decided to have a pint outside while they considered their options for the afternoon.

  John went inside to get them both a glass of cider and some water to quench their thirst, while Moira enjoyed the spring sunshine. When he came back with their drinks and settled across from her on a bench, she pointed out into the car park and said:

  “Isn’t that your boss over there? DCI Seymour?”

  John turned around and recognized Ianthe immediately. She was obviously alone and locking her car. He considered hailing her, then thought better of it. He did not know what she would think if she saw him with a potential witness. And he did not want to spoil his date with Moira. In any case, Ianthe was obviously hoping to go on a walk and might not want to be disturbed on a Sunday afternoon either. Just before he turned back to Moira, he thought her demeanour looked off, too. Where she normally walked purposefully, holding her tiny frame straight, she now had her head bowed and she moved as if she was in pain. But he forgot about that immediately when he looked at his date.

  *

  Ianthe Seymour parked her white Audi Q3 in the parking lot of Devil’s Dyke at what felt like one pm. She got out and locked it. She glanced at the pub’s terrace that was full of young couples enjoying the May sunshine. She felt tears sting her eyes again and looked away quickly. She set off on the footpath that led past the mysterious Iron Age ramparts. In normal days, she loved this place. To her right were the stunning panoramas of the longest, deepest and widest dry valley in the UK, formed some ten thousand years ago in the last Ice Age. Folklore had it the devil himself had dug the valley, hence its name. The vista across the South Downs always had a calming effect on her. She kept the valley in which she slowly descended to her right. At the bottom she turned right and followed the well-kept path through the meadows. She crossed several little streams by means of rickety wooden bridges. A herd of cows in one meadow made her pause a second. The sign at the gate said there was a bull in the field. She saw him at once, lording over his cows. She saw him looking at her. Then he chose to ignore her. That made her smile. She moved on, starting to think now about what she had to do. At twenty-eight she felt ancient. She had never loved anyone like she loved Tony and she believed that in his special way he loved her, too. She was scared of being left behind. She would feel utterly alone and did not know if she was strong enough to handle that. All she had ever really desired was a relationship like her parents seemed to have. Total harmony. A boat that did not blast through the waves but moved in unison with the sea.

  She walked through the playground in Fulking, then turned left at ‘The Shepherd and Dog’ pub, greeted by the aromas of their Sunday BBQ. Behind it, you needed to take a footpath to the right straight up the dyke again she knew. The path was a bit hidden though and she noticed an elderly gentleman a bit further down the wrong footpath. She thought she would better address him to make sure he was on the right track.

  “Would you mind if I join you for the walk back to Devil’s Dyke, miss? It’s been an awful long time since I’ve been here.”

  They started the ascend together, his walking stick helping him on the steepest bits with Ianthe holding his arm for security now and again. On the last climb she went first and he walked behind her. He was from somewhere north he explained, visiting family and thought to enjoy the spring weather. Storm was coming, he had heard. And why was she out here, alone, on such a fine Sunday afternoon, he wanted to know.

  And suddenly Ianthe heard herself pouring her heart out to this stranger, telling him how she had thought Tony was her prince in shining armour that would save her from mediocrity. And that now he appeared to be more like Bluebeard than a prince. About her worries and anxiety, too and what the future might hold for her. But that she had a job she excelled in, a family that loved her. But she did not know what she had to do, what choice to make.

  “Well,” he said after she had finished. “Sounds to me like you know perfectly well what you need to do, miss. Now you just need to get on with it. Don’t look back. Forward and up.”

  Ianthe felt herself landing on the rock buried deep in herself. Yes, she thought. I know what to do. I just did not know that I knew all along.

  At that moment she arrived again at the crossroads behind the Iron Age fort and went left, back to the carpark a few hundred yards down the path. She turned around to ask her companion if he cared for a drink in the pub with her, but to her surprise, she saw there was no one following her anymore. Perhaps he had turned right instead of left and she had not heard his goodbye? Odd, she thought.

  A quick, automatic glance at her Astron Seiko told her it was now three minutes and twenty-four seconds after three pm. She went to the pub, got herself a glass of Pinot Grigio and settled in a chair in the sun, watching the clouds announcing the forecasted storm gather at the far horizon and making plans for the future.

  *

  At one minute past three in the afternoon DC Ajanta Ghani alighted at London St Pancras International station from the Thameslink connection out of Brighton. She had had a slow start that morning, unable to drag herself out of bed before eleven. Sean had not been a great help, she thought wryly, having wanted to have sex with her, as he often did on Sunday mornings. He had then popped out to the convenience store around the corner to make them breakfast, sweet guy that he was. During the work week they hardly ever had breakfast, let alone together. She was normally happy if they found the time once a week to have a meal together. But on Sunday morning, if there was no emergency, they tried to breakfast together, either at their home or in one of their usual haunts like Bill’s. Sometimes it became brunch rather than breakfast. But they hardly went for Sunday Roast afterwards. It had not been such a Sunday tradition with Sean’s family in Ireland, and it definitely was not common with Asian families like Ajanta’s. And anyway, she found the majority of the roasts look rather unsavoury with their layers of gravy, the mushy peas and that weird concoction called Yorkshire Pudding, which more often than not was not done properly. Add to that the fact that ingredients were all too often haram or at least of questionable nature. Sean and she tended to steer away and went from breakfast or brunch straight to dinner.

  Fortunately, they lived only at a ten-minute walking distance from Brighton Central as she had had to catch the one forty-two pm Thameslink to London. She had told Sean she had arranged to meet an old friend from school. He had not wanted to come along, which had made it easier.

  She came out of St Pancras to turn left on Pentonville Road. After about twenty minutes she found the Doubletree hotel on her left in a modern Victorian style building. It looked quite grandiose to her in fact. She entered but did not see Aswini in the lobby. She sent a text message announcing her arrival. The reply cam
e instantly that she was in the garden. Ajanta asked the concierge for directions and went out into the small garden at the back where she found her sister sitting in the sun in one of the fake wicker chairs, sipping a glass of sparkling water. She rose as soon as she saw Ajanta enter. They hugged. Aswini held her at arm’s length for a moment to look at her before they sat down.

  “It’s so nice to see you, sis. You look great,” Aswini said with a touch of envy in her voice. Ajanta shrugged.

  “Doing my best. You look very nice yourself, actually. It’s been too long.”

  A waiter came over and Ajanta ordered a Perrier sparkling water with a slice of lemon. They chatted for a while about the family until the waiter had come back with her order.

  “You haven’t asked me yet how Sean is,” Ajanta then reproached her sister. “He’s fine, by the way.”

  Aswini fidgeted uneasily in her chair.

  “You know why that is, Ajanta. You do know that.”

  “No I do not,” Ajanta flared. “Tell me in my face you don’t want me to be with a white person. But I bet you won’t do that, because it means you’re racist.”

  Her sister sighed audibly.

  “Don’t give me that, Ajanta. You do know our traditions. Men and women don’t live together in an unmarried state. We don’t marry outside the community. Hell, most people even frown upon marrying someone whose ancestors come from a different district in the home country! And we most certainly don’t marry outside Islam!”

  “Uncle Atif married outside Islam!”

  “Uncle Atif has always been considered an oddball, you know that. And you also know very well it’s different for women. You won’t even find an Imam willing to bless the marriage if the groom is not a Muslim, whereas indeed the bride can be a Christian. I know it isn’t fair, but this isn’t about fairness, is it?”

  They both sulked in silence for a while. Then Ajanta said:

  “If Sean was a Muslim then, would it make a difference?”

  Aswini raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Would he be willing to convert, you think?”

  Ajanta shrugged.

  “We’ve never discussed it. I’m guessing he wouldn’t like the idea and it might be a think for his family. But I think he would. For me.”

  Aswini considered it, looking at Ajanta with renewed interest.

  “I believe it would make a difference. Be aware I don’t think he would ever be fully accepted in the family as he isn’t even Asian. But it would help to convince our mother he’s an acceptable match for you. In particular as you are not getting any younger.”

  “Thanks for that,” Ajanta commented drily. Aswini laughed.

  “Well, it’s a factor that works to your advantage right now. Most Asian girls are twenty or even less when they get married, right? But seriously, if Sean is willing to consider that, I’ll support you in trying to persuade our mother at least. You should go and talk to her in that case. I will come with you if I can take the time off work.”

  Ajanta was touched.

  “That’s genuinely nice of you, Aswini. I know you must be terribly busy.”

  “Nonsense,” Aswini waved that aside. “We’re sisters after all. I do miss you, you know. I wish everything would go back to normal between us.”

  They abandoned the subject and continued to talk and laugh for an hour about all sorts of other things, mostly family related. Ajanta realized how much she missed doing this. Time passed very quickly that way and they suddenly realized it was already five pm and she wanted to catch the five-thirty back to Brighton. They said good-bye in a hurry and Ajanta walked back to St Pancras.

  On the train home she thought about what had been said. She did not know how she would broach that subject with Sean. She thought she knew him quite well by now but she was not certain how he would react to this, conversion to Islam. He was not practicing Catholicism, but still, he would have to put aside everything his family even his culture had taught him. She was honest enough to realize that if it were the other way round, she would not do it, not for anything in the world. Even though she was probably more English than Asian. But she was steeped in tradition. But could she then expect him to do this for her? Give up his traditions and embrace hers? Even though it meant he would only be tolerated, not truly accepted. That would not be fair, would it? But as Aswini had said, this was not about fairness. He would have to give that up, or she might very well have to leave him eventually, she realized morosely. They were fast approaching a crossroad in their lives. Should she go down the path with Sean, which was obviously the path less taken and toss aside her family forever? Or should she try to go the path with another version of Sean, a version in which he had to adapt to her traditions? And would he never reproach her for that decision? And, most importantly, is that what she wanted him to do? Would she never reproach herself for having tried to change him? She loved him as he was and was his religion not an integral part of him then, just like it was of her? Or should she take the third path, the path of certainty and tradition, a path she would have to walk without Sean that might lead to an unfulfilled life sacrificed to the demands of her family?

  Choices, she thought when her train rolled into Brighton Central at six forty-three pm sharp. Choices. She would have to decide soon though. She knew that much was true.

  CHAPTER 20

  When DCI Ianthe Seymour walked into the conference room at eight twenty-five am on Monday, she was pleased to see her entire team was already there. The meeting originally had been scheduled for eight am, but she had delayed it by thirty minutes at the request of Geoff Simmons, the SOCO team leader. He had sent her a text message at seven twenty-nine to say he had new information and could they have a briefing session at eight thirty. She had been in the office for over an hour already when she had received the message and had texted back that eight thirty was fine. And even though she normally hated to delay or change meeting times unless it was absolutely required, she sent texts to her team immediately that she moved the time of the morning briefing by half an hour.

  Even though Operation Blackbird was not moving forward in the way or at the speed that she wanted, she felt quite relaxed. She had had a rather enjoyable Sunday evening by herself. She had even gone out to have a quiet seafood dinner on her own at the Riddle & Fins in The Lanes. At home she had opened a bottle of Gigondas Tour Sarrasine 2016 that had been waiting for the right occasion. It had been a long time since she had felt so certain of herself. Now she had to stick to her resolve but she tended to be quite good at that.

  She had gone to bed at ten sharp and had been in the gym at five. At five forty-five she had gone home to shower and at six twenty-six she had switched on the light on her floor in the building at Malling House where her office was. It was going to be a very full day. She had spent the time until the briefing rereading her notes and jotting down summaries and new ideas on a notepad. She had that meeting with Pooh Bear and the ACC at noon, and she needed to appear composed and on top of her stuff.

  She closed the door of the conference room behind her and sat down at the long table with her policy book and her laptop in front of her.

  “Right, team, this is our Monday morning briefing of Operation Blackbird. We have Geoff here with us today as I believe he has something new. Before we go there, I just want to confirm our interview with Ricky Rowlands at ten, Vik.”

  Vik nodded.

  “He confirmed he will be here at ten with his solicitor, Ianthe.”

  “Excellent. Geoff?”

  “The final results of the DNA testing came in. You will remember that the first results we received last week told us that a lot of different people had been on Polaris, Mr Devos’s yacht, and that they were from a variety of ethnic backgrounds : Caucasian, black people, Asian, far eastern, you name it. These results were based on our initial testing. Now you must know that DNA testing has improved dramatically over the past few years. We now use autosomal, Y-DNA and mtDNA testing now as well, to determine wi
th a high degree of accuracy someone’s nationality or even the region in a particular country where they have been living until recently. These tests take longer. The results came in last night. Of all samples tested, the lab found not less than ten nationalities represented: Iraq, Iran, Eritrea, Somalia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, Sudan, China and Vietnam. The top three, not surprisingly, were Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan.”

  “How accurate are these tests Geoff?” Ianthe wanted to know.

  “Very. In fact, research has proven such tests can extremely accurately determine the origins of rural people, to within a couple of miles from their family’s home. Our tests not only revealed that the people who travelled on Mr Devos’s yacht came from certain countries, but they conclusively demonstrated most of them were, while not related to each other, from the same region in that country. I guess you all understand what this implies.”

  “It means that we are most likely dealing with people illegally trying to enter the UK,” DS Ben Armstrong said.

  They all nodded.

  “That certainly throws a completely new light on Operation Blackbird,” Ianthe added. “Was Bert Devos beside smuggling narcotics also involved in people trafficking?”

  “Or was he a human trafficker who also smuggled narcotics on the side?” DC Ajanta Ghani commented. She was looking unusually subdued today, Ianthe thought.

  “Correct. Although this added complexity doesn’t bring us any closer to his murderer, unfortunately,” Ianthe observed.

  “His murderer can be one of his ‘passengers’ or someone in the organisation behind the trafficking or someone in the narcotics trade,” Ben noted. “This doesn’t exactly do anything to limit our target population.”

  “Perhaps the data from the yacht’s GPS system can shed some light on this,” DC John Ryan added. “I just got a text from IT that they have extracted the data and are ready to show them to us in the operations building.”