“No, we were both card users or on account. It was easier for us to keep track of what we spent. Why do you ask?”
Le Claire ignored her question. “Did your husband have access to cash? Perhaps from the hotel or restaurant?”
She shook her head, puzzled. “No, Drew had no access to the financials, and anyone would tell me if he took money from the till.”
“We’re talking about a bit more than a day’s takings. We found cash on the boat. Slightly over £100,000.”
She shook her head. “Drew didn’t have access to money like that.”
“Well, we found it on his boat. Perhaps it has something to do with his business?”
She stilled, shook her head and looked from one to the other. “What business? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your husband had a partnership agreement with Peter Frobisher for a charter business. You didn’t know?”
“No, no, I didn’t.” Her eyes were dazed. “I’m sorry, I’d like to be alone now. This is a lot to take in. It looks like my husband was lying to me about virtually every part of his life.”
#
Le Claire was almost finished for the day when he got a call to join Vanguard in his office. The CSI chief was hunched over his desk and nodded a distracted hello as he finished checking through some typed notes.
“Sorry to get you down here, but I thought you’d want to see this.” He indicated various evidence boxes scattered over a long table, but it was the laptop and phone that caught his eye. “Ah, are these Portland’s?”
“Yep. They were on the desk in his office at Portland Fisheries. We’ve taken away a lot of stuff, and we’re working our way through it. We’ve accessed the phone; it’s a basic pay-as-you-go, and he wasn’t in the habit of deleting his call history. The vast majority of calls were, as expected, to and from Cathy Frobisher. There were also some unregistered international numbers. Again, pay-as-you-go, with no contracts.”
“So we’ve no way of knowing who they are?”
“Not from any official records. We have tried calling the numbers, but they are dead lines or ringing out.”
“Drew Portland was a man with hidden threads to his life.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Sure, but it only concerns me if they turn up dead.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
His father’s PA had relayed the polite request that Le Claire attend his offices at 9:15 a.m. He knew it wasn’t a question, but a demand.
Le Claire Senior was waiting for him in the spacious office he still maintained in the law firm he had founded. A cup of aromatic coffee was waiting for him. Was his father trying to please or placate him? He sat down, determined to find out. Philip Le Claire didn’t do social chitchat.
“What’s up, Dad?”
“That’s right, no time to waste, so let’s get straight to the point. I know about the latest in the Chapman business. Sasha met your mother for coffee yesterday, and it all came out. What’s happening?”
It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted his parents to know about Chapman in detail. He didn’t even know how he felt himself, so what would have been the point?
“A special hearing has been called. Chapman’s lawyers are going for dismissal on the basis he only confessed because he was intimidated by the police—that would be me they’re talking about.”
His father’s face darkened, and he recognised the aggressive look of old. “That’s bloody ridiculous. Chapman told you where the girl was—April something, wasn’t it?”
“Baines. Her name was April Baines.” He hated that his voice cracked as he spoke the words. “Look, I never went into all the details with you—police business and all that—but I met with Chapman when I was last in London. I was on a case, and Gareth Lewis contacted me to say he’d had a request via the lawyers for a meeting to take place. There were rumours he was going to change his plea.”
His father leant forward, forearms resting on his knees and attention entirely focussed. “You saw him? What happened?”
“He set the scene exactly as he wanted it. His lawyer accompanied him.”
“Who’s representing him?”
“Abigail Larsen of Jackson Lamont.”
“I’ve met her before at a drinks party in the city. She’s in her early forties, attractive and polished. It’s a clever move to have her represent a man accused of vile crimes against women. If it goes to trial, they’ll hope the jury will think there is no way an educated and strong woman could defend a man who was guilty of rape, brutality and murder.”
“What about evidence and the facts?”
“Of course they’re important, but remember, perception often trumps reality. Anyway, go on.”
His head jerked from side to side in denial, but he knew this unfairness was a fact of life in general. “Chapman set us up. He has lost a lot of weight and is looking gaunt. He acted nervously and shrank away from me, pretended to be cowering in fright as he begged me not to hurt him again.”
His father’s growl disturbed his concentration for a moment before he carried on. “He is claiming it wasn’t him who’d told me about April, saying that I heard it elsewhere and pinned it on him to close the case and get a conviction.”
“What utter rot!”
“I agree. However, the only other person in the room with us was the nurse, who now says she isn’t sure what she heard.”
His father stared straight ahead into space. “And there was no hard evidence for the other murders?”
“It’s mainly circumstantial. We were put onto Chapman in the first place by the occupier of a nearby industrial unit. He’d been away and not seen the initial news reports about the murdered girls. When he returned and caught up on the news, the call came in to say he thought he’d seen one of the youngsters around the industrial estate. The caller said the girl had been with Colin Chapman. We were relying on the confession holding as we had little else.”
“What is the defence looking to achieve?”
“That he gets off with it, I assume, which would be a farce.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of it and pay for everything.”
Le Claire clenched his fists and slowly forced them to relax. “What do you mean? I don’t need money.”
“Accusations may be levied against you if the court rules in Chapman’s favour. We’ll get the best lawyer. You don’t need to concern yourself with anything.”
He tensed. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t always agree with your choices in life, but I won’t see you being blamed or pilloried for Chapman getting away with this.”
“Dad, there’s no need for that. I can take care of myself.”
“No, you can’t, Jack. Not all the time.”
#
Cathy fidgeted with her glass of water. She’d almost ordered wine from sheer habit but remembered in time. She’d made a right muck of her own life, but she wasn’t going to ruin her kid’s as well. She checked her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. The telephone call had surprised her, but there was no way she’d have refused to turn up. A melodious voice broke into her thoughts. “Hello, Cathy. I’m Sophie Ginelli.”
Cathy saw an attractive woman with dark eyes and shining hair. She wore a pretty, silk navy blue dress, and Cathy self-consciously tugged her low-cut neckline a little higher. Sophie Ginelli sat opposite her and waved the waitress away when she came to collect her order.
“I won’t keep you long, Cathy. I had a chat with my stepmother, who is naturally upset at the moment.”
Cathy didn’t say a word. Sophie Ginelli had asked to meet; she had said she had something to discuss with her and Cathy knew—well, hoped—that it was going to be good, like a settlement, so they didn’t have to go to court. It would save her the bother, and she didn’t have the money for lawyers’ fees in any event.
Sophie Ginelli smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Cathy had the first stirrings of unease. Her
voice remained light and pleasant, which made her words the more shocking.
“Drew Portland was a tosser, a chancer and a user. I’m sorry you’ll be lumbered with his child, but let us be clear about something. You and your child, Drew’s or not, are due nothing. You have no entitlement. Louise Portland had nothing until she married my father. Since then she’s benefited from my family money, built by my father and my mother. You have no claim on any of that.”
Cathy had heard of the rift between Louise Portland and her stepdaughter. She’d hoped it would ally her with Sophie Ginelli. “I read this wrong. I thought you might be on my side, the enemy of my enemy and all that.”
“Oh, we won’t be friends. If it pissed me off that Drew’s been living the high life these last years, on my dad’s hard-earned cash, imagine how I’d feel with his mistress getting her hands on it.”
Cathy’s ferocious glare made her sit back in her chair. “Drew is the father of my child. My baby is due something. I know my rights.”
“You don’t have a child. Not yet. As for rights, you don’t have any. You were the lover of another woman’s husband. I won’t let you take what’s mine, not again.”
“It’s not yours. It’s Louise Portland’s assets I’m going after.”
“My father built the hotel and restaurant from nothing, working side by side with my mother. I won’t allow you to take what is rightly mine.”
Cathy placed a hand on her stomach, drawing on a strength she hadn’t known existed. Standing, she reached into her pocket and threw several £1.00 notes onto the table.
“That’s for my drink. I pay my way. And Drew’s going to have to do the same. He was a wealthy man, and I’m carrying his only child. You do the maths, love.”
She flicked a cocky look at stuck-up Sophie Ginelli and walked out of the bar, head held immeasurably high.
#
Sophie watched her go and had to admire Cathy’s pluck. Drew had been a charmer with a lazy, languid way of speaking and a handsome face and fit body. She couldn’t deny that, even if she couldn’t stand him. There was a tiny part of her that understood how the lovely, grieving widow had fallen for the sexy, charming Drew Portland. What she couldn’t fathom was Louise’s sheer stupidity and callousness in marrying him when her father was barely cold, and without protecting Sophie’s inheritance.
As for Cathy Frobisher, she couldn’t be much older than Sophie herself. She had a failed marriage behind her and a future as a single mother. Neither of which Sophie envied. It had struck a chord when Cathy said her baby was a rich man’s only child, for hadn’t Sophie been that herself? Though her father had seen fit to delay her inheritance until she was thirty, which was now weeks away. She was due her parents’ legacy; she only hoped neither Drew nor Louise, had spent the lot.
“Hey, what are you doing here? Shunning the homestead?”
She smiled a genuine smile of welcome and accepted the tremor that was becoming her usual reaction when she saw him. “Justin, this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Glad to hear that. I was walking past when I saw Cathy Frobisher running out like the hounds of hell were chasing her, and I saw you through the window. You okay?”
She hesitated. Justin was a part of her past, and Louise trusted him, as did she. “No, I’m not. Can you spare time for a chat?”
“Of course, what’s up?”
He settled into the seat Cathy had vacated, and she almost cried at his look of concern. “It’s a nightmare. Cathy is adamant Drew’s the father. I’ve been to see Louise.”
“How is she?”
“To be honest, she’s in shock about it. I mean, it was bad enough to know Drew had been having an affair with one of her employees, but to get her pregnant as well? That’s all a bit too much.”
“Why did you meet with Cathy?”
She took a second before replying, knowing the truthful response didn’t paint her in the best of lights, but she had nothing to hide from Justin. “I wanted to warn her off. Let her know Drew Portland wasn’t entitled to my dad’s money. She hit back and said her child will be entitled to a share of his assets. That might be true, but what did he own? I bet Louise kept him on a tight string.”
“He owned shares in Ginelli’s. Surely you knew that?”
She stilled, unable to speak as her mind raced to process his words. “I’m sorry. It can’t be true.”
“I thought you knew. You know your dad gifted me twenty percent when he passed, and Louise had the remaining eighty.”
“Yes, and she was holding fifty percent of them for me. What did she give him?”
“Drew held twenty percent, Louise retained sixty and I have my twenty.”
Rage burned. “That bitch.” She flapped a hand at the look on Justin’s face. “Oh, I know you think the world of her, but my dad trusted Louise to make sure I was okay financially, and look what she has done. She said she held the shares in trust for me and it turns out she gave away part of my inheritance to Drew. It can’t be legal.”
“I don’t mean to be indelicate, but Drew’s dead, so surely the shares will revert to Louise?”
“Well, I don’t know what’s in his will, but he’d have to leave her something. But now there’s going to be Cathy Frobisher and her offspring standing in line with their hands out. My dad worked too damned hard for his money to go out of the family. I’m not having this, not at all.”
“Are you going to speak to Louise?”
“Eventually, but I’m going to talk to Dad’s lawyer first.”
#
The incident room was its usual scene of controlled chaos with a haze of artificial light from computer screens and laptops. Le Claire approached Hunter, who was hunched over his keyboard tapping away. “How are you getting on with the data on Portland’s laptop?”
“Okay, it didn’t take long for the tech boys to get access. He had an email account, and his browsing history was mainly related to sailing and looking up route maps and er, well, porn. Yes, he watched a fair bit of that.”
Le Claire managed to keep a straight face as Hunter turned crimson. He could almost feel the heat. “What about the charter business?”
“He had an email account for C.I. Charters and the emails redirected to his personal email address. We’ve got a detailed history as he apparently didn’t like to delete anything. I’m working through the emails, but nothing stands out so far. Emails are asking for availability of trips, detailing how many passengers and pickups. It looks like they mostly made day trips. You know, going to France and the UK.”
Le Claire thought about this. “It would be helpful if you could compile a spreadsheet of the charters he took on. I’d like to be able to try and tie it in with the cash we found. As long as he was declaring it to the tax-man, there isn’t anything wrong with payment in cash.” Le Claire wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not yet.
“And DS Dewar asked me to have a look at the coded notebook. I was in the Code Society at uni.”
He should’ve guessed that. “Okay, keep at it.”
“Sir?”
He turned and saw one of their newest, rawest recruits. She must be shadowing someone on the team. “Dawson, what is it?”
“Sir, Mr Vanguard called. He was looking for you and asked me to see if I could find you and tell you to go to his office as soon as possible. He said it’s urgent.”
Le Claire was heading to Vanguard’s office when the CSI chief came barrelling down the corridor, barely slowing in time to prevent a collision.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?”
“Not a fire, but explosive.”
“What is it?”
“We’ve finished checking through the personal effects of the woman on the beach, Francine Bresson. There was a pay-as-you-go phone in her pack. It only called one number: Drew Portland’s second phone.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tom Mathison opened the front door, and his pleasant welcome quickly changed to a scowl when he saw who was calling. Le Claire experience
d a perverse pleasure at spoiling the taciturn doctor’s day, so he smiled widely. “Hello, we’d like to speak to Mrs Portland, please.”
The good doctor merely grunted and showed them into the small sitting room where a tired-looking Louise Portland lay on the sofa, a blanket stretched across her knees and a book in her hands. She laid aside her reading material with a sigh. “Detective, this is becoming a frequent surprise. What may I help you with now?”
“I have a quick question. Did your husband know a woman by the name of Francine Bresson?”
Her neat eyebrows rose. “I’ve never heard the name before in my life. Mind you, given how little I know about what Drew was up to, we both know that means nothing. So who is she?”
Before Le Claire could answer, Tom Mathison’s voice carried from the doorway. “I heard the name on the news. That’s the dead woman found on the beach. What the hell has she got to do with Drew?”
Louise Portland gasped. “What is this all about?”
“We have reason to believe your husband had a telephone conversation with Ms Bresson on the day of his death.”
She slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t add anything because I have no idea who she is.” She turned to Tom Mathison. “Am I the biggest bloody fool around? How many others was he running around with?”
Dewar spoke, “We don’t know what the connection is and can’t jump to conclusions. There may have been an entirely innocent explanation.”
Tom Mathison jumped in. “You don’t know a lot, do you? You don’t know who killed Drew; you don’t know how this woman was connected to him. Tell me, what do you know? Louise doesn’t need this stress.”
Le Claire ignored the doctor and focussed on Louise Portland. “Forgive me, but I need to keep on asking questions and getting answers until we know what happened to your husband.”
“I know, and Tom does too; he is rather protective. We’ve been friends for a long time.”
Dewar asked, “Did Mr Portland go to France often?”
“Yes, at least every few weeks. He’d sometimes go overnight, occasionally for a few days. He liked to take one of the boats out.”
Blood On The Rock: Treachery, desire, jealousy and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 14
