“That’s exactly who I mean, and please don’t mess with me. I know you knew her.” Le Claire hoped his gambit would work. He was simply guessing that he was the Danny who Laura thought had called her.
There was a pause, then a heavy sigh. “Look, Laura and I had a fling years ago when we both lived in London. It wasn’t exclusive, and it wasn’t long before she’d moved on to someone else. That girl always fancied a champagne lifestyle on someone else’s money. There’s nothing more to say.” His shrug apparently declared the matter closed.
Dewar quickly asked, “Did Scott Hamlyn know you’d had a relationship with Laura? Was he jealous?”
“What bullshit is this? I don’t know if Laura ever told him. Why would she?”
Le Claire took over. “Perhaps it’s you who was jealous. Laura is a beautiful woman. Maybe you wanted her back, and Hamlyn was in your way.”
Aidan Gillespie butted in. “Enough of this bullshit.”
Danny was emboldened by his brother’s support. “Yeah. Why don’t you go and ask Laura? She’ll tell it like I did.”
Le Claire was unsmiling. “Where were you last night? Can you account for your whereabouts?”
Danny tightened his mouth and narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is this all about?”
“Laura Brown is in hospital. She was savagely beaten and is in a critical condition. This ‘bullshit’, as you put it, is about attempted murder. So I ask you again – where were you last night?”
Gillespie’s voice slashed across their conversation. “I can vouch for my brother. We had a quiet night at home. Stop playing with words. Either charge my brother with something, or get out of my house.”
“We’re going, but I can guarantee we’ll be looking at you very closely – both of you.”
#
Le Claire was quietly ensconced in his office, checking some case reports, when an excited Hunter came rushing in. It was the young PC’s day off, and he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a skull and crossbones. He looked even younger than usual.
“Working overtime?” He did have a budget to stick to, as did everyone these days, and the young policeman was currently running data checks. Not exactly top of his priority list on how to spend money.
Hunter blushed, and Le Claire wondered when he would outgrow his gaucheness. Then he noticed the excitement evident in the young man’s face.
“Yes, sir. No, sir, I’m not on official duty, but I wanted to see something through. I think I’ve found a connection between Scott Hamlyn and Sir Hugh Mallory.”
Le Claire was taken aback. “I didn’t know we were looking for one. I just wanted you to look into the foundation Sir Hugh was donating to and see if it all appeared above board or if we should involve the financial crime team. Tell me what you’ve found.”
“Do you recall that Hamlyn was paying a sizable amount to charity on a monthly basis?”
“Yes, go on.”
“Sir Hugh was contributing to the same foundation.”
He leaned forward, intrigued. “That is a coincidence. Mind you, Jersey is a small island. It’s perfectly possible that they just happened to like the ethos of a particular charity. I’m not saying there may not be a deeper connection, but don’t get too excited yet. Try and get some more details first.”
He realised that Hunter was hopping from leg to leg, excitement radiating from every pore. “That’s why I came in, sir. I wanted to dig about. Then I remembered the Panama Papers.”
“Wasn’t that some leak of financial info? Remind me.”
“Yes. Millions of records, a deluge of financial data, were reportedly stolen from a law firm and services provider in Panama. They ran entities – you know, trusts, companies and foundations. The list of connected parties was published online, so I googled it and had a look. There wasn’t anything there, but there was mention of some other leaks from smaller firms. I checked them out.”
Le Claire could feel a buzz of excitement. “What did you find? I’m assuming it’s interesting?”
“The foundation was listed on a whistle-blower’s page. The foundation council members are a Jose Alverez, Patricia Roman, Elizabeth Edwards and Madeline Davies. I searched for the foundation on the Internet, and there is nothing about its charitable activities, which seemed odd. I mean, they usually want to have some sort of web presence to attract donors. So I googled the council members – they control what goes on – and one of them lives locally.”
“Right, give me the address.” He checked the paper Hunter passed him and noted there was a home and office address. “Perhaps Hamlyn and Sir Hugh got to know the charity through this person; maybe they were a mutual acquaintance? Then again, maybe it is something else entirely. I’ve never liked coincidences.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The offices of Madeleine Davies were in town and a short walk from the police station. Le Claire had retrieved Dewar, who was sifting through Laura Brown’s life, especially her past. It was a sunny day, but the sea breeze was biting. St Helier’s main street was busy with shoppers and tourists, even some groups of French schoolchildren on a day trip, chattering away as they crocodiled through King Street.
They found the correct address on a narrow side street off the main pedestrian precinct. The half-glass door opened to the sound of a tinkling bell. A pretty girl sat behind a wooden reception desk; her face was heavily made-up, and her hair, swathes of reddish-blonde, curled around her shoulders. She beamed a smile as they entered, seeming to sit straighter as she took in Dewar’s uniform. He never knew if it was the police blues or Dewar’s uncompromising stance that had the biggest impact.
He flashed his badge. “DCI Le Claire and DS Dewar to see Madeleine Davies, please.”
“Of course, I won’t be a moment.”
She knocked on a closed door and, in response to the voice inside, opened the door a slice and slipped into the room. A few seconds later, she came back out and beckoned them to enter. A woman came out from behind a glass desk that held a flash computer monitor and several neat piles of paper. She greeted them with a wide smile. “Thank you, Daria. I’m Madeleine Davies, Lena for short. How may I help you?”
Lena Davies was slim but curved in the right places; she wore a red-and-blue patterned tea dress in a 1940s style; her blonde hair was cut short, and spiky tendrils framed her face. Her makeup was subtle apart from bright red lipstick, the same shade as her high-heeled shoes.
“We have a few questions that we believe you may be able to help us with.”
She motioned for them to sit on the chairs that faced her desk. “Of course, however, I do have to leave soon. There is a charity tea party at Government House, and I mustn’t be late.”
“Of course. I’m interested in knowing some more about the Phoenix Foundation. I believe you’re associated with it? Can you tell me what it is about?”
She cocked her head to one side. “The foundation? Yes, I am a council member. It’s a vehicle created for wide charitable purposes.”
“Like what?”
“Education, health, general social issues – it has a broad remit.”
“Why is it registered in Panama? We have a perfectly good finance industry in Jersey.”
“At the time it was created, I believe there were constraints under Jersey’s charity laws. Panama had longstanding foundation legislation and allowed the wider definition of charity.”
“Who are your donors?”
She looked uncertain, biting her lower lip as she thought. “I don’t think I can say. To be honest, I don’t know a lot of them. I am more involved in helping find worthwhile causes. I believe we often get cold-call approaches from people who’ve heard of the good works we do from their friends and want to contribute themselves. I don’t really have any ongoing dealings with the other council members.”
“Do you know a Scott Hamlyn or Sir Hugh Mallory?”
“The first is the young man who died recently, murder, wasn’t
it? And I have heard of Sir Hugh but never had the chance to meet him. He had a terrible accident, I believe.”
“That’s correct.”
At that, the door opened, and the receptionist popped her head around the door. Her look was apologetic. “I am sorry to disturb, but your taxi is here, Lena.”
Lena Davies stood, as did Le Claire and Dewar. She turned to the wooden console next to her desk and picked up a wide-brimmed straw hat in a deep dark blue that was almost black. Placing it on her head, she bent to pick up the matching handbag. As she did so, the top half of her face was hidden, and Le Claire saw it, really saw it and her. The hat acted like a mask, the dark material whitening her skin and deepening the colour of her lips. Christ! She was the lady in red from the party.
“Mrs Davies, I think we’re going to need a longer chat. Dewar, call for a car. Mrs Davies is coming to visit us at the station.”
#
Lena Davies shone like a firefly in the drab room. She’d been vocal, protesting and displaying outraged innocence as she’d been brought in. Le Claire was relishing having a long chat with her. He’d carefully listened to her voice and could hear the husky undertone, now all too reminiscent of the red-dressed temptress from the party.
Dewar entered the interview room behind him, and Lena Davies was on the attack as soon as they had opened the door.
“There you are, what do you mean by this outrage? And some buffoon read me my rights. I demand to know what this is about.”
“A girl was attacked at a party recently. It was a party with distinctive characteristics. Where were you last Friday night?”
“At home with my husband. Why?”
She sat with her legs crossed, one arm resting on the table. Her head was tilted and her gaze direct. She appeared cool and completely unruffled, but Le Claire hadn’t missed the slight widening of her eyes when he mentioned the party.
“So you weren’t at a party in St Mary?”
“I just said where I was.”
“You weren’t one of the organisers of that party? And you didn’t encourage a man to attack one of the waitresses?”
She laughed, a deep, throaty sound. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How very dramatic. I’m very sorry something happened to the poor girl, but I really can’t help you.”
“What if someone saw you there? Recognised you?”
“I can categorically state that no one could have recognised me from any party on Friday. There isn’t anything else for me to say.”
Perhaps she was telling the truth. In her mind, she no doubt figured the wig and mask concealed her so much that no one could tell it was her. Perhaps she set up the attack on Ana as an insurance policy. He would never have seen the resemblance if her upper face hadn’t been shaded by her wide-brimmed hat. He knew it was her, he just knew it. From her rigid stance, her uplifted, determined chin and mocking look, Le Claire knew they weren’t going to get any more out of her. He also had to be careful. Blair’s cover couldn’t be blown. The chief had made that plain enough.
“We’re going to have to carry out some investigations, and in the meantime I’d like to keep you under observation. Nice and safe, so we know where you are.” And where she couldn’t head home and destroy anything, like tight red dresses and a black feathered mask.
Her voice was cool. “Very well. You’re making a huge mistake. You’ll see that. I would like to make a phone call.”
#
The hospital was a short walk from the police station, and Le Claire, realising he had to eat lunch sometimes, had grabbed his jacket and decided to head out into the fresh air, get a sandwich and pop to the hospital and see what was happening with Laura Brown.
He was now hanging about the ward where Laura was. He’d hoped Brian Foster was on duty, and, for once, his luck was in. Apparently, according to the duty nurse, Dr Foster was doing his rounds and would be able to see him shortly. He doubted Foster would be happy to be forced into speaking to him but had happily settled down to wait for him. It wasn’t long before the familiar figure come loping along the corridor; his long legs seemed to eat the ground in front of him, and not for the first time Le Claire marvelled that someone who looked so ungainly, all lumbering bulk, could yet be such a fine and precise medical practitioner. Brian Foster was a few years older than Le Claire, but they had known each other for a while, and he had dated the doctor’s younger sister many moons ago.
“Jack, I won’t have you haunting my wards. Go away.” The words were direct, but the tone was relatively amiable, and he knew he would be fine. Dr Foster seemed in an okay mood today.
“Brian, you know why I’m here. Any news on Laura Brown?”
The doctor shook his head, and some wayward strands from his shaggy mop of hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it out of his way and sighed. “Miss Brown is in a critical condition. She certainly can’t speak to anyone.”
“How bad is she?”
“Very. The bastard beat her badly, smashed her face and left her for dead. It’s the internal bleeding I’m worried about.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s touch and go, Jack. I don’t know if she’ll make it.”
“Okay, I know you’ll keep us posted, but we’ll keep chasing in any event.”
“Well, thank you so much.” The doctor’s sarcastic response followed him down the hall and out of the ward.
Le Claire headed back to the office. He needed a strong coffee and time to think. He also needed to know more about Laura Brown and he’d hassle Dewar for the background report. He’d see how she was doing on the search warrant as well. He didn’t have much to go on, and he had to be careful in relation to Blair’s investigation, but every instinct told him Lena Davies was involved in the attack on Ana. He just had to prove it.
#
Elizabeth had driven Ana into town to collect some files that Philip Le Claire needed for a meeting that evening.
“Why don’t you meet me in an hour outside Revitalize? I’ll be finished with my manicure by then, and you can help me carry my parcels to the car.”
“Of course. It won’t take me long to get the files, so I can check my emails while I wait.”
“Good girl, excellent idea. Off you go.”
As they made their way out of the car park, Elizabeth suddenly stopped. “Oh, damn it. Jack popped in to say hello this morning and left his mobile. I meant to drop it to him, but I don’t have time now.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take it. It’s not a problem.”
“Oh, bless you.” Elizabeth rummaged in her bag and handed over the sleek mobile. “Just leave it at the reception desk for him. Okay, I’ll see you in an hour.”
#
Le Claire couldn’t find his damned phone. He must’ve left it in his office. He felt offended that the absence of his mobile made him feel slightly bereft, maybe even a bit vulnerable and naked. What the hell! He didn’t want to be one of those people who needed to be connected all the time.
He headed straight for the incident room. Dewar was hunched over her computer screen. She turned as he walked up beside her; she looked glassy-eyed. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.”
“No problem. How is Mrs Davies?”
“Still protesting her innocence. We’ve given her a cuppa, and she’s made a phone call to her husband. She’s spitting blood and vowing to bring many evils down on our heads.”
“Let her stew. We’ve got more important business to deal with right now. I need to know Laura Brown’s background—”
Her interruption was swift. “That’s what I’m doing at the moment. Hunter has gone through the Police National Database and compiled a report, and I’ve followed up with a few phone calls.”
“Go on.”
“Okay, so we know that Laura Brown was arrested for solicitation. She was at a party, pretty posh by the looks of it, and she and some other girls were supposedly touting their wares. There was an off-duty policeman at the event, and unfortu
nately for one of the girls, that was who she approached. Laura Brown was with her, was a friend of hers, but there was insufficient evidence, so Laura wasn’t charged.”
“Nothing else on record?”
“Not after that. We got our hands on some tax filings, and she made a pretty good income from the promotional business she ran.”
“So it could have been a case of wrong place, wrong time?”
“Yes, but her background leads me to think there was perhaps some issue in the past. She comes from Manchester, not that you’d know it from that accent she has now, and drops off the school register at fifteen. The parents said she ran off to London. Their details don’t show anything out of the ordinary. They split up after Laura left home. Both are dead now. There is nothing more on her until the arrest.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“What I said, just zip. No tax return, no claiming of benefit, no address on the electoral register. It’s as if she disappeared for a few years.”
“That is very strange. What are you thinking?” He knew he was putting Dewar on the spot, but he wanted her to have the courage to speak her mind; it was the only way to grow as a detective.
“She is a beautiful woman. She would have been a very pretty girl. I think Laura Brown may have started her trade early on, maybe even had a protector that she lived with, maybe even worked for.”
“That background is particularly unsavoury for the wife of an upcoming lawyer, especially in a community like Jersey.”
“So, she has, potentially, criminal contacts. Perhaps they didn’t want her to marry Scott Hamlyn? And so he was got rid of.”
“Good thinking; as they say, cherchez la femme. I’m sure Laura Brown has more to do with this than we know.”
“Perhaps it’s even more than she knows.”
#
Ana was waiting by the front desk as they tried to track down Le Claire. She hadn’t liked to just leave his phone with the desk sergeant and wanted to hand it over in person. She fiddled with her own phone while she waited. She ignored the comings and goings around her. People had good reasons, usually not very nice ones, to be in police stations, and she didn’t want to be seen to be nosey. A steady stream of people had approached the front desk and been sent off in different directions. Whoever was there at the moment was not at all happy. Their voice was raised to such a level that you could not help but listen in.
Blood Ties: Obsession, secrets, desire and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 20
