When they were landing it looked at first as if they were going to land on the railway line but they settled in a field behind the race track. The minibus was there. Gilchrist elected to go back into Lewes with the others to see about raiding Farzi’s stables the next morning. She was still staying at Pelham House as the room was paid for anyway. She called Grace to make her apologies and said she’d like to speak to her later in any case.
She told Bellamy her plan. They went their separate ways and Gilchrist went back to Pelham House. In her room she called Sylvia Wade. ‘All set?’
‘All set, ma’am. Should I inform DS Donaldson?’
‘I don’t think we need worry him with this.’
‘Quite, ma’am.’
‘I’d like you with us though – it would be good for you to get some hands-on experience.’
‘I’d like that, ma’am.’
‘Is there anything of interest on the phone and laptop of Joe Jackson?’
‘We’re still trying to unlock it, I believe. Our techies are a bit overwhelmed at the moment.’
‘OK, Sylvia, see you tomorrow bright and early. Put all the clobber on. Oh, and bring mine, would you?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Gilchrist phoned Grace. ‘Two things. The first is that I wanted to tell you that George Bosanquet has left the country, so you should feel a bit safer from him. He’s filming in Morocco. Place called Ouarzazate, wherever that is.’
‘It’s in the east of the country. It’s where people like Ridley Scott make their medieval and biblical-era films. Science fiction films too, I think. If I remember rightly, the Jerusalem Scott built for his film Kingdom of Heaven outside town is now a tourist attraction. Actually, the city is where my American agent, Kip, was en route to when she called by here … Perhaps best for me not to think about that coincidence with George too closely.’
‘You’ve filmed there?’
‘Just twice but I have loads of mates who are there all the time. And thanks for your reassurance. What was the second thing?’
‘Now this is an unusual request. Could you leave your gate unlocked tonight?’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t say – it’s nothing to do with your property. So keep your windows and doors locked.’
‘It’s about access?’
‘Very early in the morning but I can’t say any more than that.’
There was silence on Grace’s end of the phone. Then: ‘You’re going to raid Farzi’s place, aren’t you?’
‘I can’t say – and please don’t repeat that kind of speculation to anybody.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Grace said. ‘Guide’s honour. Although I did get kicked out of them.’
‘Why?’
‘Best not go there, at least until I’m two shots of tequila in. But if you’re doing something really early out this way – why don’t you and Bellamy come and stay at the house tonight? You’ll be right where you need to be first thing then. Come on – early supper and early to bed.’
‘That would be very unorthodox …’
‘But eminently sensible. Get here as soon as you can. I do a mean chicken tagine, if I do say so myself.’
Gilchrist relayed this to Heap. ‘You should definitely be there but these bozos would never find the property in the dark on their own,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring them up from Brighton. Why don’t you take Sylvia if she’s coming on the operation?’
At her front door, Grace looked from Gilchrist to Sylvia Wade, who flushed. ‘Bellamy might be dressed as an attractive young woman but I’d recognize that blush anywhere,’ Grace said. ‘Boy, you really take your undercover work seriously, don’t you?’
‘This is DC Sylvia Wade. I hope it’s OK if she stays here instead of Bellamy.’
‘Sure.’ She looked from one woman to the other, a glint in her eye. ‘Will you still want two rooms?’
Now it was Gilchrist’s turn to blush. ‘Of course.’
‘So what’s Bellamy’s excuse? Can’t tear himself away from his lovely girlfriend? My powers are definitely waning.’
‘For operational reasons he needs to stay with the men.’
‘So they don’t get lost, you mean?’ Grace said, grinning. ‘Or raid the wrong property.’
Gilchrist said nothing. Grace ushered them in. ‘So, Sylvia – it’s OK to call you Sylvia? – how long have you been a copper?’
‘Five years, ma’am.’
‘Don’t you start with that “ma’am” shit, not when mia casa è sua casa. I’d prefer you call me Nimue but I’ll settle for Ms Grace, or just Grace, which is the best I’m getting from your two colleagues.’
‘Thank you, Ms Grace.’
‘What would you say to a glass of Chardonnay, Sylvia?’
‘I’d say thank you but no thank you, Ms Grace.’
‘Are you doing that no-drinking-on-duty thing?’
Wade shook her head. She blushed and grinned. ‘You just haven’t offered me the right drink yet.’
Grace laughed and turned to Gilchrist. ‘I like her.’
Gilchrist looked at Wade and smiled. ‘I like her too. She has hidden depths.’
‘So what is your tipple?’
‘Vodka neat on ice.’
‘Way to go,’ Grace said. ‘Are you going to be picky about the brand? I’ve got some cheap Polish vodka in the freezer.’
‘That would be fine.’
‘Shall we all have a shot before you and I move onto the Chardonnay, Sarah?’
‘Sure.’
Grace rummaged in her freezer and brought out not just the long-necked bottle of vodka but three frosted shot glasses.
‘This is going to taste better without ice,’ she said.
‘OK,’ Wade said.
The vodka came out in slow, viscid gloops. ‘Always keep your cheap vodka in the freezer. It thickens beautifully. Never freezes. But the good stuff – Grey Goose or something – freezing it takes away the subtle tastes.’ They raised their glasses. ‘To woman power,’ Grace said.
Grace and Gilchrist each took a sip. Wade tilted her head back and downed hers in one. Gilchrist gave a little cough as it hit the back of her throat. Grace handed Wade a bigger glass and pushed over an ice bucket half full of ice and the bottle of vodka. ‘Help yourself from now on.’
They ate in the kitchen. In the centre of the long table a much-used terracotta tagine, with its long-funnelled lid, was set on a terracotta brazier containing burning charcoal.
‘I’ve never seen a tagine like this before,’ Wade said.
‘The brazier you mean?’ Grace said. ‘I picked it up with the tagine in a market in Essaouira when I was filming there once. That and about twenty beautiful scarves and half a dozen beautiful rugs.’
‘That’s in Morocco?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Yes – lovely little place on the Atlantic coast. Very peaceful. Hippies used to hang out there back in the day. Cat Stevens converted to Islam while staying there. Have you been to Morocco?’
‘I went to Marrakesh for a long weekend once,’ Wade said. ‘A hen party.’
‘I dread to think what you were all wearing as your party ricocheted around town,’ Grace said.
‘What, you mean silly hats and T-shirts with slogans on and ridiculously high-heeled shoes?’ Wade said with a laugh. ‘No, nothing like that – we were all quite sober – well, not sober in every sense but modestly dressed and pretty well-behaved. We’d splashed out and stayed at the Mamounia so we had to be a bit on our best behaviour.’
Gilchrist was listening but thinking about something else and Grace noticed. ‘Which country are you in, Sarah?’
‘Oh, I’m here but I was thinking about whether to mention that odd coincidence of Bosanquet and your agent overlapping at Pelham House and now in Morocco.’
‘I can’t speak for the first but it’s not so odd they might coincide in Ouarzazate. As I said it’s the film capital of Morocco. They make a load of Bible films there, often at the same time. And all the
different film crews pretty much stay in the same hotel. You’ll see three Jesuses wandering around the swimming pool. There was a scandal once when Mary Magdalene from one film was caught canoodling in the corner of the hotel’s candlelit restaurant with a Jesus from another film. I once saw the guy from Frasier – Kelsey somebody – in full costume as King Herod having breakfast with Sir Ben in full costume as a pharaoh. I regret to say I’m not up on pharaohs so I don’t know which one.’
‘Sir Ben?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Kingsley. Gandhi as was? Except it’s much publicized that nobody in the business is allowed to call him just Ben anymore. He’s one of those who insist on use of the title they’ve deservedly received. It’s Sir Ben, although if you’re favoured you may just call him Sir. Wait until I get made a dame – there’ll be no living with me.’
‘What have you made in Morocco?’ Wade asked shyly.
‘Most recently I came out of seclusion to do some Game of Thrones rip-off. I ended up on the cutting room floor. My heart wasn’t in it really but I desperately needed the money. I’m constantly broke trying to hang onto this place without working any more. I was so relieved I wasn’t in it when I saw the final film because it was utter crap.’ She turned to Gilchrist. ‘I met Bosanquet on the only proper film I did in Morocco. A late Bertolucci. I was supposed to get the hots for him and, actually, I did. As he did for me. Declared undying love for me on about day two.’
‘Love at first sight,’ Wade said.
‘Lust at first sight,’ Grace said.
Wade helped herself to more vodka. Gilchrist noted how much she was making herself at home. ‘Sounds like a toxic relationship,’ Wade said. ‘He gaslighted you?’
‘Worse than that. Much worse than that.’
‘Gaslighted her, Sylvia?’
‘I know it’s only just come back into vogue with the Me Too movement but I like it,’ Wade said. ‘Quite a neat description of emotional abuse. Oddly, Ms Grace did a well-received revival of it at Chichester.’
‘You saw that?’ Grace said.
‘My kind of thing,’ Wade said. ‘You were brilliant.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said, patting Wade’s hand. ‘It certainly had resonance for me.’
‘I’m lost,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Revival of what?’
‘The play Gaslight,’ Wade said. ‘There have been a couple of film versions too. Written by a Brighton icon, Patrick Hamilton. It’s about a husband trying to drive a wife mad to get her money. He persuades her she’s hearing things when she thinks she can hear footsteps in the attic. It’s about dangerously controlling men.’
‘Is it set in Brighton?’ Gilchrist said.
‘London, I think,’ Wade said. ‘Why?’
‘You said he was a Brighton icon.’
Grace explained: ‘Oh, his novel Hangover Square with its group of seedy characters is mostly set in Earls Court but ends up in Brighton and he has a trilogy about a con man and the first of them, West Pier, is set in Brighton. I think Graham Greene liked that one.’
They went to bed soon after. Grace led them up to the first floor. The house was actually smaller than Gilchrist expected. There were just two bedrooms here, both small, and a bathroom.
‘I’m on the next floor up,’ Grace said. ‘If you need anything, holler. I won’t get up in the morning so help yourself to any breakfast you want. I have an allergy of early mornings after years of having to look gorgeous on a film set after a 4 a.m. call. Good luck with whatever you’re going to be getting up to.’
TWELVE
Next morning, over a strong coffee, Gilchrist suggested Wade – bright and breezy despite having downed about half a bottle of vodka – stay at Grace’s house until she left two more policemen there to guard the actress. Gilchrist opened the front door quietly. It was a fresh morning but the smell of honeysuckle was everywhere. She walked quietly down the drive to the gate and waited for the vehicles. She heard them before she saw them. The lead vehicle was on low beam, the ones behind were driving by side lights. She joined Heap in the front vehicle and they stopped to let two policemen out at Grace’s front garden.
‘I’m expecting that if those two barns aren’t stuffed with migrants, those greenhouses are – I think that’s what the heating or lights or whatever we saw is about,’ Gilchrist said.
‘There are other cars down by the bridleway and police already in position there,’ Heap said. ‘A helicopter is on standby. Half a dozen buses are parked in the Half Moon car park to ferry whoever is here up to the Gatwick assessment centre.’
Gilchrist nodded. ‘You decided not to tell Donaldson?’ Heap continued.
‘That’s right.’
‘He won’t be best pleased,’ Heap observed.
‘When is he ever?’
Twenty men and women went into the yard, half a dozen fanning out to cover the barns, the others continuing on down to the greenhouses. Heap went with that group, Sylvia Wade tagging along by his side.
Gilchrist came to the first barn as two police vehicles drove up in front of its doors. It was padlocked on the outside. Two more vehicles blocked the farm entrance. A first-floor light went on in one of the stable’s buildings. Abbas’s flat. Gilchrist had stationed somebody outside his door with the search warrant. He was also going to be brought in for questioning in relation to Joe Jackson. She signalled for a constable with a bolt cutter to take the lock off the barn.
He did so; two more constables pulled the barn doors wide open and the lights on the vehicles came on with blinding power. Mattresses were packed one next to the other, covering the whole floor in rows with narrow alleys between. Humped shapes lay on each mattress. By the near wall were a row of buckets with the stench of urine and shit coming from them.
She could hear Abbas arguing with her constable as she moved on to the second barn, leaving three officers to sort out all the people in the first. She heard the buses make their slow progress up Grace’s drive.
It was the same story in the second barn. She left the rest of her officers there and walked down the rough road to the greenhouses. If they too were full of refugees this place must have a couple of thousand people here, living in utter degradation with minimal facilities of any sort. She clenched her jaw. Fucking people smugglers. Fucking Said Farzi.
Sylvia Wade was standing about twenty yards along the path from the first greenhouse.
‘How many have you found?’ Gilchrist called.
‘Just a handful in each greenhouse. Working.’
‘Working? On what?’
Wade gestured behind her with a wave of the arm. Gilchrist saw through the brightly lit doorway a lot of green foliage.
‘That’s a lot of tomatoes,’ she said as they walked nearer.
‘That’s a lot of marijuana, ma’am.’
‘Marijuana? In every greenhouse?’ Gilchrist said as she saw Heap hurrying up the rough track from the other greenhouses.
‘This is a major bust,’ he said, as he came up to them.
Gilchrist nodded. ‘Thank goodness for Lizzy Simpson’s fear of ballooning. Sylvia, call the helicopter in. I want it hovering over this until daylight. Bellamy, any word of anyone making a break for it via the bridleway?’
‘Negative, ma’am,’ Heap said.
‘OK, then leave a couple of vehicles and half a dozen officers over there and bring the rest round to help out here. We need to get the people in the barns out to Gatwick for processing. We’re going to need some more medics up there to examine them and we need to make sure there’s enough food for them. The pros at Gatwick can do the interviewing.
‘Bellamy, DI Mountain in Lewes is back from leave. Take Abbas down to the nick there and brief Mountain and ask her politely to interview Abbas. We need to know about this operation; we need to know Farzi’s exact whereabouts in Morocco; we want to know if there are any links with the death of Richard Rabbitt. Then there’s Joe Jackson’s torture and death. See if he knows anything about that.
‘Sylvia – you’re hoping
the techies will crack Joe’s laptop and phone today, right? Keep onto them. But first I want you to come with me to Plumpton Down House to talk to Mrs Rabbitt, Rhoda Knowles and Tallulah Granger again. I want to know exactly what the business Rabbitt was planning with Farzi was. And we need to talk to the other neighbours to find out how Farzi could run this operation for God knows how long undiscovered by any round him.’ She took an exaggerated breath out. ‘It’s going to be a long day, boys and girls.’
‘Ma’am, there’s something else,’ Heap said. ‘Liesl’s friend Sophia mixes in some very bad company. You remember a couple of months ago the chief constable gave us a heads-up after she’d been briefed by the National Drug Enforcement Agency that Albanian gangsters are now controlling pretty much all the hard drugs trade in the UK? They control the supply chain from beginning to end, from supplier to user. They import from South America into various ports around the country to supply. Well, Sophia is mixed up with them somehow.’
‘How did you find that out about Sophia?’ Gilchrist said.
‘The NDEA has a file on her brother and so they’ve made her a person of interest.’
‘You think Liesl and Sophia sicked these men onto Rabbitt? That Albanians killed him? But he wasn’t any kind of competition. They are hard drugs only.’
‘For now. They are ruthless. Giving someone a beating like that then slitting his throat wouldn’t even register as a hard day at the office.’
‘But what would they want with him? I mean, if he was going into business with Farzi to produce marijuana, what would be the advantage in killing him?’
‘Maybe to take over that business?’
‘No – they’d want him to front it. Or someone. He’d be a perfect cover for them.’
Heap nodded. ‘We need to talk to Farzi.’
Nimue Grace phoned as Gilchrist and Heap were walking past her cottage. ‘Anything I need to know?’ Grace said.
‘You’ve been living next to a major cannabis farm worked by what appear to be slaves from the refugee community.’
‘What? How? Have you time to come in and explain?’
The Lady of the Lake Page 17