Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  Susanna Avery pulled her close in a tight hug. Her face paled. “This is so hard to take in. Do you think the deaths are connected?”

  Le Claire was convinced they were, but that was only his gut speaking. “We don’t know if there is a connection yet, but we will. That’s what we do. Now, what can you tell me about Harriet? Did anyone have a grudge against her? Anything at all that could help us?”

  Grace Howard answered. “I guess I have to be completely frank. I don’t know who you’ve spoken to so far, but in my, admittedly short, acquaintance with Harriet, I don’t believe she was particularly well-liked. What has happened is dreadful, and I truly hope you swiftly catch whoever is responsible. I can’t add any more but would, of course, be happy to assist in any way I can.”

  She seemed sincere, but it was early days yet. He turned to Susannah Avery. “I have a few questions for you as well. How long had you known Miss Bellingham?”

  “I have known Harriet since Richard and I got married, which was almost thirty-five years ago. But we rarely came into contact with her.”

  Dewar stepped forward. “And why was that?”

  “Harriet had not been close to Kate for quite a while. I hadn’t seen her at Rocque View in a long time. We occasionally bumped into each other in restaurants. That’s it really. We didn’t have the same circle of friends or interests.”

  “And when did you last see Harriet?”

  “When we were at lunch yesterday.”

  Le Claire asked, “And do you have anything further to add to Miss Howard’s account of the interaction with Miss Bellingham?”

  “No. Harriet was aggressive and throwing threats around, but quite frankly, that was only to be expected. She wasn’t going to take being left out of Kate’s will without a fight.”

  “And how do you feel about being overlooked?”

  “Overlooked? You mean the will? Richard would never have had any expectations. I know my husband very well.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Avery. Now, where can we find your son?”

  “He’ll be at our offices, Avery Developments, in town. But what has Sam got to do with any of this?”

  “Just routine, Mrs Avery. Your son was with you at the restaurant and is also one of the two beneficiaries of what Harriet Bellingham believed was partly her inheritance. The originator of which was Kate Avery. Thanks for the information. We’ll be on our way.”

  They took their leave of the two women, who sat huddled together, silent and seemingly stunned at the tragic development.

  As they settled in the car, he said, “Let’s get going. We’ve got work to do in sifting through the Avery and Bellingham cases. They’re connected. I just know it. They have to be. Especially when money is involved. And you know I never like coincidences. But first, let’s catch up with Sam Avery.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sam Avery roughly ran his hand through his already tousled hair, then slapped the palm against his brow, elbow planked on his desk. He just needed the numbers to add up. Why didn’t they add up?

  He’d been sitting in his glass-fronted corner office for over two hours. He hadn’t been able to schedule any of his usual meetings with architects, owners or contractors. Just him, a screen filled with red-lined spreadsheets and a massive headache.

  Sometimes he wondered if he was ready to get more involved in the financial side of the business, a stepping stone towards one day taking over. His dad thought he was. That’s why, Sam thought sourly, he was stuck in front of his screen today while his Dad had been out and about checking on their various projects. Perhaps that was unfair. He couldn’t really resent him for having the opportunity to do something that years of managing the company had robbed him of. Engaging with their stakeholders and talking to people, motivating them, selling their business and reassuring clients. His dad had been doing a lot more of that over the past couple of years.

  The buzzing of his telephone alerted him that his personal assistant, Sarah, was on the other end of the line. Sam sighed. He had asked not to be disturbed.

  He picked up the handset. “Hi, Sarah, what’s up?”

  “There is a Detective Chief Inspector Le Claire and his colleague to see you.” Sarah then added helpfully, “They’re from the police.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. What did they want now?

  ◆◆◆

  They were shown into the spacious office. With a quick glance, Le Claire took in the modern furnishings and expanses of glass—an expensive and well-designed space. He stepped forward. “Thanks for taking the time to see us.”

  “Absolutely no problem. Won’t you take a seat? Can I get you anything? Tea or coffee, perhaps?”

  Le Claire got in first. “No, thanks. We’re fine.” He caught Dewar’s glare out the corner of his eye and smiled in victory. Dewar would drink endless cups of tea were she given the opportunity. And then he’d be stuck with her continually wanting to nip to the loo when all he wanted to do was get on with the job.

  Le Claire took the lead. “Mr Avery, I am afraid there has been a fatality. Harriet Bellingham was found dead at her apartment this morning. We have every reason to believe she was murdered.”

  “Harriet? Murdered? Christ. That can’t be true. Who the hell would do that?”

  Dewar’s tone was dry. “That’s what we’d like to know, Mr Avery. We know that you and your parents had lunch with Miss Bellingham’s great-niece yesterday. We also understand that there was an altercation with the deceased?”

  “Well, I’d say the altercation was more by Harriet than with her. Look, I feel awkward speaking ill of the dead, but Harriet simply unleashed a torrent of abuse before she was asked to leave the restaurant.”

  “What do you mean by abuse?”

  “Harriet was distraught that she had been left out of her sister’s will.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Kate had washed her hands of Harriet for good; she was sick of bailing her out. Harriet has married well a couple of times—and divorced even better. Yet she runs through money like there is a never-ending supply. I understand that Kate had refused to give her anymore. They had a big showdown several months ago, and I believe they stopped speaking. Any show of grief from Harriet was crocodile tears. Kate and Harriet had fallen out a few times before, but they usually made up as Kate was so soft-hearted. Harriet obviously felt she was due something and was threatening to get lawyers involved to sue for a share of the estate.”

  Dewar asked, “And that would have bothered you?”

  Sam Avery smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Only if Harriet won. That would have stuck in my throat. Kate obviously didn’t want to leave Harriet anything. If she had, Kate’s will would have made provisions for her sister. She was a careful and organised woman. Kate wouldn’t have mistakenly left out a bequest.”

  “And if the estate had been frozen until any claim was resolved? I guess that would have angered you, maybe even caused you hardship?” Dewar’s voice was low and sympathetic.

  “That would not make any difference to me.”

  Le Claire took over. “Really? I would have thought the inheritance from Kate Avery came at just the right time. Hasn’t the largest investor just pulled out of your redevelopment project at the old docks? That’s what the papers say. Surely Kate Avery’s money is enough to plug the gap?”

  “Not that this is any of your business—certainly not concerning Harriet’s death—but whether I or indeed my father, had been left anything by Kate would make not one bit of difference to the development of the docks. The business has a strict financing rule, one we have never broken. We would not have used any personal money to—as you say—plug the gap.”

  “And what is this financing rule?”

  “We provide the ideas, the architectural plans, the contractors—everything, in fact—but we only ever put up a maximum of two-thirds of the project cost. That money has to be in the business already. We do not mix personal and business funds. That way, the risk is shared, but w
e retain control.”

  “But what if you don’t replace the investor?”

  “Then, the project doesn’t go ahead. Not until the financing is raised.”

  “I have to ask where you were from 2:00 p.m. yesterday until 8:00 a.m. this morning.” Time of death hadn’t been confirmed yet, but Harriet had last been seen at 2:00 p.m., and Derek Lang had found her just after 8:00 a.m. this morning.

  “Are you being serious? Jesus!” With a sigh, he answered. “Okay. Fine. Lunch was a long one. After the past week, I guess we all needed to let off some steam. We were at the restaurant until seven or so. Grace and I got a taxi back to Rocque View. We had some coffee, watched TV for a bit and called it a night around nine-thirty.”

  “I was not aware that you and Miss Howard had started a relationship.”

  “I am not in a relationship with Miss Howard. And before you get any ideas, nor were we indulging in any sexual antics, even as a one-off. Under the terms of Kate’s will, which is quite complicated, Grace and I must stay at Rocque View for several months to preserve the house. So I had to move in there as well.”

  “Thank you, Mr Avery. We’ll take our leave of you, but if you do think of anything else that could be important, please let us know.” Le Claire handed out his card. “All my numbers are there.”

  Le Claire and Dewar left the building, but Le Claire did not turn towards the parked car. Instead, he indicated for Dewar to follow him as he turned to walk through town. “Come on, the sooner we have a chat with Kate Avery’s lawyer, the better. Keep calling him. He’s bound to answer eventually. I want to know more about her will—a lot more.”

  ◆◆◆

  Sam came home to the welcome sight of both his parents drinking coffee with Grace. “So this is why no one was at your house when I called.”

  Susannah replied, “We tried you at the office, but Sarah said you had left. And that the police had been to see you?”

  “Yes, I take it you all know about Harriet?”

  Grace shivered, wrapped her arms tight across her chest and said, “It’s horrifying. I realise that Harriet wasn’t that popular, but murder? That’s in a different league. And Kate as well? What the hell is going on?”

  Richard turned to his son. “Did the police say if they have any idea who could have done this?”

  “Actually, I think I’m quite high on their list.”

  Susannah bristled. “What! That’s outrageous.”

  Sam spoke calmly, “Everything will be fine. They are bound to look at me closely because of Kate’s will and Harriet’s threats. They even tried to insinuate that I was desperate for Kate’s funds to replace the docklands investor who pulled out.” He turned to Grace. “Unfortunately, we are each other’s alibi.”

  Grace’s voice was thoughtful. “I know how intrusive the law can be, Sam, and actually we can only alibi each other until nine last night. I am afraid that, as far as the police are concerned, either one of us could have left the house and killed Harriet.”

  All she knew for sure was that both her aunts had died in highly suspicious circumstances. She couldn’t escape the chilling thought that she didn’t really know Sam or his parents. Not at all.

  ◆◆◆

  Emma Layzell sat at her desk and tidied the last of her client files away. That was the last item on her to-do list. Actually, it should have been on her assistant’s to-do list, but she had offered to help out. There was nothing more to waste time on. She had to make the call she had been dreading since yesterday morning. Her stomach roiled, and a dull heaviness pressed against her chest. She dialled the number from memory, and to her dismay, it was answered after only a few short rings. There was silence on the other end.

  “Hey, how are you doing? You’d already gone out when I called yesterday.” Emma kept her voice light and cheerful. She didn’t want to set things off.

  “How did you get on?” No pleasantries. Just straight to the point.

  Emma took a huge breath—best get it over with. “It’s true. She isn’t going anywhere for the moment. She sounded like she wasn’t playing around.”

  “Keep at her. I don’t know if I can trust what she says. Rocque View was always meant to be mine.”

  ◆◆◆

  The lawyer was away on business, so Le Claire returned to the station and was ploughing through a towering pile of paperwork when there was a knock on his door, and in walked the head of the crime scene investigation unit. John Vanguard was in his late forties with prematurely grey hair, a narrow face and laughing blue eyes.

  “I’m not intruding am I?”

  Le Claire checked his watch. “Very amusing, Vanguard. It’s not as if I’ve been waiting for you almost all day—is it?”

  Vanguard threw himself into the chair opposite Le Claire. “I’ve just finished up. Had a quick shower and came straight here. We’ll get the report written up, but I wanted to update you straight away.”

  “What have you got for me?”

  “No forced entry. The door was opened by the caretaker before he found the body. The peripheral areas didn’t give up much. Apparently, there was no suspicious activity in any room other than the living area. And that’s where the problem is.”

  “The boyfriend?”

  “Exactly. The fact that he contaminated the crime scene means that it will be nigh on impossible for anything we now discover to be admissible.”

  “If he is the murderer, I’d already assumed it would be difficult to prove that any evidence he left during the murder wasn’t simply leftover from a previous visit.”

  “That is right, but we have a bigger problem. When you find your murderer—and I know you will—a clever defence lawyer could argue that anything we now find could have been accidentally transferred to the scene by this Mr Perkins. We took him off, bagged his clothes for analysis and ran the usual checks.”

  Le Claire couldn’t believe this. “That’s a load of bollocks. Perkins could only have been there moments before the uniforms arrived.”

  Vanguard rose and made for the door, a look of sympathy on his face. “I agree with you, but it isn’t my opinion that counts. I’m afraid a contaminated crime scene gives up no evidence. Sorry.”

  Le Claire watched him go and considered what his next step should be. If the crime scene wasn’t going to give him any clues, then he’d better go and find some the old-fashioned way.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next morning Le Claire strolled into police headquarters, coffee cup in one hand while the other held his suit jacket in place, which was casually slung over his shoulder. The sun was shining, and he was feeling positive today. His mobile rang.

  He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the phone. The caller ID made him pause. Then he got brave and answered.

  “Sasha, what can I do for you?”

  “Do for me? That is a change. I mean, what have you ever done for me?” He could almost hear the vitriol fall like a thick slab as she continued to let rip. “What can you do for me? You can bloody well pull your finger out and sign the divorce papers.”

  Le Claire blanched. How could he have forgotten the papers from the solicitor? Obviously, the end of his own marriage didn’t rate high on his radar. “Sasha, I’m sorry, but I’ve been tied up on a case, an important case.” As Le Claire heard the sharp, guttural intake of breath, he knew he had misspoken.

  “You utter bastard. You can’t even pay attention to the death throes of our relationship. It’s always, always been about the damned force...”

  “Sasha, stop this. I’m sorry I forgot to sign the papers. It certainly isn’t that I don’t want to. You’ve made it patently clear you don’t want us to be together.”

  “Together! Is that what you call what we had, what we were at the end?”

  Sasha’s voice broke, and suddenly, as if she stood right in front of him, Le Claire could feel the rage, the strength, the poison leave her. When she spoke, his wife sounded defeated.

  “Jack, sign the papers. Ple
ase? I just need to move on. We’re in limbo, and it hurts too much.”

  Maybe he had remembered the divorce papers. Perhaps he just hadn’t wanted to sign them, didn’t want to make that final, irrevocable step. The pain in her voice reached out to a part of Le Claire he didn’t wish to awaken.

  So he answered in the only way he could, “Of course. They’re in my office. I’ll sign them and get them back to the lawyers today. That suit you?” He winced as he heard the faintest hint of petulance in his voice.

  His wife’s voice was weary. “It doesn’t suit me, Jack. It doesn’t actually suit me at all. It’s just how it has to be. Bye.”

  ◆◆◆

  Grace settled down at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and some cereal. Sam was nowhere to be seen so he must’ve already left for work. Firing up her laptop, she started to draft an email to her parents. She’d already told her dad the shocking police revelations about Kate’s death but hadn’t let them know about Harriet yet. For one, she had been busy with the Averys around, and she knew her parents wouldn’t be emotionally involved—they hadn’t known Harriet after all—but her dad was involved in a massive litigation case that was at a critical juncture. An email would make it easier for them to take it all in. Grace also had to admit to herself that she was avoiding her mother, who had left several increasingly frosty messages on her voice mail, all demanding to know just what Grace was going to do about Carter. She was going to do precisely nothing about Carter. There was nothing to do.

  The ringing of her phone cut into her thoughts. It looked like a local cell number. At least it wasn’t her mother, so she answered.

  “Hey, Grace, it’s James. James Grayling. I heard about Harriet. Such a tragedy.”

  She replied carefully. How she had felt about Harriet was her business. “Yes, indeed. Quite shocking.”

  “I just wanted to pass on my condolences and ask if you’d like to join me for some dinner tomorrow night? I thought it might do you some good to get out and see some different faces. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, obviously. But I thought you might enjoy some dinner and a few drinks.” His voice trailed off nervously.