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

by Kelly Clayton

  Le Claire stood, followed by Dewar. His tone was even as he asked, “May I ask where you were in the early hours of Friday morning, between midnight and 8:00 a.m.?”

  “I’m a suspect? That is ridiculous. I hardly knew Emma. Anyway, I am afraid I don’t have a neat alibi. I was in bed—alone.”

  “And where were you last Sunday evening?”

  “At home. I had been for lunch with friends and came back here at about seven o’clock.”

  Dewar moved in. “And can you tell us your whereabouts on the night of the fourth?”

  Grayling shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I was in London for a couple of days.”

  “Very well, thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire and Dewar drove back to the station in silence, Le Claire quietly staring out of the passenger window as the cogs of his brain whirred and turned as he thought of one angle, discarded another.

  Dewar dutifully followed the uncommunicative Le Claire into the station. He mumbled the odd “hello” in response to greetings from his colleagues but didn’t break his stride until they reached his office.

  Shrugging off his suit jacket, he threw it over a hook on the wall and sat down in the chair behind his desk with a heavy thump. His eyes flicked towards Dewar. “Sit down. Tell me what you think.”

  “Sir, we don’t have any real suspects and few clues.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You think? We certainly have persons of interest, as far as I can see. Certainly for the death of Emma Layzell.”

  “Richard and Sam Avery. There’s a good chance one of them was the person being called by Emma. Maybe one of them was the mystery lover?”

  “And then there is James Grayling.”

  “I thought his explanation for why Miss Layzell may have called him seemed plausible.”

  Le Claire sighed. “You’re right. However, I remembered where I recognised his name.” He slid a brown paper file across his desk. “In there. James Grayling was one of the witnesses to the restaurant scene between Harriet Bellingham, the Averys and Grace Howard on the day she died.” Dewar just stared at him.

  Le Claire’s voice was weary. “Don’t look at me like that, Dewar. It isn’t much to go on, but I just feel these three deaths are connected. So I am going to take a good look at anyone who keeps popping up, and right now, that includes James Grayling. Chase up the deep background reports on all the Averys, James Grayling and Ray Perkins. Go and hassle the team who’re running the police national database reports. Let me see who we’re dealing with.”

  ◆◆◆

  Shadowed night surrounded the man as he nursed a glass of whisky, the deep amber of the liquid gradually fading as the ice cubes slowly melted. The distinctive smell always reminded him of his father, a memory he pushed to the side. It was his father who had, unwittingly, got them into this mess.

  Long fingers stroked around the rim of the squat, fat glass. He was seemingly mesmerised as it reflected the flames of the tea lights he had dotted around the room. He told himself that he liked the way the candlelight cast ominous shadows; the most mundane of items—a chair, a bedside table—were transformed into towering giants that seemed alive as their shadows moved and shifted in the flickering light.

  In truth, he couldn’t face the penetrating glare of the electric lights. It was easier to pretend that everything was fine, that the last weeks hadn’t happened, as he sat in the quiet dark. He didn’t need a light shone on his actions. He didn’t want to think about it. Not tonight.

  If he were a different kind of man, he would give up now, take what cash he had and get far away. He felt nauseous as he considered what might happen. His ruination. Everything he had fought so hard to achieve was about to come crashing down like a house of cards if he didn’t get what was rightfully his in time.

  He felt no surprise when the telephone rang. Perhaps he had even been expecting it; he certainly felt neither trepidation nor fear. Why be scared? He had been told exactly what would happen, and he had, in truth, brought it all upon himself.

  The ringing ceased as he brought the telephone to his ear. He answered in a cocky voice. He had nothing else to lose. “And how are you this evening?”

  The snort of laughter barrelled through the phone, followed by an amused drawl. “Looks like you finally found some balls. Pity it’s too late. Don’t suppose you’ve got my money, have you?”

  “No, otherwise I would have been banging your door down to end this nightmare. Anyway, you’ll either get the money or you won’t.”

  “Don’t be a smart-arse. You’ve run out of time, as far as I can see. So I’ll just have to take what I can of yours. What’s left of your business and reputation, for starters.”

  A surge of anger spurred him on to careless words. “You forget I still have until Wednesday, and I’m not out of options yet.”

  “Don’t be a fool. You’ll never get anyone to lend you the money. Cut your losses and sign your shares over to me.”

  The last sounded like a command, and he wasn’t having that. The words shot out. “I’ve got something that’s owed to me, and its past time I collected it.”

  The caller’s response was blunt. “Get a move on. I want the money or your business, in two days. No more time.”

  The call was abruptly disconnected. He sat for a moment, the phone still at his ear, the monotonous disconnection tone almost hypnotic.

  With a sigh, he put the phone down and picked up his drink. Not long to go now, not long at all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Grace awoke with a throbbing headache and tension cramping her shoulders. However, she couldn’t lie in bed. She needed to call the hospital, find out how Luca was and see if Fiona needed her.

  Sam was already up and dressed for work. He saw Grace and tilted his head towards the counter, where he had the coffee percolating. His tone was teasing. “You have me very well trained, Grace. Want a coffee?”

  A blush heated her cheeks but ignored it. “That would be lovely. I wonder what else I could train you to do.” Where had that come from? Grace felt her face grow warmer as Sam’s grin grew wider.

  “I guess we need to experiment and see how far you can go?”

  Sam stood up and moved towards her, and Grace could see the intent in his eyes. She felt a thrill rush through her, and her eyes widened as she realised he was going to kiss her. She stood still, waiting, anticipating.

  The shrill sound of the doorbell broke the moment and caused them to quickly move apart. Sam’s gaze was rueful. “I better get that.”

  She poured herself a coffee and rolled her eyes as her hand shook a little. She really had to get a grip and stop acting like a lovesick teenager whenever she was around Sam.

  She went to drink her coffee, but her hand stopped halfway, and she held the cup in midair as she heard the unmistakable sound of violent sobbing. This was followed by Sam’s voice. “Mum, what’s wrong? Come here.” Sam’s words spurred her into action, and Grace raced down the stairs.

  Susannah stood in the lounge, tears streaming down her puffed-up face. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and without a scrap of makeup, she looked a broken shadow of her usual self. “Oh, Sam, it’s your dad. He, oh God, I don’t know how to say this.”

  Sam was frantic. “Mum, what is it?”

  “He...” Susannah stopped speaking, and her breath came in hitching gulps. “Richard has—oh God—he’s gone to the police station. He said he has a confession to make. It’s about Emma Layzell.” With that, a hysterical Susannah fell into her bewildered son’s arms. Sam’s eyes locked on to Grace’s as they stared at each other in shock.

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire walked the long corridor towards the interview room. Dewar was waiting for him. No anticipation showed in her face, but he could see it in her rigid stance and almost feel it vibrating from her in waves. He almost expected Sherlock’s “the game’s afoot” to be r
unning through her head. It was running through his. And he was itching to get going. “Tell me what happened.”

  She looked jubilant. “Richard Avery turned up at the station about half an hour ago, sir. Asked for you, and as you weren’t here, I got called down. Mr Avery said there was something he wanted to tell us about Emma Layzell. I read him his rights and took him straight into Interview One. Then I called you.”

  “So you haven’t started the interview.”

  “No, sir. Given the seriousness of the situation, I thought it better to wait until you got here.”

  “Okay, let’s go in.”

  ◆◆◆

  Richard Avery sat at a rectangular table that took up most of the room. He was facing the door and looked up when Le Claire walked in, followed by Dewar. His face was pale, and his eyes looked wrecked as if he hadn’t slept. He made as if to stand, but Le Claire motioned for him to sit down. They weren’t at the country club, and Dewar would only get riled at a potential suspect politely standing at her entrance.

  Le Claire pulled out a chair and sat down in front of him. He looked at the still-standing Dewar. “Would you mind getting us some water, please? I’m sure Mr Avery is thirsty.” He glanced at Richard Avery, who nodded in surprised thanks.

  Le Claire wanted Dewar as “bad cop” today. Dewar pasted a sullen look on her face and stomped outside, returning with a plastic bottle of water and three glasses, which she dumped on the table with a terse, “Help yourself.”

  Le Claire picked up the bottle and poured out the glasses of water. Handing one to Richard Avery, he placed the others in front of himself and Dewar, who had settled herself down next to him.

  Le Claire smiled at him, noticing the tiny beads of perspiration that were dotted along his upper lip, the eyes that darted between Le Claire and Dewar—but never making contact with either. “Thank you for coming to see us, but I have to say I am puzzled as to why you are here. Perhaps you would enlighten us?”

  There was silence for a moment. Avery’s mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to speak words that just wouldn’t come out. All he managed was a rasped, “Sorry, just a moment, please.” He gulped down the glass of water and shakily placed it on the table.

  Le Claire’s voice was gentle. “You wanted to tell us something?”

  “I came in before you went looking for me.”

  Le Claire could feel Dewar stiffen next to him as Avery continued, “You’d have found out today. The phone registered to the company, the number Emma was calling, it was my number. I use that phone.”

  Dewar’s tone was sharp. “And why was Emma Layzell calling you, Mr Avery? What was she to you?”

  “We were having an affair. I loved her. Oh, God, how I loved her.” And with that, he broke down and sobbed, tears of wild grief running down his face.

  The room was silent apart from Avery’s weeping. Le Claire and Dewar exchanged a glance. Dewar took the hint and leaned forward. “You need to pull yourself together. Why was Miss Layzell calling you?”

  He drew in shuddering breaths as his sobbing slowly stopped. He looked haggard as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I guess she just wanted to talk to me. I played her messages back the next morning. She wasn’t making sense. There were so many messages. So many.”

  Le Claire’s face was impassive. “In what way was Miss Layzell not making sense?”

  “She was angry. She left some messages, but there were also a lot of missed calls where she didn’t wait for voice mail.”

  Dewar leaned forward. “Why was she mad at you?”

  “I don’t know. Emma had no reason to be angry with me, absolutely none. She just got a bit frustrated by the situation sometimes.” He saw the sceptical look that passed between Le Claire and Dewar. “Look, you have to believe me.”

  Dewar’s bark of harsh laughter seemed to bounce off the walls. “Believe you? Mr Avery, you lied to our faces when we last saw you. So no, I don’t believe you. You hid your connection to Emma Layzell and the fact that the number she dialled—repeatedly—on the night she died belonged to you. I don’t think we’re really classing you as a trustworthy interviewee right now.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why she was angry. I can only think—well, I can only think that she knew Susannah and I had gone to the wedding and that we were staying overnight at the hotel together.”

  Le Claire tried to look sympathetic. “She is your wife. Surely Miss Layzell knew the score and had no right to be upset.”

  He had the grace to colour. “I may have led Emma to believe that Susannah and I were more estranged than we actually are.”

  Dewar rolled her eyes and let sarcasm have free reign in her voice. “Not that old cliché. I’m-not-sleeping-with-my-wife-anymore. Couldn’t you be more original? I guess men like you do and say anything to get your leg over with a younger woman.”

  Avery stiffened in anger as he spat his words out. “It wasn’t like that. Don’t make it cheap.”

  Le Claire asked, “What was it like, then? How was your relationship with Emma Layzell?”

  “I loved her, almost from the moment I first saw her. She was with Sam. He brought her to the small barbecue we told you about. I was drawn to her straight away.” His features seemed to soften, and his eyes had a distant look. “Emma was so beautiful and funny and stood up for herself. It was obvious that Susannah had taken a dislike to her, but Emma just rose above it. I really admired that.”

  Dewar probed, “She was going out with your son. How did you start the relationship?”

  “Sam split up with her shortly afterwards. I saw her that weekend. I was at a dinner at the golf club. Emma was there with some friends. I approached her, said I was sorry about her and Sam, apologised for Susannah being less than kind to her. Her friends were about to leave. Emma was going in a different direction, and her taxi hadn’t turned up yet. I suggested we have a drink while she waited. The taxi turned up ten minutes later, but we were having such a good time that I paid the taxi driver and sent him away. We talked for ages. She really understood me, you know what I mean? She really got me.”

  His eyes were beseeching as he glanced between Le Claire and Dewar. Dewar’s look of disgust made him focus his attention on Le Claire. “We shared a taxi and stopped at her place first. I got out of the cab with her and walked her to the door. I bent to kiss her on the cheek, just as she turned around towards me. Our lips met, and that was that. I sent the taxi away and went inside. It’s like a fuse was lit within me, and I couldn’t dampen it no matter how hard I tried. I had no choice—none.”

  Le Claire suppressed a mocking smile as he thought how neatly Avery claimed the status of a victim. But that was the role that had been forced on Emma Layzell.

  The smile was gone from Le Claire’s face as he said, “Mr Avery, please remember that my colleague read you your rights earlier. Tell me. Did you kill Emma Layzell?”

  The denial was swift. “God, no! What do you take me for? I loved Emma. That is an outrageous accusation to make.”

  He was almost shouting, and Dewar instinctively went in for the kill. “Did she love you? I think I know why Emma was mad at you. Playing happy family with the wife, you were going to have a lovely day out together, then a romantic overnight stay at a hotel. No wonder she was pissed at you. Did she threaten you? Is that what the calls were about?”

  Avery looked at Le Claire for support. “She’s talking nonsense, just making things up. Emma would never, ever do that.”

  Le Claire just shrugged and let Dewar get on with it. “Was Emma getting fed up with being the other woman, demanding more? Did she threaten to tell your wife? Is that why you killed her?”

  Avery shot out of his chair and, leaning across the table, grabbed Dewar by the shoulders. “You’re not listening to me, you stupid bitch. I didn’t kill Emma. I couldn’t.”

  Dewar stood her ground but didn’t make any attempt to remove her attacker’s hands. That was dealt with by Le Claire. He pul
led Avery away from Dewar and said, “I don’t know if you killed Emma Layzell; however, I do know that you just assaulted a police officer. I’m afraid we’ll have to book and detain you for that. Quite fortunate really, as it’ll give us time to have a longer chat later on.”

  Le Claire called for one of the duty sergeants to take care of a protesting Richard Avery. As Le Claire walked away, he almost faltered as Avery called out to him. “You think you can hold me on this nonsense? I came to you in good faith so you could eliminate me as a suspect, not so you could accuse me. I’ll be out of here before you know it. There are people I can call, you know, and that includes your father.” Le Claire kept on walking and ignored the inquisitive gaze directed at him by Dewar.

  “Well, sir. That was interesting. If only we could prove it.”

  Le Claire looked at Dewar, inwardly bemoaning her haste. “I have to say he is a prime suspect. He was one of the last people Emma Layzell called, he’d been having a clandestine affair with her for years, and he had a lot to lose if his wife found out and divorced him. So let’s keep him on our list—near the top of our list. We’ve bought ourselves a little more time, and I suggest we hold him overnight. We can have another go at him later. First, I want to have another look at the files. I need to try and see what we’re missing.”

  ◆◆◆

  “You! Chief Inspector. Stop.” The shrill voice echoed through the reception area. Le Claire, on his way to his office, halted and, to his surprise, saw an irate Susannah Avery bearing towards him, her son at her heels. She looked very different from the cool, elegant blonde he had seen the day before. Her hair was a mess, her eye makeup smeared and her clothes were far from her usual style—just basic jeans and a creased blouse.

  Le Claire waited for them to reach him, Dewar at his side. “Mrs Avery, what can I do for you?”

  “For one, you can let me see my husband and tell me what the hell is going on.” Her voice had risen, and curious eyes turned in their direction. Sam Avery laid a restraining hand on his mother’s arm. “Mum, please.”