Blood Rights

by Kelly Clayton

  Dewar had primed Hunter before they went into the interview room. He was to be the charming and kind one. Nils smiled gratefully and sipped at his water. Being the good guy wasn’t her role today. “If you’re ready, I do have some questions for you.”

  His tongue flicked across his lips as he set the water glass down. “Yes, of course.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Her tone was dry, and the sarcastic drawl pleased her. She was getting better at this. “Tell me about the money you need.”

  He cocked his head slightly to the side. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You need to raise funds. That’s the message Grainger was trying to get across. What do you need the cash for? Drugs?”

  Nils paled and stilled. “This is outrageous and has nothing to do with what happened to my parents.”

  Hunter said, “Wait. There’s no need to be so forceful, ma’am. We don’t know anything for sure. Mr Englebrook, I’m sorry about that. We do need to ask some questions, and I appreciate they may be intrusive, but it would help us if you could answer them.”

  Hunter’s clean-cut innocent looks and calm voice were even convincing her.

  Nils swallowed. “It’s for the business. Dad had expanded into the US market, and the setup costs were massive. We’ve been advised that Dad loaned substantial amounts of money to get the business up and running. It’s put a lot of pressure on the UK operation.”

  Dewar asked, “So you need to add money for the US business? Can’t you make cost-savings?”

  “We also took out a substantial bank loan to finance the US business. Dad was named as a key party to the agreement, with a proviso that the loan would be called in should he no longer be involved in the business.”

  Hunter said, “So his death has triggered the repayment clause?”

  “Yes, and we have another three weeks to find the money or the business will be in serious difficulties. We could be forced into liquidation, which is a joke. We’re a solid business; we just have temporary cash-flow problems due to the US expansion and this damn loan being called in. We need money, lots of it, or the business goes under.”

  Dewar pulled out her mobile and called a pre-set number. Le Claire answered almost immediately.

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire disconnected the call and laid the phone on the table. He glanced at Rudy. “That was my colleague. Your brother has been very helpful. His statement concurs with yours in that money was required for your father’s business, but he went into a little more detail. The situation seems to be more urgent than you had previously suggested. He mentioned a loan being called in?”

  Rudy’s shoulders slumped, and he sat back in his chair, briefly glancing at the ceiling. When he looked at Le Claire, he appeared resigned to the discussion. “My brother spoke correctly, and I may have underplayed the situation. But that is part of business. The perception of how well you are doing is often more important than reality, especially when any rumour could negatively impact the share price. My father owned most of the business, but we do have some institutional shareholders, and if they sell, the shares could suddenly fall in price resulting in a devaluation of the entire business. So yes, we have a large loan to repay and a matter of weeks to do so.”

  “This seems to have come as a surprise to you, yet you are the company’s chief financial officer. Weren’t you aware of the overall position? If you weren’t, it does seem lax.”

  A tic worked away at the side of Rudy’s mouth, his jaw set. “My father ran the business how he wanted. He gave Nils and I titles and some responsibility, but Dad ran the show. I’m not proud of that, but it’s how it was. Bottom line is we need cash flow, and I’m sure my mother would have been happy to help.”

  “That’s not how Grainger tells it. And of course, you’re now in the position that probate of the estate will be held up due to the latest developments with your mother.”

  “I’m aware of that. I will be going to speak to the bankers in person. We have to find a solution, somehow.”

  “That doesn’t help your current situation, though. You and your brother had a reason for wishing your mother was out of the picture. And that reason would be unfettered access to her assets, which have dramatically risen in value since the death of your father and Susan Jones.”

  Rudy said, “You’re off track on that one. If you’re going to speak to me in that vein, then I believe I need to get a lawyer.”

  “That’s entirely your prerogative, although I have finished with you for today. But we will be back in touch, and you’re going to have to let me know if you leave Jersey. I need to know if you’re off island, even for a day.”

  “Very well. Look, I can see you’re only doing your job. However, I didn’t kill my father or Susan, and I didn’t harm my mother. While you’re talking to us, the real culprit is getting away with it.”

  “No one gets away with it on my watch. Just remember that.” But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? One had got away before, but there would no more. That was a promise to himself, and to April Baines.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Chloe stared at Nils, lost for words, but Jessica obviously didn’t suffer from the same affliction.

  “You are seriously kidding. You have to be. Eva and Richard are married? That bastard. He kept coming on to me, you know, but of course, I didn’t want anything to do with him.”

  Nils shook his head, his upper lip curled in disdain. “And yet again it’s all about you, Jess.”

  “Well, there’s no need for that attitude.”

  Chloe would normally have jumped to Jess’s defence, but, if she was honest with herself, her tolerance for her sister’s growing selfishness was severely tested. “Enough, Jess. This isn’t the time.” She considered Nils’s colour-leached face. “How are you and Rudy about this?”

  “Devastated and totally bewildered. Why would Mum keep this from us? I can’t figure it out. I have nothing against Richard, not really. I may think he didn’t earn his keep on the collection, but Dad seemed okay with it, so who am I to have an opinion? But Mum not telling us they were married is way off.”

  Jess shrugged. “Money. Pure and simple. If Eva married again, the alimony would stop.”

  “What were they going to do? Keep it from Dad forever?”

  Jess glanced quickly between them. “Or until Kurt was dead. Eva would be free to marry again, safe in the knowledge that she had the art collection and a nice lump sum. I guess getting my house was a bonus.”

  Nils’s face darkened, and Chloe quickly intervened. “Shut up, Jess. Don’t be a bitch. It was Eva’s place long before it was yours.”

  Jess clamped her lips together, tight, in an exaggerated sulk.

  Nils said, “There is no way Mum could have harmed Dad; it simply isn’t possible.”

  The words tumbled out before Chloe could stop them. “But Richard, as Eva’s husband, had as much to gain if Kurt died.”

  Jessica obviously couldn’t resist. “Or he and Eva could have been plotting this together, and perhaps he attacked her to end up with the art and the house to himself.”

  Jess’s mouth was running away with her, but Chloe had to acknowledge that there could be some truth in her sister’s words. She’d worked for Richard long enough to know he could be slippery and skirted the wind. But could he also be a killer?

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire said a distracted hello to his mother and cornered his father in the study. “What the hell are you playing at?”

  Philip Le Claire sniffed at the two fingers of amber-coloured liquid in the squat tumbler. “I’m having a drink before dinner. Would you like to join me?”

  “Why? So you can call in anonymously later and get me on a drink-driving charge? You may as well throw me under another bus.”

  “If you are referring to the discussion at the station earlier today, I don’t believe there is much to say. Richard is an old friend, and he came to me for advice. And my brief to him was to get his ass into
the station pronto and tell you about his marriage to Eva before anyone else did. And to protect his own position.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but if Eva dies, Richard is her widower and will have certain rights. There are a number of complications within the family, and I thought it best that he makes his position known as soon as possible.”

  “Didn’t it occur to you how awkward it would be for me that you were the one to accompany him? Couldn’t you have sent someone else?”

  “No, Jack, you can’t have it all your way.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That you have always rebuffed any offer of assistance from me. You could have had a brilliant career as a lawyer, and I could have eased your path in a multitude of ways, but no, you chose to be a policeman. If you’d listened to me and joined the local force from university, you could be the chief by now. But oh no, you had to go your own way and join the London Met as a low-level grunt. You do what you want, son. Every single time. How can you blame me for doing the same?”

  “You’re twisting this and trying to deflect it onto me. You embarrassed me today.”

  “What are you, twelve? I acted the way I would have done no matter who the investigating officer was—isn’t that what you always wanted? To be treated fairly, no better and no worse than anyone else? Well, you’ve got it.”

  He opened his mouth to speak when a sharp voice cut him off.

  “Stop it! Not one more word from either of you. I am sick of acting as a referee.”

  He stiffened at his mother’s words. “I’m sorry, but . . .”

  “I’ve told you before, an apology is useless if it’s followed by a but. You’re either sorry or you’re not.”

  He did feel twelve years old now.

  His father said, “Yes, now as I was saying—”

  “Shut the hell up, darling. You’re as bad as Jack. Each of you trying to score points against the other. Well, I’ve had it. Your dinner is ready. Shake hands with your son; you can both swallow your pride and get past this.”

  He looked at his father. His mother wasn’t done yet. “As for you, get home to your wife, and lose your anger on the way.”

  “Actually, I have some stuff to get from the flat first.”

  “It’s yours. Do what you like. Now I would like my husband to plaster a smile on his face and join me for dinner. All right?”

  His father stood in front of him, held out his hand and said, “See you later.”

  He did the same, kissed his mother on the cheek and headed outside with his tail between his legs. He crossed the courtyard to the garage block and took the slatted stairs two at a time, using his key to open the door into the small apartment. This place had been his hangout as a teenager and the haven where he returned to lick his wounds after everything fell apart in London, his marriage to Sasha in tatters.

  He loosened his tie and shrugged out of his jacket. He would be driving home later, so he avoided the lagers he kept in the small fridge and grabbed a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen. He had a lot to do. Before he could head to the bedroom, his mobile rang. It was the station.

  “Le Claire, what’s up?”

  “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you. We have an urgent call for you from the Bahamas. It’s an Ian Balfour. Will you speak to him?”

  What could the lawyer want that necessitated an international call?

  “Yes, of course. Put him through.”

  He waited while there was a long pause and then a clicking noise as the call connected.

  “Le Claire, this is Ian Balfour. I’m in the Bahamas visiting a client. Sarah contacted me and let me know what happened to Eva after the funeral. It’s awful, terrible.”

  “Yes, it is. I have to say I’m surprised you weren’t at the funeral.” This man was supposed to be one of Englebrook’s oldest friends, and his wife was his former sister-in-law.

  “I was only meant to be here on a flying visit and would have been in Jersey in time for the funeral. There have been technical issues at the airport, and I’ve been stuck here for several days.”

  Not a bad place to be stranded. “That is bad timing. May I ask why you have telephoned?”

  “As soon as I heard about Eva, I knew I had to call you immediately. She sent me an email a couple of days ago, the contents of which are explosive. We had intended discussing the matter after the funeral.”

  “And what was this?”

  “I can forward the email to you. She employed a private investigator to look into Kurt’s marriage to Jessica. Kurt had made some throwaway comment months before, and she said she couldn’t get the thought out of her head. He’d gone to see Eva to discuss Nils. Eva asked how he was getting on with Jessica, and he said fine, but he wouldn’t be concerned if he wasn’t. Mentioned they had a Mick Jagger wedding and that was the ace he was holding back. She thought he was joking. With Kurt gone, she felt she had to investigate in case it was true.”

  “What’s the allusion to a Mick Jagger wedding?”

  “His marriage to Jerry Hall has been deemed invalid in the UK as the ceremony in Bali had no legal standing.

  “And what did this investigator uncover?”

  “Something that made Eva deliriously happy. She received confirmation that Kurt and Jessica had an evening wedding in the Bahamas.”

  “That sounds very romantic, but I fail to see what the importance of the timing is.”

  “It is illegal to get married in the Bahamas after 6:00 p.m. The legal ceremony should have taken place during working hours. I’ve checked into it while I’m here. Jessica and Kurt were never legally married in the Bahamas, ergo the marriage can’t be legal anywhere else. And that means Jessica isn’t his widow and won’t be inheriting a share of his estate. There is no concept of a common-law spouse in Jersey.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Chloe hugged her arms tight across her chest as she headed away from the bus stop. She rented a small cottage and, amazingly for the town, it came with a tiny parking space. However, she mostly took the bus when she helped at the gallery as parking nearby was a nightmare. She didn’t mind the bus, but she wasn’t so keen on walking through the dark lanes.

  She had gone with Angela for a quick drink, which was why she was now hurrying along the shadowed narrow streets. St Helier wasn’t the safest place after dark. People from the mainland laughed at this, as the island had fewer attacks on people and their homes than just about anywhere else. But offences weren’t entirely unknown. Chloe had always been a little bit paranoid about personal safety, probably driven by the year she’d spent living in London.

  A car was coming up behind her, and from the noise, she knew it was speeding, which was more usual than it should be on the island. Too many people with high-performance cars on narrow roads with, for some, far-too-low speed limits. The pavement was narrow, barely wide enough for her to walk straight, so she pulled herself tighter against the granite wall, though she knew from experience the car would easily pass her.

  The car increased its speed, and there was a screeching sound. She turned as the car mounted the pavement, its lights on full beam, blinding her so she couldn’t see a thing. She froze for a moment, one tiny moment as the car came closer and closer. She quickly looked for an escape. The wall was waist-height, and so with all her effort, she threw herself over it, scraping her legs and banging her ankle as she tumbled into the garden behind.

  The noise of the car receded into the night as it zoomed away. In the darkness, she couldn’t make out what type it was, or even the colour. It looked dark and big. She lay on the grass for a moment, clutching her stomach and trying to calm her frantic breathing. The front door of the house opened, and a man rushed out. He was followed by a worried-looking woman who said, “I’ve had enough of these bloody boy-racers. Call the police. That poor girl probably needs an ambulance. She could have been killed by those maniacs.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

>   The art expert arrived in Jersey as if she were leading an invasion. In addition to a flashy Mercedes, Dewar counted two other vehicles and a lorry with a thirty-foot-long container parked up in the manor grounds. They had driven behind the house and set up beside the gallery.

  Natasha Rensburg’s actual age was difficult to determine. Her plump, unlined face could belong to someone in their forties or much older. Her hair was a frizzled mass of curls cut into a semi-serviceable bob so that they grew out instead of down. Her blouse strained across her ample bust, and the look in her shrewd eyes told Dewar she couldn’t care less about her appearance and was irritated by the interruption.

  Her voice removed any doubt. “Dewar, isn’t it? That young boy, Hunter, said you would be here soon. He has been perfectly acceptable in assisting me.” Her voice held tinges of an accent, Russian perhaps. She did little to conceal her irritation at Dewar, no doubt for turning up and disturbing her work on the Englebrook art collection. Behind her, Hunter sat in a lone chair watching the proceedings. No matter how acclaimed the art expert was, they couldn’t be left alone with this valuable collection.

  Dewar waved her hand in the direction of four white-gloved men who were part of Rensburg’s team, standing guard over several paintings that had been removed from the wall. “How are you getting on?”

  “I reviewed the list of art that you wished me to consider.” They had provided details of all the paintings named in the contracts found amongst Englebrook’s belongings plus the piece that the claimant said was fake.

  “And?”

  “Don’t be so hasty.” Any sting in the words was softened by a brief smile. “I know how important this is. Art forgery is a crime that can go undetected for decades. What I can tell you is that I believe several of the paintings are fakes. Given their importance, detailed testing will be required, but I have no doubts that I am correct.”

  “Why do you suspect they’re fake?”