Her throat was burning, on fire, and she could hear strange staccato, rasping noises. She realised they came from her as she choked and gasped, as she tried to breathe and take in the lifeblood of air.
Emma’s eyes widened as she struggled to inhale one last time. The rasping of her breath ended on a choke. Lifeless eyes cast a death stare in her assailant’s direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Richard Avery dropped the dogs off just after 9:00 a.m. Two canine faces pressed against the back window of Richard’s car as he unpacked their provisions. Grace was amazed at the amount of gear he was unloading. Did they really need that much stuff for one night? Food bowls, water bowls, beds, toys (so many toys), food and treats.
Then he let them out. And everything went crazy. Barking, jumping, and running in circles, exploratory sniffs and fat wet kisses. Grace was overwhelmed. Both dogs ran up to her. Elegant Daisy, a beautiful Doberman with soulful eyes, gently rubbed her nose against Grace’s hip, while Barney, a short, honey-coloured tornado with ratter in his blood and persistence in his nature, literally bounced and bounced and bounced. He was like a jack-in-the-box as he jumped up and slobbered over Grace’s hands as she ineffectually tried to keep him down.
Richard laughed and tried to command the dogs. “Daisy, Barney, leave Grace alone. Down!” Neither dog appeared to hear him.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I’ve never seen them like this. Barney normally says hello to new people and then leaves them alone. He looks like he’s got a bit of an obsession with you.”
“I guess I’m in for an interesting day. Should I take them safely in the house before you drive off?”
“Yes, please. We’ll pick them up tomorrow. I’m sure it will be okay.” Richard looked slightly dubious.
“Thanks. Hope you guys enjoy the wedding.”
Richard smiled, and he looked so much like Sam, that Grace was taken aback. Susannah was a fortunate lady, indeed.
◆◆◆
Le Claire drove along quiet country lanes into a scene of burgeoning mayhem. The fallow field to the side of the cottage was strewn with several vans and cars. From the vehicles present, it looked like his partner plus the uniforms and honorary police were here already, as was the crime scene investigation team. An ambulance was parked nearest the cottage, its back doors wide open. It was empty inside.
Dewar was waiting for him. Climbing out of the car, he looked over at her and slowly shook his head. “I’m actually finding this hard to take in. Three sudden—and suspicious—deaths in as many weeks are more than the island has ever seen in such a short space of time. Who called it in?”
Dewar flipped open the notebook she had at the ready. “A Jackie Miller, sir. Apparently, the deceased didn’t show up for work today, which was unusual. The victim, an Emma Layzell, was one of the partners in a local estate agent company.”
“Who was first on the scene?”
Dewar snorted. “Constable Hunter.” At Le Claire’s startled look, she continued, “Hunter was in the area. He was investigating the disappearance of some of Joe Troy’s cows.”
“Not again. It’s the joke of the station. That’s why we always send the rawest recruits out. We can’t afford to waste anyone else’s time. When will that man realise that badly mended fences are no barrier to his herd when they want to wander?” He shook his head, but a shadow of concern crossed his thoughts. “So how has the newbie handled it?”
“Not bad, sir. He has taken preliminary statements from Sarah Welham, who found the body, and Jackie Miller. Miss Miller is the receptionist and office manager at Layzell Estates.”
“What brought Sarah Welham here? Or didn’t Hunter ask?”
“Now, sir, no need to be sarcastic. We all have to start somewhere. Actually, he did forget, so I sent him back in. I didn’t want to start in with them until you arrived.”
Le Claire waited a beat, and when no more was forthcoming, he asked with growing impatience, “So why was Sarah Welham here, then?”
“Sorry, sir. Seems that the deceased missed several important appointments today, and as this was most unlike her, Miss Miller sent Sarah Welham to the cottage to see if anything was wrong. Apparently, Welham found the body and called Miller in a panic.”
“Fine, let’s get on with this.”
◆◆◆
Sarah Welham and Jackie Miller had been inconsolable, and he’d tasked Dewar with calming them down and rechecking their statements. Now, dressed in protective clothing to prevent contamination of the scene, he stood over the reason for their distress and cursed the gods that allowed a beautiful and vibrant woman to be cut off in her prime.
John Vanguard stood alongside him, his site team having already carried out their preliminary work. “I’ll report to you later, but, as is becoming a habit, there was no forced entry and no evidence that the victim was entertaining. Several bottles of wine were consumed, but there is only one used glass, and hers are the only fingerprints.”
“It looks like the victim let her killer in. She knew him or her.”
“Le Claire, what have we got here, then?”
He turned at the voice and greeted the medical examiner.
“Viera. Thanks for coming down. I have an idea of the cause of death, and I’d like your sign-off so I can get on with my job. I suppose you’ll say that you can’t tell me anything until the Home Office Pathologist properly examines the body? How long will it take them to send someone this time?”
“The pathologist is still here. He was staying on for a few days on leave and was due to return to the UK this evening. I’ll give him a call and tell him he’s got another job on. First of all, let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The doctor knelt down by the side of Emma’s body, using a sterile tool to gently move her hair to the side. “If your idea for the cause of death was strangulation, then you’d be right. Faint marks but clearly those of two thumbprints. Strangulation often leaves so little outward trace, but the autopsy will give us confirmation. I don’t think you’d be wasting any time in treating this as suspected murder.”
◆◆◆
Viera had confirmed what they thought. Emma Layzell’s life had ended deliberately. Someone had placed their hands on her, their fingers tight around her throat, and choked the very life out of her.
There was nothing whatsoever to suggest this case was linked with the deaths of Kate Avery and Harriet Bellingham— nothing at all. Yet he did not believe in coincidences. Jersey had its issues, and they were getting worse, but three murders in as many weeks? That was extraordinary.
Dewar had agreed to drive Sarah Welham home, and Le Claire had offered to take Jackie Miller into her office. Apparently, she had work to do and arrangements to make. He left the crime scene investigators to do their job and build up a picture of who Emma Layzell had really been. Le Claire was going into her office to see what he could find there.
Jackie Miller settled into the passenger seat and cast a glance at Le Claire. She cleared her throat. “Um, look, there’s something I should have said before, but I didn’t want to in front of Sarah. It’s about Emma.”
“And what’s that?”
“When Sarah was asked if Emma had a boyfriend, she replied that Em sometimes had a date or so, but that she wasn’t seeing anyone special.”
Le Claire felt a prickle of anticipation. This could be interesting.
Jackie carried on. “Well, I didn’t say anything, but she was seeing someone. Had been for years, but it was a secret. I only found out about a year ago. Until then, I thought that she just saw people casually, concentrated on building up the business. We’d gone out for a drink. She’d said she was unexpectedly at a loose end, asked me if I fancied getting some dinner with her.” She took a deep breath as if to steady herself.
“We went to a tapas bar, ordered too much wine and not enough food. Emma told me she’d had a date that night, but it had been cancelled. I asked if that was what had upset her, as she’d seemed a bit off during the day. Sh
e was teary and said she loved this bloke, had done for years, but he wasn’t ready to commit to her and didn’t want anyone to know about it. Then she must’ve realised what she’d said, as she clammed up straight away and said it was a secret and I’d better not mention it to anyone. We finished up our drinks and left.”
“Did she give any clue as to who he was? Did she mention him again?”
“No, but she was definitely still seeing him. Everything slotted into place. She was really secretive with her phone calls. Her mobile would ring, and she’d close her office door, looking furtive and cagey. She’d sometimes disappear in the middle of the afternoon. She’d have her calendar blocked out with ‘potential new client’ or something innocuous. But she’d come back in and not speak about who she’d met, no file would be opened, and there wouldn’t be a meeting note. I figured she was sneaking some time with her fella.”
“Thanks, Jackie. That’s really helpful.” He needed to see Emma’s mobile call log as soon as possible. Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions, and this case really did have nothing to do with the other murders? Time would tell.
Jackie’s tongue was well and truly loosened. “Emma had a new client as well. She opened a file for him under a false name. Only she was to deal with him. She often did that.”
Le Claire was surprised. “That all seems a bit cloak and dagger. And you say this was common practice?”
“Sure. Emma dealt with a lot of the wealthy on the island. They value privacy, and to be honest, I guess Emma didn’t trust the other agents not to steal the big clients’ details and set up on their own. Anyway, she would do everything above board. She would do the whole source of funds and due diligence herself but keep those files in her office cabinet and update the computer when the client’s offer was accepted. I’d do the filing for her. I guess I was the only one she trusted.”
Le Claire was curious as to why Jackie had mentioned this. “So there was nothing unusual about what she was doing with this new client? And she’d often dealt this way before?”
“Well, not exactly. Usually, the file would have a false name, but the client’s real initial would be there as well. Plus full details of what they were looking for and meeting notes, together with details of what properties Emma was going to recommend and what they had been shown. In this case, the file held nothing, nothing at all except a note that the owner had refused to sell on more than one occasion, and a photo of a property. But there was nothing else.”
“Thank you. That was really helpful.” He’d have someone look into these mysterious files, but it didn’t look like there would be much to see.
◆◆◆
They pulled up to the offices of Layzell Estates, where a sign on the door said they were closed. Through the windows, Le Claire could see several people huddled around one desk. A pretty blonde saw them and came to unlock the door, giving Jackie a watery smile.
At the expectant looks from the subdued group, Jackie spoke over her shoulder to Le Claire. “I told them what Sarah had said before I went to the cottage.” Turning to the group in the room, Jackie spoke quietly. “I’m afraid it’s true. Emma is dead. This is,” Jackie blushed, “Sorry, I can’t remember your name.”
Le Claire stepped forward and introduced himself, though he wasn’t sure his voice would be heard over the gasps and tears. “I am DCI Le Claire. We may have some questions for you later, but for the moment, I’d like to have a look at Miss Layzell’s office, if that is possible?”
Jackie gestured to the red-eyed blonde. “Holly will show you the way. Everything is unlocked.”
Le Claire followed Holly down a long carpeted corridor, their footsteps muffled by the plush pile. Stopping at the last door, she opened it wide and gestured for Le Claire to go in. The outer office was generally the only one that customers saw. It was neat, modern and professional—no doubt the aim was to be welcoming and not intimidating.
However, Emma Layzell’s office whispered luxury and hinted at money. Thick cream rugs lay atop the polished, dark wood floor. A low glass coffee table was flanked by two sofas upholstered in cream velvet. A curved bar ran along one wall, and Le Claire lifted his eyebrows. Holly saw the gesture. “Emma uses this space to entertain wealthy clients. We often have lunches or dinners delivered here.”
Le Claire was sympathetic. Holly hadn’t yet started to think of her deceased boss in the past tense. It would be a shock to her when she did. “And her workspace? Where is that?”
Holly crossed to the far end of the room to a linen-covered folding screen modelled on a Japanese design. The dark wood frame matched the floor. She folded it back to reveal a glass-and-chrome desk. At least he suspected it was glass; it was difficult to tell. Files were lying haphazardly across the top, all jumbled together with scraps of paper and Post-it notes.
Holly grimaced. “Sorry, Emma is a bit untidy. Was, I mean she was a bit untidy.” At the realisation that everything to do with her boss would now be in the past tense, tears escaped and freely fell. With a mumbled “excuse me,” Holly fled the room.
Le Claire was left on his own, facing the messiest desk he’d seen in a long time. No wonder it had been hidden behind a screen. Selfishly, he wished that Dewar were here. He could have set her the task of searching the office while he interviewed the staff. Unfortunately, his aide had sent him a text to say that Sarah Welham was hysterical and in no state to be left alone. Dewar would have to stay with her until a relative could come and take over. He didn’t want to wait for another member of the team to come and assist.
He approached the desk. These files would have been the last Emma had been working on, so he needed to see if anything appeared relevant. He went to pick up a file and watched in dismay as the loose-leafed contents fell onto the desk to join similar papers. “Damn.” It looked like an even bigger mess couldn’t be helped.
With a sigh, he took off his jacket and placed it on the back of the desk chair—he may as well be comfortable. Settling himself, he started to try and bring some order to the jumble of papers in front of him.
Half an hour later, he had made pretty good inroads and had various neat piles of files, random documents and letters, scraps of paper and Post-it notes.
The files didn’t give up much. They seemed like fairly straightforward property transactions. He’d have one of his team look at them in more detail just in case.
He’d sorted the scraps of paper into a neat pile and was flicking through them one by one. She’d had terrible handwriting, he thought as he squinted to make out the jagged scrawl. Most were to-do notes—collect dry-cleaning, pick up milk—the usual petty day-to-day housekeeping of life.
There were ones for work as well—call such and such about commission rates, chase up on an offer on a bungalow that the sellers wanted time to consider. He shook his head as he saw the little smiley or frowning faces she’d scribbled on each note. The commission had a frowning face, no doubt the clients wanted a reduction, but the bungalow had a smiley face. Maybe she thought they’d go for the offer. On and on, he went through them until one scribble jumped out and caught his attention.
“Call G—Rocque View.” The note was at the bottom of the pile. He’d taken the records and papers from the top of the mess on the desk and started the bundles with them; he had thought there would be a chance of working in chronological order. The notes nearer the bottom would have been the last she had made. What reason did Emma have to call Grace Howard about the house, and why was there a frowning face?
The office door opened, and Jackie Miller came in, a bunch of keys in her hand. “Sorry to intrude but the file I mentioned is kept in here. I thought you might like to see it?
“Yes, please.” He may as well have a look while he was here.
There was a black lacquered cabinet in the corner of the room. It looked too fancy and ornate for file storage. But that was where Jackie Miller was headed. She selected a long, thin key, unlocked the cabinet and slid open the top drawer. She removed an envelope-style
folder that she handed to Le Claire.
Le Claire looked at the label affixed to the front flap. “Mr X?”
Jackie’s mouth lifted in a feeble smile. “Em wasn’t that adventurous when it came to code-names.”
He opened the file, and it was indeed empty except for a photograph, which was tucked into the corner facedown. Le Claire had a feeling that he knew what would be on the other side. He took out the photograph and turned it over. Rocque View. But who was the potential buyer?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Le Claire glanced at his wristwatch and sighed. Where the hell was Dewar? He looked up as he heard a noise and saw the broad frame of Chief Wilson blocking his office doorway. He didn’t look happy.
“Le Claire. What the hell is going on? I’ve just read the report on that young woman’s death.”
“Bad news, sir. On the face of it, it could be a disgruntled lover; however, there are a couple of other lines of enquiry to consider.”
“Make sure you cover all the bases. I’ve been getting heat from above to get the Kate Avery and Harriet Bellingham cases closed. We don’t need another murder to look into.”
“With all due respect, I don’t think the victims needed it either.”
“Don’t be snippy. You know what I mean. I know you’ll get justice for the victims by finding their killers. It just bothers me that we have several open murder enquiries on an island that barely sees a violent death in a year. I’ve had sly comments from the Council of Ministers, saying surely we’ll solve the crimes soon as we have a top London homicide officer in charge. I had to fight to get you here, Jack. You know there were detractors—don’t let me down.”
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 13
