Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  Would he never be rid of these jibes? He couldn’t help who his parents were or the success they had made of their lives. Of course, his mother had come from money in the first place, so that hadn’t exactly hindered his father. He brushed the thought aside. He lived off what he made. And that is how it would continue.

  He ignored Masters. “Let’s move on. What did you discover about her financials? Any issues there?”

  “I’m waiting for some additional data, but she made a fair bit of money before she worked for Englebrook. Her son went to a fancy private school in the UK. When they relocated, she got him into Vic.”

  Victoria College for Boys, affectionately known as Vic, was Le Claire’s own alma mater. “Carry on.”

  “I got her bank details overnight. She earned an excellent salary and got a big bonus last year. There is only a small mortgage on her home. There don’t seem to have been any financial issues or anything unexpected.”

  “Any personal relationships?”

  “I spoke to her neighbours. She seemed to lead a quiet life. Entertained from home most of the time. Didn’t appear to have a significant other. The neighbour who sent her grandson to check if Susan was okay said she went for her walk alone, and she didn’t see anyone else come or go along that path.”

  “There are plenty of roads leading to those fields, but at least we know she went there alone.”

  Dewar shook her head. “Pity it didn’t stay that way.”

  ◆◆◆

  A shadow fell across his desk, and Le Claire looked away from his computer screen. The team had updated the crime scene e-board, and he was ruminating over possibilities, motives and opportunity. Something was missing.

  Dewar said, “A lady has come into reception saying she wants to report a crime.”

  He could tell by the bubble of excitement in her eyes that this was no ordinary walk-in. He sat up straight. “I assume she isn’t complaining about the skateboarders?” They got at least one of these every few weeks.

  “Not this time. She wants to know how to go about reporting a crime against a dead man. She wants reparation from his estate.”

  “Interesting, but once we have details of the crime, she will need to see a lawyer to determine any civil penalties and recourse available to her.”

  “Yes. I think you’ll want to hear about the crime, though. She says it was committed by Kurt Englebrook.”

  That held his attention. He jumped to his feet. “Let’s go.” His gut twitched. Could this be part of the puzzle?

  The woman supplied her details before being shown into one of the ground-floor meeting rooms. She rose and came forward when they entered, holding out an expensively manicured hand, several large diamonds flashing on her fingers. Her neat blond bob was expensively coloured. He knew the signs. She was from the same breed as his mother. Elegant, polished and with the money to enhance and maintain her looks. She seemed to be in her early forties, but expensive, carefully applied makeup could be chopping a decade or so from her age. All in all, not the type of person who usually popped into the station to report a crime.

  Dewar checked the notes they had been given. “Mrs Unsworth-Murphy. I’m DS Dewar, and this is DCI Le Claire. We understand you’d like to report a crime, which you say was committed by the late Kurt Englebrook?”

  “Yes, that is correct. I am here on my late father’s behalf. He died several months ago, and my brother and I have recently had his art collection valued as it forms part of the estate. Our most trusted adviser is aware of what I am about to tell you, but, given the sensitivity, I wanted to come alone.”

  Intriguing. “Please carry on Mrs Unsworth-Murphy.”

  She dismissed his words with a friendly shake of her head. “Please call me Louise. My father was a wealthy man. The last piece he purchased was an early Picasso, a small piece. It was valued at £5 million, but my father paid £4 million for it.”

  Dewar’s brows drew together as she asked what he was thinking, “Why was the price less than the valuation?”

  “Because my father had to agree to some unusual terms. He had to keep his ownership of the painting secret until Kurt Englebrook died.”

  “Very unusual.”

  “Unusual and poorly drafted. The contract only bound my father, not any subsequent owner. We found the painting in my father’s safe and added it to the rest of the collection. We found the sale agreement in his papers.”

  Le Claire shook his head. “It does sound unorthodox, but I can’t see that a crime had been committed.”

  Louise leaned forward, a determined expression on her face. “Oh, a crime has been committed all right. There was some doubt on the painting’s authenticity, and we, therefore, had it analysed. I got the results back two days ago. Kurt Englebrook sold my father a fake. The painting is a forgery.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire sensed Eva Englebrooks dismissal through the telephone. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying. Some woman has said that Kurt sold her a fake? I can’t believe that.”

  Le Claire expected this as an initial reaction. “We have to take the complaint seriously. The lady has given us the details of the painting and a copy of the contract for sale. We understand that you would have inherited all the paperwork relating to the provenance and transactions around the art collection.”

  “Yes, all those papers are usually held together, to ensure ridiculous claims like this one don’t get any airtime or credence attached to them. Talk to the boy, but Kurt never sold any paintings. What painting are they claiming has been sold to them?”

  “A Picasso. Called Blue Mood Woman.”

  Her tut of annoyance was swiftly followed by a sharp exhalation. “This is a joke, someone comes crawling out the woodwork at a time like this. It’s a bloody scam, and I, for one, am not giving them the time of day.”

  Le Claire said, “Very well, but we will need to pursue this matter further. We would like your permission to look at the art-related paperwork.”

  “Do as you please. I’m not at home at the moment, but I’ll message Rudy to give you access to what you need. However, you should be searching for Kurt’s killer and not trying to pin some phantom crime on him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When they arrived at the family estate, a large van waited outside. A pale-faced Jessica was dressed more casually than he had seen her before, in jeans and a simple top. She was overseeing the loading of boxes and packing crates into the van. She shielded her eyes with the palm of her hand as if trying to see them better through the hazy sunshine. “Hello, can I help you?”

  “Yes, we called to speak to Rudy. I believe he is waiting for us with Richard Grainger.”

  She paused for a moment, then flicked her hand at the front entrance. “Go on in. You don’t need my permission. It isn’t my home anymore.”

  Dewar indicated the piles of boxes and asked, “Are you moving out?”

  “No, not yet. I’m getting some gear put into storage.”

  “We won’t keep you.” They headed to the front door. It opened as they approached, and Rudy came out with Richard Grainger.

  “Your telephone call took me by surprise,” Rudy said. “This woman is talking nonsense, but you can see whatever papers you need to. I can assure you that the only way my father would ever have sold a fake, would be if he bought it in the first place.”

  Grainger was quick to say, “And as my gallery has been responsible for the few purchases made these last years, I can assure you, I did not buy a fake. But that’s a moot point, as you shall see.”

  They followed the same route to the bespoke gallery building. Once inside, Grainger headed straight to the centre of the room and pointed at a small painting. “Behold Picasso’s Blue Mood Woman As you can see, we have the original painting right here. Kurt didn’t sell anything. The painting is right here, where it should be. I handled all his purchases, although, admittedly, he hadn’t bought anything for some years. I would also have dealt with any sale
s. That was part of my curatorship and covered, in part, by the retainer.”

  Le Claire didn’t know a great deal about art, and that didn’t bother him in the slightest. The painting looked quite simplistic to him. Geometric shapes slashed with primary colours, which, if he tilted his head to the side and squinted with one eye half-closed, could almost be representative of a female form.

  Dewar didn’t look too impressed either. “You are saying this is the original of a painting that Kurt Englebrook sold to another party, but that means he sold a fake, doesn’t it?”

  Rudy jumped to his late father’s defence. “That’s a load of rot. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. I won’t have my father’s name maligned in that way. He is barely gone, and the vultures are circling already. I don’t know what this woman is about, but she’ll get nothing from us. Nothing.”

  Le Claire soothed, “I appreciate that this is an upsetting allegation, but this is a murder enquiry, and we have to take notice of anything and everything connected to your father. The woman advised that she can back up her claims and has had some form of forensic analysis carried out. This is an extract.”

  Grainger grabbed the proffered paper, glancing at Rudy. “All a load of nonsense. I’ll shut this down immediately.” His face set, he quickly scanned the document. He stood still. Re-read the words, before saying to Rudy. “The Beider Institute carried out the investigation. They are foremost in their field, and yes, what the woman has is a fake because Kurt owned the original. But that doesn’t mean that her family got it from Kurt. She turns up here, shortly after a wealthy man has died, claiming he sold her a fake. Probably says she wants her money back.” He flicked a derisory glance at Le Claire. “I suggest you do your homework a little better next time.”

  Le Claire paused for a moment. Grainger was ticking him right off, but he couldn’t let it show. “It is a thread to follow in our investigations, and I assure you we shall. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  He kept the smile on his face until they were at the car, then said, “Grainger seemed a tad arrogant. Maybe that’s his nature but look into him. We also need to see Englebrook’s bank statements. Louise Unsworth-Murphy said she has a transfer notification showing the funds going from her dad to Englebrook. Let’s check his accounts. It should be easy enough.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire faced Eva. “As you can see, we do have an issue. There is a bank draft showing a payment made by the alleged victim to one of your ex-husband’s bank accounts. An account we don’t have access to yet, but we will soon. The victim’s daughter has confirmed that another painting was previously purchased from the Englebrook collection by her father. We understand that to be an original piece. It has been checked.”

  “But dad didn’t sell any of his art,” Rudy said. “I am sick of hearing this. What was the other painting they say he sold them?”

  Dewar checked her notes. “It’s Joy.”

  Rudy gasped. “No way. That painting is hanging in the gallery.”

  Le Claire said, “That is another matter for potential concern but let’s concentrate on known facts. We have what appears to be written confirmation from a specialised institute that they checked the painting, Blue Mood Woman, at the point it was offered for sale. Before the transaction completed, they confirmed it as an original, but the one now owned by the victim is a fake.”

  Rudy drew back as his mother’s enraged words filled the room. “This is a bloody outrage. Kurt’s collection was famous. Everyone knew what he had in it. It wasn’t a secret. I’m sure someone would have noticed if he was purporting to sell off some of the art.” Eva spoke to her son, “I intended to get the entire collection valued and analysed anyway, but let’s do it sooner rather than later. The estate will need to pay for it as I don’t have the money, and it will cost. If word gets out that someone is saying the collection contains fakes, then the whole damn lot will be suspect and devalued. Let’s beat them at their own game.”

  Rudy took a breath before speaking, but his mother cut across him. “If there is the slightest chance your father was involved in forgeries, I want to know that collection is legit as soon as possible.”

  “Mum, please calm down.”

  “No, I won’t damn well calm down. You’ve no idea what I put up with over the years.”

  “You and dad divorced over a decade ago.”

  “I still had to keep him sweet in ways you won’t want to hear about. The divorce agreement only went so far. It didn’t say he had to leave me all the artwork he possessed when we divorced. Only the artwork he owned at the time of his death. Kurt could have sold the lot, and I’d get little or nothing. I didn’t realise that till later.”

  Grainger said, “Don’t worry. I can value it for you.”

  “Really?” Her voice was a sneer. Grainger’s mouth stayed curved in a smile, but his eyes glittered with chips of ice. “I think I need to know that everything is fine. We’ll use some London people I know. They can spot a fake a mile off, which you seem incapable of. You are the damn curator.”

  “Don’t go on, Eva. Kurt didn’t let me near the collection for ages, and no bloody wonder if he had fakes in it.”

  Rudy said, “That’s not entirely correct. You were too busy sashaying about London with your fancy gallery to care about Dad’s collection in Jersey. What you need to do now is protect this collection.”

  “I don’t need to do anything,” Grainger said. “But I will investigate this, for Eva’s sake.”

  “My sake? When did you care about me? I thought Jessica took up too much of your time to think about anyone else.”

  Le Claire butted in, “Whoa—stop. I can see that there is some animosity here. But please shelve it.” In his head, he added, At least until I’m out of here.

  ◆◆◆

  Chloe watched through weary eyes as Jessica paced her small lounge. She supplied a takeaway and wine while Jessica provided the angst. “First, Kurt, then Susan. This family is cursed. I can’t believe I’m a widow.”

  Chloe considered her elder sister. It had to be all about Jess. Jessica always got what she wanted, no matter the cost to anyone else. She’d gone after married Kurt Englebrook with a battery of wiles, wrapped in a gym-honed body, a perfectly made-up face and cloaked in expensive perfume. He hadn’t stood a chance, but you can’t steal someone who doesn’t want to be taken.

  “You made out that you were fed up with him.”

  “I don’t recall saying so.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. It was right after I came upon you and Richard flirting like demons in the pool house.”

  Her sister’s face flushed an angry red, and her eyes narrowed. “Quit that. Don’t remind me. It was so embarrassing.”

  “What was? Me almost catching you in the act, or being caught cheating, even figuratively, on your husband?”

  Jessica’s shoulders slumped and the air puffed out of her as she sank farther into the plump cushions of the sofa. “Richard and I are friends. I haven’t slept with him, honest. It’s been a lovely flirtation, and I need that every now and again to keep me going. Ah, Chloe. You know me so well. You know everything about me.”

  Chloe knew a lot about her sister, but did she know everything or, indeed, how far Jessica would go to get what she wanted? She shivered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Rudy waited by the open door and quietly watched Angela as she stood at her easel. Clearly unaware of his presence, she huffed out a breath of air to dislodge an errant curl that strayed across her face. He rarely entered her studio and couldn’t recall ever appearing there uninvited. She didn’t like anyone to see her work until it was complete. He could understand that. Angela may look arty, and her sense of style verged on the hippie-ish, but he knew she was a perfectionist.

  He smiled at her look of total absorption and concentration, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her brush breathed life into whatever she was creating. He’d love to sneak up behind her and pe
ek, but she’d go crazy—and he didn’t need any more drama at the moment.

  He cleared his throat with a cough and rapped his knuckles on the door. Angela jumped, and her brush fell to the floor. Her eyes caught his before swiftly sweeping across the room, resting for a moment on the large stack of paintings leaning against the far wall, their backs facing out, their painted fronts concealed. Tension seeped from her bones, and she turned back to him. “You gave me such a fright. What are you doing here?”

  Her smile was wide as she flipped a canvas cover over her easel to conceal her current work in progress.

  He wanted to laugh at her evident relief that he couldn’t see her latest work of art.

  “I called into the gallery, and they said you were working here. Something terrible has happened; some woman has turned up and is claiming that Dad sold her family a forgery.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “You have got to be kidding. A forged what? Surely not a painting?”

  “They say they have papers to prove that Dad sold them Blue Mood Woman.”

  She laughed. “Well, there you go. It’s obviously some chancer.”

  “Wait for it. You’ll love this. They claim Dad also sold them Joy.”

  “I had no idea your dad was selling paintings. He always said he never sold. He just bought and added to the collection.”

  “They apparently have had valuations carried out by the Beider Institute. They believe the Joy purported to have been sold is the original, but Blue Mood Woman is a fake. If that is true, then our Joy is a forgery, and god only knows about Blue Mood Woman. Richard says these Beider people are legit. Have you heard of them?”

  “Vaguely. It all seems extremely strange. What are you going to do?”

  “Not what I’m going to do. The collection isn’t mine. It belongs to Mum. She has some people she knows in London and wants them to review and analyse every single piece of art.”