Blood On The Rock: Treachery, desire, jealousy and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  He cleared his throat, feeling unaccountably nervous. Sasha’s hand crept into his own, her fingers intertwining with his, and a shot of pure love galvanised him.

  “We’ve got some news.” He turned and smiled at Sasha and almost faltered as he saw the depth of love in her eyes. The responsibility of having a love this big was huge, but he knew he was a lucky man. He inhaled and puffed up like a peacock. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  There was complete silence for the smallest moment before Ellie gathered them both into a huge bear hug. She turned to his mother. “Oh, Elizabeth. Isn’t it wonderful? Oh no, I’m crying. I’m so happy for you both. Well, for all of us. Oh, I’m babbling.”

  “Wonderful news indeed, isn’t it Philip?” His mother sounded less excited, but there was a slight tremor in her voice.

  His father nodded, shook his hand and patted Sasha on the shoulder. “It is indeed. Well, you’ll have to pull your finger out now, Jack. You’re going to be a family man. What do you say, Alex?”

  His father-in-law hadn’t spoken, and his face was unreadable. He hugged his daughter, held her tight as he pulled her close. Le Claire could hear the whispered words as he spoke into Sasha’s ear. “This is what you want? With him?”

  Sasha pulled away from her father with a tight smile. “Yes, Daddy. It is all I want. Come on, let’s eat.”

  #

  Sophie had to admit she was impressed. Justin was quietly relaying their food orders and his choice of wine to the waiter as she took in the dining room, which still exuded timeless elegance. They had redecorated in the years since she had last been here, but the ambience remained that of a country house party, married with attentive service, exquisite food and, now, fine wine.

  The last time she had been at the manor, her father had been alive and happily married to Louise. It was her seventeenth birthday, and she had transformed into a sophisticated grown-up, or at least that had been her opinion. She’d spent a whole Saturday in town with Louise, going from shop to shop and trying on dress after dress. Their final stop was in a boutique more Louise’s age group than Sophie’s, but the plain black dress with a rounded neck and flirty chiffon skirt was perfect for a girl on the cusp of being a woman. It was the first night she’d slept with Justin, the first night she’d slept with anyone, in fact. Oh, she didn’t need her mind going in that direction, especially not tonight.

  Justin had ordered champagne when they arrived, and she sipped, the effervescence tingling in her mouth. He raised his glass, lightly touched hers. “Welcome home. It’s been a long time coming. Here’s to getting reacquainted.”

  She was crowded with memories tonight, to the extent they almost suffocated her. Where had these thoughts been the last ten years? The timbre of his voice, the way his hand nestled in the palm of her back as he shepherded her into the restaurant, how a gentle finger brushing a stray hair from her face could bring back recollections of other times, other days and other touches.

  “Reacquainted indeed. Cheers.”

  “So what have you been doing? Haring around the world?”

  “I guess. My employers are great. I’ve worked everywhere from London to Hong Kong. I’ve been heading the sociability side in Barbados for the last two years; you know, overseeing the restaurant and bars. There are worse ways to earn a living.”

  “Louise mentioned a new job?”

  “Yes, I’m on a bit of a sabbatical. I’ve got a new position in New York. It’s promotion, a bigger hotel and more responsibility.”

  “Well done, your dad would have been proud.”

  “Thanks. And you look like you’re in charge of the whole Ginelli’s empire; hotel and restaurant.”

  “I’ve worked hard these last few years. Louise had other concerns, and, well, you were gone.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled and sipped her wine.

  After a moment, Justin said, “I can’t get my head round Cathy and Drew.

  “Yeah, crazy.”

  His look was sharp. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  She took a long drink from her wineglass, and the cold made her head throb. She took a moment to consider what to say, looked at his familiar face and any hesitation disappeared. “No, I wasn’t surprised. It’s why I came back.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Well, Diane told me she’d heard rumours Drew was seeing someone, and it was getting serious. Anyway, Diane had also heard that Drew was thinking of leaving Louise.”

  “Why didn’t Diane say something? She is Louise’s niece after all.”

  “They still go through periods when they don’t get on. Diane was worried Louise would assume she was making it up.”

  “Sorry to be obtuse, you haven’t spoken to Louise in ten years, and yet you come back to save her from a broken marriage? Or did you want to be proved right after all this time?”

  “Something like that. Anyway, it’s a moot point now. Tell me, did Drew ever try and push his way into the business?”

  “He showed an interest in the early days, but Louise wasn’t having it. I mean, what could he add? He was an accountant, and we hire those.”

  “Is Mr McMasters still around?”

  “He retired as the head of finance a few years back. He was getting on, and it was time for him to step down.”

  “Do you remember when he was looking for you and we were in your room at the hotel? I had to hide in the wardrobe.”

  “Oh God, how could I forget. All I could think about was him telling Tony, who’d be gunning for me and sending you to a nunnery.”

  “And later he said to you if you wanted to keep your rendezvous a secret, it would be better if ‘Miss Ginelli didn’t park outside the hotel and leave her bright pink coat lying on your bedroom floor’.”

  “I’m the one who was pink. I couldn’t look him in the face for a month afterwards.” Their laughter mingled in chords of recollection. He sobered, caught her eye. “You seeing anyone?”

  “No, not for a couple of years. I was seeing someone for a year or so when I lived in Vancouver, but it didn’t work out. You?”

  “I’ve never met anyone I wanted around on a permanent basis, or at least not in a long time.” The meaning in his words, the reference to their shared past was unmistakable. She shifted, wasn’t ready for any of this.

  “Justin . . .”

  “I’m not coming on to you, or at least not tonight. Let’s enjoy the evening and see what happens.”

  #

  They had left St Malo at 10:00 p.m. and the weather had been fine. There was some fog forecast. He had figured they’d be well out to sea before it came down. He’d assumed it would, as usual, mainly hug the coast and creep its way inland, the ghostly tendrils cloaking the island in a blanket of thick fog. The joke was that the airport always seemed to get the worst fog. If they’d built it in the east, the sea mist would still have been a problem.

  It was bad tonight. He’d taken the RIB out as it was easier to manoeuvre. The crossing to the French coast had taken thirty minutes, and the going was smooth enough. Well, as smooth as navigating the English Channel in the black of night ever was. Or should it be the white of night? The fog was so thick it seemed to brush and push against him as the RIB ploughed through the water. He’d lowered the speed, but he daren’t go too slow—they had a cargo to deliver.

  He had planned to return to Jersey, lie low overnight and head out at first light for the Kent coast. The fog had put paid to that. Delivery had to be completed the next day. There was too much money at stake to mess around. If the fog came down too heavy, he’d never get out of the island waters in the morning. So he’d decided to keep going, moor in one of the quiet, deserted bays that were the first touch of English soil and head over to the drop-off point after a good night’s sleep.

  He hadn’t expected the fog to be this bad, and an ache of concern worried away at him. He had tried to stay out of the shipping lanes, desperately trying to avoid any cargo ships making t
he night-time crossing. So far he’d been lucky, and he begged the sea gods to let this state of affairs continue.

  The sea was rough, and the boat rose and fell as it battled with the surging waves. Visibility was getting worse, and he was struggling to keep his feet as the sea pounded the hull. He held tight to the wheel as yet another wave lashed across the bow. Her voice startled him.

  “Is everything okay?”

  She had yelled, and he heard her above the roar of the sea. She hadn’t spoken for a while, and her voice croaked with the roughness of prolonged silence.

  “Stay down and hold on tight.”

  He’d covered the back of the boat with a waterproof sheet, tied tight and pulled taut to create a safe space. He saw another pair of eyes looking out at him, and his rebuke was swift. “I told you to keep her there, make sure she is okay.”

  The wind carried away the mumbled apology.

  He saw the anxious look in her eyes, mixed with fear. “It’s fine, but stay down. It’s rough out here, and I’m struggling to navigate. I don’t need any distractions.”

  She bowed her head. “Of course, forgive me.”

  His heart stuttered as a foghorn shattered the air. “Where the hell is that coming from?”

  But he knew, experienced it in the sway of the hull beneath his feet, sensed it from the tensions in the air, the movement of the sea. “For Christ’s sake, hold on, something’s near and it’s big.”

  The boat surged, almost tipping over on itself, then righted, before the swell came again and again. The sea spray blinded, the roar of the waves deafened. He held tight to the safety ropes attached to the hull. He wore thick gloves but could feel the chafing through the leather material. The untamed sea seemed to come at them forever, yet it couldn’t have been more than minutes until the something big—a cargo vessel, perhaps—had passed them. The boat slowed until it maintained a steady rocking pace. He slowly let go of the ropes, used a shaking hand to brush his sopping-wet hair from his eyes, saw familiar ones looking back at him and realised it wasn’t only fear they held, but terror. He quickly looked around the RIB. There was no safe hiding place. She was gone.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Le Claire had slept through the alarm-clock. He hadn’t wanted to leave the warmth of Sasha, pressed against him in their bed. He’d gulped down a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal and had been about to leave the house when the call came in. There had been an incident on the North Coast. The Honorary Police had been called out, and they’d requested States Police senior assistance. He didn’t live too far from the bay in question so had agreed to go and have a look.

  He relished driving in the opposite direction to almost all the other morning traffic; the cars snaking their way into town.

  He reached his destination and saw a police car parked on the grass verge and pulled in behind it. Once outside the car, he looked around. There was no one in sight, so he peered over the edge and saw two men standing on the beach by a rocky outcrop.

  Years of pounding feet had gouged a steep track into the cliff face that led to the picturesque bay. He headed down it, his eyes never leaving the men and what lay in front of them. There hadn’t been much fog on the way here, but virtually the entire beach was concealed by a dense mist; he could see tendrils stretching across the horseshoe-shaped bay, and it was impossible to see the far shoreline. The nearer he got to the beach, the colder it became, and he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

  He picked his way across the pebbles. As he neared the two men, he halted when his brain registered what lay in front of them. He recognised them. Both had been with the Honorary Police for many years, serving the community and being first on call for many incidents. The one they faced today required States Police involvement from the start.

  “What happened?”

  The taller of the two, David Jenkins, spoke, “A woman was walking her dog on the headland, called in and said she saw a lump of something on the beach but was too nervous to go down and see what it was. I live nearby, so I called Bill, and we got down here fast.”

  Bill Harris carried on, “We called it in straight away. We found her like this and haven’t touched anything.”

  The woman lay on her back, her legs bent at the knees and twisted to the side, her arms outstretched. Her face was pale with a huge gash running from jawline to brow, the skin ripped and pulled back to reveal a bloody mess. The most horrifying part was her eyes. They were wide open in a dark brown death stare, unseeing. Her head twisted at an unnatural angle, the neck broken.

  Bill Harris asked, “What happens now?”

  “We’ll get the medical examiner and CSI team down here ASAP. We need to search this beach before the tide comes in and takes away any evidence. More importantly, we need to find out who she is. I’ll pass the case onto one of the other teams, and they’ll be in touch.”

  #

  Dewar had taken a call from Le Claire advising he was busy on the north coast and she should go ahead with their morning plans on her own. She grabbed her jacket and, on a whim, called out, “Hunter, with me. We’ve got a call to make.”

  She kept her face straight as his jaw slackened and his mouth hung open for a second before he scrambled to his feet and came rushing to join her. “Me? With you? Sir, I mean, ma’am.” He blushed furiously, and she remembered her younger self and resisted the annoyance that bubbled at the surface. “Yes, come on. We’re off to the Ginelli kitchens.”

  She swore he’d grown a foot taller as he walked alongside her, even though he loomed over her in any event. “You drive; it’ll give me some thinking time.”

  He agreed with alacrity, and she decided it was fun to play at being Le Claire for a little while.

  The kitchens at Ginelli’s were bustling with people rushing to and fro in a well-rehearsed and orchestrated dance as chefs in crisp white outfits stirred pots, crisped meats and worked their magic. Justin Le Mahe gestured to the room. “Here you are, then. You wanted to see the kitchens.” He sounded puzzled, and Dewar figured he questioned why she needed to see this area. That was police business.

  “I’m interested in the foraging menu. Who could we speak to about that?”

  “Louise Portland oversees the foraging tours and the menus, but she won’t be in until later today. Adam Taylor is the restaurant’s head chef, and I’m sure he’ll be able to answer your questions. Adam, over here, please.”

  The head chef of the renowned restaurant looked irritated. “Yes, yes, what is it?”

  Justin’s smile was conciliatory. It seemed like the chef could be a handful. “Adam, it’s the police. They have some questions. If you’ll excuse me, I have to attend a meeting. Adam will show you out.”

  Taylor rubbed his hands on his apron and blinked several times as if navigating an exit from his world of measures and timings and elegant creativity. Dewar said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but we’d like to know how the foraging works. You use locally sourced produce?”

  “You’re a Jock; where are you from?” His Scots burr matched hers, and she knew he’d consider her a kindred spirit in the way of the Scottish the world over.

  “Outside Glasgow. You?”

  “Edinburgh. So you want to know how it works?” He continued at her nod. “We pick stuff for free, cook it and sell it for a small fortune. That’s the basic outline. So can I get back to work now?”

  Dewar smiled. “I can see that makes good business sense. Perhaps you could give us a little more detail?”

  He sighed. “Fine. It’s a cracking idea. We always use local ingredients wherever we can but usually purchase these from local suppliers, such as farms and fisheries. Louise got the idea from some fancy French hotel. You go on walking tours and collect edible plants to be used in your meals. Several times a week we have different foragers’ menus.”

  “What do you serve?”

  “Wild mushroom risotto and other mushroom dishes, sauces flavoured with wild herbs and even edible flowers. The wild garlic has a sweet, ligh
t flavour, and the single bulbs exude an incredible aroma; little touches give off a unique vibe.”

  “And who collects all this stuff?”

  “Louise often goes herself. We have two experienced sous-chefs who also lead the tours and know what’s edible and what isn’t.”

  It was time for her to play dumb. “What do mean by what isn’t edible?”

  “You have to be careful. There is a skill to being able to distinguish tasty, entirely edible mushrooms, for example, from poisonous fungi.”

  And so to the point of her visit. “Is that easy?”

  “No. The dreaded death caps look like common Caesar’s, which also grow wild in the island. We know the safe areas to forage but still take extreme care. We even take all those on the tours and staff members to see the dangerous ones to have an awareness of what they look like.”

  “So you’d know where to get the poisonous ones if you wanted.”

  “Sure, but we wouldn’t, that’s the whole point.”

  “Could some be picked by accident and go into in someone’s meal?”

  “Christ, no way. Not a chance. We take this extremely seriously.”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  Hunter followed Dewar as they left the kitchen. A door to the side opened, and Sophie Ginelli came out clutching a bottle of wine. It was the entrance to the wine cellar. She recognised Dewar and flashed a look of mock-horror at the bottle of wine. “Don’t be getting any ideas. I’m honestly not on the red wine at 11:00 a.m. I’ve got a friend coming for lunch, so I grabbed a bottle from the cellars.”

  “You can just go in and take what you like? That’s generous.”

  She laughed. “There’s a notepad by the stairs, and you’re meant to write down what you take. They used to have lock-ins here, and I’m sure there would have been a well-beaten path to the cellar. Anyway, I better let you get on.”