Blood On The Rock: Treachery, desire, jealousy and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  At her blank look, he said, “Fungi is a name for mushrooms and the like.”

  “What? Talk sense, son. My Drew take magic mushrooms? Rubbish.”

  Dewar’s voice was soft, her Scots burr a comfort in the devastating words she spoke. “No, Maura, traces of deadly mushrooms were found. Drew must have ingested poisonous mushrooms. Unfortunately, they would have started attacking his system almost immediately, and his vital organs would have failed within days. We are treating Mr Portland’s death as suspicious. We are sorry for your loss.”

  “Suspicious. You mean someone gave him something dodgy. How did it happen?”

  “Ask that fancy wife of his. This’ll be her doing.” The rough voice came from the open doorway into the back room. A man stood there. Of average height, he had light brown tousled hair and a shadowed jawline. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

  Maura turned at the voice. “Oh, Ian, did you hear that? Your brother died of eating funny mushrooms. This is the police. They’re asking about Drew.”

  Le Claire spoke, “What did you mean, Mr Portland, when you mentioned Louise Portland?”

  Ian Portland’s words were bitten out with a savage edge. “Because the bitch is one of those fancy-pants foragers. She goes out in the woods picking all sorts of weird and wonderful crap she serves in her restaurant and charges a bloody fortune for. She knows all about mushrooms and what’s deadly. Go and see her. Stupid cow probably got mixed up.”

  Le Claire held his emotions in check and resisted the temptation to throw a “what the hell” look at Dewar. Louise Portland hadn’t offered that information. “We certainly will, Mr Portland. Thank you for that. While we’re here, may we ask you both a few more questions about Drew?”

  Ian Portland sat next to his mother and motioned for them to continue.

  “May I ask when each of you last saw him?”

  The mother was the first to speak. “It was about a week ago. He’s had an upset tummy and wasn’t feeling great, so he was hanging out on his boat during the day.” She paled. “Was his being ill anything to do with what happened?”

  Le Claire said, “I can’t say for sure, but it may have.”

  Ian Portland spoke up. “I saw Drew on Tuesday. He was meant to come out on the early morning fishing run with me as our other brother, Oliver, is away at the moment. He was ill, so I had to go out with one man down on the crew. He said he had the runs and wasn’t well enough to be out at sea.”

  “Thanks. Can you let us know where you were on Wednesday evening?”

  Maura recoiled. “Christ, neither of us had anything to do with what happened to Drew. Don’t be daft.”

  “It is a formality. We’ll be asking everyone connected with Mr Portland where they were. It helps us eliminate people.”

  She drew in a long breath and noisily exhaled through her nostrils. “I had tea at my neighbour’s and watched telly with her for a bit.”

  “And you, Mr Portland?”

  “I was at home.”

  “Do you live alone? Could anyone corroborate your movements?”

  “No, I was alone. Made myself something to eat and had an early night.”

  Le Claire smiled. “Thank you for your time. We will have some more questions, I’m sure, but will talk to you later. You said your other brother is away. When is he due back?”

  “We sell some of our catch in the UK. He’s off on a delivery trip. Should be back tomorrow.”

  Le Claire led the way to the car. “We’ll speak to the restaurant manager before catching up with Louise Portland, our fungi expert. First, let’s check out what’s going on at the station.”

  #

  Maura closed her eyes and shook her head, willing the horror of the past days to disappear. She had lain awake the night before, begging and praying for this to be over, to be a mistake. Yet each day she awoke to the same reality. Drew was gone. A mother shouldn’t have to lose a child. It wasn’t the natural order of things.

  Ian’s voice roused her, brought her back to the here and now. “Christ, I knew something wasn’t right. Our Drew was fit as anything, and he’d only been checked over a month ago by Louise’s pet quack.”

  Maura felt old and feeble as she considered her son’s words. Her mind was fogged with grief as she stumbled over what the police had said. “Suspicious death. What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means the old bill don’t have a clue what happened.”

  Rage built inside; its foundation was impotence and its fuel dislike of her snotty daughter-in-law. “That bitch will have something to do with it. Stupid cow must’ve cooked him one of her fancy meals and served some dodgy toadstools.”

  “Don’t worry, Mum. If Louise did anything to Drew, we’ll have her done.”

  Maura stared at her son. Her deepest fears, the ones she’d hidden since they’d heard about Drew, came to the fore and exploded into words. “You don’t think it was deliberate? Maybe it had something to do with . . .”

  “No, Mum, no way.”

  “I wish Oliver hadn’t gone out on his own.”

  “He isn’t alone. Jake is with him.”

  Maura cast her eyes to the heavens. “Your nephew is fifteen years old. He’s barely shaving. He doesn’t have the experience the rest of you boys have.”

  “I couldn’t go, Mum. It wouldn’t have done for both of us to be off-island.”

  She saw the worry in his eyes and knew it would be mirrored in her own. “There’s fog forecast. I hope they get back all right.”

  #

  Sophie had spent the morning unpacking and nipping into town for some bits she needed. She would lunch in the restaurant and brace herself for seeing Justin. Her mobile rang, and a familiar number filled the caller ID. “Hey, Diane, how are you?”

  “I’m all right, darling. How are you? Louise said you were back. I didn’t realise you were going to be here so soon. What a shock about Drew.”

  “I know. I’ve seen Louise, and she seems to be coping okay.”

  “You must have been horrified when you found out.”

  “I found him.”

  “Shit! Did you have a chance to confront him?”

  “No, I didn’t. I went to talk to him, and he was lying there, dead.”

  “What the hell happened? I didn’t want to press Louise.”

  “I don’t know. They’re doing an autopsy. I’m sure Louise will let us know as soon she hears anything. Look, I’m going to have lunch at the restaurant. Fancy joining me?”

  “Try and stop me. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” There was a pause. “Have you seen Justin yet?”

  “Yes, last night when I arrived at the apartment.”

  “So how was it?”

  “Fine, the place hasn’t changed much.”

  “Don’t be obtuse! You know what I mean. How was it with Justin? Is he still pining for you?”

  Sophie shook her head and rolled her eyes. Diane’s comment had been a tease, looking for a reaction. “That was a long time ago, and we were kids.”

  “He knows we’ve kept in touch and keeps asking me how you are. And don’t play it down with me, missy. You were starry-eyed over him for ages before you finally hooked up. And no wonder. We were all a bit moon-eyed about Justin then. He’s turned into a right looker and filled out nicely. Did you see those biceps?”

  Sophie laughed at her exuberant friend, who never seemed to change. “Stop it, and don’t be in too good a form at lunch. I am grieving for my stepdad by marriage. Actually, I’m not sure that’s even a relationship.”

  “He was my uncle by marriage, but Drew Portland was a lying bastard, and we both know it.”

  “Shush, I’ll see you in the restaurant. Big kiss.”

  Sophie hung up and reflected on the night before. Her heart had flipped a little at seeing Justin again. He’d shown her to the apartment, carried her bags and, standing in the doorway, one arm braced against the doorjamb, had leant across to her and placed the gentlest of kisses on her li
ps. Surprised, she had stood there as he straightened and walked away, his voice carrying along the corridor as he said, “Take care, sweet Sophie. I’m delighted you’re finally home.”

  #

  Le Claire looked around the new Major Incident Room. New in that it had recently been set up by Masters and Hunter, and it was also the first time they’d used this particular space. This area gave a place for all the hand-picked team to be together, to have all the resources they needed: TV screens, whiteboards, desk units, computer systems permanently linked to the main applications. It also had a snazzy hot-and-cold drinks vending machine, with a small kitchen area as well. Dewar would be in her element.

  The leading team members were already present, working away with heads down. Le Claire approached Masters, who was lording it over the rest of the team as he tried to tell them where to sit, leaving a desk near a window for himself. “Well done, Masters, this looks great. Everybody grab some table space. We’ll hot desk each day, so take a place where you can.” All papers had to be locked away at night, so it was no hardship to use different units, which all looked identical and had the same equipment. Masters threw him a hastily concealed black look, and Le Claire knew he would be first in each morning to bag what he considered the best seat. He did get more than a little pleasure at the thought of Masters rushing his morning beauty routine to get to work.

  Le Claire stood in the middle of the room and, raising his voice, said, “Would everyone gather round, please? I’ve got an update for you. Okay, as you know we have created this MIR to investigate the sudden death of Drew Portland. The autopsy results and tissue testing came back this morning, and the pathologist has confirmed the victim’s death is consistent with toxic fungi poisoning, otherwise known as deadly mushrooms. The CSI team also identified traces of the poisonous elements in the wine bottle found by the side of the body. However, what was in this particular bottle wasn’t the cause of his death. Drew Portland must have first ingested the poison several days ago as it takes time for the toxins to take full effect and shut down the organs. We’re not only looking at what occurred on the day he died. We need to look before then, by at least a week. Okay, what is everyone doing so far?”

  Masters spoke, “We’re checking the CCTV around the marina which is privately owned. We need them to release their records and are trying to contact the owners. We have Drew Portland’s mobile phone and have requested his records, same with access to his email and social media accounts.”

  Le Claire was sure Masters would be using the royal “we” and would have delegated everything out. No problem with that, but he didn’t want Masters to be bored. “Great, you can have a look into Portland’s connections, specifically his family. Dig into their background and go and see them to find out more about our victim.” He hoped he was portraying an innocent look on his face. The evil part of Le Claire, the one he kept hidden and only allowed out every now and again, was gleeful at the thought of the immaculate and pristine Masters tiptoeing around the Portland Fisheries outfit.

  Dewar’s voice broke into his thoughts. “What I don’t get is why use poison? It’s the 1930s pre-technology method of choice for your cunning murderer, but not now. I mean, these days the tissue and organ testing is massively accurate and sophisticated. Toxic substances are identifiable and they will show up. So it will be clear, in a lot of cases, that the death wasn’t accidental. I can’t see why they’d use that method.”

  Hunter blushed as he piped up, but his voice was strong. “Perhaps someone was being naive and hoped it could be seen as a tragic accident. People have accidentally eaten deadly mushrooms before.”

  Dewar agreed. “Yes and maybe they didn’t expect the body to be found so quickly. No one had a chance to remove the wine bottles before the police were at the scene.”

  Le Claire nodded. “If we hadn’t seen the bottle, we would never have had concrete proof that someone other than Drew Portland himself was involved in his death. And don’t forget, poison means you don’t have to be there. You don’t have to lay hands on the person physically. You don’t need extreme strength, so we could be looking for a man or a woman. Okay, everyone, get at it, and we’ll talk later.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Le Claire and Dewar asked to see the hotel manager and, after flashing their badges, were shown into a small conference room on the ground floor. Le Claire declined the offer of refreshments, although he almost gave in at Dewar’s crestfallen look. He mentally counted and figured her last mug of tea must have been several hours in the past, but he avoided her glare and, rocking back and forth on his heels, stared out the window. The room overlooked the road and the beach beyond. The hotel was on the outskirts of town in an excellent location. A spacious terrace ran the length of the building and overlooked a prime sea view. Lunch parties had already filled most of the tables.

  The door opened, and a tall man came rushing in. He was smart and professional-looking in a well-cut pale grey suit with a white shirt and dark tie. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Justin Le Mahe. I manage the hotel and restaurant. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m DCI Le Claire, and this is DS Dewar. I’d like to ask a few questions about Drew Portland.”

  “God, yes, of course. Poor Drew. Is there any news yet on how he died? It was so sudden.”

  “We are treating Mr Portland’s death as suspicious until we have completed our investigations. Had you known him long?”

  His face was serious. “I’ve been the manager here since Tony Ginelli died. I was his assistant. Tony ran the whole operation himself. He took me on straight from school, and I worked my way around the various jobs, reception, kitchen, waitstaff. You name it and Tony made me do it. The plan was I’d take on more responsibility and give him more time with Louise, but he died before he could enjoy his retirement.”

  “You must have been young to take over as manager.”

  “Louise trusted me and gave me a chance to prove myself. Anyway, I met Drew when Louise began seeing him. He used to drink in the terrace bar with his pals on a summer’s evening, and that’s how Louise met him.”

  “I believe they got together soon after Mr Ginelli died.”

  Le Mahe visibly bristled. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but Louise was a good wife and went through a terrible time when Tony passed away.”

  Le Claire smiled. The hotel manager was certainly touchy about Louise Portland.

  “I believe Mr Portland ate here on Wednesday?”

  “Yes, he did. He came in as usual about twelve-thirty and stayed for a couple of hours.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “No, he was joined by two other guys. I didn’t know them both, but one of them was Peter Frobisher. He’s a boating chum of Drew’s.”

  Dewar leant across the table. “Do you happen to know what Mr Portland had for lunch?”

  Justin Le Mahe laughed. “We like to say we are conscientious hoteliers and restaurateurs and look after our guests, but I don’t keep that close a tab on them.”

  “Can you find out?”

  “Yes, of course. All our orders are computerised, and Drew had the same table reserved for him each day.”

  Le Claire spoke, “Thank you. I’ll also need details of all the other times Mr Portland ate here over the last, say, three weeks, with details of what he ate.”

  “Really? I guess I can get you that, but I hope you’re not trying to say there is anything wrong with the food here. Our kitchens are immaculate, and I won’t have anyone say otherwise.”

  Dewar’s voice was a soothing balm. “Please be assured we meant no such thing. We need to piece together Mr Portland’s movements and try to build a picture of who he was, what he was doing and the like. So if you could let us know what days he ate here and what he ate, that would be great, even better if you know who he was with, although I appreciate it’s a long shot.”

  His sigh was audible in the quiet of the room. “Sure, I’ll do what I can.”

  Le
Claire said, “Thank you. Does Mrs Portland still work in the restaurant?”

  “Only occasionally. We run special menus every few weeks, and Louise has input in creating them alongside our head chef. Plus she runs the market garden and foraging tours.”

  “What are these tours?”

  “We have some land we use as an allotment, and we take people—mainly hotel guests—on guided tours; they help us harvest some produce, and we cook it for their lunch or dinner.”

  “And the foraging?”

  “That is where we take people around the island, either beach or countryside, and show them where there is effectively free food. Again, we help them collect some, and it becomes part of their next meal.”

  Dewar said, “Isn’t that dangerous? I mean, what if they picked a poisonous plant or something?”

  “That isn’t an issue. Our guides are well-versed in foraging, and Louise is personally on hand to make sure everything is as it should be.”

  “Mrs Portland is an expert in these matters?”

  “Yes, she has studied wild foraging and is a chef herself. That’s how she met Tony Ginelli. She worked in the restaurant, and, actually, she has been instrumental in making Ginelli’s what it is today.”

  “Thanks. While we’re here, could we have a quick look at the wine cellar?”

  “The wine cellar? Sure, this way.”

  They headed to the kitchens. A white door repeatedly swung as servers swarmed in and out. They went through the door into a wide corridor. In front of them lay an opening, which led into the actual kitchen area. To the side of it was a closed door.

  Justin Le Mahe pushed it open. “Follow me. It’s down here.”

  As they descended the steep steps, the air chilled and cloaked them in a cool caress. Talented hands had gouged the wine cellar out of the earth and walled it in thick slabs of granite. Rows of floor-to-ceiling bespoke shelving covered the entire area, each slot cradling a bottle of wine.

  The air was still and oppressive, the silence deafening. Le Claire looked around. “This is impressive. I believe you keep a varied cellar. Do you have Margaux?”