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

by Kelly Clayton

  She descended without incident and was almost at the front door when a voice, cold and bitter, made her halt. Louise was standing at the far edge of the reception desk. “I thought I told you to make an appointment to collect your things.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind getting this over and done with.”

  “I object to you being in my sight. I wanted to know when you were coming so I didn’t have to see you. Get out and don’t come back in here again.”

  Cathy stilled at Louise’s smirk of dismissal. She didn’t think, just opened her mouth and let the words spew out. “You’re so high and mighty, aren’t you? You were a little cook when you met Tony Ginelli. You married him for his money, and his wife was barely cold, as I hear it.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”

  “I can do as I please. Shut up and stop trying to control everything. That’s what you did with Drew, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re a little tart who slept with a married man. My husband.”

  Something broke deep inside, and her snarl was feral. “Your husband, yes, but I loved Drew, and he was going to leave you. I know he talked to you about it. He loved me, and you can’t take that away.”

  “Get out.”

  “It’s me who will be doing the taking. I’m pregnant with Drew’s child, and it’s entitled to something. And I’m going to make sure we get it.”

  The rage left her as she saw the destruction she had caused. Louise stood ramrod straight, face pale and eyes dark and devoid of emotion. Nikki’s eyes were glittering with malice. She’d be loving this, and, with her vicious tongue, the whole island would know of this before nightfall. And so would her husband.

  #

  Le Claire sat on the low windowsill and waited until quiet descended over the incident room. “Thanks, everyone. This won’t take long, but it’s a new week, and I want to make sure we all know the current position. Hunter, you kick off.”

  He resisted rolling his eyes as the young PC coloured and stood to his feet. “Yes, sir. I checked through Drew Portland’s financials. He didn’t appear to have a bank account in his sole name but had a joint account with his wife.”

  He laid down his tablet. Le Claire waited in vain for him to go on. “That’s it?”

  “Yes, sir, so far, sir. I am looking to see what other assets he had.”

  “His lawyer is doing that at the moment, so don’t spend too much time on it.”

  He turned his attention to Masters. “And you?”

  The handsome DI, all smoothed hair, tanned face and sparkling teeth, flicked through the notes he held. “Portland Fisheries has been in the family for several generations, but they haven’t moved with the times.”

  “In what way?”

  “The kiosk they sell from is shabby and looks like it’s falling to bits, and they could take better care in keeping the general area clean.”

  Masters wrinkled his nose, and Le Claire hoped he recalled the stench of fish guts, but he carried on with his report. “By the time the father died, Drew was already married to Louise Portland. His two brothers, Oliver and Ian, run the place with their mother. She’s a piece of work all right. They don’t have a lot of staff, only a girl who helps out. Pretty little thing who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”

  Le Claire didn’t like the look on Masters’ face. He held his tongue, but if he ever found out Masters was making a nuisance of himself with women he met while working, then he’d have his head—and his badge.

  “Is the business in trouble?”

  “Gossip says it is. The Portlands can’t compete with the fishing families who’ve invested into their businesses and premises.”

  “Okay, what about any social media accounts?”

  “He didn’t have any. Not even Facebook.” Masters’ voice was tinged with wonder. The narcissistic detective probably changed his profile picture every week.

  The door opened, and Vanguard sloped in. “Apologies for being late. I’ve sent a team to Portland’s office, and we’ll see what they get there.”

  Vanguard’s eyes were alight, and Le Claire guessed—or was it hoped?—that he had something good. “What have you got?”

  “A hundred thousand, give or take the odd tenner.”

  “What?”

  “It’s what held me up. I sent a team onto Drew Portland’s boat to do a deep search. The task was to go right through the fibre of the place once we’d taken the initial evidence and materials away. Under the bunk in the cabin was some loose floor panelling. One of the guys pried it up. There was a small holdall containing cash and some notebooks. The latter are filled with a load of nonsense we’ll need to try and decipher. It looks like code.”

  Le Claire was dumbfounded and didn’t know where to begin—they had mysterious books filled with code and cash. He recalled you should always go for the money. The catcalls and whistles in the room told him that’s where the rest of the team’s minds had gone. “That’s a load of change. Who’d have so much cash lying around?”

  Le Claire heard a muttered, “Why not ask your dad?” but ignored it. It was all he could ever do, for most of what they said about his family wasn’t wrong.

  Hunter broke the awkward silence. “And it was hidden away.”

  Dewar’s quip was fast and dry. “Well, you’d not leave it in full view of anyone, would you?”

  Le Claire jumped in. “Maybe not, but that’s a ridiculous amount of cash to have lying about. Hunter, check any large withdrawals from his bank account. It’ll be quicker to speak to the bank manager and check if any internal reports were triggered.”

  Even taking your own money out of the bank wasn’t easy these days. “Right, what about these notebooks?”

  Vanguard moved to the front of the room and handed Le Claire a piece of paper. “This is a photocopy, but there are pages like this.”

  It looked like a random collection of letters and numbers. “What the hell is this?”

  Vanguard looked cross as he snatched the paper from Le Claire. “Who bloody knows? You’ll need to get one of the clever clogs onto it. It looks like a code.” Where was he going to find a code-breaker?

  “Dewar, find someone who can decipher this. Now, what about his mobile call log?”

  “The calls were to and from his wife, family, and a few friends. The last communication was a text from Peter Frobisher asking if they could talk. Nothing else. Too innocuous by far.”

  “I get it. No calls made to or from Cathy Frobisher. So he must have had another phone he used to communicate with her. Let’s see what the team searching his office throws up.”

  #

  Cathy had been waiting for the phone to ring or the doorbell to buzz ever since she had come home. The scene with Louise Portland had drained her, and she’d lain down for an hour or so. But she couldn’t sleep, not with the gnawing dread. When the bell finally rang, she was almost relieved. She braced herself and opened the door without checking the spyhole. There was no need. She knew who it would be. He looked haggard, and there was a wild light in his eyes she did not like. Not at all.

  “Is it true? Is it fucking true?”

  “Come in, Pete. Let’s not give the neighbours a floor show.” The walls were paper-thin, so they’d no doubt hear them anyway, but they didn’t need to see her as well. The door shut with a loud click. Her husband’s rage was a volcano; controlled and contained on the outside, but, from the fire in his glare, she knew one wrong word from her, and he’d blow. She could see a tic working at the corner of his mouth, matching the anger in his eyes. He looked as if his rage had consumed him and the embers were burning bright.

  His voice was tight. “I asked you if it was true.”

  She was numb, empty. There was no point in lying. “Yes, I was having an affair with Drew.”

  His look was contemptuous. “I know that, you stupid bitch. Don’t take me for a fool. Are you pregnant?”

  One word. So simple and yet so hard to say. She cleared her throat. “Yes.” />
  He sank onto the small couch and buried his head in his hands. She heard his shudders of breath followed by his broken, defeated tone. “Why? Why him?”

  She sat beside him and tried to find the right words to make it sound better. She couldn’t, so told the truth. “Initially, it was the glamour. Sipping expensive wine on a motor-yacht, not drinking beer from a bottle on your old sea-tub, and having someone buy me nice things and treat me right.”

  His eyes were bleak. “Is that all it was about?”

  Her bravado deflated, and her voice was gentle. “No, of course not. He saw me, really saw me. Something you stopped doing a long time ago.”

  A belligerent look flashed, and she thought he was going to argue, then his shoulders sagged in recognition of the truth and weight of her words.

  “I was trying to build a life for us, make you proud. I was too busy working to wine and dine you. How the hell will you manage with a child?”

  “I’m due something. Drew was going to leave Louise. Well, my kid is owed something now. I’m going to get a lawyer and make sure I get what I’m due.”

  He jumped to his feet. “You make me sick. You know that, don’t you? You enjoyed his money when he was alive, and now you’re going after it when he’s dead.”

  He’d never understand. It hadn’t been about the money; only Drew and how he made her stomach jolt when he was near, and her heart yearn when he wasn’t. But now she was going to have a child, one who would grow to adulthood without their father. She had next to nothing in the bank and no job. She couldn’t expect Pete to finance another man’s child. She had no other option.

  “I’m due it.”

  “And you’ll drag me even further through the mud. Make a fool of me? You’re a bloody bitch, and I’m not going to stand for this.”

  There was a second, one infinitesimal moment when she thought he was going to hit her, but he didn’t. Instead, his fist slammed into the wall by the door with a resounding thud that left a shallow indent. Shit, she’d have to pay for that. “Fuck you, Cathy. Fuck you.” She heard the pain in his voice, and it didn’t make her feel proud.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sophie parked her hire car and walked across the paved drive to the door. She allowed a moment to take in her surroundings. This had once been her home, but not anymore. It was a haggard and drawn Louise who opened the front door. Her smile was wan, her eyes watery and her voice strained, but her welcome seemed genuine enough. “Come on in.”

  She’d redecorated, as people do, but to Sophie there was a sense that her father, even she, had been stripped from this house with its mellow-toned walls and discreet paintings. Tony Ginelli had been a man of passion, colour and vibrancy. All of which was missing in this neutral-toned magazine-ready house.

  They settled at the kitchen island and drank steaming cups of coffee. She indicated the stainless-steel herb pots covering the window ledge. “I see you still love cooking at home.”

  “Not so much the past couple of years. Drew and I preferred to eat out.”

  She even spoke differently. Gone was the girl who’d become her stepmother, and in her place was this brittle woman in her fancy clothes with her expensive lifestyle. But that was a discussion for another day.

  “What can I do for you?” Her voice held an edge, was combative.

  “I came to see if you needed anything. I heard about Cathy Frobisher being pregnant.”

  “Ah, that didn’t take long.”

  “Justin told me. I’m afraid it’s all around the hotel.”

  “What a bloody mess. I may as well come clean. Drew told me he wanted a divorce. I knew there was someone else, but he wouldn’t admit it. Bastard.” The last word was spat out.

  “I’m sorry, Louise. I knew. That’s partly the reason I came back.”

  Her mouth fell open, and her eyes widened. “Why would you do that?”

  “You were like a mother to me, Louise.”

  “Yes, and you managed to ignore me for ten years. Were you maybe more concerned that Drew would divorce me and the settlement might reduce any assets you may have received?” Louise’s voice was sly and knowing; what annoyed Sophie the most was that she was on the button with her reasoning.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want to see you hurt. What about this Cathy, what is she after?”

  “She said she’s going to fight for a share of Drew’s estate for the child. Well, good luck to her with that. It’ll be dragged through the bloody lawyers, perhaps even court, and I’ll be a laughing-stock.”

  “Can she do that?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t asked anyone about it yet. I haven’t even buried him, and I can’t clear my head until that is done.”

  “Jeez, it wasn’t Drew’s money. It’s yours, and I’ve got a share in it. How dare she?”

  “I don’t know what the law is. Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Are the police any closer to finding out what happened to him?”

  “It’s clear he was poisoned. The police have probably got me on the hook for that.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe, but I’m the fungi expert, so it doesn’t look good.”

  Sophie took a proper look at Louise. “No wonder you look so stressed. If you don’t mind me saying, you do look pale.”

  Louise’s voice was brisk. “I’m fine. Don’t concern yourself about me. Worry about Cathy Frobisher and her damned child. She better not try and go after what belongs to me.”

  #

  Ian Portland held her tight in his arms and murmured soothing words as he rained kisses on her soft hair, her brow, anywhere he could reach. “Hush, they don’t know about us, and they won’t find out—they can’t.”

  A shaft of late afternoon light fell across the bed, illuminating her face, caressing her bare shoulders and highlighting her plump, bare breasts. The rest of her was slender, but her bust was full and tempting. He lazily traced the outline of a dark aureole, grazing her nipple. Her eyes darkened, and a slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Her voice was husky. “I know you’ll look after me, but it’s so dangerous now.”

  “I know. No one can know we’re together, especially with everything that is going on about Drew.”

  She shivered, and he pulled her closer to him. She burrowed in and nestled against his chest in a way that made his senses buzz. He pulled her close until not even the air separated them. He couldn’t lose her, not now. And he most certainly would if the truth came out. The ringing doorbell hit him like a shot of cold water in the preternatural stillness of the bedroom.

  Ian climbed out of bed and threw on the sweatpants and T-shirt he’d discarded earlier when they’d tumbled into bed. “Stay here.”

  He crossed the hall and looked through the spy hole in the door before quickly opening up. “Oliver, thank God you’re here. When did you get back?”

  “Right now. I came straight here. I can’t believe Drew’s gone. Do you know what’s in the will yet?”

  “Don’t be a bastard. Your brother is dead.”

  Oliver brushed past him and made his way to the kitchen. Ian followed and heard the fridge door slam shut as he walked into the room. Oliver offered him one of his own cold beers. His brother leant against the countertop, and for a moment Ian saw shades of Drew standing in Oliver’s place. They shared similar build and colouring with the same lazy smile. The only real difference was that Oliver’s skin was wind-blasted from years at sea. Drew’s had been a mahogany rich-man’s tan. He momentarily closed his eyes to rid himself of the image.

  “I’m not callous. I’ve been thinking about this as I sailed home all the way across the bloody Channel. Drew is gone, and we need to be sure that he kept his word; he always said we would inherit whatever he had.”

  “Don’t you care about what happened to him? Our brother was found dead in what the police say are suspicious circumstances, and all you’re worried about is money.”

  Oliver pushed himself away fro
m the counter and stood a hairs-breadth from Ian, so close he could smell the alcohol fumes. The beer filched from his fridge obviously wasn’t the first his brother had consumed today.

  “I am worried, and so should you be. We don’t need the police shining too much light on Drew’s life. You should know that more than most.”

  #

  Louise Portland was in her courtyard watering the shrubs and tubbed plants dotted around the paved drive. She gave Le Claire and Dewar a weary look and, wiping her hands on her trousers, gestured for them to follow her. “Come on in. Bad news does travel fast, doesn’t it?”

  Le Claire had no idea what she was talking about, but he knew the best way to get information was to play along. “It certainly does.”

  They entered the kitchen, and he declined the offer of a seat.

  “If Drew weren’t already dead, I’d bloody strangle him. How he could be so stupid as to get Cathy pregnant, I have no idea. Mind you, who’s to say it is Drew’s? She could have been with anyone.”

  Dewar rallied from the surprise first. “What? Cathy Frobisher is pregnant and says Mr Portland is the father?”

  “Yes, isn’t that what you’re here about?”

  “Maybe we will sit down now, and you can tell us all about it.”

  Louise Portland looked cross as she sat on the sofa across from them. “There’s nothing much to say. Cathy came to collect some of her stuff. Obviously, I’ve had to let her go. I can’t have her working at Ginelli’s.” She caught Le Claire’s eye. “And don’t give me that look. I paid her plenty to go away. Anyway, the spiteful cow’s parting shot was that she is expecting Drew’s baby and is going after money. She won’t see a penny from me.”

  “And she is speaking the truth?”

  “I’ve no idea, but I guess time will tell.”

  “Well, we’re here on a different matter. Was your husband in the habit of holding large amounts of cash?”