Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  He turned back to the woman who had spoken. “Yes, I am. And you are?”

  “Daria Syvret. I heard you ask for Angela. I don’t know when she’ll be back. I’m her aunt, by the way. I assume this is about poor Kurt. What a terrible accident. I can’t get my head around it.”

  “You knew Mr Englebrook?”

  “Yes, I actually met the family before Angela started seeing Rudy. I’m an art teacher at one of the local schools. Kurt was a huge support, judging the annual competitions and supplying the prizes.”

  “Angela gets her talent from your side of the family.”

  She laughed, but it had a bitter tinge. “You know what they say. Those who can; do. Those who can’t; teach. I guess I fall into the latter category. No, I am moderately successful as an artist. I exhibited at the Tate last year. My brother was the real talent. Angela’s father was Harrison Laine.”

  Even he’d heard of the famed painter whose talents crossed disciplines and styles. “I hadn’t realised that. I’ve heard of him. Where is he now?”

  “Highgate Cemetery. My brother was nothing if not a cliché. He was troubled, tortured, an alcoholic and broke.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I understand his paintings are sought after.” His mother had one, and you’d have thought she’d won the lottery the day she got it in a London auction. His father hadn’t wanted to know what it cost, proving that ignorance was bliss.

  “Yes, but he gave the lot away during his life—anything for a roof over his head and a steady supply of red wine, or whatever else he was on in the last years. For all that, my brother had a unique talent. As for me, I’m a working artist, which means I am admired and respected, but no one wants to pay a lot for my little pieces.”

  He ignored the comment. It wasn’t his job to stroke anyone’s ego. “When did you last see Kurt Englebrook?”

  “If we’re going to chat, let’s do so where we can be private. We do get lots of customers dropping in.” She called out to Chloe. “Darling, we’re having a chat in the back room.”

  She herded them into a small kitchen with a long table and several chairs. “Chloe is such a sweet girl. Quite different from her sister. Now, what were we saying? Oh yes, I last saw Kurt a couple of weeks ago. At a party at the manor; just a casual gathering for Chloe’s birthday.”

  “Was she close to her brother-in-law?”

  “On the face of it, yes.”

  He took the bait. “Can you explain that comment? Was there an issue between them?”

  “Chloe certainly looked up to Kurt, and he treated her like a daughter. She got on well with the boys too.”

  “So, what was the issue?”

  “Chloe was naive and impressionable when she met Kurt, which wasn’t long after he hooked up with Jessica. Chloe had led a pretty sheltered life. The girls lost their parents years back, and, believe it or not, Jessica, who must be fourteen years older than Chloe, was extremely strict.” She sighed. “Chloe grew into her own; she started having her own opinions, and to be frank, that’s not something Kurt appreciated in those around him. There were a few fights and slammed doors.”

  Dewar said, “Jessica was younger than her husband.”

  “Indeed, and by some years, but that’s the way of the world. Beauty marries up—and usually, that means money.”

  “That’s a bit cynical.”

  “I’ve lived on this island all my life. Every year you see a handful of men like Kurt coming to Jersey as wealthy immigrants. Successful. Rich. And eventually, with a younger woman by their side, the Evas of this world discarded along the way. Mind you, sometimes they deserve it.”

  “Did Eva?”

  She smiled. “I misspoke. Please ignore me.”

  “Perhaps, but what did Eva Englebrook deserve?”

  “It’s nothing, she was one of those women who thought more of her place in the community, through her art credentials, than she did of keeping her husband happy. Their breakup was one of those long-term couples splits where your immediate reaction is disbelief, swiftly followed by a sense that it had perhaps been inevitable after all.”

  This wasn’t news; there was usually acrimony between divorced couples—those who got on were the exception to the rule. He got to the point. “Do you know if anyone would have any reason to harm Kurt Englebrook?”

  “I wouldn’t know about any of that. Kurt was an extremely successful man. Don’t enemies come with the territory?”

  He wasn’t in the mood for smart statements. He simply wanted straight replies. “Please answer the question.”

  “I don’t know of anyone, not for sure. I mean, it’s nothing really.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “I don’t like to say.”

  Like she had a choice! In the way of gossips the world over, she just needed a little coaxing. “No matter how insignificant you think something is, it could actually lead us to some solid information. Please carry on.”

  It didn’t take much to persuade her. “Very well. The Englebrooks weren’t your storybook family, not by a long shot. Kurt and his sons had strained relations, to say the least. Rudy, the heir apparent, oversaw nothing at all, and the wealth and privilege that surrounded Nils from birth fed into his dark side. He tries hard, but in my opinion, that boy is a piece of bad news away from hitting the drugs again—and hard. Same as before.”

  “He was a big user in the past?”

  “I was in the Honorary Police for years, and I picked that boy up from more dives than I care to remember. Of course, all that is in his past now.”

  “You believe that?”

  “It’s not for me to say.” Her eyes held his.

  “But you think he is still using?”

  “He ran with a bad crowd and was in a worse way. It’s hard to fully escape that life. I’ve seen it happen with numerous pupils over the years.”

  Le Claire had to disagree. “I believe in rehabilitation, so I like to give someone the benefit of the doubt.” Unless they were in his sights during a murder investigation, that was. “Anything else you can tell us about the family?”

  “I think I’ve said enough.”

  Dewar asked, “What about Jessica and Eva? Doesn’t seem to be much love lost there.”

  “Understatement of the year. Kurt always had a roving eye. I had to slap him down more than once, but his leaving Eva was a shock. Jessica played her cards right in that situation. But as I mentioned, neither is entirely the innocent party.”

  “What about Susan Jones, Kurt’s financial advisor?”

  “They were close, very close, and apparently go way back. I understand Susan was his banker in the early days, before leaving to work for him directly. As I said, they were close.”

  It wasn’t the words that drew his attention, but how she spoke them, with a sly emphasis on close.

  “You think they were having an affair?”

  She stared at him, and for a moment he thought he’d been too direct. He needed this woman to keep talking. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that there had been something between them. He seemed to trust her a great deal.”

  “What about her son, Riley?”

  “Ah, now that’s a handsome devil. Of course, he worshipped Kurt when he was a boy.”

  “What changed?”

  “Riley grew up and realised that perhaps Uncle Kurt wasn’t so nice after all. Kurt can be ruthless, and he didn’t approve of Riley’s lifestyle. Riley comes across as a carefree surfer boy, but he runs a good business and has big plans. His surf school and the shop are always busy. Maybe he isn’t so different from Kurt after all.”

  Le Claire mentally crossed off the names of those connected to Englebrook. “What do you know about a Richard Grainger?”

  She beamed. “An utterly charming man. He’s exceptionally giving of his time to the local art community. Kurt liked to make jokes at Richard’s expense, but they were friendly enough, and I understand they had known each other for a long time.”

  �
��And then there is Angela.”

  “What about her?”

  “I wondered what her relationship was with Kurt?” And, he mentally added, whether you’ll be any nicer about your own relatives.

  “Angela treated Kurt like anyone would their expected future father-in-law who was filthy stinking rich.” The dry edge didn’t escape him.

  “They got on well?”

  “Absolutely. Kurt could say or do little wrong in Angela’s eyes.”

  He paused for a moment. “And what about you? And before you ask, I want to know what your relationship was with Englebrook.”

  A genuine smile lit her features. “I adored Kurt. It’s a shame he never went for women near his own age. I’d have been in there like a shot. I, therefore, admired him from afar and valued his friendship.”

  “You were close?”

  “Not overly so, but we did speak on the phone often, mainly to do with the school art competitions.”

  “Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “You mean I’m an old gossip who has too many opinions about almost everyone.”

  He smiled, and her laughter followed them as they left.

  Dewar said, “She had a lot to say for herself.”

  “Yep. Maybe too much. We need to look at her as well.”

  A ringing mobile cut across their conversation. Le Claire checked the ID. “Viera, what is it?”

  “The Home Office pathologist arrived on the morning flight. I assisted him in the autopsy. I’ll meet you at the station with his initial findings. It’s quite a revelation.”

  “You’d better wait for us in my office.” He disconnected and turned to Dewar. “Tell Vanguard to meet us there. I want a full update of what he has so far.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Le Claire momentarily closed his eyes as Viera’s words sank in. He couldn’t escape the image in his head. “So he was badly injured before he burned?”

  “The final report is being written, but yes, what I said is accurate. Analysis of the bones shows that the deceased suffered multiple contusions and fractures: in his right leg, some small bones in one wrist and a bad shatter above the right eye. All could be consistent with a fall. The tower did have a mezzanine floor.”

  “So, he had an accident, yet the tower was locked from the outside.” Viera wouldn’t have called him unless he had found something of interest.

  “The blood tests were conclusive. Kurt Englebrook may have been injured, but it was the fire that killed him, or rather the smoke inhalation did. From the blood-flow pools, it seems likely that he was on his back when he fell and then turned onto his front. His fingernails were ripped off.”

  “How the hell did that happen?”

  Viera visibly swallowed, his eyes never leaving Le Claire’s. “He was found near the doorway.”

  A flutter of remembered panic slithered at the edge of his mind. He hated being closed in, trapped. He swept it away, swallowed. “The poor bastard was trying to claw his way out the door.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Viera’s intent gaze told him there was more to this. “Keep going.”

  “From the burn results, we can see that a flammable substance may have been applied directly to Englebrook’s body.”

  He shuddered at the vivid image he couldn’t entirely dispel. “Someone made sure he burned and locked him in the tower. This is murder.”

  The door opened, and a harried-looking Vanguard came in. “I guess that’s for you to prove, but there were fragments of a petrol can inside the tower. We found another one in the woods. It was full.”

  “Arson, and by the looks of it, they not only knew Englebrook was in the tower, but they also made sure he burned. I’ll speak to the chief. We need an Incident Room. Dewar, pull the usual team together and start getting the timeline in place.”

  He turned to Vanguard. “What else can you tell us?”

  “The tower wasn’t empty when it burned. Something was going on there. There was a load of charred debris found. We’ll catalogue what we find and report back to you ASAP.”

  Le Claire nodded; a part of his mind was still focussed on the image of an injured man trapped in a burning building. If this was deliberate, and he couldn’t see how it could be anything else, then what kind of person were they dealing with? Who could carry out such a heartless and despicable act?

  ◆◆◆

  Rudy looked around the impressive boardroom. All was as usual. The board members gravitated towards their seats. No rule said where they had to sit, but for years they’d always settled into the same positions. Rudy still had a compulsion to get there early and sit in some random chair, just to mess with their minds. But he never dared. His dad would have thought it childish and found some way to make him feel small in the meeting, another way to exercise his control and show everyone that Kurt Englebrook ruled this business.

  Yes, all was as usual—except it wasn’t. His dad’s chair sat empty at the head of the table, angled precisely towards the huge windows that overlooked the rooftops of the city of London. He took his usual seat at the right of his father’s empty chair. The one to the left was unoccupied. No surprise there; Nils rarely bothered to turn up. In fact, he couldn’t remember him participating in the quarterly board meetings in over a year. But this one had been called by the chairman at short notice.

  Said chairman, Robert Willows, addressed the meeting. He glanced at his watch and at the two empty chairs. “Right, it doesn’t look like Nils will be joining us, so I’d like to open proceedings. The most important matter on the agenda is to note the sad and tragic death of the founder and CEO of this business, Kurt Englebrook. I knew Kurt for many years and was delighted when he asked me to join such a progressive and fast-moving company . . .”

  He stopped as the door opened and was quickly closed behind a hurrying Nils. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m late. Robert, please carry on.”

  Nils quickly took his place, and Rudy raised an eyebrow. Nils looked away. Rudy hadn’t even known his brother planned to come to London. Why hadn’t he come with him on the private plane? Andy, their pilot, was always on standby. He must have got a commercial flight. Rudy didn’t like the subterfuge. His brother had never shown an interest in the running of the business before. Why now?

  Robert continued. “Let me get straight to the point of why I called this meeting. Kurt’s death has been met with shock by us but also by the market. Several of our institutional investors have apparently panicked, and there has been a run on our shares.”

  Nils said, “What does that mean?”

  “It means that some of our investors sold their shares and quickly,” Rudy said. “The share price has dropped. I’m sure everything will settle down. We need the market and our investors to understand how we will be moving forward. They need reassurance.”

  Robert said, “I’m sure that is correct. Unfortunately, we don’t have any time. We’ve been contacted by our main bankers. If I may remind the meeting, we took out a substantial loan six months ago to invest in the New York office. The bank has triggered a clause in the loan agreement that named Kurt as a key man and detailed that should he cease to be the CEO, the bank has the right to call in the loan. We have a month.”

  Rudy sat in silence as pandemonium broke out around him. All the other directors were trying to talk at the same time—except for one. Nils was as quiet as he was himself. Their eyes locked across the table.

  He raised his voice to speak above his fellow directors. “Please. Don’t everyone talk at once.” He turned to Robert and asked, “What does this mean?”

  Robert took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He must have been in his early sixties and looked every day of it at this point. “We have thirty days to repay the loan. I have tried to speak to the bank because surely that clause was only meant to be invoked if Kurt, for example, left or sold the business. However, they are adamant that Kurt was the driving force of this business, and they doubt our ability to financ
e the loan on an ongoing basis. Your father was the key investment decision-maker. Yes, there is a whole team of investment analysts and research specialists, but Kurt picked the shares for the funds that made our clients wealthy. He always had the last say. We knew it was a business risk, and we planned to bring in some new talent, but we didn’t get around to it. We have thirty days to find twenty million.”

  “But I don’t see what the issue is,” Nils said. “Surely we can raise that money somehow. I thought we borrowed the money because it was cheaper than using our own assets that are invested.”

  Robert shook his head. “If only that were the case. We overstretched ourselves as we felt the time was ripe for investing in our business in the US. I’m sure it would have been extremely successful, but we must be honest with ourselves. Kurt was the architect of that venture, and by the time someone else gets up to speed on what was going on, we could have missed many opportunities.” He paused. “I need to ask if any other directors would be able to make a loan to cover the bank repayment?”

  His eyes glanced around the table at the shocked directors, but his gaze rested on Rudy and Nils. “Kurt didn’t want this to be open knowledge, but the businesses affairs were worse than thought. He loaned a substantial amount of money to the company in the expectation that the New York office would come good and he’d be repaid before the financial accounts were due.” He shrugged. “You’re now the only ones with any real money.”