“You bastard.” Grace’s voice broke the unnatural silence, and Le Claire saw her struggle as she tried to prise James Grayling’s hand from around her waist. Silver flashed in the moonlight, and Le Claire’s eyes sharpened as the long blade of a vicious knife was pressed against Grace Howard’s throat. Grayling’s voice was harsh and emotionless. “Keep still, or I swear I’ll gut you from head to toe.” His captive sagged against him as if fear paralysed her limbs.
Le Claire slowly moved his hand and spoke into his transmitter. “Careful, he’s got a knife. Slowly move out.” Holding up his hands in supplication, he called out, his tone neutral and his words conciliatory as he used Grayling’s first name to try and build a connection. “James. Steady now, you don’t want to hurt anyone. Put down the knife and let Grace go.”
James’s arrogant smile faltered a little as he saw the figures emerge from the shadows. Dewar, Masters and Porter spread out across the lawns, blocking him from accessing the drive. That left only one option.
CHAPTER FORTY
James slowly backed up towards the house, pulling Grace with him, the serrated edge of the knife pressed firmly against her throat so that one false move would draw blood. Le Claire and his team slowly followed. Grace ignored the hammering of her heart as she desperately tried to keep as still as possible.
James quickly cleared the side of the building, and they emerged into the courtyard behind the house. Grace kept her eyes on the advancing police team—they were her only hope.
Suddenly, the back door swung open, and Sam came out. “Grace, what on earth is that racket? Where’s Barney?” He stopped as he took in the scene in front of him. “Christ, James! What the hell are you doing?”
James swung round, and Grace tried to steady herself. His arm was tight around her waist as he held her to him in a parody of an embrace. “Stay where you are, Sam. You too, Le Claire. Keep your men back. Let me go, and I’ll let the lovely Grace live.”
Sam halted, framed in the wide-open doorway, as his eyes sought out Grace. She could see his fear and concern and desperately hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
Grace tracked Le Claire as he moved forward, his hands held out in supplication. “Look, can’t we talk about this? Right now, we’ve got you for trespassing and threat with a dangerous weapon. Don’t make this more serious. Come on, you’re not going to harm Grace. Put the knife down.”
James laughed. “Don’t be so foolish. I’ve killed before, and I’ll do it again.”
Grace tensed in horror and sagged against James, letting him bear her weight, hoping it might slow him down.
Le Claire sucked in his breath. “But you can’t have killed Kate Avery. You were off the island.”
“Of course I had an alibi, you fool. That’s the way it was planned.”
Le Claire slowly nodded. “But you didn’t have an alibi for the time of the murders of Harriet Bellingham and Emma Layzell, did you?”
Before James could say anything else, a hoarse voice spoke from the shadows. “You little bastard. It was you. You killed my Harriet.”
◆◆◆
Le Claire’s head whipped around towards the voice just as Ray Perkins emerged from the deep borders to the side of the house. His gaze swivelled back to James, who had briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Ray slowly advanced towards him; in his outstretched arm was a gun. James immediately pulled Grace in front of him as a human shield. “Don’t be so melodramatic. You only went with the old bag so we could get our hands on this place. But she was a misguided old cow, wasn’t she? Because she got nothing, nothing.” This last was almost screeched.
The words stopped Le Claire in his tracks. They were colluding in some way. He motioned behind his back towards his team, the message clear. They were to cut off any access points out of Rocque View.
“Why the fuck did you have to kill Harriet? She wasn’t standing in our way.”
“Yes, she was, you benighted fool. She wanted her due.” The last was said in a whiny, high-pitched voice as James mimicked Harriet. “And what would have happened then? Probate would have been held up while the lawyers got involved. Christ knows how long it would have taken us to get our hands on the place. No. I’m sick of the pretence. She should have kept her mouth shut.”
Ray kept advancing, the gun held steady. “After all I’ve done for you...”
“I made all the plans. I thought of everything, every single detail. All you had to do was inject a frail woman in her seventies and make it look like an accident. And you even managed to fuck that up. You were wearing gloves or should have been. What possessed you to wipe all the bloody prints off? That doesn’t look suspicious, does it?”
Le Claire saw a shadow behind Ray. Masters had made his way around the house and was now blocking that exit. Porter would be close behind him. Le Claire needed to stall James and keep him talking. “And Emma Layzell? Why her? Was it just because she couldn’t get the property for you?”
“No, she may have been terrible at securing the deal, but the little bitch knew something. She left me a message that night, but it wasn’t garbled. No, it was quite clear. Said she knew what I was up to and I wouldn’t get away with it. So there was nothing else I could do.”
As he spoke, James was slowly retreating towards the back of the property—a wide-eyed Grace held in front of him. A wooden fence and a line of trees shielded the garden from the park beyond. It would be deserted, but it was surrounded by a maze of streets and houses. Places to get lost in. With a brutal shove, he pushed Grace towards Ray. She stumbled and fell against him, and Ray’s gun arm came down in an involuntary movement as he tried to prevent himself from falling. Grace screamed as Ray pushed her aside. James turned and leapt onto the wooden fence, reaching out to take a firm hold on the top, lifting his leg to vault over.
Le Claire and Dewar were the nearest. Ray ran towards James, puffing as he did so. “Dad should have had you drowned at birth, you little swine.”
James was almost over the fence, one leg still dangling. He halted and laughed. “You’d be nothing without me. You’d never have worked out how to kill Kate and make it look like an accident. It was my plan, and I had to fix things when they went wrong. Good-bye, Brother.”
◆◆◆
Grace tried to sit up, and a sharp pain shot through her side where she had landed on the hard concrete. As James raised his leg to disappear over the fence, there was a blood-curdling howl and a scrabbling of sharp claws as the Doberman came charging out of the house. Daisy ran in a straight line towards the fence and, with a ferocious growl, leapt up and fastened her powerful jaws around James’ leg. He howled in pain and struggled to pull his leg away, but the dog wasn’t letting go. James reached into his jacket and pulled out his knife and, leaning down, started slashing at the dog in savage movements.
Grace felt rage course through her. “Stop it!” she shouted.
In his panic, James missed, and Sam ran forward and grabbed at the hand that held the weapon. As he did so, James stretched as far as he could and stabbed at Sam with a hard, vicious thrust. Sam cried out and fell to the ground, the handle of the knife sticking from his chest, spurts of blood staining his white T-shirt.
Grace’s anguished scream rent the air as she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the pain. “Sam! No!”
◆◆◆
Le Claire and Dewar had wrestled the gun from Ray, who was now being restrained by Dewar in a headlock as he struggled and cussed. Le Claire slowly advanced towards the fence.
James kicked and flailed as he tried to dislodge the dog, but he couldn’t. Masters came round the side of the building at speed, his handgun raised and ready to fire. “Stay where you are, or I’ll shoot.”
James ignored him, and with one last effort, he kicked out hard. The dog lifted off its paws and loosened its grip. James quickly pulled his leg over the fence and made to disappear.
The gunshot was like a loud crack of thunder, intense and booming. James clutched at his c
hest and fell forwards, back into the garden, and landed heavily on the ground.
In a swiftness that belied his bulk, Ray had thrown Dewar to the ground, grabbed his pistol back, and in one sure movement had shot James Grayling.
Masters and Porter handcuffed a surprisingly docile Ray. Grace had collapsed on the ground by Sam, kneeling beside him; she rocked back and forth as hitching sobs shook her body. A limping Dewar shut the Doberman inside and then made her way to the front of the house, coming back moments later with the small dog in her arms before he too was safely placed indoors. Le Claire stood by Sam, who lay unmoving on the ground. As he reached for his radio, Grace turned her tear-ravaged face towards him. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, but he could see the anxiety and fear. “Help him. Please.”
Le Claire called it in. “We need an ambulance. Hurry—I don’t know if he’ll make it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Several hours later, Le Claire and a pale-faced Dewar were in his office. The sun had risen an hour before, and a new day beckoned. Neither had slept or changed, and both looked a little worse for wear from the night’s events.
Dewar’s shoulder had been dislocated in the tussle with Ray. It was now tightly strapped up, and she’d been given some painkillers. Tired as they were, they had still mercilessly grilled Ray Perkins. He had two killings under his belt now, for James Grayling had died instantly, killed by his own half brother. Le Claire shook his head as he sighed. “Well, at least Perkins was accommodating enough to fill in the blanks. He may have been the one who killed Kate Avery, but he wasn’t in the mood for protecting his brother’s memory. He obviously wanted Grayling’s guilt to be quite clear, even posthumously. No wonder we hadn’t tagged them as being connected. Karen Perkins reverted to her maiden name when her husband was convicted and put in prison.”
“And then Ray, all grown up and visiting his dad, finds out he has a little brother and a hidden fortune waiting for him in Jersey. But his old man’s been clever and put covenants on the property to prevent any future owner of the property from accidentally digging it up.”
Le Claire took a long draught of his coffee and briefly closed his eyes in pleasure as the caffeine hit. “Years later, he contacts a now grown-up James, and they form a relationship, and it all leads to this horrific situation. We still need to do some tidying up as Perkins wasn’t clear why his brother was so anxious to get his hands on the jewels. However,” Le Claire got to his feet, “that will wait. You get off home.”
Dewar rose and made her way to the door. “Sir—I mean, Le Claire—are you going to tell Ray Perkins that we’ve dug up the jewellery?”
His face was grim as he replied. “Oh, yes, I intend doing that right now.”
◆◆◆
Grace hadn’t suffered more than a couple of bruises from the night’s adventures. Not so Sam. She’d been sitting by his bedside for the last half hour. He was bandaged and drugged up to the eyeballs, but he was going to be okay. His wound was deep and would take some time to heal, but the knife hadn’t hit any vital organs. There was a movement from the bed, and she realised Sam was awake and looking at her, his eyes a little unfocused.
“Hey, Grace. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Been here long?” His voice was hoarse, and he was obviously in a lot of pain, but a look of appreciation still flickered in his eyes. Grace had put on some makeup and felt pretty in her cool cotton dress.
“I arrived just as your mum and dad were leaving. They’ve gone to pick up the dogs. They seemed strained. More importantly, how are you?”
“I’ll live, and you’re right, things are way off between them. Guess you couldn’t expect anything else, though. Mind you, it works for me. I had to tell Dad that I’m adding my inheritance from Kate into the business. I know he doesn’t like mixing private money into the business, but it’s the only way we’ll be able to do the new deal. He’s so stressed out about Mum that he didn’t even care.” Sam winced as he struggled to sit up.
“No, don’t.” Grace fussed around Sam, straightening the covers and adjusting his pillow. “The doctor said you’re not to move.”
“I always knew James was a sleazeball. A detective came round earlier and updated me. And what a shock that he was Ray’s brother. It’s the situation with the jewels I can’t believe.”
“Nor can I. In fact...” Grace stopped speaking as her cell rang. Glancing into her bag, she noted the caller information on the lit-up screen. “Hold on. I better take this. Hello, Carter.”
Sam jerked as he heard the name and looked away to the side.
Grace’s voice was loud and clear. “Thank you, Carter, but I’m afraid I’m not interested. I wish you well, but I think it’s best we go our separate ways.”
She reached out and touched Sam’s hand. He turned to look at her, a tentative question in his eyes. “I’ll be staying in Jersey for a while. I need to see how something turns out.”
◆◆◆
Le Claire walked into the interview room where Ray’s statement was being finalised. “So, Ray, you thought killing Kate would get you Rocque View and what was hidden there? Quite the treasure hunter, aren’t you?”
Ray was belligerent. “It was left to James and me by our dad. It was ours by right. Did you find them—the jewels?”
Le Claire laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “Oh, Ray, you fool. It isn’t yours, and it never was. Yes, we dug them up, and we’ve had a local jeweller give everything the once over.”
Ray’s eyes lit with avarice as he breathed, “Tell me, what was there? What’s it worth? Do you know?”
“Oh, yes. It’s estimated at around two and a half.”
“Jesus, two and a half million.”
“Afraid not, Ray. More like £2,500. There were a couple of minor value real pieces. The rest was fake—all fake. Nice copies but worth buttons. That fence your old man accused of stitching him up was telling the truth. You and James committed three murders, and you killed your brother, for nothing—absolutely nothing.”
◆◆◆
Le Claire knocked on his wife’s front door. He had gone there straight from the station. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored finish to the door panel and winced. His jaw was dark with stubble, his hair ruffled, and his eyes dark-shadowed.
Before he could try and smooth his hair, Sasha stood in the doorway, a puzzled look on her face. “Jack, what are you doing here? You look terrible.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s been a bit of a night, and that’s what got me thinking. About us. Here’s the thing: I’m not sure I want to sign the bloody papers.”
The colour drained from Sasha’s face as she looked at her husband. “If this is just because of the other night, then don’t say another word. It was a mistake for both of us. You just needed comfort, Jack.”
“It wasn’t a mistake, love, and you know that deep down. It’s you I need. It was my entire fault; how I reacted to what happened in London and then being so wrapped up in the job that I forgot about us. How I let it consume me. We both turned into different people; me because of my focus on the job, and all that entails, and you because I was a selfish, self-pitying fool.”
Le Claire smiled, sincerity in his eyes, as he said, “Things will be different this time, Sasha. I promise you.”
THE END
About the Author
Kelly Clayton lives by the sea with her husband and several cats. An avid storyteller, Kelly originally finished this book for a dear friend who was far from home but is happily now back where she belongs.
If you have enjoyed Blood In The Sand, the first in The Jack Le Claire Mystery series, please leave a review on Amazon. Kelly would be immensely grateful for your taking the time to do so.
Please also visit www.kellyclaytonbooks.com for updates on Kelly’s novels and for posts on starting, writing and finishing your novel.
Kelly is also a founder and director of the multiple award-winning MyVLF, the world’s first online global literary festival. My Virtual Literary Fest
ival is dedicated to connecting readers and authors. In addition to several annual festivals, this online venue provides a welcoming space to watch author talks, browse the bookshelves, catch-up on the latest book news, and download the free monthly book group read. Find out more at MyVLF.com.
Acknowledgements
No book ever gets finished without the input and support of many people. I would like to thank those who have travelled this road with me.
Louise Voss was the first to see the rough draft and gave a critique that got me on the right path. Jennifer Quinlan (Jenny Q of Historical Editorial) who is a development and copy-editor extraordinaire and goes the extra mile in everything she does. Jenny really cares, and it shows.
To Alex, Ann, Elaine, Pam and Suzie—my fantastic beta readers. Thank you for taking the time to read, to comment and to help me improve Blood In The Sand.
And to Claire, who listened to this story long before anyone else read it and was, in so many ways, my inspiration.
Many thanks also to former Chief Officer Mike Bowron of the States of Jersey Police who helped me differentiate my DCIs from my DSs. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
To Drena and Clem, thank you for believing in me and for all the ways you show your love.
Finally, to my husband Grant, who put up with so much with unfailing patience and love—there simply aren’t enough ways to thank you.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 25
