“I wouldn’t know. I don’t monitor my husband’s every move.”
“Understood. That will be all for the moment.”
“Detective, wait, please. I have to tell you something that will seem a little odd, but so are the circumstances. The girl who found Drew was Sophie Ginelli. She is my stepdaughter.”
The name didn’t register at first, taken out of context as it was, then it smashed into his brain. “The girl who found your husband’s body? I don’t believe she made my colleagues aware of that.”
Dewar turned to face him. “According to the report, she said she’d been out for an evening walk. She’s staying at the hotel in the square. Miss Ginelli didn’t indicate that she knew Mr Portland.”
No, and Hunter probably didn’t bloody ask, nor had he connected her surname to the hotel. Le Claire masked his irritation. Was it any wonder that he did so many things himself? Moments like this didn’t exactly encourage delegation.
Louise Portland shook her head. “Sophie hadn’t seen Drew in years. She left the island before our marriage. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her myself in a decade. I had no idea she was back. She said she went to talk to Drew to make amends and found him dead. The poor girl was in shock.”
“What do you mean by amends? Was there an issue?”
“Sophie was not at all happy at my remarrying. She wanted no part of my life after that.”
“Why change her mind now?”
“I don’t know. You’ll need to ask Sophie.”
They didn’t know what Drew Portland had died of. The fact that the stepdaughter by marriage, with whom he didn’t get on, had found the body was throwing shade on this being a simple matter.
#
Back at the station, Le Claire had one mission in mind, even though Dewar had begged him to be gentle. He was still getting used to the new building but was already heading to his own area on automatic pilot. He found Hunter tapping away at his computer. He had to give him credit for keeping his reports and records updated. At least that was something. The young PC noticed him and shot to his feet. He was like a puppy with gangly, uncontrollable limbs. “Sir, what can I do for you?”
“You can tell me if you asked Sophie Ginelli last night if she knew the deceased and, if you did, what she said.”
Hunter immediately clicked at his keyboard. His eyes scanned the computer screen, and the silence lengthened. He tapped the keys again and scrolled upwards as he rechecked the records. He reddened and said, “No, sir, I didn’t, sir.” There was a brief pause. “Should I have, sir?”
Le Claire kept a firm control on his temper. “Yes, particularly since it turns out that Sophie Ginelli did indeed know Drew Portland. She is the wife’s stepdaughter from a previous marriage, and there is bad blood between Miss Ginelli and the deceased. If we are looking at anything other than natural causes, then it could be a major factor.”
Hunter paled. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think to ask.”
“In Jersey, people you’d least expect do know each other. There are a hundred thousand people in forty-five square miles. So always ask. It may not have been obvious to you that Drew Portland was involved with Ginelli’s but make sure the files are properly updated.”
Le Claire took a breath as he made to berate him further, then snapped his mouth shut as he thought better of it. Hunter was a good kid and rarely put a foot wrong. “As matters presently stand, no harm has been done. Take more care in future.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”
“Good. Now get me Sophie Ginelli’s contact details.”
#
Le Claire stood outside the interview room and stared through the concealed window at Sophie Ginelli as she sat at the table. She was an attractive woman with long dark hair that waved past her shoulders, soft brown eyes and lightly tanned skin. She had a wide, full mouth and was currently biting on her bottom lip. Fidgeting, she tapped the bottom of a plastic water bottle on the table in a rhythmic motion. She was nervous. Not that it meant anything. Often the innocent looked the most guilty. He heard heavy footsteps slapping down the corridor and knew who it was without turning around. “Dewar, thanks for calling Miss Ginelli. Was there any problem?”
“None at all. She had been going to call us today. She realised she should have informed us that she knew Drew Portland. “
“Hmm, all sounds plausible after the event, doesn’t it? Come on, let’s do this.”
They entered the room, and he shut the door behind them with a loud click that echoed in the silence. Sophie Ginelli jerked upright at the noise, and her eyes locked on his face as he sat in front of her. “Thank you for coming in. It’s best if we get straight to the point. What were you doing on Drew Portland’s boat? And why did you conceal the fact that he was your stepmother’s husband, and you therefore knew him well?”
“I wasn’t concealing anything—well, not intentionally. I was shocked. Christ, what a mess.” She ran a shaking hand through her hair.
“Why did you go to the boat last night?”
“I left Jersey ten years ago in a monumental huff. My dad married Louise when I was nine. We’d lost my mum a few years before, and it was so good to have Louise as part of the family. The three of us were incredibly happy. Then my father got ill when I was seventeen.”
She sighed and looked down at the table for a moment. When her gaze next met his, the softness had gone—replaced by bleakness—and he questioned if it had ever been there or merely a trick of the light. “He died before my eighteenth birthday. A year later, Louise had married Drew Portland. I knew she’d been seeing him, and she tried to make him part of our lives. I didn’t want him anywhere near me and he can’t have been enamoured with his girlfriend trying to make him play happy families with her stepdaughter. I was outraged that she could forget my father so quickly. It all got a bit fraught, and I went to university in the UK. Next thing I know, she’s marrying him. I refused to attend the wedding and haven’t been back to Jersey since.”
Dewar asked, “So why return now?”
“After graduation, I got a trainee manager job for a large hotel chain. I’ve worked my way to a senior position in their restaurant and bar division, and I’ve travelled the world. I’m thirty later this year, and I guess I’ve been taking stock. I have a three-month sabbatical from my job while I decide if I carry on doing what I am or try something else. I may even return to Jersey permanently. I knew I’d have to face Louise, so I thought I’d better make peace with Drew first. A woman approaching thirty sees things with a different eye than a grieving teenager does. I had to let the past go.”
“That’s an about-face. Surely you were still carrying some resentment towards Drew Portland. He did take your father’s place.”
“I would never have been his friend, and, if I had a choice, I would never have met him again, alone or otherwise. Louise and I have matters to discuss, and I didn’t want any awkwardness between Drew and myself.”
“Very well, and Mr Portland was dead when you approached the boat?”
“Yes, I mean, I guess. He was lying on the top deck, and at first I thought he was drunk or something, and then I realised his eyes were open, staring. There was no movement. I panicked and called an ambulance.”
“Why was it so important that you make peace with the Portlands? You said you had something to discuss—what was it?”
“I told you I left in a huff. Well, I didn’t think matters through properly. I need to talk to Louise about my inheritance. My dad told me that he had put measures in place so I’d come into my share of the business when I was thirty. I came back to find out what I was left and what it’s worth. My dad worked damned hard to build up the hotel and restaurant. I wanted to know what the future could look like. I don’t see what any of this has to do with Louise’s husband dying.”
Le Claire stood. “Nor do I—at the moment, that is. DS Dewar will see you out. Please do let us know if you move from the hotel you’re staying at or if you leave the island.”
“Merely a precaution until we confirm the cause of death for Mr Portland.”
#
Le Claire sat in his office, feet propped atop one of the plastic storage containers that held paperwork, files, tatty textbooks and the debris that had littered his old office at the Rouge Bouillon station. He’d unpacked a few boxes as soon as they had moved to the new HQ at Route du Fort but had soon got distracted. He hadn’t even opened some of the containers, and they’d moved weeks ago.
He’d spent the last hour flicking in and out of the computer files on open cases and updated himself on the latest reports. There was nothing pressing that needed his attention, and he’d even spent ten minutes looking through the police Facebook page. Apparently, there was a cow on the loose in the lanes of St Peter. If it wasn’t rounded up soon, his evil streak tempted him to send Hunter to investigate. Chasing down a roaming bovine might not be a grown-up punishment, yet Le Claire pettishly knew it would at least make him feel better.
Viera had said the Home Office pathologist had arrived midmorning from London. It was 5:00 p.m. now. Surely the autopsy would be completed soon.
As if conjured by his thoughts, a large shadow fell across the desk as Viera’s rugby-honed build shouldered into the room.
Le Claire snapped to attention. “Well?”
Viera slumped into the visitor’s chair in front of the shiny new desk. He looked exhausted. “I forgot how much I hate assisting in autopsies.”
Le Claire drew back. “Whoa, I didn’t know you got involved in that?”
“I only help out when the hospital is short-staffed. I got quite a bit of experience when I worked in London. It’s dirty work, but the Home Office chap has pinpointed the cause of death.”
“And?”
“Complete organ failure.”
“What do you mean?”
“Drew Portland’s system shut down, gave up and overloaded.”
“Well, at least we know how he died. What was it caused by?”
“Ah, now that’s the sixty-four million dollar question. We know his ten-year medical history, courtesy of Tom Mathison, who provided the details to us earlier today. Portland had a thorough checkup each year, and his last one was a couple of months ago. Apparently, he was as fit as a fiddle, apart from drinking too much—but that’s par for the course on this rock. Apart from that, he reportedly looked after himself, ate well and exercised regularly. Bit of a runner, did marathons and that.”
“Any clues as to cause?”
Viera leant back in his chair. “This isn’t conclusive yet—we’ll need the test results for that—but unless anything unforeseen turns up in the blood and tissue analysis, we could be looking at the introduction of foreign bodies.”
“Meaning?”
“Toxins. Something introduced into the body that caused it to shut down. We’ve sent various samples in for testing as a rush job. I spoke to Vanguard, and he’s investigating several items from the scene as well.”
“Are we talking accidental?”
“Could be that he ate or drank something nasty. We won’t know until the results from the tests come back.
CHAPTER THREE
“You look so grown-up now. I almost wouldn’t have recognised you.”
Sophie shook her head at Louise’s words, brushing them away. She didn’t want the ties of past fondness and familiarity to cloud their discussion. “That’s what ten years and a bit of make-up can do for you.”
“No, I mean it. You look polished. Life must be treating you well.”
“I can say the same for you, although you have lost some weight.”
“A woman could always do with dropping a few pounds.”
Sophie nodded and sipped at her cup of tea so she didn’t have to reply. She had been surprised to see that not a great deal had changed at her childhood home apart from some general decoration and maintenance. The same couldn’t be said for her stepmother. In truth, Louise was a shadow of her former self. When Tony Ginelli had married Louise Connelly, the bride had been in her early twenties, curvaceous and bubbly. The woman who sat in front of Sophie was thin to the point of emaciation, and her eyes were dark and shadowed. The latter could be accounted for by grief, and Sophie assumed the former was driven by fashion. She had heard that Louise had taken to frequenting the designer boutiques in town since her marriage to Drew Portland.
“Are you staying in the flat?”
“No, I booked into a hotel. I had intended contacting you to say I’d like to use the flat if that is okay.”
“You don’t have to ask; the place is yours, Sophie.”
“I know, but I wanted you to know that I was going to be around.”
“It’s fine. Does Justin know you’re back? I know you never kept in touch with him either. He was heartbroken when you left.”
“I doubt that, and no, I never maintained contact. What was the point? I was angry and wanted to blank everything and everyone.”
“You stayed in contact with Diane. I had to settle for my niece letting me know what was going on in your life.”
“Diane and I have been friends forever. When her mum died, she was always round here. It was easier to keep in touch with her; even though we only made contact every few months. I wanted a new start, a different life.”
“Well, you certainly got that. Have you spoken to the police? I had to tell them of our connection.”
“Of course. They called me into the station. I was going to go and see them anyway to explain. I was so shocked last night; I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” She paused, looked into Louise’s eyes, and let the mask of social chitchat fall away. “How are you? Really?”
Louise’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know. I can’t believe he isn’t going to come walking in the door. That I’ll never see him again.”
“I am sorry for you, Louise.” Sophie knew her words sounded stilted, and by Louise’s glance, so did she.
“Let us not pretend, my darling. You felt so strongly about my marriage to Drew that you stayed away for almost a decade. I treated you like a daughter. We were family, and yet you dropped me, simply walked away, and that was that. Why the desire for peace now?”
Sophie hadn’t wanted to get into this, not too soon, and certainly not under the circumstances, but she had no choice, not after such direct words. “I’m almost thirty.”
“Ah yes. I was waiting for you to reach out.”
“I want what I’m due.”
“The business isn’t doing quite so well as it used to, so we’ll need to see what’s available.”
“I’m due to receive fifty percent of the business on my thirtieth birthday, which is in two months, so we have time to look at the figures. And it doesn’t matter what’s available. I’m due the fifty percent.”
“Let’s not argue, Sophie, not now. Times have got harder, so I’m saying that a fifty-percent share may not be quite as valuable as it once was.”
Sophie stood, rage coursing through her. “My dad worked eighteen hours a day to build this business; my mother worked in it until she became too ill to move. And your fancy man has spent the last ten years sipping champagne on a series of yachts, all paid for by my dad’s money.”
“My money, Sophie, my money. Your father left it to me.” Her voice had risen, and she coughed, her eyes closing as she tried to regain her composure. She visibly deflated before Sophie’s eyes. “I can’t get into this now. Get settled in the flat. I have arrangements to make for Drew’s funeral and need to concentrate on that. We can talk later.”
#
Tom Mathison’s surgery was in a renovated terrace. The hallway was covered in sleek posters where the other occupants apparently promised straight, gleaming smiles, banished wrinkles and sucked out fat.
They headed to Mathison’s floor, where a heavily made-up young woman presided over the public areas from a delicate, spindle-legged desk. Having confirmed that they did indeed have an appointment with the d
octor, they were shown through to an elegant office, decorated in the same beige and taupe tones as the reception area. Mathison pushed away from his desk and came to greet them.
“Detectives, please take a seat. I’m busy, so can we get to the point? Why do you want to see me?”
Le Claire appreciated the directness, which saved him time in polite introductions.
“Fine. May I ask what your relationship is with Louise Portland?”
The good doctor maintained a level gaze and seemed unperturbed by the question. The twitch by the side of his mouth gave lie to that.
“Louise and I don’t have the type of relationship that I believe you mean. We’ve known each other for a long time. To be trite—we are just good friends.
Dewar asked, “Can you ever be ‘just’ friends without one person feeling more than the other?”
Mathison’s smile was brittle. “It would be disingenuous of me to pretend that I don’t have feelings for Louise. However, it is not something I have acted upon. Louise was a married woman after all.”
Le Claire needed to dig deeper. “You spend an awful lot of time together.”
“Yes, we do.”
Le Claire kept quiet. He figured the weight of silence would eventually drive the doctor to speak. It invariably worked.
“The situation with Drew means Louise needs support—something I am happy to provide.”
“And before that? Was Mr Portland comfortable with your friendship with his wife?”
“He was always cordial to me.”
“Cordial is a lukewarm emotion. I’m not sure I’d be happy if another man was spending so much time with my wife.”
“I can’t comment on what he thought or not.”
Le Claire looked around the room. The only decorations were Jersey sea and landscapes. Nothing to indicate what type of surgery this was.
“What exactly are you a doctor of?”
“I still work as a private GP and have a small number of clients. However, I also make the impossible dream a reality.”
Le Claire hazarded a guess. “Cosmetic surgery?”
Blood On The Rock: Treachery, desire, jealousy and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 3
