Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  Le Claire addressed Eva’s sons. “The doctor called. He said your mother has regained consciousness.”

  “Yes, that’s what we were told. We got here as soon as we could and have been waiting for almost an hour.”

  Grainger and Chloe had joined them. Grainger said, “Apparently, they are running some tests before we can see or speak to Eva. “

  The door opened, and all heads swivelled to see Dr Brian Foster exit the room. He said, “Eva woke up several hours ago. She’s a little groggy, but apart from that, her mind doesn’t seem to have been affected. We already know there was some damage to her internal organs, and that will take time for her to recover. However, the burns within her mouth will clear up within a couple of months. It has been a massively lucky escape, but she will be fine in time.”

  Chloe said, “That’s wonderful news.” She gently ran her hand up and down Nils’s upper arm as she spoke. Le Claire could clearly see the bond between them; it wasn’t only blood that gave you the right to call someone family.

  The doctor glanced at Grainger before he turned to Rudy and Nils. “As her sons, I believe you should be the first to go and see Eva.” Before he had finished speaking, they had entered the room.

  Grainger seemed a little lost, and Le Claire could only think that he was anxious to see his wife.

  The door opened, and a nurse came out. “Mrs Englebrook is becoming agitated and asking to see a Richard. Would that be you?”

  “Yes, yes, it is.” And he followed the nurse into the room. Le Claire moved to do the same. “I hate to crowd the situation, but I do want to see Eva’s reaction to her sons and husband.”

  Brian Foster nodded his agreement. Chloe smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I came to support Rudy and Nils. I’ll see Eva later.”

  Le Claire closed the door behind him, blocking the outside world. Eva was propped up on her pillows, the hospital bed moved to a sitting position. She was, as expected, pale and colourless. Without her confident eyes and bold makeup, she seemed vulnerable. Her lips were bleached of any colour, and she was obviously having some difficulty in speaking. She held on to Grainger’s hand—tight. He bent his head and placed a gentle kiss on her pale knuckles. She smiled, then seemed to recall herself, pulled back and glanced at her sons. Grainger said, “Don’t worry. They know we’re married.”

  Her eyes drooped, and her mouth slackened before she turned to her boys. “I am so sorry, I couldn’t tell you. You must hate me.” Her voice was raspy from her days of silence.

  Rudy immediately protested. “No, Mum. I can’t say we understand why you couldn’t tell us, but we don’t care. You must have had your reasons.”

  “I did. Your father would have made our lives hell. He didn’t want me, but he didn’t want anyone else to have me either. He’d have played games and stopped the alimony. I knew him all too well. Richard and I couldn’t openly be together while your father was alive. Sad circumstances, but it’s different now.” She choked, and the nurse gently patted her back and held a glass for her to take some sips of water.

  Le Claire said, “I am so glad you are back with us. Do you remember anything at all?”

  “No, my throat was on fire, and my head was spinning. Waves of nausea, one after the other, and I don’t remember anything else until the moment I awoke. Dr Foster has filled me in, but I don’t understand what happened.”

  Le Claire glanced at the others. He’d like to see their reactions. “It was your e-cigarette.”

  “How could I have that reaction to an e-cigarette? They’ve been tested and everything.”

  “Your e-cigarette vial contained a concoction of Class A drugs. Where did you get it?”

  “I couldn’t find the one I was using at the party. So, I went to my room and got the spare that came with it.”

  “Shit! That’s what did this? We gave it to Mum to stop her from bloody smoking. We bought it in town; it came in a box with a spare machine and vials.” Rudy drew back, shaking his head.

  Nils was pale, staring. “Mum, you can’t think I had anything to do with this. I didn’t.”

  “Of course, you didn’t. How could this have happened? How?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to find out.” Le Claire focussed his attention on Nils. “There have been comments about your drug-taking. Answer me, truthfully, are you still using drugs?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Nils, you have to tell the truth. It’ll only be bad for you if it comes out later.” Chloe Marsden stood in the doorway.

  “Shit, Chloe. I am not using anything. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “I followed you. You met a man and gave him money; said you were paying off your debt. You asked for a little something, and he gave you a small bag. It was filled with something white—not tablets, a powder. He said it was something new as a freebie.”

  His features slackened. “Where the hell were you?”

  “In the hedgerow above you.”

  “It’s not what you think. I gave up using over a year ago, but with everything that’s been going on—Dad, the business—I had a wobble. I didn’t use any of it, though. I still have it.”

  Le Claire said, “If you don’t mind, we will need to get someone to meet you at your house to retrieve the drugs you say you have.”

  “Of course. When?”

  “In a moment, but first I need to update you on our findings. You already know that the buyer of Blue Mood Woman claim it is a fake. With Mrs Englebrook’s previous agreement, we had the painting taken from the collection and transported to a London testing facility. Both copies are fakes.”

  A cacophony of noise—shocked explanations and questions—greeted this announcement.

  Le Claire held up his hands. “One at a time, please.”

  A red-faced Rudy was first to collect his thoughts. “So not only are you saying our father lied to us and sold at least one painting from his collection, but he substituted fakes for the originals? I cannot believe you have any proof that my father was involved. This is a slanderous allegation, and we will take action should you continue in this vein.”

  Le Claire waited for a beat. He was getting tired. “I am trying to find your father’s murderer. I find that a crime has been committed regarding the sale of a painting, purportedly by your father. I need to get to the bottom of this to find a killer. And I will. Is that understood?”

  Rudy was tight-lipped and grim; the fight disappeared with a slump of his shoulders. “Look, my dad wouldn’t sell a forgery. I just know it. Fair enough, but as you say, it’s your job to find a killer. Where are you on that?”

  Le Claire simply took it. Emotions ran high under these circumstances, and he had to roll with the punches. “We are making headway. I can’t discuss any more now.” Mainly because he didn’t even know where they were headed himself.

  Eva started coughing, and all attention was on her. The nurse came from the corner of the room and acted with efficiency as she soothed her patient and dispensed water and a tissue. “Was that the only painting he sold?”

  “I am afraid we understand there could be as many as a dozen pieces that have been sold.”

  “Bastard. I hope Kurt rots in hell.” Her voice was a fierce whisper, her words a curse.

  “Mum!” Rudy and Nils chimed a synchronised admonition.

  “Don’t Mum me. I’m bloody furious. All the crap I put up with—for years—and he does this to me. I should have known that he wouldn’t keep his word.”

  Grainger perched on the edge of the bed and gently pulled his wife into a tender embrace. “Never mind, darling. We’ve more than enough, and we’ve got each other.”

  “I know, but he robbed us of years. Years that I loved you and could have been with you openly if wasn’t for the fear that he’d do something to spite us. That he’d find a way to renege on his promises about the divorce settlement.” Her voice was a rasp, and she sank into the pillows with a pained expression.

  “I think that’s eno
ugh for today. I’ll have to ask you to leave.” Brian Foster’s voice brooked no dissension, and Le Claire had got as much as he could hope for.

  “Very well.” He turned to Nils. “If I could ask you to stay in the waiting room while I organise for someone to go home with you.”

  “Sure.”

  Eva said, “I don’t know who is doing all of this, but you find them. They almost destroyed my life; now, I want them to pay.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Le Claire sipped at his coffee as he flicked through his notebook. He squinted as he tried to make out his hurried scrawl. Penny had talked fast, and he’d done his best to keep up. Colin Chapman had received few visitors since his release. He’d apparently lived a quiet life. His only visitor was his lawyer. Penny had confirmed this was the same woman who had represented Chapman when his case was thrown out. Why was she visiting Chapman? He couldn’t imagine they had a relationship. In her forties, Larsen was about thirty years older than Chapman’s perverted preference. The surveillance was unofficial, and that didn’t sit right with him. But Chapman was dangerous, and the London Met knew that. Le Claire had his own beef with Chapman; the man was a rapist, an abuser and a killer—a sadistic one at that. Le Claire would spend a lifetime with regret that he hadn’t been able to save April Baines, but he had to respect the judicial system, even though it was an ass at times. But Chapman had moved into a different league of pissing him off when he’d telephoned his home and spoken to his wife. No, Chapman had brought it to his door; now it was time to retaliate. And he needed intel to understand what kind of danger Chapman posed to his family.

  Chapman’s lawyer had been to see him several times, often staying until late at night. Le Claire knew that Chapman was into women younger than his, admittedly, attractive lawyer. Perhaps he was trying to fool her, or maybe his tastes had widened. One thing was for sure, she’d be a lot safer keeping back from him.

  “Ahem. Excuse me. Can I have a word?”

  He jolted, shocked back to the present at Dewar’s voice. “Yes, yes, of course. What is it?”

  “If you don’t want to answer, simply say so, but I want to help if I can. Are you worried that Colin Chapman is going to come to Jersey? His name is on the notification list at the airport.”

  He hadn’t been expecting that. He’d put an alert at the entry points to the island—the airport and harbour. If Chapman looked to enter the island, he’d be flagged and detained. Le Claire knew from a previous case that there were other, illegal entry routes into Jersey, but he couldn’t keep an eye on every inch of coastline. He had no option but to confess.

  “I filed an internal notification to the chief. We got a call at home a couple of months ago. Sasha answered. The caller said they were an old friend of mine and she passed the phone to me. It was Chapman.”

  “Shit. Why would he do that?”

  “I have no idea. It’s a fallacy that criminals go after the police on some kind of personal vendetta. That rarely happens. I can’t second-guess what Chapman is up to. There’s little precedent for something like this.”

  “Where is he at the moment?”

  “We don’t know. Gareth and Penny were keeping an eye on him—unofficially, of course. But he’s gone. Left his rented flat and didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

  “And there’s no way of finding out any more through official channels as he isn’t wanted for a crime or under investigation.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We?”

  “We’re partners. That pig brought his filth to your door. He crossed the line and entered your private life. How is Sasha doing?”

  “Fine. I haven’t told her. There’s no point until I actually have something concrete to say.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? She’ll be fuming when she finds out you kept this from her.”

  “I know.” He was starting to feel glum.

  “Have you spoken to anyone who treated Chapman? Can Gareth get access to those notes? See if he mentioned you? It might give you an idea as to whether he’s got a grudge or not.”

  “I think I can safely say I am probably top of Chapman’s most-wanted list. But whether he’d do anything is another matter. I need to protect Sasha and our life. As for asking Gareth, he has done enough. I couldn’t ask him to put his neck on the line. After all, I’ve only had one phone call that I can positively attribute to Chapman. There was another one, a wrong number that made me suspicious. But you’ve got a point. I’ll see if Gareth has any names. Take it forward myself.”

  ◆◆◆

  An hour later, Le Claire met a harassed-looking Dewar outside the interview room. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a guest. It’s the first time someone’s been brought into questioning for not having drugs in their possession.”

  “Nils?”

  “Yep. Masters and Hunter took him home. There aren’t any drugs there. Apparently, Nils went berserk, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s either still using and lied about it, or his drugs went into the toxic cocktail that Eva inhaled.”

  Nils Englebrook’s grey face and grim expression changed to one of desperation as they entered the room and sat.

  “I swear I’m clean. Yes, I’m drinking too much, but I’m working on one vice at a time. Someone took the drugs. I swear.”

  “No drugs were found at your home. What did you expect to be there?”

  Nils didn’t speak.

  “I’m not going to charge you for possession of something you no longer have. Tell me what you believe has been taken.”

  He licked his lips. “Coke, some speed and a few different pills. I never took anything. I wanted—no, I needed it as a backup. Just in case I had to have it. But I didn’t, I swear.”

  “Who do you think stole them?”

  “I don’t know. Anyone in the house could access my room.”

  “Were they hidden?”

  “I kept them in the bathroom cabinet in my ensuite. In a wash-bag.”

  “That’s a cunning hiding place.”

  He seemed a little shamefaced. “I suppose it sounds a little ridiculous.”

  “Well, you’re saying Class A drugs were left in easy access for pretty much anyone in your house. So yes, it does seem a little lax. Who bought your mother the e-cigarette? Did you?”

  “No, it was Rudy. But he wouldn’t harm Mum any more than I would.”

  “I’m going to need you to compile a list of anyone who could have access to your room and the drugs.”

  Dewar asked, “What’s happening with that bank loan? The big one that’s been called in.”

  He drew back, obviously startled by the change in subject. “We’ve still got a few weeks to find the money. We’re working on it.”

  Le Claire said, “In what way?”

  “We’re hoping Mum will put either the house or land up as security. The entire art collection has a question mark over it now and will need an intensive analysis.”

  “What do you make of your mother’s new husband?”

  “What? It’s a shock, of course.”

  “I didn’t ask about her marriage, but about what you think of the man.”

  Nils was unsmiling. “Richard’s okay. It’s Mum’s decision, and we’ll support her.”

  “Okay, get that list written. Then you can go. It’s late. We’ll make a start on it tomorrow.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire ripped off his tie as he walked through his front door, throwing his jacket on the plumped-up armchair in the hallway. He’d never understood why you needed a chair in what was a walk-through unless it was to hold your coat.

  Dinner was on, and the smell of roasting chicken enticed him into the kitchen. Sasha was in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Her feet bare, she padded from the cooker to the fridge and back again. She poured milk into a mug of steaming coffee, the aroma as enticing as dinner.

  “Hey, you got one of those for me?”

  She
smiled. “Sure. Take this one. I’ll make another one for myself.” She handed him the mug. Their hands touched, and she pulled away. She flashed a brief smile, but her eyes didn’t meet his. “I need to get dinner out.”

  Something was wrong. He racked his brain. Couldn’t think what it might be.

  “Honey, I know something’s up. Don’t say there isn’t. I’m up to my neck in it, and I don’t have time for games.” In his tiredness, he hadn’t filtered his words, hadn’t considered how they might sound.

  “Games? You think I’m playing games?”

  “Well, you’re in a mood about something.”

  “What would I have to be in a mood about? I must be the luckiest girl in Jersey. I rarely see my husband, and when I do, he’s obsessing about his job, and he doesn’t bloody bother turning up at the specialists to look into something as unimportant as having kids.” She spat the words, and he recoiled.

  Christ, he was a jerk. “Was that today?”

  “Yes. I apologised profusely for wasting the doctor’s time. He was lovely, and then I started crying. So, I’ve had a crap day, thank you. How was yours, sweetie?”

  “Don’t be like that, Sasha. I forgot. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you phone me?”

  “Because I know you do an important job. I know, and I do understand. But I felt such a fool today, and all I could think was that we will never have children. IVF takes time and effort; it takes both of us, as does raising kids. So maybe we need to rethink things.”

  “I want us to do this. I do. Make another appointment, and I’ll be there. I promise.”

  “Let’s leave it for now. You’re busy, and that’s not an accusation. It’s just how it is. Get this case solved, and we’ll take it from there.”

  “I’m mortified that I forgot. Why didn’t you remind me?”

  “I did, at breakfast. You looked like you heard me, I assumed you were listening, and you said you’d be there. Don’t worry about it. I’ve said my piece, and I’m calm now, but you’ll have to make time for this; otherwise, it will never happen.”