Be brave, accept new things. New life, Grace thought. “Why, yes, actually. That would be lovely. Thank you.”
She could almost hear his sigh of relief. “Great. How about I pick you up at seven? Do you like Italian? Or maybe Chinese?” The questions fired out.
Grace laughed as she replied, “Yes, yes and yes.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After his shock at hearing of Harriet Bellingham’s death, Ray Perkins had been in no fit state to be interviewed the day before. Dewar had spoken to Perkins and organised for them to visit him this morning. Le Claire hadn’t expected their meet to take place at the Three Bells pub.
The morning sun was swept away by the gloom of the dark-panelled bar. The barmaid, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, had just finished opening up and pouring a whisky for her first customer of the day.
“Bit early for all that, isn’t it, Mr Perkins?” Le Claire’s voice broke the quiet of the almost empty bar.
Ray Perkins turned, eyes bloodshot and colour high, and answered with a grunt. “Call me Ray. I’m in no mood to stand on ceremony this morning.”
Le Claire reckoned the drink in his hand wasn’t the first he’d had this morning. Ray perched on a stool by a high, round table, and Le Claire and Dewar followed suit.
Dewar’s eyes were sympathetic as she turned to Ray. “I am sorry for your loss. I can assure you that we will do all we can to catch who did this. But first, we need to draw a picture of Miss Bellingham’s movements on Sunday. When did you last see her?”
“When she got out of the taxi at her place, and I went home to mine. That bitch Ellen kicked us out so she could keep sweet with the hoity-toity Averys and that little niece of Harriet’s. I was glad to see the back of them. All they did was upset her. We got in a taxi to go back to Harriet’s, and she was going to make us some lunch there.”
Le Claire picked up on the first point. “But you last saw Miss Bellingham getting out of the taxi. You didn’t join her?”
Ray’s face gave nothing away. “No. We had words, all right? Harriet kept going on and on about the will, and I said that if she hadn’t been such a cow, asking her sister for cash every five minutes, then maybe old Kate would still have left her the place. I gave Harriet enough money—she didn’t need any from that old misery. ”
“Miss Bellingham really believed that she was going to inherit the property?”
“Harriet saw a copy of the will by accident. It was just before we met. She was watering Kate’s plants while she was away for a few days.”
Le Claire flicked a glance at Dewar and resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He wondered how many drawers and cupboards Harriet Bellingham had rooted through to find a copy of her sister’s will.
Dewar asked, “Did Miss Bellingham have any enemies that you knew of?”
“My Harriet was a lovely woman, but you know what people are like. They were jealous of her, and sometimes there would be the odd little argument, but nothing serious.”
“Thank you. We’re just trying to gauge who may have had a reason to harm Miss Bellingham,” said Le Claire.
Ray’s face reddened in rage. He banged his empty whisky glass on the table and spat out his words. “It’s bloody obvious, isn’t it? That girl and Sam Avery—either one of them would want Harriet out the way. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? She was going to contest the will and get her due. Why haven’t you arrested them yet?”
Le Claire kept his voice calm. “We are looking at all angles, and I can assure you we will determine who did this. Thank you for the information.”
◆◆◆
Grace headed towards the wooden gazebo. The white paint was peeling, but that didn’t detract from its beauty. The little summerhouse had sat there for a very long time, an additional small haven in an already idyllic place. She sank into one of the cushioned chairs, leaned her head back against the wooden panelling and closed her eyes. Just for a moment... or two. Just to have a little peace and quiet.
“Hello there, how are you?”
Grace jerked upright as the voice crashed into the blissful silence that had washed over her. “What?” Blinking her eyes rapidly, Grace peered in the direction of the piercing sound, recognition in her eyes—followed by irritation.
Grace stood and walked towards her uninvited guest. “How may I help you?”
Emma Layzell smiled broadly. “It’s more how I can help you, Grace. By the way, I was sorry to hear about Harriet. They say it was murder?”
Grace couldn’t really do anything other than reply, but she did so coolly. “Yes, so they do.”
Emma seemed to get the message and changed the topic. “Grace, I know you said Rocque View wasn’t for sale, but my client—the one I told you about—has upped the offer quite a bit. So we were thinking—”
Grace cut her off, a New England frost in her voice. “I truly don’t know how to make this any plainer. This property is simply not for sale. You really need to listen to me. There may be an opportunity in a few months, but right now there’s nothing. So I am afraid you are wasting your time.”
“Okay, okay. Can I ask that you keep my number and give me a call if you do want to sell this place?” Emma looked around wistfully as if calculating the commission she’d receive on a property of this size.
“Of course,” Grace said. “Now if you’ll excuse me?”
“Sure, sorry to bother you.” Emma turned to go and then paused. “Look, I am sorry about Harriet. She didn’t deserve to go that way. Poor Ray. I was going to pop in on him on the way here to see how he was, but I thought maybe it was a bit too soon.”
Grace paled. She had not given a single thought to Ray Perkins. He must be devastated about Harriet. She asked, “Does Mr Perkins live near here?”
“Yes, five minutes away. He owns one of the new apartments in the big white-and-grey block. It’s on this side of the road down to your left. Ray’s in number seven.”
Grace was curious. “Do you know him well?”
“Not really. We sold him the apartment, and I’ve met him a couple of times.”
“Oh, okay. Well, thanks for coming round.”
“Have a good day, Grace, and let me know if you do decide to sell this place. My buyer is desperate to own Rocque View. If that doesn’t work out, I could have a dozen potential buyers lined up in no time. This would be a sought-after property.”
Grace watched as the estate agent walked to the front of the house. A few moments later, she heard the car roar off. With a shake of her head, she walked into the house. She had better get changed. She had a visit to make.
◆◆◆
Le Claire sat alone in his office. Not that he would ever dignify the cramped space with so grand a term. The police headquarters were fit to bursting at the seams, and everyone longed to move into the new purpose-designed station currently being built at the other end of town. However, there was still space to be found for urgent matters. He had set up the MIR in a seldom-used conference room. The makeshift incident room was now filled with desks, high-tech computer equipment, investigating and administrative staff. He’d escaped to his office for some thinking time.
His serviceable wooden desk groaned under a mound of neglected paperwork and A4 files. These were all his current cases, and they all required his attention. But he couldn’t focus on any of that at the moment. He leaned back in his cleverly padded and adjustable chair, the only piece of new furniture he had insisted on when he moved back to the island. If he was going to spend more time sitting at a desk, then he wanted to at least be comfortable. His feet were up on the desk, resting on what he suspected were the files on an unexplained fire that had razed a failing hotel to the ground. He thought, as did everyone else on the island, that it was a deliberate action and an insurance job. However, the problem, as usual, was that you had to prove guilt—not just think it.
And that was the rub of his current problem. Dewar had found the evidence that said Kate Avery had probably been murdered. The specialists they
had spoken to all agreed that there was no way anyone could have taken such a massive dose of insulin and then calmly wiped the pen clean of fingerprints and disposed of the needle. So that left third-party involvement.
But who had killed her and why? There had to be money involved in this somewhere. Why get rid of Harriet? She was killed after the contents of Kate’s will were common knowledge, so it wasn’t as if someone was trying to get an inconvenient heir out of the way. Harriet wasn’t a beneficiary of the will so that motive held no water.
Le Claire’s mind strayed back to the witness statements from the scene at the restaurant. Harriet had argued with the Averys and Grace Howard and had threatened to contest the will. Was that what had put her in the murderer’s sights?
◆◆◆
Just under an hour later, Grace stood outside Ray Perkins’s apartment block. The building looked new but was in the style of a Victorian seaside villa, the white-painted brick offset by grey-trimmed windows and door frames. It looked attractive and fresh. Unlike the man who answered the door to number seven.
Ray Perkins’s eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face covered in greying stubble, which contrasted with his completely bald head. An old T-shirt strained across his stomach, which protruded over khaki shorts.
His eyes hardened as he recognised her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Grace swallowed. She couldn’t bear confrontation, but Ray Perkins was obviously hurting. “Mr Perkins, I’m Grace Howard. Harriet was my great-aunt. I just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about Harriet and to see if you need anything?”
Ray sneered. “Sorry? Are you? Well, that’s a fine one from the New York princess. That’s what Harriet used to call you. Said you were born with a silver spoon in each hand, and more just keeps coming to you, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t come here to argue. I just wondered if you needed any help with the arrangements.”
“What arrangements?”
“I meant the funeral. My family will be happy to cover any reasonable costs you have in giving Harriet an appropriate send-off. Or I can help with the organisation.” It was the least she could offer.
Ray laughed. But it wasn’t from joy or genuine amusement. His mirth was vicious and slightly threatening. “Typical. All you lot think about is throwing money at a situation. Well, that isn’t any good to Harriet now. Some bastard killed her, and your money isn’t going to fix that.”
Grace turned to leave. “I am sorry. Perhaps you would be kind enough to let me know when the funeral will be?”
“There won’t be a funeral; not for a while at least. The police won’t release the body yet. So you can keep your precious money—Kate’s money that should by rights have gone to Harriet. We waited a long time for that old bitch to die. Now fuck off. You’re not wanted here.”
The door slammed in Grace’s shocked face. She stood for a moment, frozen, before she gathered her wits and left. She hadn’t expected that reaction. Mr Perkins was furious but was he also violent?
◆◆◆
Dewar finally got through to Paul Armstrong, and they met him at his offices just as the working day was finishing.
“Sorry, my phone wasn’t on before. I flew to London on yesterday’s red-eye. On the way back this afternoon, I got talking to some of the other passengers while I was waiting to board. You know what it’s like, you always recognise someone on these flights. And one of the chaps told everyone the terrible news. Everyone was shocked. I mean, you can count the number of murders we’ve had in Jersey in my lifetime on your fingers. And to hear it was Harriet... And now what you say about Kate. I just can’t take this in.” Paul’s voice was slightly shaky as his words trailed off.
Le Claire could understand his disbelief. These situations were rare on a small island. “As I am sure you can appreciate, we do have a few questions.”
“Of course. I’m finding this hard to understand. Why is Kate’s death considered suspicious?”
Le Claire answered, “A few things don’t add up, and we just need to see if we can satisfy ourselves as to what actually happened.”
“But who would want to harm Kate?”
“That’s what we would like to know. Can you think of anything that might help our investigation?”
“Not at all. Quite frankly, the one person I believe could have done something to Kate would have been Harriet. She always did have a nasty streak. But that doesn’t seem likely, does it?”
“Was Mrs Avery close to her late husband’s relatives?”
Paul Armstrong’s glance was sharp. “Very. They’re good people and would never have hurt Kate. Never.”
“Did she have any arguments with anyone or negative issues recently?”
“Kate was getting on. She tended her garden, went swimming most days and met friends for lunch or supper. The only controversy she had over the last few months was some damned estate agent hounding her to sell Rocque View.”
“What happened?”
“The estate agent was overzealous. Kate wasn’t young anymore, and she was being hounded by this girl.”
“Miss Howard said the estate was split equally between herself and Sam Avery. Had that always been the intention?”
“Kate and Samuel originally left almost everything to their nephews, but as the boys grew into successful men, it was decided to leave the majority of their assets to Grace and Sam.”
“The majority?”
“Yes, until a few months ago, Kate still intended to leave Rocque View to Harriet. The sisters had grown up with their widowed mother, who I understand wasn’t the easiest of women. I got the impression that Kate felt guilty for moving to Jersey and leaving Harriet alone. The eldest sister, Grace’s grandmother, had long since moved to the States.”
“But she changed her will—why?”
“Harriet was a bitch. Always with a sob story and her hand out. Kate had enough of being treated like a cash cow. Especially after Harriet started a relationship with Ray Perkins. He runs a high-end car dealership and also does a roaring trade in secondhand cars. Knowing Harriet, he’d have paid dearly for her company. Harriet was swanning off on exotic holidays with him while still pleading poverty to Kate. I think she finally opened her eyes and saw her sister for what she really was. She’d never told Harriet she was going to leave her anything, but, as we found out, Harriet had her assumptions.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bang! BANG! A persistent and increasingly louder knocking had Grace come awake with a start. She sat up groggy and disoriented. She stumbled to her feet and yanked her bedroom door wide open. Sam stood there, looking impossibly handsome. He had changed from his usual working gear of dress shirt and smart trousers. The baggy cargo shorts and brightly coloured T-shirt screamed of relaxation and fun, which were slightly at odds with the anxious look on his face.
Sam looked almost uncertain. “I’m meant to be meeting some friends for a beach barbecue tonight. They live nearby, so we’re only going up the beach a bit. I wondered if you’d like to join us?”
Grace was shaking her head in refusal before Sam had finished speaking. “Oh no, thanks, but I couldn’t. I really don’t want to intrude. Anyway, I don’t fancy being out two nights in a row, and I am already going out tomorrow night.”
“Really, who with?”
“James Grayling. He called yesterday and suggested some dinner. Said he thought it might do me good.”
Sam took a moment to reply. “Look, I just think that being so introspective isn’t good for either of us. I am only going for a few hours to show face. It’s really casual. Just a few friendly people hanging out together on the beach, watching the sunset and chilling. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?
Grace replied without thinking. “No, thanks. Really kind of you, but I am happy just being alone this evening. Thanks anyway.”
Sam drew back from the door and turned to leave. “Okay. Well, I better be off. See you.” As Grace made to close the door, she heard Sam c
all her name. He was halfway down the stairs peering back up at her. “If you do change your mind, just come and join us.” He held up the canvas bag in his hand. “I’ve got enough food for two. Just go down the steps to the beach, turn left and keep walking. You won’t miss us. The bay ends with a rocky outcropping that leads out to the lighthouse. You can’t walk any farther, and that’s where we’ll be.”
Grace just smiled. There was no need to refuse yet again. She’d told him she wasn’t going, and that was that.
◆◆◆
Le Claire ate the last slice of pizza and drained his bottle of lager, before slumping into the comfort of his battered couch. He needed to learn how to cook. Sasha always made their meals. Had he been selfish in not helping? Perhaps, but that wasn’t what ended their marriage. He didn’t want to think about that now and searched for a distraction. Emails should do the trick. He’d check the latest from work.
He scrolled past the usual administrative malarkey that cluttered his in-box. He’d deal with those when he had nothing better to do. The latest email caught his attention. It was from the coroner’s office, and he skimmed the text. Then reread with care. The autopsy findings on Kate Avery were clear that the massive dose of insulin administered was no accident. She would have ultimately ended up in a coma, at the very least, but there hadn’t been time for that. The bruising on Kate Avery’s body was consistent with a struggle. The meaning of the force and angle of her body’s impact with the ground was clear. Someone tossed Kate Avery over her balcony like a piece of trash.
◆◆◆
Grace cast a swift glance at the bedside clock. It was nearly eight o’clock. Did she really want to spend the night alone? What harm would it do to join Sam? Before she could think of a thousand excuses, she leapt to her feet and pulled on a pair of casual navy linen shorts, a plain blue T-shirt and some flat sandals. A quick brush of her hair, a flick of mascara and speedily applied lipstick, and she was ready. She grabbed a slouchy shoulder bag and threw in some money and her keys.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 8
