CHAPTER NINE
Le Claire was in search of Dewar when he halted at Hunter’s desk, his attention drawn by the girl’s image that filled the screen. “Who’s that?”
“Elena Fernandez. She’s fourteen and hasn’t been seen since around 9:00 p.m. last night. Her mother went to wake her for school this morning, and her bed hadn’t been slept in. I’m helping out by doing some Twitter and Facebook posts to get the word out.”
Le Claire nodded, only half-listening. The photo was a little grainy as if taken by the camera on a cheap phone. She was slight, with a narrow face and huge, dark eyes that stared straight through you, her light brown hair caught up in a messy ponytail. She reminded him of someone, and for a moment, the image tickled at the extreme edge of his memory. His stomach lurched as he realised who. April Baines. She reminded him of April.
He heard Hunter’s voice as if at a distance. “She’ll turn up—safe and sound.”
The missing in Jersey were usually only misplaced for a little while. Mostly, but not always. The troubled teenagers, exhausted mothers, stressed-out executives or those whose drink or drugs habit got the better of them again. All the same, he said, “Keep me posted, and let me know when she returns home.”
Dewar was hunched over her desk, tip-tapping at the keyboard. He had an urge to yank her back by her collar and tell her to correct her posture. He wasn’t her keeper, but she’d end up with muscular tension, and he needed her fit for the job. “Sit up straight. You’ll do yourself an injury.”
She jumped as if scalded. “Sorry, sir. I mean Le Claire, sorry.” She was flustered and pinkened. Was he really that intimidating? He thought they’d got over that. Her next words reassured him.
“Jeez, you nearly scared the life out of me!” Her words held a mild, huffy accusation.
“Sorry. Will this make it better?” He placed a cardboard cup in front of her, spirals of steam wafting through the small opening in the lid.
Her nose twitched, and she sat back in her chair with a happy sigh. “Thank you. I was gasping for a cup of tea, but I was in a hurry to see what background information I could find.”
He could tell she’d been engrossed in her work. When she didn’t think about it too much, her Scots burr was more pronounced as her r’s rolled.
He sipped at his own extra-strong coffee. “Tell me what you’ve got.”
“The family weren’t exactly hard to find online. Hunter had already amassed a decent dossier. We’ve separated it into individual folders for each family member. It’s all there. Financial paper reports on Kurt and his business, tabloid reporting on his affair with Jessica and subsequent divorce from Eva. The social pages and online rags have articles and photoshoots from fancy parties and arty events supported by them.”
He stared. “So we’ve got nothing of any value?”
“Nope. Englebrook must’ve had great public relations people. Apart from the affair with Jessica, his image is squeaky clean.”
“Anything on the sons?”
“Yes, but only to mention Rudy as the heir apparent and Nils as an up-and-coming art expert. Apparently, he doesn’t paint but is trained in curatorship. That’s handy, isn’t it? One son groomed to run the fund-management business and the other to oversee the art interest.”
“Yes, but I would assume the business is worth more than the art collection, so do they get equal value or is Rudy the prince who takes it all? Find out when the will is going to be read. We need to be there. A suspicious death and a wealthy victim. We need to follow the money, and that means the heirs.”
He glanced at Hunter, who was following their conversation. “Keep at it. There must be something of interest amongst the rubble. Anything on any of the others close to Englebrook?”
“Chloe Marsden has the usual social media accounts—Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest and Snapchat. So do Jessica, Eva and Nils. Rudy is only on LinkedIn. However, his girlfriend is on Facebook, and a quick look shows she posts daily, and there are loads of photos of Rudy.” She grumbled, “Probably won’t throw up much of anything.”
Irritation bubbled away. “They don’t secure their online accounts, limiting access?”
Dewar shrugged. “The entire approbation-by-social-proof factor often means people want as many friends or followers as they can get. The more friends, the greater the opportunity to get likes, love, and whatever it takes to make them feel good.”
“I don’t get it. Even my mother is on Facebook.”
Hunter said, “Actually, most young people aren’t on Facebook. They prefer Snapchat.”
“You’re telling me Facebook is for oldies?” He couldn’t wait to tell Sasha that she wasn’t so trendy anymore.
A streak of red stained Hunter’s cheeks; a few shades short of a full blush. With surprise, Le Claire realised the newbie was growing up. “Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to suggest your mum was an oldie.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. What about Englebrook?”
Dewar said, “I couldn’t find anything, not even a LinkedIn profile.”
“Okay, Hunter, go through what is there and see what you can find. At the least, we can flesh out their profiles. I need full bios on everyone, including Susan Jones and her son. Also the curator, Richard Grainger.”
Dewar added, “What about Angela Laine’s aunt, Daria Syvret?”
“Good thinking. I want to know about anyone who touched Englebrook’s life.”
Dewar scowled. “I don’t trust anyone who knows as much about people as that woman.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “I agree, but it’s par for the course in any small community, and you don’t get much smaller, or more claustrophobic, than an island. Jersey may have a population of a hundred thousand, but that’s small fry compared to most places. People know each other. It’s hard to keep a secret here.”
Hunter piped up, “My mum says that’s why the divorce rate is so high. No one can keep an affair hidden.”
“Yeah, listen to your mum. She’s right. Let’s see what secrets we can find out. Because a man like Englebrook had to have some.”
CHAPTER TEN
Chloe slung her bag over her shoulder as she made her way along the promenade. Dusk cast a fading amber glow across the horizon, the smell of barbeque food perfumed the air and fire-pits held back the advancing chill for a while. Campervans, Jeeps and cars were parked up in their usual positions as another night fell along St Ouen’s Bay.
Chloe waved and mouthed “hellos” as she made her way along the line. She knew where she was headed. She probably shouldn’t be here, and truth be told she wasn’t too sure what welcome she’d get. But she’d been drawn here, rather like the surfers who stripped off their wet suits and dried off, without a care in the world, as they huddled around the flickering flames and sipped hot coffee, or perhaps something stronger.
Riley stood by the side of his campervan, silhouetted against the crimson sky as the sun gave one last blast. Her heart raced, and she licked her dry lips. He was alone, flipping burgers and drinking a beer. She approached. “Hey, Riley, how you doing?”
He smiled and indicated the beer in his hand. “Want one?”
“I’m driving, but I’ll take a soft drink if you’ve got one.”
“Sure, I’ll have one myself.” He fumbled in the cool-box and came out with a couple of cans, handing her one. “I heard about Kurt. What a shocker. How are you all?”
“It hasn’t sunk in yet. Jess is in a state, as you’d expect. It’s a shock. I’m numb. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“The police were here, asking me about Kurt. They didn’t explain fully, but I got the impression this was no accident.”
“They told us they are still investigating, but it looks like the fire was started deliberately. It was me that found him.”
“That must’ve been horrific for you. What a shit way to go.”
She briefly closed her eyes and, to her horror, couldn’t escape an image of Kurt burning. She took a breath, held her hand against her mo
uth until nausea passed. “I can’t get it out of my head. What he must have gone through.”
“It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
She suddenly realised what he’d said. “What did the police want with you?”
“Given the situation over the land, they wanted to have a chat.”
“They aren’t stupid enough to think you did anything, are they?”
“Who knows? I guess they have to ask these questions. If someone purposely set that blaze, they may not have known Kurt was even in there.”
“It could have been stupid kids vandalising. Christ, people don’t realise the consequences of their actions. Kurt wasn’t on many people’s lists of favourites, but no one could think he deserved that death.”
“We can only hope it was a terrible accident.” He took a swig from the can, his eyes never leaving hers. “Am I on your list? Of favourite people, I mean?”
She was glad the light had leached from the day, and her surprise wouldn’t be evident. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”
“Look, I’ve meant to talk to you for a while, but we’re never properly alone—”
“Hey, Riley, what’s up?”
A group of tousle-haired surfer boys approached them. She knew a few of them. They were Riley’s pals and would start talking about the surf and go on and on and on. Talk about timing.
She brandished the can in the air. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll catch you around.”
Riley’s smile was, she liked to think, regretful. “Sure, see you soon.”
She headed back to her car, hugging her arms tight across her chest in defiance of the temperature drop. Her heart raced at Riley’s words. Was this the start of something? She’d fancied him forever. A tiny worm of negativity burrowed its way through her pleasure. They had known each other since they were teenagers and had both been unattached for some time. Why would he speak up now? Was it a coincidence? Or something more?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Le Claire shuffled in the too-warm room, tugging at his collar and loosening his tie a little. The windows and doors were closed, and heavy drapes were drawn tight. For a fanciful moment, he wondered if the intention was to keep the weight of the soon-to-be-spoken words tethered to this room. He’d called Rudy earlier and asked to meet. Rudy had explained the family were busy and that the will was being read today. This was too good an opportunity to miss, and Le Claire had managed to invite himself and Dewar to hear the proceedings first-hand. They hadn’t released the barely cold body for burial yet, but it looked like the family couldn’t wait to find out who got what.
The study walls were covered in packed bookshelves, the dark-coloured, leather-bound books neat, tidy and carefully aligned. The first thought that jumped to mind was that an interior designer had probably bought a job-lot of appropriately weighty tomes—a case of elegant form over popular fiction. The lawyer, who’d been introduced as Ian Balfour, leaned against the sizeable carved oak desk. There was an edge to his posture, a keen look of anticipation on his face that perturbed Le Claire. It was a look of watchfulness. What was the lawyer expecting to happen?
The family settled around the room on various sofas and armchairs. Nils and Rudy were at opposite ends of a long couch, a red-eyed and subdued Chloe in between them. Angela Laine perched on the armrest next to Rudy, and a pale Jessica sat on a stuffed armchair near the fireplace. Susan Jones held herself upright on a high-backed chair by the window. Eva perched on the window seat.
A middle-aged woman sat on a comfortable chair next to the desk. Rudy placed a hand on her shoulder, and she smiled sweetly as she clasped his hand. “This is my aunt, Sara Balfour.”
He nodded hello. Was she related to the lawyer? They shared the same surname.
Rudy motioned towards a handsome man in his mid to late fifties. “DCI Le Claire, DS Dewar, I believe you know everyone else now apart from Richard Grainger. Richard is my father’s art collection curator.” The man nodded in acknowledgement. He stood behind Jessica’s armchair, one hand resting near her head.
Jessica glared at Balfour. “But I don’t understand why she is here.” Her vicious gaze towards Eva made it clear who she was referring to. Her eyes flicked to Susan. “Or her for that matter.”
Balfour said, “I explained that already, Jessica. Kurt was clear that he wanted certain people to be present at the reading of the will. I have complied with those requests.”
Jessica grumbled under her breath, and Eva stared at her, darts of poison in her gaze. No love lost there.
The door to the room behind them opened and closed quickly, and a familiar voice said, “Many apologies for my tardiness.”
Paul Armstrong was a senior partner in a local law firm, and he’d crossed Le Claire’s path in several of his recent investigations. He was becoming a trusted source of information, and his support had gone above the call of duty in their last murder investigation. He’d been intrinsically involved, and Le Claire would go so far as to say he had saved the day.
Balfour smiled and said, “Not at all. You’re perfectly on time.” He addressed the room. “This is Paul Armstrong. Paul is a Jersey-qualified lawyer and a senior partner in a prominent local firm who has been dealing with Kurt’s affairs on the island for some time.”
Paul nodded a general hello, and a rueful smile on his face crossed to where Le Claire and Dewar sat. Several high-backed dining chairs had been brought in to create more seating. He indicated the empty seat next to them. “May I?”
He sat at their nod. Le Claire said, “We must stop meeting like this. What are you doing here?” Truth be told, he was glad to see the distinguished lawyer. Armstrong was warm to them and their investigations.
“I was drafted in to settle any questions on the Jersey side, and also to oversee a conflict of interest matter.”
Before Le Claire could probe further and ask about the conflict of interest, Ian Balfour strode into the middle of the room and, with a raised voice, called out, “Thank you all for gathering here today. It was thought best to read the will as soon as possible, given the size of the estate. There are also some peculiarities which will need to be dealt with.”
There was a general shuffling of bottoms on seats as the attendees listened carefully. He continued. “I knew Kurt for many years. I was his lawyer for almost three decades and his friend for as long. He was a complicated man who prided himself on the business he’d built, the assets he painstakingly acquired and his adherence to order in all aspects of his life. It is that final point that caused Kurt to update his will earlier this year.”
The words could have been made of lead for the way they thundered through the almost-silent room. Almost; except for Jessica, who gasped and was now sitting up straight. Le Claire checked out everyone else. Chloe didn’t look so distracted any longer. Rudy and Nils were mirror images, having shuffled forward to perch on the edge of the sofa like two anxious bookends. Eva didn’t seem at all perturbed, and he had to admit that Susan looked decidedly uncomfortable, as if she didn’t know why she was here in the first place. No doubt they would soon find out.
“Kurt Englebrook was survived by his wife, Jessica, and his two sons, Rudy and Nils. His main assets were comprised of his business, being a fund-management company, this property, a substantial art collection and quoted investments, cash and chattels. I’ll now read from the will.” He paused and cleared his throat.
“To my wife, I leave one-third of the value of my estate. Together with any personal gifts, made to her during our marriage.”
Jessica displayed a brief, watery smile and ran a hand across the considerable diamond that nestled in her décolleté. Le Claire assumed it was a personal gift.
Rudy’s mouth gaped open. Nils jumped to his feet and said, “Is that a joke?”
Rudy turned to Balfour, a pained expression on his face. “Tell me he signed a prenup that detailed the inheritance she’d get on his death?”
Balfour held up his hands in apparent defence. “Kurt didn’t want to do th
at. The prenuptial agreement only covers what Jessica would have been due in the event of divorce.”
Jessica cut across any comment Rudy was going to make. “I was with your father for almost ten years. I am his wife, and he obviously wanted me to be well looked after.”
Le Claire followed this exchange with interest. A one-third share of Englebrook’s estate could reach telephone numbers.
Paul stood. “Under Jersey law, a surviving spouse, in the absence of any other agreement between the parties, is entitled to a one-third share of the estate.”
Le Claire glanced around the room. Susan sat straight in her chair. Her shoulders were rigid as she stared, unsmiling, at Jessica.
Balfour waited for a beat before carrying on. “Apart from a few separate items, the majority of Kurt’s estate is left equally between his sons.”
Rudy and Nils smiled and nodded at each other, tension visibly leaving them.
“Mr Englebrook left various small cash bequests to long-term staff members. He also left £1 million to Chloe Marsden, together with the wish that she uses it to be happy and to do what she wants, not anyone else.”
No one said anything. Chloe dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and avoided her sister’s stare.
Balfour sought out Angela. “To Angela Laine, my son Rudy’s girlfriend, I leave my Camden apartment and sufficient funds to pay for the service charges and upkeep. Of all my family and wider circle, Angela enjoyed that apartment the most.”
A seemingly recovered Rudy smiled and squeezed Angela’s hand. “That was sweet of Dad. You’re the only person who ever stayed there.”
Angela smiled. “It is close to some of the studios I work with, so it was always so handy. That was thoughtful of Kurt.”
Nils drew an exaggerated palm along his brow. “Thank Christ he left you that one. You wouldn’t see me dead outside of Mayfair.”
“Kurt’s will was drawn up by an independent party, Paul Armstrong here, who has overseen many of Kurt’s Jersey transactions. The will is governed under Jersey law, but there was a conflict which would have prevented me from being directly involved. Sara, my wife, was, of course, married to Kurt’s late brother, Jan. If I may read from the will: To my beloved Sara, who has had to live with the same tragic loss as me for so long, I bequeath all my memories of my brother, Jan, being photographic and video collections. I also leave her, in its entirety, the lodge in Sweden and the Bahamas property. Kurt also left me a bequest of £500,000 and my choice of a dozen bottles from his wine collection.”
Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 6
