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

by Kelly Clayton

  Le Claire strode through the chaos. With a gesture towards Ray, he barked out an order to the constable who’d helped Dewar. “Give him a warning and get him out of here. We’ve wasted enough time today.”

  ◆◆◆

  Grace was alone in the house and was enjoying the solitude. Sam had gone to work and had said he didn’t know when he’d be back. Even amid all the unfolding drama, there was a cosy informality to their daily routine that made Grace slightly nervous. She felt as if she was falling into a sexless coupledom with Sam. Not that she wanted the sex, no way, and she brushed the thought aside before it could take hold.

  She had spent the morning sipping strong coffee and sorting through her emails and paying some bills online. She hadn’t received any further email communication from Carter, nor had he called again. That had to be good, was her initial thought, but she countered this with wondering whether a life with Carter, the life she had been born into, was perhaps where she was meant to be. When Carter had gone off with Gina, any decision about their relationship had been taken out of her hands; Carter’s call had put her back in control. She should have been pleased that whether or not she and Carter had a future was firmly down to her. But all she felt was the weight of responsibility without knowing what she truly wanted.

  The doorbell rang, shattering the quiet. Grace sighed. What was wrong with these people? No one ever just turned up on your doorstep in New York. They called first; they made proper arrangements. The damned bell was always ringing here. She made her way downstairs, and as she opened the door, a smile lit her face as she heard the excited yapping and barking. Susannah stood on the doorstep, a leash held in each hand as she tried to keep the two excited dogs at bay and prevent them from jumping all over Grace.

  The older woman’s face was drawn and pale beneath the carefully applied makeup. Susannah Avery wasn’t looking her best, but who could blame her? Pity must have shown on Grace’s face, for Susannah visibly stiffened, and with shoulders held tight, she greeted Grace in a controlled voice. “I’m on my way to pick up Richard now. I have a feeling we’re going to have quite an interesting chat, so I wondered if you would look after the dogs for me?” The glint in Susannah’s eye was steely. “I don’t want them getting upset; they hate loud noises.”

  Grace almost felt sorry for Richard. “Susannah, I don’t want to speak out of place, but I do know some of what you must be going through. I mean, Carter—”

  Susannah broke across Grace’s words. “He was your fiancé; as I understand it, you weren’t even living together. I don’t want to belittle your situation, but Richard is my husband, and we’ve been married for over thirty years.”

  Grace was contrite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  Again, the older woman interrupted. “I know you didn’t.” The lines on her face became more marked as her mask fell and Susannah let her anguish show. “Sorry for snapping. I’m just on edge. Look after my babies, won’t you?” And with that, she handed the leashes to Grace and was gone.

  Grace stood and watched as Susannah’s car disappeared down the drive. Bending down, she addressed her houseguests. “Come on, you two, into the garden.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire had been standing at his office window for what felt like an age. He wasn’t concentrating on the busy scene below but staring with unseeing eyes as he tried to sort out the coincidences and connections which made up the puzzle surrounding these three deaths. He just knew, deep in his gut, that there was something or someone that drew them together. However, he had no idea what that was.

  “Sir?” Le Claire brought his mind back to the present as he turned away from the window. Dewar stood in front of him, a clutch of papers in her hand.

  “Yes, Dewar, what is it?”

  “I did as you asked and harassed the research desk for the background checks on the connected parties. There were no hits for either of the Averys or James Grayling.”

  Le Claire sighed. “I guess I didn’t expect anything else.”

  “I also got Ray Perkins’s report. Now he is an interesting character. He’s been arrested a few times—minor felonies—but nothing seems to have stuck. Some bad blood in the family as his father was a...” Dewar quickly checked the paper she held, “yes, here it is, a Jim Perkins. A career criminal but apparently slightly classier than his son has turned out.”

  “Go on.”

  “Perkins Senior was a good old-fashioned thief. He died in prison; he was in for a heist that took place in one of the mansions on London’s Cadogan Square. Seems they cleared out the safe of some lord but got caught when they got into a fight with a fence who they accused of pulling a fast one on them. They roughed the man up when he offered them a low price for some gear he said was just costume jewellery with fake stones. Seems he’d tried to pull this one before. He shopped Perkins in return for getting let off the fencing charges. The Establishment took umbrage at a blatant crime against one of their own, and Perkins got twelve years.”

  “Good work, Dewar. However, if we classed everyone who had criminal parents as guilty, the prisons would be overflowing. I guess this just backs up what we already thought of Ray Perkins. Not exactly a charmer.”

  “There’s more: Perkins was arrested for slapping about an ex-girlfriend when he lived in London. She refused to press charges, and he got off with a caution. I was about to bring the reports to you when his financial analysis came through. His car business looks okay at first glance, but he has a fair amount of debt outstanding. A deeper look and you can see that he’s pretty much juggling the business day-to-day. But there was one interesting point. Ray Perkins paid a hefty sum of money monthly as an insurance premium. The team contacted the insurance company. The death benefit was £3 million—the life assured was Harriet Bellingham.”

  Le Claire paled. “I knew there was something off about him.” He jumped to his feet. “Let’s see if the duty sergeant has finished issuing Ray’s warning. We need another chat.”

  ◆◆◆

  A furious Ray jumped to his feet as Le Claire and Dewar walked into the interview room. “What the fuck are you playing at? That muppet Avery better not have pressed charges.”

  Le Claire’s tone was even and measured. “We need to ask you some questions. Sit down.”

  Ray swore and thumped down heavily onto his plastic chair. Le Claire sat opposite and beckoned for Dewar to sit next to him. He made a show of skimming through the sheaf of papers he held and waved them in Ray’s direction. “Your dad was an interesting character. Take after him, do you?”

  Ray snorted. “Is that the best you can do? My father was a jailbird, so you think I’m a rotten apple? This is rubbish. That’s not enough to hold me.”

  Le Claire shrugged. “No, it isn’t, but the rest may be. You like beating up on women?”

  Two red patches rose on Ray’s cheeks, the only sign that he was affected. “That’s old history from my London days. I had a bit of a disagreement with an old girlfriend, and she accidentally fell against a door handle. I wasn’t charged.”

  “It’s still a point of interest. And then there’s the insurance. That was a tidy sum you insured against Harriet Bellingham’s death. You’re all set to pocket £3 million. People would do a lot for that much cash—even murder.”

  Ray’s temper was spitting fire from his eyes, but he somehow kept his cool. “There is no way you’ll ever prove I hurt Harriet, because I didn’t. I had a policy on her, and I also paid for her to have one on me. That is what people do when they’re together. It isn’t illegal.”

  Le Claire leaned over the table; he knew he had nothing on Ray at the moment. “I will find out who killed Kate Avery, Harriet Bellingham and Emma Layzell, and I will pursue them with all I have. You are a person of interest to me at the moment, so don’t make any plans to leave the island. By tomorrow, we’ll have put your name on the blocked list for the airport and harbours to make sure you don’t make any unscheduled trips.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


  The sun was weakening, but the sea air was bracing and refreshing as Grace relaxed on an old plaid picnic blanket under the dappled shade of the ancient oak tree that grew a few feet from the pool.

  The dogs were careering across the lawn, each taking turns to be the chaser and then the chased. Grace smiled at their antics, as an indulgent parent would, and caught herself. She mustn’t get too attached to anything, or anyone, in Jersey. She’d soon be gone.

  The roar of a car engine coming to a halt in the drive had her rising to her feet and walking towards the sound. She felt a flicker of pleasure as she recognised the car and the driver.

  “James, I am so sorry I didn’t get back to you. I’m afraid my voice mail is full of calls to return, and it’s all been a bit hectic here.”

  James joined Grace in the garden and bent his head to give her a kiss on each cheek. “No problem. Although I have to confess to being a little concerned when I didn’t hear from you. Is everything okay?”

  Grace didn’t know where to start. She quickly filled him in on what had happened to Luca, but she said nothing of Richard Avery’s relationship with Emma Layzell. That story wasn’t hers to tell.

  “Are you safe here now, Grace? Shouldn’t you maybe check into a hotel? I don’t mind telling you that I don’t like the idea of you staying here with people being attacked in your garden.”

  Grace shook her head. “No, I’ll stay here, but I don’t feel entirely safe. At least I’ve got the dogs at the moment, although I guess they’ll get picked up later, but Sam will be home by then.”

  A buzzing noise distracted them. Bending down to the rug, Grace picked up her cell. “I’m so sorry, but I need to take this call.” At his nod, Grace answered. “Fiona? How is everything?”

  She listened intently as she slowly paced around the pool. After a couple of minutes, Grace hung up the call. James had politely looked away to give her privacy, but now he was inquisitive. “Was that the gardener’s wife? Is he okay?”

  “Yes, Fiona left me a message earlier to say that Luca had regained consciousness and was going to be fine. I’ve been trying to call her, but I think she must have switched her phone off while she was in the hospital.”

  James looked concerned. “You seemed a little taken aback by something she said. May I ask what it was?”

  Grace was distracted as she replied. “Yes, of course. It seems that the police interviewed Luca this morning, and the weird thing is that he said he heard a persistent beeping noise after he was attacked. Fiona just wanted me to know in case there was something wrong with the pool pump.”

  “What made her think it was from the pump?”

  “Oh, just that Luca thinks the noise came from that area of the garden.” They both looked across the lawn towards the wooden shed that housed all the technical pool equipment. Grace was puzzled. “I can’t hear anything, but there isn’t anything else electrical there, just the flower beds and petanque court. There aren’t even any automatic garden lights there.” Grace shrugged. “I’ll tell Sam; maybe he can have a look.”

  “Well, I better be off. I’m glad you’re okay and that the gardener is on the mend.”

  He chastely kissed her good-bye and left. Grace sensed James’s interest in her. He was a great guy, and there was definitely something attractive about him. In another place, and another time, he would have been a summer distraction. But there was Sam to think about... and Carter. Grace shook her head. Enough was going on without thinking of men. One had blatantly lied to her, but what about the other two? Could she really trust either James or Sam—especially when the latter was less than truthful about his past relationship with Emma?

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire leaned forward, bent elbows resting on a spare desk in the incident room, his hands in a prayer-like position in front of his mouth. He gently rocked back and forth as he contemplated the whiteboard in front of him. Blown-up images of Kate Avery, Harriet Bellingham and Emma Layzell stared back at him as if taunting and challenging him to find their killers.

  The room was a hive of activity—the clicking of keyboards, the rustle of papers and the subdued voices of conversing colleagues as they sorted through the evidence and ran probabilities and key data searches on the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. The advanced information technology system collated all relevant evidence and data, such as witness statements, and allowed those involved in investigating serious crime to swiftly access data and cross-check through other police systems.

  Dewar stood beside him and waited patiently until he noticed her.

  “Sit down. See if you can help me sort through this muddle.” Le Claire gestured towards a hard plastic chair beside his desk.

  “Sir, what can I help you with?”

  Le Claire tamped down his irritation. “Dewar, I am sick to death of you calling me ‘sir’ at every opportunity. You’re my aide; we work together, so call me Le Claire.”

  Dewar looked startled. “Yes, sir, I mean, Le Claire.”

  Le Claire indicated the board in front of them, and they took in the photographs pinned there. There was a casual Kate Avery at some sort of informal gathering; Harriet Bellingham dressed to the nines, staring defiantly at the camera and Emma Layzell, pretty in a summer frock, her heart shining in her eyes as she looked at whoever was behind the camera.

  “Look, Dewar, just look at them. Three dead women—and we’re no nearer finding the murderer. We have to be missing something. Ray Perkins could have disposed of Kate Avery in the hope that Harriet would inherit the property. When that transpired to be false hope, he could have killed Harriet for the insurance money. But why get rid of Emma Layzell? What connects them?”

  “Maybe it will help if we recap out loud. Sometimes that helps—shows any jarring notes.”

  “Okay. We start with the death of Kate Avery. It was a clever crime, made to look like an old lady having a couple of glasses of wine too many, massively overstating her insulin dose and, in her disorientation, falling over the balcony railing.”

  “And think, sir—Le Claire, that is—if you hadn’t started becoming suspicious, especially after her sister died, and took another look at the case, then it may always have been thought to be an accident.”

  Le Claire nodded. “Wealthy, childless widow is murdered. Let’s follow that to its natural conclusion. Who inherits? Follow the money.”

  Dewar chipped in. “She skips over the next generation to leave everything to the great-niece and nephew. And nothing to the sister.”

  Le Claire was thoughtful. “Which Harriet knew nothing about. She reportedly reacted with fury, threatening to hold up probate and the settlement of the estate. Grace Howard and Sam Avery are Kate Avery’s heirs; it’s their inheritance that Harriet Bellingham was threatening to delay or grab a share of. But where does Emma Layzell fit in? If at all? Logically, I know there may be no connection—but that doesn’t seem right.”

  “But the physical crimes themselves—they don’t feel related.”

  “I agree. Kate Avery was killed in a calculating, well-thought-out manner. The others seem less careful, more passionate.”

  Dewar grimaced. “So we have very little to go on except to follow the money. Could Harriet Bellingham still have ended up with a share of the estate? I mean, I don’t know how that kind of thing works. Would she have had a right to anything?”

  Le Claire quickly shook his head. “I don’t know, but I suggest we go and speak to someone who will know. We also need to work out how Emma Layzell fits into this. The only place I can think to start is with Kate Avery. Everything seems to circle back to her.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire and Dewar were shown into Paul Armstrong’s office, and the lawyer rose to greet them.

  Le Claire reached out to shake his hand. “Thanks for agreeing to see us. I just want some general information about Kate Avery, but first I do have a specific question. We understand that shortly before her death, Harriet Bellingham was threatening to contest the w
ill and make a claim on Mrs Avery’s estate. Could she have succeeded?”

  “It depends on your definition of success. Could Harriet have successfully sued and won a share of the estate? I doubt it. Could she have tied the estate up in litigation and prevented anyone from getting a penny for a very long time? Yes, that she could have done. And to Harriet, there would have been a feeling of having won even if that was all she achieved.”

  Dewar said, “But she wouldn’t have got any money from the estate and would probably have had to pay legal fees. Why would she think she had won?”

  The lawyer’s laugh was a sharp staccato. “Harriet was a bitter woman but very, very clever. It always annoyed Kate that Harriet hadn’t applied herself to anything of value. She would rather have looked for a handout than make something of herself. Harriet wouldn’t have paid any legal fees. She’d have got one of those young, hungry lawyers who are only too keen to make a name on a no win-no fee basis. Harriet always could tell a good story, so she’d have spun him some line to make herself the poor, betrayed sister.”

  Le Claire nodded. “I take it you didn’t like Miss Bellingham.”

  “Not like Harriet? I couldn’t stand her. She took, took and took from Kate until even she had enough and turned off the money supply. Harriet was only ever out for herself. I wouldn’t have wished this on her, but I can’t be a hypocrite and pretend that I care. She was a nasty piece of work, and how she could be related to Kate, I have no idea. Sorry.” Armstrong’s voice had risen, and his face was flushed as he finished speaking. He reached across and grabbed a small bottle of water from the table. Twisting the cap, he took a long drink. “Apologies for the rant, but it seems that Harriet can drive me crazy even in death.”