They both put on wellingtons then went through the open gate onto a partly overgrown path beside the lake.
‘Wow,’ Gilchrist said looking across the lake. ‘This is a little hidden delight. I had no idea it existed.’
‘Nor I, ma’am.’
They reached PC Malcolm, a portly, chalk-faced man in his forties. The dead body lay face up on the bank of the lake. There was a deep slash across the neck but no blood. Neither was there any bloating, as would be normal if the body had been in the lake for any length of time.
‘If you haven’t already, please call for SOCO and Frank Bilson, the pathologist,’ she said to the policeman after they had made their introductions. ‘The person who found him is still here, I understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ PC Malcolm said. He pointed to a stand of trees some twenty yards away, a veiled expression on his face. ‘He’s over there. His name is Donald Kermode.’
Gilchrist and Heap walked towards the stand of trees. As they neared Gilchrist saw a police thermal blanket lying on the ground. Then she saw a man sitting on a tree stump looking out at the lake. He was bare-chested.
‘Mr Kermode?’ Heap called. The man swivelled towards them on the tree stump. Not bare-chested: stark naked.
‘That’s me – and you are?’
He was a man in his fifties with receding curly hair and a paunch. Gilchrist noticed the cold water and the chilly morning hadn’t done him any favours down below the paunch.
‘I’m DS Bellamy Heap,’ Heap said. ‘Would you mind getting dressed?’
‘I would if I could but someone stole my clothes.’
‘Someone stole your clothes?’
‘I believe I just said that. Yes. While I was swimming somebody thought it would be a jolly jape to steal my clothes. So I had to run off like this to get a signal – there’s no phone signal to speak of here.’
‘They took your clothes but not your phone?’ Heap said.
Kermode looked at him sharply.
‘I never leave it with my clothes. I hide it under my towel on the bank where I get in.’
‘You didn’t see who took your clothes?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Of course not – otherwise I would have chased them with a big stick.’ He saw her instinctively glance down. ‘No, not that little acorn. Why, Detective Inspector, I believe you have a dirty mind.’
Gilchrist flushed, not daring to look at Bellamy Heap. Ever the gentleman, he came to the rescue.
‘Do you always swim naked?’ he said.
‘Don’t you?’ Kermode said.
‘Not in a public place.’
‘But this isn’t a public place. It’s a private lake.’
Gilchrist gestured.
‘With a road running by it.’
‘A private driveway.’
‘I thought this lake was part of the Plumpton Down Estate,’ Gilchrist persisted. ‘Forgive me but why are you swimming in it?’
‘What, you don’t think I might be the owner of the Plumpton Down Estate?’ He gave a ferrety smile. ‘Quite right. Major Richard Rabbitt is the owner of the estate. He’s the one lying dead over there with his throat cut.’
‘You know him?’
‘I’ve been to a couple of his magic lantern shows.’
Gilchrist couldn’t help but look blank. She looked at Heap. He was clearly also in the dark but was hiding it a bit better.
‘You’re going a bit fast for me, Mr Kermode,’ Gilchrist said. She pointed over to the corpse. ‘You’re certain that is the owner of the Plumpton Down House and Estate?’
‘Well, as I’ve already told PC Plod over there, I’ve never seen the major with his throat cut before and without his terrible wig but I’ve seen him a few times. Either when he does his magic lantern shows – he’s very proud of his collection of slides … was very proud of his collection, I should say – or when he is gracious enough to open his estate up for us peasants to come and have a look around.’
‘You didn’t like him?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Well spotted – I see why you’re a detective inspector. But don’t be jumping to any conclusions. I just happened to be the person to find him.’
‘Why don’t you like him?’
Kermode snorted.
‘You’re not from round here, are you?’ he said.
‘You clearly are,’ Gilchrist said, trying to hide how much this man was pissing her off.
‘Man and boy,’ Kermode said.
‘In that order?’ Gilchrist said. She was aware of Heap giving her a look. Not succeeding at the hiding thing, then.
Kermode turned to her.
‘Clever. Major Richard Rabbitt. Dick by name, Dickhead by nature. Fancies himself as lord of the manor. Squire Rabbitt or some such title. If people still wore hats he’d expect them to be doffed. He’d probably want people to tug their forelocks too but that has frankly always sounded rather rude to me. My first inclination was to leave him floating in the pond but that would have been terrible for Nimue. So, unwillingly, I had to touch him.’
‘Nimue?’ Heap said, frowning. ‘You mean the Lady of the Lake? You believe in tree and water spirits?’
Kermode snorted.
‘You’re too clever for your own good, Mr Policeman. I mean the actual owner of this lake and woodland. Her name is Nimue.’
‘Rabbitt doesn’t own it?’ Gilchrist said.
‘He does not – causing him much gnashing of teeth. He’s wanted to add this lake and wood to the estate for years – coveted it ever since he got here. And coveted Nimue too, probably.’
‘You’re a friend of Nimue’s?’ Heap said. ‘She lets you swim here?’
‘Yes and yes,’ Kermode said.
‘What’s Nimue’s full name and can you give us a contact for her?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Nimue Grace.’
‘Agh, okay,’ Heap said.
Gilchrist frowned. ‘The actress who used to be a movie star?’
Kermode looked pained.
‘If I might give you a note: never use that construction to her face. Once a movie star always a movie star.’
‘Is she still working then?’
Kermode shook his head and pursed his lips.
‘Second note: never ask an actress if she is “still” working. As far as they are concerned, even though all fear they will never work again, and many haven’t worked for years, they are always available for work and hoping someone will “still” want them.’
‘Does she “still” live in the same house?’ Heap said. He tossed Kermode the blanket. It fell neatly into his lap. Kermode smirked.
‘That depends on which house you mean.’
‘The one near here under Plumpton Hill?’
Kermode nodded.
‘Can you tell us how you found him?’ Heap said.
‘I arrived for a swim around seven p.m. I went for a swim around 7.10 p.m. I saw the body around 7.20 p.m. I hauled it out around 7.30 p.m.’
‘Did you see anyone when you were arriving or when you were swimming or when you came out of the water?’
‘I didn’t but obviously there was someone here since my clothes were stolen.’
Gilchrist looked back at the dead man.
‘OK, Mr Kermode, thank you,’ Heap said. ‘The constable over there will get your details and someone will be in touch to take your statement. And I’ll arrange for you to get a lift home.’
‘Naughty Nimue Grace?’ Gilchrist said to Bellamy Heap as they walked back through the wood. ‘It’s her lake?’
Heap got on his iPad when they got back in the car.
‘According to the Land Registry, ma’am,’ Heap said, ‘it’s owned by a Vivien Nimue Grace. So, yes.’
‘She was gorgeous. That body. I hated her.’
‘Ma’am,’ Heap said.
‘You’ve seen her films?’
‘Not lately,’ Heap said. ‘But some of those early films still stand up. Good actress.’
‘Good actress? Bellamy, are you se
rious? She had two expressions and when she’d exhausted them she took her clothes off.’
‘She was certainly not backward in coming forward with the nudity, ma’am.’
‘But you think she’s good, Bellamy. I’m surprised. Admit it, it’s the nudity you like.’
Bellamy blushed. Inevitably. Gilchrist took pity on him. ‘She’s a bit of a recluse these days, isn’t she?’
‘Well, she hasn’t gone the full Bardot, ma’am, but she does keep to herself. Doesn’t do interviews or public appearances. I just looked her up on IMDb and she hasn’t done any films for a while – and never has done telly. She does theatre now and then. I saw her not so long ago at Chichester doing a Strindberg.’
‘Gone the full Bardot? IMDb? Doing a Strindberg? Bellamy, what is this strange, new language you’re speaking?’
‘I like to try and keep up. But with regard to the last, I just meant she was performing in a Strindberg play.’
‘You try to keep up. Really. I thought you were the Jasper Rees-Mogg of the police force.’
‘I don’t think his name is Jasper, ma’am, and, if I may say, I’m rather offended at the comparison. I’m a member of the Film Club at the Depot in Lewes.’
‘Well, excuse me. I was trying to be funny, Bellamy, and I don’t know that throwback’s first name. But my apologies if I offended you. Where does she live?’
‘Plumpton Hill Cottage. It’s a mile or so away from this lake by road. Few hundred yards as the crow flies.’
‘Do crows fly in a more direct line than any other bird?’ Gilchrist said.
‘I wouldn’t know, ma’am, but it’s certainly worth exploring further.’
‘I thought they were the birds that if they left the Tower of London something bad would happen.’
‘Those are ravens.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Again, I wouldn’t know – twitching is not my area of expertise.’
‘You know I’m resisting the obvious jokes.’
‘I’m grateful, ma’am.’
‘It will be too late to call on Grace tonight by the time we’ve been up to Rabbitt’s house and spoken to the people there,’ Gilchrist said, looking at her watch and up at the sky. ‘Let’s do it first thing tomorrow.’
They drove on up the drive. There were fields of grazing sheep and llamas. Gilchrist looked again. Llamas in an enclosure looked totally out of place in this English pastoral landscape. Still, it could be worse – she’d heard about at least two ostrich farms in the vicinity.
The Georgian mansion loomed up at the end of the drive ahead of them. Their car crunched across the gravel inner drive and they pulled to a halt outside the large porch.
A woman answered the high double doors. Middle-aged, statuesque, with thick, curly grey hair cascading over her shoulders. Gilchrist introduced them and she stepped back and ushered them into the huge foyer.
‘I believe you’ve been informed that Major Rabbitt is dead,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We’re sorry for your loss. Do you mind me asking you who you are?’
‘Tallulah Granger.’
‘You live here? Work here?’
‘Both.’
Gilchrist’s attention was drawn to an enormous construction taking up about a quarter of the foyer beside a grand staircase. It was a not-so-miniature village. With a Georgian house and grounds and lake and woods. It was made of Lego.
‘That’s impressive Lego. There are children here who did it?’
‘The children aren’t allowed anywhere near it,’ Granger said.
‘Does it represent Major Rabbitt’s estate? He commissioned it?’
‘Richard made it. Lego is his relaxation.’
‘I read about a government minister who did that. But I thought Major Rabbitt’s hobby was magic lanterns?’
‘He has time for more than one hobby – and hobby horses. Yes, this is the estate and the Downs. Have you seen Brighton and Hove football stadium?’ She pointed at an arena on the Lego recreation of the Downs. It was indeed the shape of the local club’s stadium.
‘It must have taken ages.’
‘He is very detail obsessed. Was.’
‘Have you worked for him long?’
‘No one works for him long so I’ve been here longer than anybody else.’
‘Bad boss?’
‘The worst.’
‘So why have you hung on?’
‘I’m his sister.’
‘OK,’ Gilchrist said slowly. ‘When was the last time you saw your brother?’
‘A week or so ago. Roughly.’
‘He’s been away?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘You’ve been away?’
‘No.’
‘But I thought you said you work for him? And you live here? Yet you haven’t seen him for a week.’
‘Yes and yes and yes. But this is a twenty-bedroom mansion. He occupies the left wing; I have a room and an office in the right wing, where all the Airbnb rooms are that I administer. That’s my function.’
‘Does he share the left wing with anybody? Is there anybody I should be talking to?’
‘Nobody regular. He likes to pick and choose.’
‘You seem to have a cynical view of your brother.’
‘Yes, well, I’ve been stuck with him all my life. Plus he got the inheritance. According to him he was doing me a big favour employing me and letting me live here.’
‘Why did you allow that?’
‘You don’t know me well enough to ask that,’ the woman said.
‘This is a murder inquiry. I’m afraid there’s scarcely any limit to what we might ask. But, OK, is there anyone close to him we should be talking to?’
‘His ex-wife.’
‘And she is?’
‘Leessell Rabbitt. Spelt L-i-e-s-l. She has a café on Lewes High Street. I forget the name but it’s between a posh shop and a second-hand bookshop.’
‘And her name is pronounced Leessell?’
Granger nodded.
‘You mentioned children – your brother’s?’
‘Two boys,’ Granger said. ‘Aged eight and nine. Away at boarding school.’
‘Do they know yet?’
‘I was waiting until I heard more of what has happened from you people.’
‘Well, Mr Rabbitt has been murdered. Perhaps the boys should be taken out of school and brought home?’
‘Not by me. I can’t stand the little brats.’
Gilchrist frowned.
‘OK then. We’ll contact Child Services here to inform the school and we’ll tell his ex-wife. Does Mr Rabbitt have a current partner?’
‘I wouldn’t know who that is. You could ask his secretary, Rhoda. Rhoda Knowles.’
‘Is she here now?’
‘She went home upset when she heard the news. Lives in Plumpton Green.’
Heap made a note.
‘Even though you haven’t seen him for a while do you know if he has a regular routine?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Like clockwork. I told you, he’s a bit obsessive compulsive. He needs routine.’
‘Does that routine involve visiting the lake?’
‘Nimue’s lake? Not that I know of. She’s one that got away, incidentally. Way out of his league and didn’t need his money. I don’t know about you but I’d also be put off by any man vain enough to wear a toupee but cheap enough to buy a terrible one.’
‘Are there any other siblings?’
‘No. There were just the two of us.’
‘Do you know of any business partners?’
‘Not partners, exactly, but there are people he is in business with.’
‘For this estate?’
‘No – this is all his. He has other business interests.’
‘Any names you could mention?’
‘He keeps all that stuff pretty close to his chest. But there’s a property guy who owns a lot of flats in Brighton. Moroccan I think. He actually lives on the farm next door to Nimue
Grace. They’re up to something together.’
‘Nimue and this Moroccan man?’ Gilchrist said.
‘No! My brother and him.’
‘Up to something?’ Gilchrist said. ‘As in something criminal?’
‘Just a turn of phrase,’ she said. ‘But you can bet it will be underhand and will be taking advantage of people. But then doesn’t all capitalism do that?’
‘I don’t have an opinion on the matter,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Do you have a name for this person? And any indication of what they might be up to?’
‘Said Farzi. And I expect they are buying some property together. Or land. I think they both might also want to squeeze Nimue Grace out.’
‘Out of what?’
‘Out of the area. Get her home and her land.’
‘I see. Do you have a particular reason for saying that?’
‘Snatches of overheard conversation.’
‘And the other person?’
‘That spin doctor as was. William Simpson.’
‘Him again,’ Gilchrist muttered.
‘What?’ Granger said.
‘William Simpson. Again, would you know what kind of business?’
‘Again, undoubtedly underhand.’
Gilchrist nodded.
‘Thank you very much for your help so far. I’m sure we’ll be back with more questions later. Is it possible to see your brother’s part of the house.’
‘I believe a search warrant is customary,’ Granger said.
Gilchrist let the surprise show on her face.
‘Well, this is to help us find out who murdered your brother.’
‘We all want to do things by the book, I’m sure, DI Gilchrist. It won’t take you long to get a search warrant and then we can move ahead very quickly.’ She held out her hand. ‘I look forward to seeing you again soon.’
‘Well, that was odd,’ Gilchrist said when they were back in the car. ‘How suspicious was that suddenly?’
‘Very,’ Heap said. ‘I’ll make the calls and get us back in there tomorrow. Where now?’
Gilchrist looked up at the darkening sky. ‘I think we call it a night and make an early start in the morning.’
Gilchrist and Heap went back to the lake at eight the next morning. It was another blustery day and Gilchrist imagined hang gliders floating above the Devil’s Dyke, a couple of miles further along the Downs. As they came onto the pathway beside the lake a duck came out of a stand of reeds leading four ducklings in a line.
The Lady of the Lake Page 2