The Chief moved down the corridor, away from the incident room and eager ears, towards the stairwell.
“I am just back from a relaxing couple of days in the UK with my wife. We went to see the grandkids and had a great time. What do I return to? An accident turns out to be a murder, and we then discover the victim’s sister has also been murdered in her own home. Now that is a blow, as things like that don’t happen on this bloody island. But you know what really pisses me off? Do you?”
Le Claire winced. He had never had to face the Chief’s legendary temper but knew he was now caught in the eye of the storm. “Sir, I can explain...”
“Explain? Go ahead then. You tell me how someone, who is supposedly one of our best officers—London training and all—manages to allow a crime scene to be contaminated by the victim’s partner? Someone who could potentially be involved—whose DNA is now plastered all over the victim and the scene.”
“It happened before the first response unit even got to the scene. I am so sorry.”
The Chief shook his head, and Le Claire could see him deflate as the anger burned away. “I know it couldn’t be helped. It was stupid of the caretaker to call a civilian before 999, but I guess he was just reacting to a stressful situation. The boyfriend quite naturally rushed round. It’s just a pity that he was found in the middle of the crime scene with his arms wrapped around the deceased. Maybe he is just a clever murderer making sure any evidence is useless to us? So where are we on any of this?”
“We’re getting nowhere fast. There was no forced entry into either property. Apparently, Kate Avery was in the habit of leaving the back door open, and Harriet Bellingham must have opened the door to her killer. She had a voice intercom but no video. The other apartments paid to upgrade the system, but she refused.”
“Which means that we could have had a stored video image but don’t. Damn.”
“Exactly. We’ve pulled together a great team on these cases. We will find who has done this.”
“You better, Jack. There’s going to be interest from high up, who will not want unsolved serious crimes sullying the island’s reputation. You have a week. If you’re no further forward, I will have to encourage Fleming to promote someone to be your special aide until the murderer is behind bars. Maybe Masters? So you better shape up.”
The Chief walked away, and Le Claire could feel the sting of that last, taunting comment. His reputation was on the line, as was his sanity if he had to work with Masters.
◆◆◆
After a walk on the beach, Grace settled down in front of her laptop to catch up on some correspondence. Having sent the last email on her list, she closed the computer and leaned back in her chair with a groan of boredom. What to do now? The phone rang, and Grace quickly answered it, noting the caller ID as she did so. It was Emma Layzell. Did she really have to tell her again that the place wasn’t for sale?
“Hi, Emma. What can I do for you?”
The estate agent’s laughter bubbled down the phone. “There’s no need to be scared, Grace. I’m not going to plague you about selling Rocque View. Well, not at this precise moment anyway. No, I have a much better reason for calling. How about we grab some lunch today?”
“That is really kind of you, but—”
“I won’t take no for an answer, Grace. I think you could do with a distraction to take your mind off your recent losses.”
“Okay, okay. Yes. Lunch would be lovely.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at twelve-thirty. The weather looks like it will stay fine, so let’s go somewhere out of town.”
And with that, the call was disconnected. At least she had something to think about now. And that something was wondering what angle the estate agent was pulling, for Grace didn’t believe for one moment that Emma Layzell didn’t have an ulterior motive for wanting to meet up with her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Le Claire had been in a foul mood after his chat with Chief Wilson and had liberated Dewar from her file reviews and sent her to find out more about Harriet Bellingham. She had spent the morning with the financial unit, checking the bank records for both victims, but nothing out of the ordinary came up. Kate Avery had been a wealthy woman who lived well, but not extravagantly. Harriet Bellingham had enjoyed an average disposable income that she motored through at the speed of light. She had an income from some bonds, which were the remnants of her last divorce settlement, and also worked a few mornings a week as a receptionist at a local beautician. And that’s where Dewar was now headed.
She gave a silent hurrah as she snagged a parking spot right outside her target, which was a pale yellow building, the bay windows shaded by candy-striped awnings. She opened the door, and a tinkling bell gently announced her arrival.
A harassed-looking teenager sat behind the glossy reception desk; a phone was wedged between her ear and shoulder as she clicked away at a computer keyboard. She caught Dewar’s eye in silent apology as she spoke into the phone. “Okay, Mrs Lewis, so you are booked in tomorrow for a Brazilian wax. Pardon? Oh, sorry, that’s you in for a Polynesian facial. Sorry again. Bye.”
She disconnected the call and pasted a smile on her face as she recited her greeting in a sing-song voice, “Hello-welcome-to-Marcy’s-how-may-I-help-you?”
Dewar took pity on her. “Don’t worry, love, I’m not a customer. I’m here to speak to Marcy Winwood. Is she in?”
“She’s out back, making a kale-and-green tea smoothie for our lunch. I’ll get her.”
The teenager didn’t get up—she simply leaned back in her chair, opened her mouth and yelled, “Muuuuuum. It’s the police.”
The door behind reception opened, and a pretty woman came rushing out. She looked at Dewar and asked, “Are you here about Harriet?”
“Yes, I’m DS Dewar. I take it you have heard about Miss Bellingham?”
The woman’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Yeah. When she didn’t turn up for work, I called her fella. You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when he told me she’d been murdered. What a shock.”
“I won’t keep you long, but I do have a few questions about Miss Bellingham. Had she worked here long? And who was she close to? Her next-door neighbour made out as if she was a loner. Said she never saw anyone but Mr Perkins at Harriet’s flat.”
Marcy Winwood grimaced. “That old biddy couldn’t stand Harriet. She wasn’t a loner, but she didn’t make friends easily, and she lost them frequently. I knew Harriet for years, but I was under no illusions. She never did me any wrong, but that wasn’t the case with most she met.”
“Did she have any particular enemies?”
“It wasn’t like that. Harriet would have a fall out with someone and then be drinking champagne with them when she next went out. These spats were never serious.”
“How did she come to work here?”
“After her last divorce, Harriet ended up needing to supplement her income. I’d just opened up here and said I could give her a couple of days a week. I paid the going rate for a receptionist, and Harriet was fabulous at doing nails. I only took fifteen per cent of what she charged for a manicure, so she was making a fair bit.”
And I bet most of it was in cash, thought Dewar. “And what about Ray Perkins? He seemed an odd match for Harriet. She’s apparently polished, sophisticated and loves champagne, and, according to the neighbour, he is a chap who makes expensive outfits look cheap and drinks fingers of neat whisky.”
Marcy Winwood smiled. “Don’t judge a book by its cover. Ray gave Harriet something she never got from any of her ex-husbands; he truly loved her for who she was. He has a good business and was very generous to Harriet. He was always saying that he’d drape her in diamonds and rubies and emeralds when he made his fortune.”
Dewar left none the wiser. There didn’t seem to be any compelling reason for Harriet’s death; so it was back to the drawing board.
◆◆◆
Emma was true to her word and picked up Grace on the dot of twelve-t
hirty. As the car sped to the west, Grace held back her hair from the rushing wind with one hand, relishing in the breeze that blew the cobwebs from her brain. She glanced at Emma.
“It’s good of you to invite me to lunch, Emma. I must admit I was at a bit of a loose end, and I’ve been feeling a bit blue with all that’s been going on.”
“My pleasure. I know what it’s like to feel lonely, not to know anyone. I came to Jersey at seventeen, and I’ve made my own way since then. I was married for a few years. Dumped the husband but kept the name.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. We were just too young. He wasn’t the love of my life.”
“So you’re seeing someone?”
Emma looked away and pressed her lips together in a tight line as if she had said too much. When she looked back, her eyes were shuttered. “No. I was, but, well, he didn’t have as much time for me as I thought he would. So it’s finished. Anyway, here we are.” Emma drove into a spacious car park opposite the beach. “We’re going to cross over to the beach walkway. I’ve made a reservation at a new place that’s just opened.”
Within minutes, they were seated, their food orders taken and supplied with glasses of ice-cold water and a platter of delicious and fragrantly spiced appetisers.
Emma’s gaze was open and direct. “Don’t worry, I’m honestly not here to talk about Rocque View. I just thought you might like some different company.”
Grace felt herself relax. There was an honesty about Emma that appealed to her.
Emma lifted her glass and indicated to Grace. “Cheers. I know you’ve come here for a crappy reason and that your stay got hit with more tragedy, but I hope you end up loving the island just a little bit. Most people do.”
“You sound as if you’ve settled into island life well. You said you were married?”
As Emma winced, Grace hastily apologised. “Sorry to bring that up if it’s a sore subject. I just wondered why you stayed on after the divorce.”
“Exhaustion I guess. I got married at twenty-three and was divorced by twenty-five. I should just have slept with him and let it burn out. I spent the next three years building up my work reputation and partying hard, and then I met my fella.” Emma seemed to falter here and, after a quick pause, carried on. “Well, ex-fella. I didn’t have the energy to think of leaving. And by that time, my career had panned out, and I found I actually like living here. But that’s enough of me. What have you been up to recently?”
“I guess a lot has happened. To find that one great-aunt has been murdered is shocking enough, but both of them?”
“What!” Emma’s surprise was quick and unfeigned. “You mean... do you mean Kate Avery was murdered?”
“I know. It’s almost unbelievable. The police just told us that they’ve reopened the investigation into Kate’s death. I assume they’re pursuing a connection with what happened to Harriet.” Grace’s voice trembled.
Emma reached out and laid a comforting hand on Grace’s arm. “I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. I mean, things like this don’t happen in Jersey.”
Grace managed a smile. “I’ve heard that before from numerous people. On several occasions. And no doubt I’ll hear it again. People are shocked that Harriet was murdered but seem doubly perturbed that it has happened on the island.”
“For all its millionaires, fancy houses and gloss, Jersey is still a bit of a backwater; but that’s only one side of the island. There’s a darker element, with all the usual crimes you’d get anywhere—from organised prostitution to drug smuggling and abuse and a bit of burglary thrown in. But murder is rare.”
“Yet that is exactly what has happened here. And, if the police are correct, there have been two murders, and both in my family.”
“God, I can’t imagine how you’re coping. How are the Averys taking it?”
“I don’t know how much you know, but Sam Avery and his parents were related to Kate’s husband. Kate was the widow of Samuel Avery. His nephew is Richard Avery. Do you know him?”
Emma waved a hand. “Vaguely.”
“His son is Sam, my Sam.” At Emma’s raised eyebrows, Grace felt a furious blush across her cheeks. “He isn’t my Sam—I don’t mean that. But, you know, the Sam I’m living with. Not that I am living with him, but I’m sharing the house with him.” Her face aflame, Grace drank deeply from her water glass.
“Well, methinks the lady doth protest too much, but it’s your business.”
Grace decided to keep quiet on what was going on or, as she forcibly reminded herself, not going on, between her and Sam.
“Well, Sam is obviously pretty upset about it, as is Richard. Kate was his aunt by marriage, and I believe he was pretty close to her. I don’t think I’m talking out of order to say there wasn’t any love lost between Richard, Susannah and Harriet. Susannah is Richard’s wife. She is a charming lady. At least they have tomorrow to take their mind off things.”
At Emma’s quizzical look, Grace continued. “Sorry, I'm a bit vague today. Susannah and Richard are off to a wedding tomorrow and, apparently, having a romantic overnight stay at some hotel. And I’m looking after their dogs. I understand that Susannah hates letting the pooches out of her sight, so it must be a special time for them both.”
Emma raised her eyebrows and mocked, “How very unsophisticated; a happily married couple. Seriously though, that’s really lovely after all these years. And very unusual, especially on this island, where there is a lot of temptation. People look after themselves and keep up with their social life after marriage. Well, just put it this way—the divorce rate is pretty high. Mind you, by the sounds of it, they really are still loved up. How nice.”
“I know, my own parents are slightly prickly together, so it’s a novelty to see anything else, believe me.”
“And you, Grace, have you had any respite from all of this tragedy?”
“I did have a bit of a break last night. I went on... an outing, I guess, for I wouldn’t call it a date, not really.” And that was because after what had happened with Carter, she just wasn’t interested in meeting anyone else. It had nothing at all to do with how Sam Avery made her heart flip. That was just a natural reaction to a handsome man. Absolutely nothing more.
Emma leaned forward. “Really? Spill the beans. Who with?”
“It was James Grayling. Do you know him?”
Emma took a moment to reply. “Not really, although I have seen him around. Isn’t he in the restaurant business? A handsome guy you don’t know from Adam takes you out to dinner, but it’s not a date?” Emma’s smile took any sting out of her banter.
“You’re way off bat there. I am definitely not interested in Sam or James, or anyone for that matter. Now tell me more about the island.”
◆◆◆
Emma dropped Grace off at Rocque View and steered her little sports car out of the drive and back onto the main road. The smile fell from her face. Lying bastard! She was seething, absolutely bloody enraged. How dare he! Her breath came in a rapid succession of short gasps. She had to calm down; otherwise she’d crash the car. She breathed in, long and deep, and slowly exhaled a couple of times.
Here she was, thinking only of him, as per usual, and he was sniffing after little Miss Perfect. Oh, but he needn’t think she was going to stand for this—absolutely no way.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Le Claire stared at the whiteboard, willing it to enlighten him. For sisters, the connecting lines between Kate and Harriet weren’t strong and infrequently overlapped. They had rarely met over the last years and, apart from Grace, shared no other family. There appeared to be little cross over between their friends. All of which gave him nothing to go on.
He glanced at the team scattered around the incident room. “Can you see anything I can’t.”
Masters immediately pushed away from his desk and sauntered across to the board. He pointed at a name. “I figure it’s the boyfriend, Perkins. He thought Harriet was going to i
nherit the house, so offed the old lady to move matters along.”
Le Claire counted to 10. It didn’t work. “By old lady, I assume you mean Kate Avery. If yes, then what is the motive for Harriet’s death. She didn’t inherit anything. There was no point in killing her.”
Masters screwed up his face, the concentration evident. “Lovers tiff, then. Yep, that’s it. Ray is feeling all disappointed. He fights with Harriet, and it gets out of hand.”
He knew when to concede. “You may have something there. See what you can find out about Ray Perkins. Dewar, chase up on the financial details of both women. Look for anything odd.”
“Okay. What about social media?”
“Would that be relevant in these circumstances? I mean, the age of the victims.”
Dewar laughed, “I think you’ll find that age is no barrier to Facebook. Kate and Harriet both had social media accounts. They mainly used Facebook, but Kate also had an Instagram account. Some of her images are lovely.”
“Fine. I stand corrected. Did you find anything apart from pretty pictures?”
“Only that Kate was perhaps a little too open on her posts. She posted a picture from her balcony the night she died. Look.”
The image was of the sea, the ferry heading into port, the sun high. The caption was simple. This view is fabulous. Who needs company? The illusion to her being alone probably sealed her fate.
Dewar grimaced, “There are others. She talks about forgetting to lock the back door one night. Further down in the comments, she says she leaves it open until bedtime.”
“We could start with who would have seen these. Who were her friends?”
“Ah, unfortunately, her security was non-existent. All her posts were public. Anyone with a facebook account, or access to one, could have seen them. I’ve checked.”
◆◆◆
Grace was just coming in from the garden when she saw Sam drive up, flashes of red Jeep visible through the overlapping tree branches.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 11
