Blood Rights

by Kelly Clayton

  “What caused them?”

  “The police say it was something small, round and hard. But that’s not what killed Mum. They think she was shot at with something that caused her to her fall and rendered her vulnerable. From the wounds, she was hit by something blunt. Perhaps whatever fired the pellets or whatever they were. Her skull was . . . it was smashed in. She didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Why on earth would someone do this?”

  “I have no idea, but I think it’s highly bloody suspicious that Mum’s boss is killed, and so is she less than a week later.”

  Chloe let that thought snake through her brain. “You can’t believe for one second that this is connected. You’re not thinking straight at the moment.”

  “No? Maybe I’m not. Or perhaps I am. I’m tired of the bullshit. For example, why are you here? What are you after, turning up here like this?”

  Her heart hammered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Cut it out. We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for years. We’re a classic case of missed opportunities and wrong timing. We’ve both been single for the last few years, but my feud with Kurt put the spokes into anything happening between us. I am sick of bullshit and pretence.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and she jumped to her feet. Not that there was anywhere to go in the tight space, and the walls seem to close in even farther as she tried to move past Riley. “You’re not yourself. Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

  She slid sideways towards the door, reaching for the handle. His words made her pause, as did the hand that lightly grasped her wrist. “Regret? If I’m to regret anything, I’d rather it was my actions, not words.”

  He stood, towering over her in the confined space and, bending his head, covered her mouth with his. She froze, shocked, immobilised, and then the softness of his lips, the lightest of pressures relaxed her, made her open to him. He shifted, pulled her tight against him and moved forward, closer, easing her back against the wall. His lips teased, his teeth nipped—light and gentle—all seemingly intent on coaxing a reaction from her. She complied; there was no other choice she wanted to consider. She met him kiss for kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, pulling him tighter, closer, until not a particle of air separated them.

  His hands roamed freely, and she didn’t care. As he caressed and stroked, she arched her body closer to his, aching for his touch. She had lain in bed and dreamed of this so many times, awake in the small hours, cocooned from the real world by the dark of night as she imagined meetings, situations, opportunities for them to move from friendship to something else. And here she was. In the midst of . . . She stopped, tensed and knew he immediately realised something was wrong when he pulled back, solemn, questioning eyes staring at her. “What is it?”

  “This is wrong.”

  “It didn’t feel that way to me.”

  “I should go. You aren’t thinking straight. Susan . . .”

  He raised his hands as if to push the words away, words he obviously didn’t want to hear. “This isn’t about what’s happened. Except that maybe the situation has made me raw, made me speak out.” He paused. “I’m sorry, though. You’re right. It was unforgivable.”

  His polite voice was distant and formal, a world away from the heated emotions that had enflamed them moments before. A scant few inches now separated them, but it was a chasm of distance. “I’ll be off, then.”

  He moved out of her way. “Of course.” He picked up her bag, handed it to her and, reaching past her, opened the door. “Hold on, I’ll get my keys and walk you to the car. Khan will be fine on his own for a bit.”

  “No, I’m fine. You can see the car from here. Bye.” She quickly slipped out into the cold night. His voice floated on the air behind her.

  “I am sorry. Sorry you didn’t want this; sorry you think I made a move because I’m grieving. But I’m not sorry I kissed you, and I don’t regret touching you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Le Claire was unsurprised to learn that Eva Englebrook had moved back into her former marital home. He was taken aback to realise that she was also making her mark. Several skips were ranged around the courtyard.

  Le Claire glanced at Dewar as they climbed the manor steps. She had makeup on again. When did she suddenly care what she looked like?

  The front door opened, and a red-faced man barrelled down the steps. He paused, turning back to Eva, who stood in the doorway and said, “You’re making a big mistake. Those apartments could net us £10 million. We’re talking serious luxury. You’ll come running to me soon.”

  “I doubt it, Mr Vautier, I doubt it.”

  The man rushed down the steps and stopped as he reached them, a look of surprise on his face. “Oh, what are you doing here?”

  Le Claire went to answer and then realised the man was staring at a pink-faced Dewar.

  Eva answered, “It’s the police. My ex-husband died, remember?” Her words were laced with sarcasm. She glanced at Le Claire. “This is Harry Vautier. He was just leaving.”

  “I’m out of here, don’t worry. You know how to get in touch with me if you change your mind.” Vautier stopped in front of Dewar. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a copper, love. I hope David knows what he’s getting into.”

  Le Claire ignored the comment and followed an unusually quiet Dewar into the house as Eva showed them into a spacious library. “So what can I do for you?”

  “Well, my first question is what you’re throwing away. We may need to access more of Mr Englebrook’s papers and belongings.”

  She met his questions with laughter. “I am fully aware that an investigation is taking place and can assure you that none of my ex-husband’s belongings have been removed. Nor, as requested, have the office areas been disturbed. I am getting settled in and clearing out some of my stuff.”

  Dewar asked, “Is Jessica Englebrook still in residence?”

  “Yes.” Eva sighed and settled back in her chair. “Jessica may be a husband-stealing viper, and I would love to exercise free rein in ridding myself of her presence, but this isn’t the right time. Kurt may have been my husband once, but he was also hers, and she must be hurting in her own way. I’ve taken a room in the guest annexe. That way Jessica and I can keep our distance from each other. When she does move out, I’m gutting the place. By the time I’m finished, it will be as if she’d never been here, never taken my place.” Her words ended with spittles of vitriol.

  He said, “If I may say so, you do sound bitter. Did you bear a grudge against your ex-husband?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “A grudge? That’s rather mild. Jessica wasn’t the first to catch Kurt’s eye, but she must have had something extra about her. The fool imagined himself in love, and that was that. He told me it was over, handed me a divorce settlement and said he’d bought me a house to live in and I’d better move out. I was so blindsided I meekly did as he said—except for one thing. I said I wouldn’t agree to anything until I got the art. We comprised on my inheriting it from him.”

  “And you were okay with that?”

  “I would have been. Unfortunately, my lawyer was incompetent, and I was a damn idiot who didn’t properly read what I signed. I assumed it would say what I thought we had agreed. Lesson learned, never assume and always read what you sign.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found out before the ink was dry on the final divorce settlement that I had passed all ownership rights of the artwork to Kurt, and that I would be left whatever artwork he owned at his death. He could have sold the lot, and I’d have got nothing.”

  “Yet he didn’t.”

  “No, but I’m not surprised. He never did know one end of a painting from the other. Kurt enjoyed the cachet of owning such an extensive collection. He had Richard to help with buying some new bits, but he rarely, if ever, sold.”

  Le Claire let a moment pass. This wasn’t what he was here to talk about. “I am sure it was a difficult time for you, but I would like
to discuss another matter.”

  “God, yes, Susan Jones, I assume. Poor cow, dying like that.”

  Dewar said, “How did you find out?”

  Eva lifted a wry brow, “It’s Jersey. Half the island knew within hours.”

  “You don’t seem particularly upset,” Le Claire said.

  “Susan is nothing to do with me. She was someone who worked for my ex-husband. I am, of course, incredibly sorry she is dead, but we weren’t close.”

  “Any particular reason? Perhaps a resentment from when you were married?”

  “And what exactly would you mean by that?”

  “You said your husband had previous affairs before leaving you for Jessica. There is little love lost between Susan and her. I wondered if Mr Englebrook had a closer relationship with Mrs Jones than we know of.”

  There was a long pause. Eva tipped her head back, and her look dripped with disdain. “What a distasteful subject. I don’t believe I need to answer that question.”

  “Murder is distasteful, and I can get an order to compel you to answer if need be. So why don’t you save us some red tape, and you the stress, and tell us what you know?”

  She sighed, moved across the room, rummaged in a handbag and turned around with an e-cigarette in her mouth. She puffed a few times, and a smoke-like emission cloud perfumed the air. The fruity smell enveloped Le Claire, and he moved back slightly. He swore she smirked.

  She took another long draw. “I am so glad it’s still legal to smoke in my own home, but the boys, spoilsports that they are, said I had to cut down if they were going to continue living with me. So you want to know if Kurt was screwing Susan. I would say yes, but I never had any proof. At the least, they had a closeness that was more than boss and employee. So no, I didn’t like Susan. I often respected her and once hated her. However, that was a decade ago. I barely saw her these last years.”

  “Thank you for your honesty. There is another matter I want to discuss. I have spoken to the lawyers about Kurt’s will.”

  She seemed puzzled, and it was difficult to know if she was feigning it or not.

  “The land has reunited with the main property, which means you are the owner of that land, and it doesn’t form part of Susan Jones’s estate.”

  “Yes, that is correct, but I don’t see what bearing that has on anything.”

  “We need to consider who may have had a reason to harm Susan Jones. The first place we usually look is to consider who would benefit from her death. And I am afraid that her death has benefited you.”

  “This is ridiculous. You cannot for one second think that I would have harmed that stupid woman. What? You think I crept through the woods at night and somehow overpowered a woman who went to the gym several times a week and was younger than I am myself?” Her voice was laced with derision.

  “I’m sure you can appreciate that we have to explore every avenue. May I ask what you intend doing with the land? I believe there is a possibility that it could substantially increase in value.”

  “Yes, I have heard that as well. And have had to listen to Harry Vautier going on about it for the last hour. He’s the developer that Kurt had some kind of informal deal with. Nothing’s signed; I can do as I please. When I actually know what will please me. I haven’t even had one second to consider what I’m going to do about the art collection or this house, and now I also have to think about the land. I need to get my priorities right and understand what is important to me. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Like I said, it was my understanding that your ex-husband and sons were in favour of the land sale.”

  “That was Kurt’s and my sons’ decision. The land goes with the house, and the house belongs to me. I haven’t decided what to do yet.”

  They took their leave, and Le Claire waited until Dewar had manoeuvred the car out of the gates and onto the lane. “What was all that about? And who is the David that Vautier mentioned?” As if he didn’t know.

  She kept looking straight ahead, only a slight tensing of her jaw betraying her discomfort. He was enjoying this.

  “I believe he means Viera. Yes, that’s who he is referring to. We had dinner the other night. I mean, I had dinner with Viera, and Harry Vautier happened to be there, at another table. He was there with his son.”

  “Fine, I don’t need their life story. Did you know he was the developer involved with Kurt Englebrook?”

  “Yes, I did. Sorry, I meant to tell you, but then we found out about Susan Jones’s death.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You need to focus on your job. Susan Jones’s death could well be to do with the land. We have to explore every avenue. Vautier could be involved.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire tensed as he prepared to lie to his wife, his heart beating faster than usual and his blood thrumming in his ears.

  She’d answered the call with laughter and a bubbling voice. “Don’t tell me. You’re going to be late. I guess I’ll have to expect that until this case is solved.” Her tone removed any sting that may have appeared in the words, and her understanding made him regret his deceit even as he spoke the false words. “Yes, I’ve been holed up in my office catching up on paperwork. You know what it’s like.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m chilling on the sofa with a glass of wine and a book. I’ll grab some beans on toast for dinner. And I’ll make you something simple when you get home.”

  He’d never lied to her before. He’d been evasive, stubborn, closed-mouthed and self-centred, but he had never deliberately lied to her. Until now. He couldn’t tell her where he was or what he was doing. She’d try to make him see reason. Make him realise what he was potentially throwing away and entreat him to stop. But the truth was that he didn’t want to.

  What could he tell her? That he was at his old apartment above his parents’ garage. That he kept a pinboard there, locked in the cupboard alongside a mound of files. All locked away because he’d get in a load of trouble with the force if anyone knew what he was doing. “Thanks, darling. I may be a while, so don’t wait up. I’ll grab some takeaway. There’s some stuff I need to work on.”

  And wasn’t that just the truth? He said the usual, “Love you,” and disconnected the call. He set the phone down and gazed at the papers spread on the coffee table. He sipped at his coffee as one image drew his gaze again and again.

  Colin Chapman had given an interview to one of the popular tabloids months ago. He cleaned up well and assumed a vulnerable look for the picture. Poor Chapman. Brutal police. That was the tone, but Chapman, or perhaps it was the savvy journalist, kept it on the right side of libel, careful not to mention Le Claire’s name. But they said that the policeman responsible was no longer with the force. That was true, but he’d resigned. He hadn’t been booted out. But why let the truth get in the way of a good story? Today’s news was no longer yesterday’s chip paper, or only available to those who bought the paper. No, it was all online—forever.

  The journalist had tracked him down and asked for a comment. He had refused.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Le Claire stared at the team ranged around the conference table, squinting a little as the noon sun distorted his vision. He shifted in his chair. “We have two suspicious deaths. And of two people who shared a close connection. Does anyone have any progress to report? Anything at all?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound pleading, but they were getting nowhere—and extremely fast.

  “I can give my update.” Masters had obviously read the management book that said to speak up first in a meeting and get your words in first.

  “Go ahead.” Le Claire kept his voice on an even keel. He couldn’t stand Masters, but he was determined not to let it show.

  Masters scrolled through his tablet. “Okay. You asked me to investigate any known drug activity in the area around Susan Jones’s home and the area in which she was found. The country fields and lanes are popular for rendezvous, for completing deals. We’ve busted a few transactions going
down in the surrounding area. I’ve spoken to one of my contacts, but there isn’t any word about this in the druggie community. At least none that is coming to our ears. What was Susan Jones doing walking the fields on her own at that time of night? Was she up to something sinister?”

  Dewar said, “She was walking her dog. Same as she apparently did every night for years. Same time, the same walk. Yes, of course, we must explore all possibilities, but we should factor in the known elements, without a wild goose chase.”

  Le Claire was glad she’d said it and not him.

  Masters grinned. “Still bet she was up to something. A definite looker, even at her age.”

  Dewar rolled her eyes. “She was hardly in her dotage.”

  Le Claire needed information and a way forward, not this claptrap. “Right, so that’s a big no to any news at the moment. Hunter, what about the background between Susan and Kurt?”

  The eager PC sat up straighter in his chair. “Susan Jones was a high-flying London financial accountant who worked for one of the big banks. Her LinkedIn profile is detailed for the early part of her career. Next thing, around fifteen years ago, she starts working for the KE Family Office; that coincides with the time Kurt and Eva moved to Jersey with their sons. Susan relocated here with her own child. She was the CEO, and that’s the position she held at her death. I am checking, but I assume that the KE stands for Kurt Englebrook.”

  Le Claire knew a little about these kinds of arrangements through his father’s dinner-table talk. “Makes sense. A lot of the wealthy have their own administration staff; they often term it a Family Office.”

  Masters smirked, the brilliance of his teeth almost blinding Le Claire. “Pity the poor rich people, having to get someone else to look after their money.” He assumed what Le Claire supposed was meant to be an innocent look. “I guess you’d know all about that?”