Blood Ties: Obsession, secrets, desire and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  Another team was looking into Scott Hamlyn’s life. Le Claire had put DI Bryce Masters in charge of the sub-team. Le Claire might not like the smug Masters, who, with his gleaming smile, sleek black hair and handsome looks, was a walking advert for the police, but he knew Masters had a nose for digging around in the debris of a person’s life – even if he couldn’t stand the man, he had to give him credit where it was due.

  “Sir? I mean Le Claire…” He turned as Dewar walked into his office. “Masters is digging into Hamlyn’s financials, and Hunter is reviewing his social media sites whilst we’re running a hit on the police national database.”

  “Thanks, Dewar. That only leaves one thing to do, and I better be the one to carry out that task. Let’s go and collect Scott Hamlyn’s parents.”

  #

  Viera was waiting for them. Le Claire had called and asked if he would meet them at the morgue. The young doctor had a pleasant manner and was, to his disadvantage, a calming force in such circumstances. Sarah and Charles Hamlyn hadn’t said much on the way into town. They’d sat in the back of the car, a seat breadth between them, as each had stared out of their respective windows, seemingly lost in their own private and, apparently, separate grief.

  The morgue was an antiseptic, cold-tiled and cheerless space. It had a function, and it did its job. Hamlyn’s body had been moved into the viewing area. From the way the parents held themselves as they stood in that ice-cold and unnatural place, Le Claire knew they were holding their breath, hoping against hope that it wasn’t their son that lay beneath the hospital-issue sheet. At Le Claire’s nod, Viera exposed the head.

  “Oh dear Lord – no, no – this is so much worse than I expected. It’s him, it’s him.” Sarah Hamlyn’s anguished sobs echoed against the walls. Her husband reached out and pulled her into a comforting embrace, his arms holding her tight. From the slight stiffness of her body before she sank against her husband, Le Claire wondered if it had been a very long time since the Hamlyns had touched each other.

  Charles Hamlyn’s eyes met Le Claire’s. His voice was broken. “That’s Scott. That’s our son.”

  “Thank you. Come this way, please. We’ll get you some refreshments and then take you home.”

  With an economy of movement and a competent air, Dewar had them swiftly settled into one of the small interview rooms and fulfilled the requested orders with Styrofoam cups of tea and coffee.

  Sarah Hamlyn cupped hers in both hands. She sipped and sighed. “Somehow, at a time like this, tea is so soothing.”

  Dewar replied with a rare smile. “Tea is my go-to medicine for many ailments, physical or of the mind or heart.”

  Le Claire saw Sarah Hamlyn shoot a sad smile in Dewar’s direction. The dour Scot amazed him sometimes; beneath her brash nature beat a poetic heart, although he had to admit it was seldom seen.

  Charles Hamlyn said, “I’ll put the undertakers on notice. When can they collect Scott?”

  Le Claire cleared his throat. There were matters they needed to discuss. “I’m afraid we can’t release the body at the moment. Not until the Home Office pathologist arrives in the island and carries out the autopsy. We also need to tie up some loose ends.”

  Charles Hamlyn’s eyes sharpened. “Last night you said you had to treat Scott’s death as suspicious until you knew more. Have you found out anything?”

  “Scott’s body was discovered in the swimming pool at Honfleur Manor. Several indicators at the scene were inconsistent with accidental drowning. A detailed autopsy will be required before the body can be released. Scott also had a deep gash on his head.”

  Sarah Hamlyn’s voice was shaking. “Are you saying someone killed Scott?”

  “We just need to be sure that any anomalies are cleared up and discarded from our investigation.”

  Charles Hamlyn’s voice was strident. “Ridiculous! You’re putting us through this for nothing, nothing at all. No one would have had any reason to harm Scott.”

  His wife’s voice was weary. “Charles, we don’t know that. Not after the last few months. In truth, we didn’t know him any longer.”

  Le Claire’s interest was caught. Not-so-happy family, then. “Had Scott, or his circumstances, changed recently?”

  Sarah Hamlyn looked at her husband; she appeared to be weighing up her words. “My son never gave us a moment’s trouble. He was one of the youngest advocates ever to qualify in Jersey. He lived for his work and came for dinner every Friday and Sunday and once during the week. Scott wasn’t one for going out much. He had some old school friends that he occasionally met up with. He didn’t make friends easy, as he could be a little shy and quiet.”

  Charles Hamlyn cut in. “Sarah, you always saw him through a mother’s rose-tinted glasses.” He sighed, leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “Scott was my child, and I loved him dearly. However, he could be arrogant and standoffish; some of that was driven by shyness, yes, but he also got irritated by people who weren’t up to his intellectual standards.” He sighed, ran a hand across his brow. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know the truth.”

  His wife’s tone was shrill. “Truth? You want us to tell the truth?” Anger reverberated through her words. “Fine. Scott changed, Detective. I half thought he might be taking drugs or something. That’s what happens when you run with a fast crowd. It’s that girl’s fault.”

  Charles Hamlyn snarled, “Stop it! He was just happy.”

  Le Claire had to bring this back on track. “Mrs Hamlyn, you mentioned a female. Who do you mean?”

  Sarah Hamlyn sighed. “It gives me no pleasure to say this but Scott became foolish over a woman. Her name is Laura Brown – a little bird of a name for a whopping predator.”

  Dewar asked, “Predator? I take it you had concerns about Miss Brown’s involvement in your son’s life?”

  Sarah Hamlyn’s snort filled the air. “Oh indeed. I have met Laura Brown once – just once – and that was enough for me. I know that type. Scott was an okay-looking chap, but he earned a great deal of money, and that has its own allure. Laura Brown swooped in and flattered him, and now my son is dead. Nothing bad ever happened in his life until he met her – and then it all went wrong. That woman has no morals.” Her voice ended with a sob that cut the air.

  Dewar pulled out her notepad. “Where can we find Miss Brown?”

  “She lives in London, but I don’t have any contact details for her. However, Scott had declined Sunday lunch with us today as he said she was coming to visit. I think he gave her a key, so I assume she’s at the flat. I’ll give you the address. It’s in St Clement.”

  Sarah Hamlyn looked him over. “You might be young, but you caught that vicious killer a while back, didn’t you? I read about it in the Evening Post. I want to know who did this to my son. I’m putting my trust in you.”

  “We’ll do our best. Please wait here and I’ll send someone in to take you home.”

  He headed out to the car, Dewar close behind him, and said, “We better go see this Laura Brown.”

  “Mrs Hamlyn certainly didn’t like her.”

  “Scott Hamlyn was hardly a kid. I wonder if there was tension between him and the parents; certainly the mother at least.”

  Dewar headed east as he stared out the window. His mind was busy with thoughts of uninvited guests and how Scott Hamlyn’s life had ended in a rich man’s swimming pool.

  Chapter Six

  Dewar pulled the car into the visitor parking in front of the imposing granite apartment block. The high, arched balconies were softened by the mass of wisteria that wound its way over the facia. Wide, deep steps ran up to intricate wrought-iron gates. They were unlocked, and the pair entered a large courtyard that lay between the road-front and seafront-facing buildings. Le Claire pointed to the seaside block. “That’s the one we want. I had a friend whose parents lived in a neighbouring flat.”

  “And yet again I see how the other half lives. It’s enough to give a girl an i
nferiority complex.”

  From what she had commented on in the months they had been working together, Le Claire figured that she either had socialist leanings or a huge chip on her shoulder. Neither was his concern or issue, but he was still glad that she didn’t know just how well-heeled his own parents were. Guilt made him sharper than called for. “These are nice places, but let’s just get on with our jobs, shall we?”

  The main doors to the apartment block lay open, wedged in place with a cheese-shaped piece of wood. Le Claire raised a mental eyebrow at the sloppy security. They made their way up in the lift, and at his sharp knock, the apartment door was opened by a stunningly beautiful woman. She was taller than average, slender but with impressive curves. Her eyes were a sharp, brilliant blue, showcased in a heart-shaped face. Her shoulder-length hair was an expensive, smooth fall of caramel tones and blonde highlights. Le Claire’s eyes widened a little, and he saw the trace of a smile flash across the woman’s face – she was no doubt used to inspiring that reaction in those who met her, and he flushed as he cursed his lack of control.

  He flashed his police card. “Are you Miss Laura Brown?”

  She looked surprised and a little wary, but this was swiftly covered with a polite smile. “Yes, I am. How may I help you?”

  “It would be better if we spoke inside.”

  Laura Brown hesitated for just a moment, a slice of a second, and then nodded and beckoned them in. They passed through a long hallway that led to a wide, spacious lounge decorated in classic yellow and pale blue, mirroring the view. One entire wall was made of glass, which overlooked the sandy beach. The tide was out, and the foreshore gave way to a rocky seabed with formations that resembled a lunarscape. Dewar gasped, and Le Claire couldn’t blame her.

  Laura Brown just looked at them, didn’t say a word, which was a little unusual, as most people with nothing to hide were usually vocal and demanding about the police turning up at their door.

  “Miss Brown, would you please confirm your relationship with Scott Hamlyn?”

  Now she looked puzzled. “Scott is my boyfriend. I’m sorry, but what’s it got to do with you?”

  Le Claire took on the job of life changer and soul destroyer. “I am sorry to tell you that Mr Hamlyn was found dead last night.”

  Laura Brown’s face was a blank, devoid of any discernible emotion. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Le Claire had encountered this numerous times before, the refusal of the brain to accept what the ears were hearing. “Mr Hamlyn was found dead in a private swimming pool.”

  “No, no, no. You’ve made a mistake. Let’s phone Scott. He’ll just have gone to the shops for the papers or something. I’ll call him.”

  Dewar stepped forward. “Sit down, please.” She gently led an unresisting Laura Brown to one of the long sofas. Her Scots burr was soothing and calming: “I am very sorry, but Mr Hamlyn has been identified by his parents. There is no doubt that it’s him.”

  “Oh Christ – no – I just can’t believe this. No, this can’t be true.” She shook her head as she spoke, a violent motion, as if she tried to dislodge their words. She closed her eyes, crossed her arms and wrapped them tight around herself as she rocked back and forth, a pained wail accompanying her tears. They let her be. After a moment, her eyes opened, and he was taken aback by the force of her watery blue gaze. She took a few gasping breaths.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Mr Hamlyn was found in the swimming pool complex of a private house where a large party was taking place. Where did he say he was going last night?”

  “He didn’t. I wasn’t due to arrive until this morning. I’d only just got here when you came to the door. I can’t take this in. He can’t be dead, he can’t. What was he doing at this house? Where is it?”

  “In St Ouen, a Honfleur Manor. Do you know it?”

  It seemed to him that her face was carefully blank. “No, I can’t imagine why Scott would have been there.”

  Dewar asked, “Can we call someone to stay with you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. There isn’t anyone.”

  Le Claire said, “What about Mr Hamlyn’s parents?”

  Laura Brown’s laughter was sharp and devoid of mirth. “I’ll find no support there. Sarah Hamlyn can’t stand me. Hates that Scott loves me – oh God, it’s loved now – he loved me. We were talking about getting married. This is all so surreal.”

  “May I ask where you met Mr Hamlyn?”

  “We met at a party, about six months ago.”

  Le Claire considered his next question but knew he had to ask it. “Miss Brown, was Mr Hamlyn in the habit of using large amounts of cash?”

  She looked surprised. “Not really. Although he did prefer cash when he went on holiday or came to see me in London. Said he felt vulnerable if he only had a cashline card on him when he was out of the island. He used his Amex for day to day stuff; he was obsessed with spending enough to get a British Airways companion voucher so we could fly first class to the Maldives. We’re going there later in the year.” Her face crumpled, and her eyes filled with tears, which she held back with loud, hitching sobs.

  “Thank you, Miss Brown. I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to stay on the island for a few days until we’ve completed our investigations. We must treat Mr Hamlyn’s death as suspicious until we know all the facts.”

  “Of course, I understand.”

  They left Laura Brown sitting in a room bathed in sunlight, her head in her hands and, no doubt, her immediate future in ruins.

  #

  Le Claire was slouched on Sasha’s sofa; head thrown back, eyes closed and empty wineglass in hand. He’d left work, picked up dinner from a beachfront cafe and driven to Sasha’s place.

  He could hear her busy movements as she loaded the dishwasher. He should offer to help, but he was exhausted, which dampened any feelings of guilt. The couch gave way as Sasha sat next to him. He opened his eyes, and she was half-turned toward him, a look of concern on her face.

  “You look tired. Why don’t you go and have a lie down in the bedroom. I’ll wake you later.”

  He smiled, a teasing note in his voice. “If I end up in your bed, I won’t be sleeping, or at least not straightaway.”

  “You’re far too shattered for that. Rough day?”

  “Yes, I took the parents to identify the body this morning. Then I had to tell his girlfriend. Not good.”

  “It’s all over the news. They’ve released the name, Scott Hamlyn.”

  He grimaced. “We’ve got to be quick at announcing things like this; otherwise social media users fill the air with misconceptions and half-truths.”

  “My mum knows his parents. Not well, but they have some friends in common.”

  “What’s the gossip?”

  She bristled, as he knew she would. “Not gossip! Mind you. Mum says Mrs Hamlyn is a bit intense.”

  “In what way?”

  “She chairs a women’s movement. You know, the one that had a big demonstration in the Royal Square a couple of months back.”

  He sat up straight. “As I recall, a group of about fifty women congregated outside the parliament building to protest against legal highs. A couple of them even got arrested for throwing eggs at the Senators as they came out. Some of the uniforms got splattered as well.”

  Sasha’s lips pursed. “I can’t believe you arrested them.”

  “It wasn’t me, and it was only to give them a fright. What’s the group called again?”

  “MAI, pronounced May. Mothers Against Immorality.”

  He couldn’t help his scepticism. “I wonder what their manifesto is.”

  “Very funny. Mum got dragged into going to one of their meetings once. She said it was one huge moan-fest about how dissolute the younger generation is today, how easy drugs are to obtain and how rubbish the police are. Sorry.”

  “No offence taken. They seem pretty innocuous.”<
br />
  “Mum says the conversation took an uncomfortable turn. They were talking about a mutual acquaintance, and they were trashing this woman. Her daughter moved in with the boyfriend and had a kid without getting married. Seemingly, the ladies were disgusted. Mum left after that. She couldn’t stand their old-fashioned thinking. She said Sarah Hamlyn was one of the most vocal.”

  “It amazes me that people like that even exist.”

  He thought of Sarah Hamlyn, and he could envisage her as some morality crusader. He knew she hadn’t approved of her son’s girlfriend. How deep-rooted did that run?

  Sasha’s voice broke into his musing. “How tired are you, Jack?”

  He yawned, stretching weary arms over his head until he felt his aching shoulders pop. “Shattered.”

  “That is a shame.” She was looking up at him from beneath lowered lids.

  He shifted. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, seems to me you made promises on Saturday night. Don’t for one minute think I’m upset you didn’t come back here. You have a job to do, and it’s interfered with more plans than I can recall.”

  Her lips were parted, and her eyes darkened as she continued. “But you’re here now. Pity you’re tired.”

  He smiled; felt an adrenalin rush as energy and anticipation poured through his veins. He stood, pulled her to her feet, his grin getting wider. “I’m never that tired, love. Come here; I guess I’m staying the night.”

  #

  Laura had walked for hours through the country lanes. She’d had to get out of the apartment and escape her own thoughts. Her life had been settled; she’d been content and opened herself up to Scott in a way she hadn’t dared for a long time, if ever. Now she was adrift again.