“I’ve ironed your blue linen shirt; it’s supposedly going to be nice weather.”
Richard shouted, “For the love of God, Susannah, stop it! Stop pretending everything is all right. We have to talk, and you’ve avoided the massive bloody elephant in the room ever since we got home.”
“If we do this, Richard, if we really talk, it changes everything. Or we can just ignore it and go on as before.”
“We can’t ignore it. I had a fling, and we need to recognise that and see what each of us did wrong to make me do this. Then we can see if we can rebuild, start again.”
A dark flush stained Susannah’s cheeks, and she jumped up to face Richard. Her voice was low and laced with barely controlled rage. “You utter, utter bastard. A fling? Is that what you call it? You’ve been sleeping with another woman for years, wining and dining her, sneaking away on your sordid little breaks. You think I’m a fool, don’t you?”
Richard shook his head and put out a restraining hand meant to calm his wife. Susannah brushed him away as she continued. “I knew. I always knew.”
Richard’s look of shock made her laugh, but it was a sound devoid of any mirth. “The smell of perfume on your clothes—not very easy to explain when you’ve supposedly spent the night at the Rotary with a load of other boring old farts.” She was spitting out the words now in short, sharp bursts of fury. “The increase in business trips, never answering your mobile without checking the caller ID, the sudden interest in dinners for this and that and the other, all of which you had to attend alone. And the sex—don’t forget that, Richard, or shall we just say the lack of? I’m not a fool.” Susannah drew a shaky breath and stood there, a middle-aged woman on edge, forcibly ripped from her comfortable life and its carefully constructed illusions.
“Darling, you have to know it meant nothing. We can sort this out.”
Susannah’s voice rose until she was screaming her words. “So you never loved her, and it was all my fault you strayed? So let’s find out what old Susannah was doing wrong? I made you do this, didn’t I? Poor, poor Richard. Well, I’ll tell you this—”
His face contorted with contempt, and his words rushed out. “Oh, play it that way, Susannah, but you’ll see sense and come round to my way of thinking. We’ve too much to lose if we don’t sort this out. I’d never have left you, you stupid woman. I need some space.”
And with that, he stalked out of the room and, grabbing his keys from the hall table, stormed out the front door, banging it behind him. The noise drowned out the sobbing of his wife as she collapsed onto the sofa.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Le Claire drove into the dimly lit seaside car park. A solitary car was almost hidden in the far corner, and two men stood outside the vehicle, leaning against it as they quietly conversed. Le Claire parked in the space next to them and gave each a nod of recognition as he joined them. All three wore dark clothing and rubber-soled shoes, multi-pocketed jackets completing the look.
“Masters, Porter, thanks for getting organised at such short notice.”
Le Claire cursed his luck that DI Bryce Masters was one of the Authorised Firearms Offices chosen for tonight’s work. He and Porter usually worked together, and both were on the incident team. Le Claire hadn’t really had an alternative option and vowed to keep his personal feelings in check.
Masters spoke first, and Le Claire subdued his initial thought that the other man just loved hearing the sound of his own voice. “No problem. Everything has been arranged as you asked. We are armed with Tasers and handguns and will risk assess as we go along. We’ve two squad cars patrolling the nearby area, and we can call them in for extra support if need be. Tyler is on the beach watching the main entrance. The two occupiers appear to still be in the house. Tyler called in a few minutes ago to say that some of the lights have gone out, and he’ll let us know when the place is in full darkness.”
“Thanks, Masters. If anyone does approach this place tonight, I want us well and truly in position and in control.”
Porter said, “Sir, I walked around the area a couple of hours ago. The main entrance into the place is the private road that runs from the coast, but there is a weak spot. There’s a gap in the hedge that separates Rocque View from the neighbouring property; it comes out just before the main gates. There’s a well-worn path leading up to it, and I think it’s been used as a sort of unofficial right-of-way.”
“Well done, Porter. We’ll keep an eye on that.”
The men’s attention was drawn to a familiar unmarked car that drew up beside them. Dewar jumped out. She was dressed in a similar style to her colleagues—unrelieved black from the top of her baseball cap to the toes of dark trainers. Her eyes were focused on her boss.
“Go ahead, Dewar. What have you found out?”
“The Jim Perkins whose wife bought Rocque View is the self-same Jim Perkins who was a London jewel thief and Ray Perkins’s father. Ray was born from a previous relationship that Jim Perkins had with a nightclub hostess. She effectively brought Ray up on her own, but apparently, father and son were reconciled before he passed away, ironically, just months before his sentence was due to end.”
Le Claire looked puzzled. “He served the full twelve years? What was the issue? I mean, why no parole?”
Dewar lifted a brow in disdain. “Seems old Pa Perkins never gave up the location of the stolen goods from that last job, and it’s never turned up to this day. Lord and Lady Hampton were old-school. They kept almost all their valuables in their apartment—didn’t trust the bank vaults or safe deposit facilities. They had one of these big old-fashioned safes, which would have been easy as pie for an old rogue like Jim Perkins.”
“And the Jersey connection? How did that come about?”
“You’d know more than me about this, but apparently there’s a load of very respectable and wealthy people living in Jersey today who weren’t quite so respectable when they lived in London.”
“There’s many an ex-stripper from Soho who is now a yummy-mummy flashing her husband’s wealth in diamond rings and tennis bracelets as she does the school run. But get back to Jim Perkins.”
“Sorry. Earlier today, I called the neighbours around Rocque View. Most have only been there a few years. However, I got lucky, and on the way here I popped in to see the old bloke who lives on the other side. He’s lived in that house for nearly forty years.”
Le Claire smiled in anticipation. “And?”
“He remembers them. Said the wife was there all the time, but he hardly ever saw the husband. They told him Jim Perkins was a salesman and had to work in the UK a lot. The neighbour said that whenever he was back, the walls rattled with their arguments. Not the happiest home, I think. What is interesting is that he thought it a damned shame that the husband died and the widow had to sell up and move her and the little kid out. This is interesting because the house was sold twelve years before Jim Perkins died. That’s what the lawyer told you.”
Masters and Porter had been avidly listening to the conversation. Masters was first on the uptake. “I get it. The old man gets sent down for a big stretch, leaving the wife to fend for herself. So she sells the house and, by the sounds of it, ditches the husband and tells everyone he’s dead. What happened to her?”
“I have absolutely no idea. I can’t find any trace of a Karen Perkins in Jersey. Admittedly, I haven’t had much time to look.”
Le Claire was impatient to move the conversation on. “That’s not important. We can look later if need be. Anything else?”
“No, not really. The old boy is mad keen on his garden though and made me take a quick whizz around it. He said it was a terrible shame that Perkins died just after he’d spent a lovely summer getting his own garden sorted—seems he was out digging at all hours.”
As soon as the words blithely tripped out of her mouth, Dewar turned a stricken look towards Le Claire. “You don’t think... do you... I mean...”
Le Claire laughed. “Oh yes, I bloody do think. So
me East End lowlife moves to Jersey but is always popping across to the UK. He’s just done a massive jewellery job and spends the summer here, lying low, and—if we can believe it—burying the loot in the garden. He gets arrested and charged and spends the next twelve years in prison.”
Dewar’s eyes lit up. “The covenants, sir. Preventing certain areas being dug up or built on.”
“Spot on.” Le Claire looked at his team for the night. “Come on, let’s go over everything again while we wait for Tyler’s all clear.”
◆◆◆
Ray Perkins sat on his favourite stool in the hotel bar and ordered another beer. Last orders were long gone, but a traditional lock-in was in progress; hotel guests and very best customers could drink until the small hours if they wanted to. The young bartender popped open an ice-cold beer and handed it across to what was probably his best customer in exchange for the correct change. His voice was light and teasing. “You’re taking it easy tonight, Ray. You came late, and this is only your second beer. You feeling all right?”
Ray saluted the barkeep with the bottle before taking a long swig. “I’m fine, Andy. Just got a bit of business to go about. Need to keep a clear head.” And under his breath, he muttered, “And I should have done this sooner. You’ve got to keep an eye on things. Can’t trust anyone or anything.”
◆◆◆
Le Claire and his team waited by the bottom of the private drive. Masters held his radio in his hand, and a soft beep alerted him to the incoming message. His voice was a whisper. “Thanks. Okay. Stay where you are.”
Turning to Le Claire, he said, “That was Tyler. All the lights are out. We’re on.”
Le Claire gestured towards the gates of Rocque View. “Let’s go. You know your positions. No radio contact unless absolutely necessary, and please be careful. Remember, let this play out. We need evidence, so no heroics until I say so.”
In single file, they stealthily entered the gardens, spreading out and taking cover under the trees. Le Claire watched his team disappear into the deep foliage and then did the same. All they had to do now was wait.
◆◆◆
The sun had set hours ago, and Grace was lying in bed, tired but unable to sleep. She’d had another call from her mother. She had seen Carter, who was full of his conversation with Grace and how he was giving her time to come around to his way of thinking. The words and her mother’s attitude angered her. Was Grace just a pawn as they shuffled her about the chessboard? Carter wants you, now he doesn’t, now he does—this time forever.
Her head ached, and she didn’t want to think about any of this. She turned over in bed and stopped as she felt a long, hard body pressed against her. Her eyes shot open, and, wide awake, she sat up in bed and heard the low rumblings of doggy dreams. Daisy lay in a long, straight line. Her head was almost on the pillow, her back turned towards Grace, and her Doberman snore was louder than any human’s. Grace realised she had been pushed across the bed by Daisy and lay almost on the edge. Perhaps she’d be better getting on the other side of the dog?
With a sigh, she sat up and swung her feet to the ground. Her hand reached out for the bedside light switch but instead fell on her phone. She’d use the flashlight app. Within a second, she was holding an illuminated beam that flickered across the room as she walked around the bed. And then she realised something was missing. Where was Barney? Both dogs had bounded up the stairs after her when she had gone to bed and had lain, cuddled together, on the soft rug that covered the wooden floor. Barney was nowhere in the room.
Grace lifted her dressing gown from the chair in the corner and, shuffling her feet into her slippers, headed downstairs with the phone lighting her way. She paused by Sam’s door, which was wide open. Her voice was soft and gentle as she called for the little dog. “Barney, come on, boy, are you there?” Nothing. She peered around the open door and let the flashlight beam slowly cover the room. Barney wasn’t there. Nor was Sam. His bed was empty. With a puzzled frown, Grace searched the rest of the house for the little dog—and Sam.
◆◆◆
A dark-clad figure slipped through the garden. Hugging the front of the house, they stealthily made their way to the far right side of the swimming pool. Dropping a bag to the ground, he pulled out a spade, and without hesitation, headed straight to the middle of the petanque court, the sandy gravel crunching underfoot.
Le Claire held his earpiece as he heard Porter reporting sotto voce, “He’s there, sir, starting to dig up the bowls area.”
Le Claire’s response was whispered. “Stay still. Let’s see what he, literally, digs up.”
As he watched the figure go about his night’s work, Le Claire filtered the possibilities through his head. Trouble was that he couldn’t discount anyone. Someone could have left the house by either back or main door, which was actually on the side of the house, and come into the garden. Or they could have come from the coast or through the neighbouring properties.
◆◆◆
Sweat was pouring from his brow as he dug deeper and deeper. He felt a calm detachment, as though he were watching himself carry out this work, overseeing a man who was about to get everything he deserved, all he had fought so hard for. He knew it was there. The machine had told him so. The metal detector had gone crazy at this spot. If that bloody fool gardener hadn’t been lurking in the gardens, he’d have been able to finish the job days ago. But no, he’d been worried that there had been too much of a commotion, so he had quickly refilled the hole and vanished.
It couldn’t be much longer now. He was so near, so close.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Barney wasn’t in the house, nor was Sam. Grace stood in the utility room and wondered where they were. Then she noticed that the back door lay ajar. What if Sam had gone out for some reason and Barney had slipped out after him? Grace couldn’t shake the thought that something was wrong. Pulling her dressing gown tight, she opened the back door and went outside.
Suddenly, a dark shape loomed in front of her, and she held a hand to her mouth to stop a scream escaping. What did escape was an angry accusation, whispered in response to the silent night. “Sam, you idiot. You nearly scared the life out of me. What are you doing?”
Sam laughed gently and indicated to the base of the tree that lay in the centre of the back garden. A little body was pressed against the tree with one leg cocked as nature took its course. “Barney was jumping all over me and whining. As soon as I got out of bed, he ran downstairs and started snuffling by the back door. As you can see, he needed to go out, quite urgently I imagine from how long he’s been watering that tree.”
Grace patted a hand against her heart and whispered, “Almost back to normal. What a shock you gave me.”
“Sorry about that. I’ve got in the habit of having a walk around the gardens at odd times. It’s a pity I didn’t do that every night—I may have been able to prevent Luca being attacked.”
Grace laid a soft hand on Sam’s arm, and a sudden heat spiralled between them. Sam looked at her just a little longer than was polite, and she started to feel nervous, certainly not uncomfortable, but there was a definite prickle of awareness.
Sam moved closer to her. “Grace, everything that has been going on has been so strange. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wish we had met under different circumstances. I really feel there is something between us, and—”
Just then, a short, furry figure shot away from the tree and ran around the side of the house, heading towards the front gardens. Grace was the first to move. “I’ll get him, Sam. It will only take a second. You shut the door in case Daisy comes down.” And she chased after the little dog as its stubby tail disappeared around the corner.
◆◆◆
Le Claire saw it all and, unexpected as it was, felt paralysed as he watched the scene unfold in slow motion. A small shape ran from the far corner of the house, heading directly towards the swimming pool. It let out an excited bark and drew the attention of the dark figure, who moved
back under the branches of the nearest tree.
With mounting horror, Le Claire saw someone chase after the little dog and felt helpless as he watched Grace run down the steps towards the pool, right in the line of a man who was undoubtedly a thief, and probably a murderer.
◆◆◆
Grace held her phone in front of her, the light beaming onto the little dog but blinding her to all except that which lay directly in her path. She cleared the steps and was gaining on Barney when she saw a flicker of movement to her side. Beneath the branches of an ancient tree, she could make out a moving shape, a pale face. She let out a scream as a hard, muscular arm snaked out and roughly dragged her towards him. She recoiled in horror at the words whispered into her ear as her attacker jerked her head back by a rough pull to her hair. “You silly bitch, and you’ve been quite pleasant so far. If you’d stayed in the house, I wouldn’t have had to hurt anyone.”
Grace’s heart stuttered, and her voice was hesitant as she whispered in disbelief. “You?”
◆◆◆
Le Claire saw Grace being grabbed by her assailant, and, making sure the catch was off his Taser holster, he moved into the open, casting a long shadow as he stood in a pool of light from the hunter’s moon. When he spoke, his voice was controlled but boomed across the garden. “Stop! Don’t harm her.” He shone his torch at the struggling figures, momentarily blinding them both. The man turned his face, squinting, and Le Claire quickly schooled his look of surprise. This was not what he had expected.
James Grayling moved away from the light, dragging Grace after him. She stumbled, and one slipper fell off, her bare foot scraping along the rough ground. She cried out in pain, and the dog, who had been cowering by the side of the pool, jumped up and, with a ferocious growl that belied his size, ran towards the struggling pair, sharp teeth bared. He pounced on Grayling, who kicked out a leg and caught the small dog full on its side. With an anguished howl of pain, the dog fell onto its side and lay there panting.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 24
