Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  “What about the land?”

  “He never mentioned it. I swear.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “No. After he made the call, he went upstairs. Presumably, to check on Jessica. I went to the kitchen to find Chloe and suggested we get out of there and go for a drink.”

  “You found this out months ago, and you didn’t say anything to me?”

  “What was the point? I figured he meant he was leaving you a small bequest. I didn’t know it was about the land. It didn’t change anything. We still had to make the appeal. It’s not only about me; the public deserves to have access to the right-of-way and the tower.”

  Her nerves thrummed as anger blinded her. Her tone was a dagger. “I repeat myself. This is about me, and you didn’t tell me. Oh God, leaving me this land will cause ructions and arguments. It devalues the manor itself, and it will draw attention to the relationship I had with Kurt.”

  Riley raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that. What relationship did you have? You only worked for him? Or is there more to it?” There was a hard glare in his eyes and a taunting echo in his voice.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing was going on between us.”

  “Don’t you think people will consider it slightly suspicious that he leaves you a company that owns a valuable piece of land?”

  “I don’t need this hassle. I need to think. I don’t know what to do. The land isn’t mine. I had no right to it.”

  “What do you mean? You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

  “I don’t know. I need to think. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  ◆◆◆

  Emily Dewar opened the door to the pub, took a deep breath and, looking down, realised she was showing a bit too much cleavage. She tugged up her neckline to a respectable level. Now she looked like someone’s granny, so she thought better of it and pulled it back down. Oh, hell, what was she doing? She hesitated, wondering if she should turn on her heels and leave.

  “You okay? I saw you standing there and wondered if you were going to turn tail and run.”

  The deep timbre of the familiar voice didn’t make her jump, but it did send delicious shivers down her spine.

  Viera laughed, but she could see from the look in his eyes that he’d wondered if she was going to do a bunk on him.

  Her heart hammered, and she knew from the heat that swept across her face that she would now be bright red. Damn him for spotting her.

  “I’m fine. I was just checking my phone. Sorry, I’m a bit late.”

  “No, you’re fine.”

  He looked at her. She looked at him. Then they burst out laughing in unison. His smile crinkled around his soft brown eyes. “Hey, I guess this is still a bit awkward.”

  “You could say that; we’re normally standing at a crime scene.” Not to mention that a dead body was usually involved.

  He pushed the interior door wide open, and a rush of noise greeted them—music mingled with laughing conversations and the buzz of a good night out. “Come on. I’ve got a bottle of red for us. That okay? You like red, don’t you?”

  He sounded anxious, which was exceptionally sweet and very much at odds with his six-foot-two muscular frame and usual confident manner.

  “Yeah, that’s great. I’ll only have a glass, but red is fine.”

  She took a deep breath and followed him to the table. He waited for her and, placing his palm on the small of her back, guided her across the room. Her head barely reached his shoulders, and she felt a rush of something new to her. She felt . . . protected? She moved slightly away from him, appalled. What a load of bull. She looked after herself, and that was that.

  She glanced at him, just as he looked at her, and they shared a smile. A what-the-hell-are-we-getting-into smile. The one and only time they’d met up out of work, they’d shared a couple of drinks and an awkward not-quite kiss. She’d finished a significant case and was due some leave. Two days later, she flew to London for a couple of days.

  By the time she’d returned, Viera was on his two weeks annual leave, taking a vacation with some friends. He’d asked her to let him know if she wanted to go out again. That had thrown her. She’d been hoping to passively accept his invitations to meet up until she knew if she wanted to take this any further, but he’d called her bluff. She’d hesitated, prevaricated and, finally, plucked up the courage to call him. Well, she’d sent him a text. An innocuous one. I hope you’re good she’d said, I wondered if you fancy meeting for a drink. He did. So here they were.

  Viera poured her a glass of wine. She saw he’d also ordered some water and crisps. She’d have more of the water than the wine, and her ass would respect her for staying off the crisps.

  Viera said, “So tell me something about you. Something I would never find out as a colleague. Tell me something to let me know this is actually a date.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Hell, that’s direct—no pressure there.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I’ll go first. I was born in Jersey, but then my parents went back to Madeira when I was three. We came back when I was eleven. I couldn’t speak a word of English. I had to learn all over again. To this day, I still count in Portuguese in my head.”

  “You’d never know. Your English is much better than mine.”

  “Now we share a secret. Your turn.”

  Her mind thrummed. Where to start? There were so many things she couldn’t tell him.

  “Well, I’m Scottish.”

  His bark of laughter filled the air. “You know, I kind of guessed that. I think everyone else has as well.”

  “I don’t have any secrets.” Well, none she was in the mood for dishing up.

  He raised his glass to hers and leaned forward. “I don’t believe you. I have a feeling we’ll share more than secrets before we’re finished.”

  A rush of fire blasted to her core. This was going to be interesting, but was she ready for it?

  He reached out, and his finger glanced across her cheek, leaving a trail of heat. His hand clasped the back of her neck and pulled her closer until barely a breath separated them. “Maybe you better let me know in another way that this is a date. Just so I’m sure. You know.” His tone teased, but his eyes were serious. His mouth grazed hers, and her breath caught. Every nerve ending electrified. He deepened the kiss, and she let the restraints fly and kissed him back. This was no peck; this was a real kiss. Part of her was falling into the moment; the other thought, Oh shit, I’m kissing Viera. What the hell will Le Claire say?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I heard from the doctor today.”

  Le Claire pushed back from the table and laid down his napkin. “What did he say?”

  “Well, put it this way, you’re firing on all cylinders. It’s definitely something wrong with me.”

  “You don’t know that yet. It may be simply bad luck and timing.”

  Her brief smile wobbled, and her eyes shone with the tears she was keeping at bay. He rose, pulling her into his arms, and held her tight. “It doesn’t matter. I told you that. I want you. I don’t need us to have children. You’re more than enough for me.”

  She snuggled closer, resting her head against his chest. “Thank you. I know you mean that now, but what about in ten, twenty years from now?”

  “I’ll be delighted that we don’t have preteens or full-on teenagers sulking around the place.”

  She drew back, smiled. “That does sound horrible.” Her sad eyes clutched at his insides.

  “What happens next?”

  “Some more tests on me, I guess.”

  “What are our options?”

  She paused, and he could see tears were threatening. “The doctor says we’re too young to go the IVF route, that we haven’t given enough time to conceiving naturally, but it’s been years, Jack. And when we did get pregnant . . .” Her voice trailed off. The miscarriage had hit them both hard. He hadn’t realised how much he would have liked a child until the possibi
lity was dangled before his eyes. It wasn’t long before that future was brutally snatched from his grasp.

  Sasha smiled, and that little something, that extra-special thing that was Sasha made a reappearance for the first time in a while. “However, we can go private.”

  He knew it wasn’t just about money, but he’d made it his creed to only live off his own salary for years. No handouts from the bank of Mum and Dad. “Darling, how much will that run to?”

  “We don’t have to worry about that.”

  Ah, damn. He knew what was coming.

  “I spoke to my parents. Please don’t be mad.” Her words tumbled over each other in their haste to escape. “Mum suggested we find out a bit more. They’re happy to pay. Seriously, Jack, it’s all going to be mine one day anyway, so Dad says I shouldn’t have to scrimp now.”

  He tried to stay calm as a tic worked away under his eye. Yet he couldn’t keep the snap from his voice. “So you’re scrimping, are you?

  She shook her head, her hair brushing across her face. “No. No, of course not. You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t. We’re hardly on the breadline.”

  “No, but all our spare cash goes to saving up for a deposit on a house when we could stay here.”

  “In the house your father bought for you when you left me?”

  She let out a long, low breath. “Don’t, Jack, please. Let’s not go there again.”

  “You started it. You know I don’t want to be beholden to your dad. Every time he sees me, I feel his judgmental pride that he’s put a roof over your head, not me.”

  “That isn’t true. I know he can be difficult, but he has got used to us being together again. You know, daddy’s little girl and all that.” Her voice was wheedling.

  He dampened his burst of irritation. “Yeah, I know.”

  She looked anxious. “Are you happy?”

  “Of course. You?”

  He knew she was. Of course, he did. But after their separation, he occasionally found himself needing a little reassurance sometimes. He would never admit it to her. But he knew how close they had been to getting divorced, and all of it had been his fault. Sasha deserved better than he had given. He would do better in the future. He had promised.

  Sasha’s smile was soft. “You don’t even have to ask.” He leaned across the table and took her hand in his, gently stroking his thumb across her palm. Before he could speak, his mobile rang. Sasha pulled her hand from his with a rueful smile and said, “You get that. I’ll clear up.”

  Picking up his mobile, he moved into the small room that acted as his study. He noted the caller ID and paused for a moment before answering. “ Hi, Gareth, everything good?”

  Gareth Lewis was his former boss from the London Metropolitan Police. A man who had trained him, trusted him and stood by him when everything so nearly went wrong.

  “Yeah, all good here, Jack. Look, I wanted to give you an update about Colin Chapman.”

  Le Claire looked around his study, situated in the home where he rested after a day on the force, met with friends and made love to his wife. His sanctuary. It sickened him to bring that man’s despicable deeds into this space. To think about him. Even hearing the name made the bile rise and foul his throat.

  “Haven’t you guys still been keeping an eye on him?”

  “Yes, of course. As soon as you told me he called you, I got the guys straight onto it. We had little to go on. It was an untraceable number that he called you from, so that wasn’t any use. Chapman moved into a small flat in Bermondsey. I haven’t been able to put an official tail on him. He was acquitted, and harassing supposedly innocent people isn’t the done thing.”

  “Innocent my ass. Chapman’s a conniving sociopath. He surrounds himself with people who will believe his stories. That’s how he got off with abusing and murdering all those poor kids.”

  “I know. Anyway, there’s nothing illegal about off-duty cops taking a drive here and there. I’ve had a few of the guys on it. And they’ve taken turns to check on him. He isn’t up to much. He stays mainly in his flat. Occasionally, he goes to the shops to pick up food or to the local library. They followed him one day, and he was having lunch with that lawyer. You know, the one who got him off.”

  “Abigail Larsen should be ashamed of herself and the scumbags she represents.”

  “She’s also been seen going to his flat.”

  “As I said, he attracts those who are vulnerable and believe his lies. The man should have got an Oscar for the way he carried on when he saw me, and I met him in jail. A meeting he asked for, remember? He played the role of the terrified victim all too well. I half believed him myself.”

  “I know, Jack. I know. But let’s not rehash this. You weren’t entirely innocent yourself.”

  “Okay, so he’s living his quiet little life.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Until the last few days, that is. He’s gone.”

  Icy tendrils clutched at his chest, and he could feel himself go cold. “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday the guys reported that Chapman hadn’t left the house. We got the same feedback from a few guys who were there earlier today. That caught my attention because he does go out every day to at least pick up the papers and some food.”

  He didn’t like where this was going. “Go on.”

  “I sent a couple of PCs round to his place. Their cover story was going to be that there had been some vandalism of cars and they were asking all the tenants if they had seen anything. There was no answer. A woman arrived and asked what they were doing. It seems she is the owner of the flat and was coming in to get it ready for a new tenant.”

  “Doesn’t he have to tell anyone where he is going if he moves out? You need to find out where he is.” He sputtered. This couldn’t be happening. How could they lose track of someone this dangerous?

  “The charges were thrown out. Chapman isn’t on parole and can do as he pleases. Apparently, he’d only rented the place for a few months. The problem is we have no idea where he is. I called to say be on your guard. I’m going to see if we can get some kind of tracker flag on his passport in case he tries to leave the UK.”

  He was consumed by a feeling of helplessness, his heartbeat a rapid tattoo. “You think he might come to Jersey?”

  “No, no, of course not, but he blames you for everything that happened to him. Be careful.”

  He hung up and threw the phone onto the table. He hadn’t told Sasha that the call several weeks ago from a supposed old friend had actually been Chapman. She had no idea she’d spoken to the devious pervert. And now he’d have to tell her. But not tonight. Soon. He’d tell her soon. There was no rush.

  ◆◆◆

  Nils left the house a smidgeon after midnight. Chloe, exhausted from comforting Jessica, decided to stay overnight at the manor. She gazed out her window, staring into the opaque, inky darkness when she heard the revving car and tracked the lights as they disappeared down the drive. Rudy was on a call to the States that he’d been expecting all night. Jessica was sleeping, finally. Chloe didn’t think, just hurried to the garage. Nils hadn’t taken his own car. There was a serviceable Ford that the staff used for pickups and collections. He must have assumed that no one would be looking for it at that time of night. Without a second thought, Chloe grabbed the keys to the old motorbike she occasionally rode and headed out after the troubled man she considered her brother. The surrounding lanes were deserted, and she carefully kept her distance as she followed the car. She hadn’t ridden the bike in almost a year, so she took her time as she familiarised herself with the rhythm.

  She tracked him halfway across the island, keeping several cars behind, although there was little traffic this time of night. Nils headed deeper into the countryside; Chloe pulled right back as the car she tracked dutifully followed the fifteen and twenty mile-an-hour speed limits. She turned off her lights, occasionally losing sight of the Ford as the tree-lined lanes twisted and curved. Th
e car slowed, and Chloe killed her engine. She stopped astride the bike, staring into the darkness, only illuminated by the red glare of the rear lights. The car stopped, and the lights dimmed. She glanced around. To her left was a gap in the hedgerow, providing a passing space should two cars meet.

  Chloe’s muscles strained as she pushed the bike through the opening and into the field, resting it against an old gate post, hidden from sight. The night held a preternatural stillness that jangled the nerves and caused her heart to hammer, reverberating through her body and resounding in her ears. She hunched over, bent low and crept along the field, the hedge separating her from the road and, hopefully, sight. Each step was measured as she placed one foot carefully in front of the other and tried to avoid making a sound.

  The branchage had recently taken place, the annual trimming back of the hedges and trees lining the lanes and roads of the island. She knelt, her jeans-clad knees pressing into the soft soil, and peered through the gaps in the foliage.

  Nils was standing beside the car, still and silent. Then, as if acting on an unspoken command, he reached into his inside pocket, pulled out a bulky white envelope and carefully checked the contents. He headed up the narrow lane, the hunter’s moon illuminating his way. That light was working against Chloe as she followed. She had to slow her movements, keeping parallel but a little behind him. She had to avoid being seen. He would go crazy at being found out. He’d promised Chloe that the last rehab, almost a year ago, had done the trick, and he was clean. She could only think of one reason he’d be here in the dark of night creeping along a deserted country road. She’d bet anything that the envelope contained a thick wad of notes.

  Directly ahead, huge trees lined the lane, bending and twisting to become an overhead canopy that blocked out the light, creating a tree tunnel.

  There was a noise, Nils stilled, and Chloe faltered, her heart ready to jump out of her chest as it battered against her ribcage. Nils moved forward. She raised up from her crouched position to peer over the top of the hedge. A shape separated itself from the concealing foliage and walked to the middle of the lane. Her heart pounded a little faster. She was all too aware that, in the dark, Nils moved into a different world. And that the dangers were all too real.