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

by Kelly Clayton

  “He didn’t always use his motorboat?”

  “No, we have a RIB, a cruiser and some smaller craft. Drew loved boats, and so did I. It’s a consequence of island living, isn’t it, Tom?”

  “Yes, it was Louise and Drew who got me into sailing.”

  “You have a boat?”

  “I’m afraid not. Louise and Drew kindly let me use one of theirs.”

  She smiled at him. “Like all our friends and family, you are welcome to take any of the boats out anytime you want to.”

  Le Claire figured he’d get nothing else today. “Thanks, we’ll see ourselves out.”

  As they walked slowly down the hall, they heard Tom Mathison murmur from behind the half-closed door, “Hush, lie down and I’ll get you some tea. Here, take these with some water.”

  Dewar raised her eyes and pulled a face but waited until they were in the car and driving onto the lane to speak. “Did you hear him? The way he hangs on to her every word is a bit creepy.”

  “You might be right. Look into him.”

  #

  Cathy knew this was a task—a chore,—that she couldn’t avoid. Not now, not since everyone not only knew about her and Drew but likely had also heard about the baby. She’d been a bit queasy this morning, and her stomach lurched as the overwhelming stench of fish guts assaulted her. She paused and placed a hand on the harbour wall to steady herself as she took a deep breath. It was more than fish bits that was making her feel ill. She didn’t know what welcome she’d get.

  As she neared the Portland Fisheries area, she could see Maura sitting on a deck chair by the stall. The girl, Ali, was cleaning some trays and wiping down the countertops. At least someone had the nous to keep the place looking neat. She shouted a hello, and her heart sank when she saw the cold look on Maura’s face. Ali bobbed her head and carried on with her tasks. She was a quiet little thing.

  “Look what the cat dragged in. What you after? There’s nothing for you here.”

  “Maura, it’s not like that. I just, well, I wondered, did you hear about Drew and me?”

  Her laugh was a harsh bark. “The phone never stopped ringing with supposed friends calling to make sure I was okay after finding out my dead son was also an adulterer. I don’t bloody blame him; he should never have married the cold bitch.”

  Cathy relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t go so badly after all. Maura spoke again.

  “But I do blame you. You’re a married woman and acted like a dirty little slut. You’ve been in our company plenty of times over the years. I never knew that while you were playing the devoted wife, you also had your eye on our Drew. You broke Peter’s heart when you left him. How the hell must he be feeling now?”

  “Like crap, Ma, just as you’d expect when you find out your wife was screwing your best friend. He’s bitter, betrayed and royally fucked over.”

  The deep, harsh voice came from the direction of the warehouses to her right, and she turned to see Oliver Portland emerging from the buildings, followed by Ian. From his words, she figured she was in for a hard ride.

  Maura frowned. “What have I told you before about that kind of language?”

  Oliver ignored his mother. He stopped when he was only a foot away from Cathy. She ached, deep inside, as his resemblance to Drew brought home all she had lost. But when she looked closer she knew he wasn’t like him in the ways that mattered. He had a dark, menacing look to his features, and she wanted to shrink back, hug her arms across her chest and protect herself. She wasn’t going to let it show. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and put what she hoped was a brave look on her face. “Hello, Oliver. I’m not here to have an argument or cause trouble. I’m here to have a chat with your mother.”

  Maura spoke up. “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say, then.”

  Cathy glanced at the two men and then at Ali behind the counter. Maura said, “We’re family, and Ali’s a good girl. Anything you have to say I’d like said in front of all of us. We’ve nothing to hide in this family, or we didn’t until you became Drew’s little secret.”

  “Fine.” Hadn’t they heard the latest news? She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m pregnant. Drew’s the father.”

  Maura paled, Ian’s mouth dropped open, and Oliver raged. “Really? That’s a bloody joke. Pete wanted a kid for years, and you kept saying maybe one day. You drop your knickers for my brother, and all you can see is pound signs, and suddenly you’re conveniently up the duff. It could be anyone’s.”

  Cathy kept her cool. They didn’t know her. “No, it couldn’t. It’s Drew’s. We were together; he was going to leave his wife. He’d spoken to her about it. I loved Drew.” Her voice broke, her eyes smarted and her throat burned with held-back emotion. She would not cry in front of them; she wouldn’t. She inhaled deeply, exhaled, did it again, and her emotions settled. “I loved him, and I will love his child. I want it to get the best start in life. I’m going for a share of Drew’s estate—for his kid. Will you help me?”

  Maura’s face flushed purple as she snapped, “The Fisheries is in my name, not the boys. You’re not getting a share of my business.” Cathy was taken aback and resisted the urge to laugh.

  “I’m not interested in your business, Maura. Drew was a wealthy man, and my kid deserves a decent upbringing. I am not giving up.”

  Oliver’s voice held the timbre of latent fury. “You’ll get no help from us. If, and I mean if, that kid turns out to be Drew’s, then maybe we’ll consider it. But right now you’re a little chancer.”

  She drew back, looked at Maura. “I am carrying your grandchild. Drew’s child. Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”

  Maura said, “There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip, love. You can’t be that far gone. It may come to nothing. We can talk again when you’re sure, but Oliver speaks for all of us. You better go.”

  #

  Ian watched Cathy walk away. Her head was held high, but he could see from the rigid set of her shoulders that she wasn’t unaffected by the conversation. He turned to his older brother. “I don’t get why you’re so harsh.”

  Oliver huffed his impatience. “This is a spanner in the works. At the least, it could lengthen probate of Drew’s estate; at worst, we’ll be screwed over.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, we don’t know what’s in the will yet, but Drew always said he’d make sure we were okay.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t have left us everything, but surely we’d get what he’s left us, and Louise and Cathy can fight it out for the rest?”

  Oliver shook his head. “I’m no lawyer, and nor the hell are you, but maybe you have to provide for any children first or something. I’d guess Louise gets what she’s been left and then us. But what if there isn’t as much as we need? We’re finished.”

  Ian considered his brother’s words and saw the sense in them. “What now?”

  “I don’t know, but Cathy Frobisher isn’t going to mess with us. And don’t think I’ve forgotten our most critical dilemma. I don’t know how to make you appreciate the extent of the problem. You must see the danger she poses.”

  “Not this again. I am sick of your paranoia.”

  “You can’t see what’s in front of you. Or is it that you don’t want to see? She has the power to ruin us and this business and threaten our safety.”

  “That’s a bit over the top. I mean, the situation isn’t ideal, I agree, but it is where we find ourselves. We have to deal with it.”

  Oliver slammed a hand against the warehouse door, and Ian knew his brother would prefer to have punched him in the face. “You’re right. She has to go.”

  #

  Le Claire had caffeine on his mind and was going to head out to the nearest coffee shop. He was trying a few in the area to see which he preferred. The station move meant getting used to a new neighbourhood, and he had to source the perfect coffee. He was enjoying the selection process. He popped his head into the Incident Room and shouted a quick hello. Dewar was on the phone;
she caught his eye and beckoned him over.

  “Great, we’re on our way.”

  Her eyes bubbled with excitement. “That was one of the CSI guys. They’ve got their hands on the CCTV from the marina, and say we’ll find it interesting.”

  Coffee forgotten, they were at the CSI team’s area in minutes. He needed a break in this case and hoped this would be it. A harassed-looking Vanguard was waiting for them. “Come in, come in. I’ve got work coming out my ears, but we heard from the owner of the private security company at the marina this morning. He’s been on holiday and got back on the island last night. He’s sent us access to the camera records. We’ve run through them, starting from two weeks before Drew Portland’s death, which is all that was available.”

  “And?”

  “It’s a private company, and I have to say they did some of their work on the cheap. There are cameras dotted everywhere, but they aren’t all connected. That’s common practice to act as a deterrent. No bloody use if something happens though.”

  Le Claire was getting impatient. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

  “Okay, okay—I was only trying to set the scene. We’ve got limited material as the marina operators delete the recordings on a regular basis. I guess that’s due to data protection. Cathy Frobisher was a frequent visitor to the boat, as was Peter Frobisher, on separate occasions, of course, and also Portland’s family. The camera caught both brothers, and his mother, at different times. Justin Le Mahe and Louise Portland visited on separate occasions. She stayed for half an hour and looked visibly upset when she left. There was also a woman who was on the boat the night Drew Portland died. We can’t make out who she is as the camera angles are rubbish and she was wearing a baseball cap. She didn’t stay long, perhaps an hour, and all we can see is the back of her as she heads into town. Look.”

  The images flicked past in a blur until Vanguard froze the screen. “This is the clearest view we have.”

  The woman was slender and of average height. She wore a baseball cap pulled low over her brow, casting distorting shadows over her face. He quickly looked at Dewar. “I can’t make out a damn thing. Who the hell is it?”

  Dewar said, “Perhaps Drew had yet another mistress?”

  “Maybe, let’s keep an eye open for our mystery girl.”

  Vanguard handed over the remote. “Work through the images yourself. You’ll know when you get to what I wanted you to see.”

  Le Claire pressed play. There were several camera images shown on the screen. They showed one of the main entrances, each of the docks and the walkway in front of Drew Portland’s boat. A stroke of luck. Le Claire grabbed chairs for himself and Dewar, and they settled down to watch. He kept his eye on the CCTV images in front of the boat, his eyes jerking to the other images to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Dewar would be doing the same. He fast-forwarded, stopping only when there was movement.

  “And look at that.” At Dewar’s voice, he stopped the recording, and his gaze followed her pointing finger.

  A hooded figure was standing by Drew’s boat. They wore a long coat, and underneath it was a hooded garment, perhaps a sweatshirt. The front of the hood fell over their face, and in the shadowed night their features couldn’t be seen. “Where the hell did they come from?”

  Vanguard’s voice came from behind them. “I figure they came in through the far side of the marina. There is a small gate that doesn’t have any cameras near it.”

  They were slightly bent over as they approached the boat. Reaching out, they left a box on the deck and then, head down, moved swiftly away. They were out of the camera angle in seconds.

  “Damn.”

  “Yep, the cameras don’t cover the right-hand side access to the docking area. So our individual appears from nowhere and disappears too fast to give us much to go on.”

  Dewar asked, “What’s in the box?”

  Le Claire pressed play. Moments later they saw Drew Portland peer over the top deck railing. He must have heard the visitor. Spotting the box, he looked puzzled but came down the stairs. It gave Le Claire a jolt to see the man alive and looking vibrant. He fought for justice for victims and got to know them after their deaths, visualising them through others, piecing together their personalities from the anecdotes of others and the debris of their lives. This was different. This brought it home with greater clarity. Someone had deliberately taken this man’s life, and he wouldn’t rest until the murderer was in sight.

  Drew Portland hopped onto the lower deck and knelt down to open the box. He ripped the cardboard apart and discarded what looked like pale straw. He rocked back on his heels and pursed his lips in a whistle. He had pulled out the contents of the box and held two bottles of wine. He laughed and headed back up the stairs.

  Dewar looked at Le Claire. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Yes, I believe I am. The video is from the week before Drew Portland’s death. That was our killer delivering two bottles of poisoned Margaux, and we can’t tell who they are.”

  Vanguard leant over and took the remote. “Watch this as well.” He rapidly clicked the control, the date and time on the bottom of the screen electronically passing through the days in seconds. He stopped, rewound slightly, and froze the image on the screen. Drew Portland was standing on the top deck, a bottle of wine in hand. He was captured standing side on, staring out to sea. Le Claire wondered if he was contemplating his life and Cathy Frobisher.

  Vanguard spoke, “This is the night of Portland’s death. The delivery person, if that’s what we can call them, has just left.”

  Vanguard pointed to the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. “Here, let me zoom in.”

  The picture grew, distorting some areas and making others clearer. What had looked like a misshapen shadow grew and sharpened to reveal a figure, pressed back against the bushes, their face hidden by a hood.

  Dewar gasped. “That looks like the same person who delivered the wine. I mean, it’s similar clothing.”

  Le Claire shook his head. “The callous bastard is watching. Waiting to see what happens.” On the top image of the split screen, they saw Drew Portland climb back to the top deck and out of the camera’s range. The figure moved and disappeared, reappearing to climb aboard the boat. They carried onto the top and minutes later scrambled back down and exited, head down as they moved off-camera. Le Claire paused the image and looked at the time displayed in the bottom right-hand corner. “That fits the time of death range. Whoever it was watched Drew Portland die.” He took a moment to reflect on the callousness of human behaviour. He saw the dregs of society in this job, but they kept on plumbing new depths.

  He stood. “Come on; there’s someone we need to speak to. What the hell was Justin Le Mahe doing visiting Drew Portland on his boat?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Le Mahe didn’t seem particularly pleased to see Le Claire and Dewar walk into his office after a perfunctory knock. He scowled and stopped thumping away at the calculator on his desk. He wasn’t looking so polished as usual—he had undone his top button, and his tie was askew.

  The receptionist rushed in after them, throwing a black look at Le Claire. “I’m sorry, Justin. They pushed past me.”

  “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  As the door closed, he pushed the papers to the side and said, “This is a surprise. How can I help you?”

  Le Claire looked at Dewar, who said, “Justin—sorry, may I call you that?”

  “Yes, yes.” The dismissive flick of his hand gesture betrayed his impatience.

  “Thank you. We wanted to know why you visited Drew Portland on his boat?

  He opened his mouth to speak, and Le Claire quickly cut in, “We have you on CCTV, so we know you were there in the weeks before Mr Portland died.”

  Justin sighed and shook his head, “Drew and I weren’t the best of friends, but he was married to my boss, and we were co-shareholders. We had to speak sometimes.”

  “Why not spea
k here? I thought he came in for lunch most days.”

  His voice was dry. “Drew was in the restaurant every day, but we can’t chat about the business here. The staff members have big ears.”

  “What could you have to talk to Drew about regarding the business? I would have thought those conversations would be with Louise?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Drew had been talking to one of his pals, who was some wealthy new resident looking to get into the hotel business. He asked me to meet him at the boat to see if I would sell my shares. I said that was not something I’d consider unless Louise supported it. I never heard any more about it.”

  “Who was the potential buyer?”

  “I don’t know; Drew never mentioned a name, simply that they were newly arrived and looking to put some money into an island business.”

  #

  The police left Justin with promises to be in touch if they needed anything else. Alone, he held his head in his hands as he gently rocked. His elbow sent the pile of papers tumbling to the floor, and he stared at them for a long moment. He shook his head, casting away his worries and confusion.

  Seeing Sophie again had brought back a rush of memories. He knew his feelings had never completely gone away, but he hadn’t expected the blast of heat that had assaulted him or the sweeter, accompanying emotions that lingered long after.

  Everything had to work out. It was what he had fantasised about for the longest time, had at one point thought that was all it would remain—an unattainable dream. But he now had an opportunity to achieve his heart’s desire. He didn’t need any of this mess about bloody Drew Portland to screw it up.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sophie had never met the Ginelli lawyer before, but she knew his name, and now she was being ushered into his office.

  “Miss Ginelli, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Please call me Sophie, Mr Armstrong, or shall I call you Paul?” She knew her voice held a hint of flirtation, but the man in front of her was grey-haired, handsome and with a charming smile on his tanned face. His blue eyes twinkled through his dark-rimmed glasses, and he had a slightly thickened stomach. He looked like a kind man and one who enjoyed life.