Le Claire motioned to Dewar with a flick of his head. “We’ll leave you for the moment but may have some more questions later.”
“Sure, sure.”
As they drove away from the marina, a battered Land Rover was turning into a parking bay. The woman driver nodded in recognition. It was Beth Frobisher. At least her brother would have company.
#
Le Claire looked around the small, crowded space Cathy Frobisher had called home. The CSI team were sifting for clues, for background, anything to build a picture of the woman she had been and what might have led someone to kill her. Dewar was talking to some of the team and immediately broke away when she saw him. Vanguard followed her, and Le Claire addressed the CSI specialist.
“What’s the score?”
“As you can see, this isn’t a large space, so we’re nearly done. We’ve looked through the personal belongings and have taken her laptop and papers to review back at the station lab.”
“Anything stand out?”
“Mainly what isn’t here. I can’t find a mobile, but we know she had one as Drew Portland called her, and it was a registered number. Plus these.” Vanguard pointed to a large plastic bag into which were bundled several smaller labelled plastic pouches. The jewels sparkled. “There are several sets of diamond earrings, a necklace and a pricey-looking tennis bracelet. Looks like it is true what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“That a man treats his mistress better than his wife.”
Dewar’s cough broke into their discussion, and Le Claire could see she had a disapproving look in her eye.
“If you gentlemen are finished, I was about to talk to the neighbours.”
Le Claire nodded. “Fine, let’s go.”
Two other flats shared the same landing. There was no answer at the one farthest away, but the next-door apartment was opened almost before Dewar had knocked. A grey-haired man with a disgruntled expression held the door half-open and asked, “Yes, what can I do for you?”
Le Claire flashed his badge. “We’d like a word about one of your neighbours. I’m afraid there has been an incident, and Cathy Frobisher died last night.”
He tutted and pursed his lips. “That girl was on a roller coaster going downhill fast, but I didn’t expect that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been like a bloody circus here this past week. You can hear a neighbour’s kettle boiling through the partition walls. They’re paper-thin, and Christ knows how it got past the building regulations.”
“Can you tell us what’s been going on?”
“Some icy madam turned up. She had words with Cathy, and money was mentioned. “
“Would you recognise the woman?”
“Yeah, she was a skinny redhead. Dressed all posh.”
Well, and didn’t that sound like Louise Portland?
“Thanks. If you think of anything else, let us know.”
“Wait, some bloke was here. It was her husband, the one she doesn’t live with. There was a load of screeching and caterwauling. Shouting and crying. They were talking about a baby. It sounded like Cathy was pregnant. Poor cow.”
“When was this?”
“Earlier in the week, Monday maybe.”
They left the man to his day and returned to Cathy’s flat. Dewar was fizzing, and her next words were spot on. “The lying so and so. Peter Frobisher said he last saw Cathy when they argued at Ginelli’s, yet, if the neighbour is correct, he visited her after that—and he knew she was pregnant.”
“We better have another chat with Peter Frobisher.”
#
Sophie had risen early and driven to the reservoir, where she’d run the circuit, feet pounding in a rhythmic beat. She was going to have a shower, get changed and go and see Louise. She had questions, and they needed answers.
Reception was quiet. In fact, there wasn’t anyone around. The door to the staff area was ajar, and she heard a muffled noise. Was someone crying? Nikki was sitting on the floor, Justin by her side, and several other staff members were dotted around the room. All were ashen, and some were in tears. “What’s going on?”
Justin patted Nikki’s shoulder and moved across to Sophie, drawing her into his arms. There were surprised looks all around them. “Cathy Frobisher is dead.”
“What? That’s awful. What happened?”
“Not too sure, but Nikki saw it on Facebook. It was some woman who saw Peter. Cathy was found dead in a car park in St Ouen. They say it’s murder.”
“Christ, that’s unbelievable.”
Nikki’s voice was a tremble. “That’s Drew and Cathy. Both murdered. Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence. Who’d have any reason to kill them?”
Nikki’s voice dripped with innocence, but it was laced with venom. The bitch knew only too well what she was saying, and Sophie could have slapped her as the surreptitious looks in her direction were increasingly difficult to ignore. But did they believe Sophie’s stepmother had reason and motive or did they think it was Sophie herself?
#
Sophie had quickly changed out of her running gear and jumped in and out of the shower and dressed in five minutes. She wanted to catch Louise for more reasons than one.
Louise was reclining on the chaise longue in her office and looked to be working her way through some menu suggestions. Her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, and she was carefully making amendments with a bright red marker.
“Ah Sophie, your voice mail said you wanted a chat. Sorry, I didn’t get back to you before, but I’ve been a little under the weather.”
She did look pale and fragile. She had always been fine-boned, but now she seemed less robust, more ethereal. Sophie looked at her properly for the first time since she’d been back and saw behind the elegant clothes and heavy make-up. Louise didn’t look her best. Perhaps she had loved Drew more than her recent attitude displayed.
“Come on in. Tea? Coffee?”
Sophie declined with a quick head shake. “I take it you’ve heard about Cathy? It’s awful.”
Louise’s face was blank. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Oh, come on, show some sympathy. I know she was running around with Drew, but the woman is dead, and apparently, it was brutal, absolutely shocking.”
Louise took off her reading glasses and set them aside as she swung her feet off the chaise and gave Sophie her full attention.
“Of course I am shocked and saddened. A woman has lost her life, but I won’t be a hypocrite. I couldn’t stand Cathy Frobisher, and I won’t miss her.”
Sophie processed the words and, grudgingly, understood the sentiment. “Harsh, but only to be expected, I guess. But what do you think happened? I mean, it’s all a bit suspicious that Drew and his mistress die within a week of each other.”
“More to the point is what was she doing in a dark and isolated car park? You’re asking for trouble doing that.”
“Maybe we better move on to why I’m here. I’ve been to see Dad’s old lawyer, and he talked me through the will. I’ve been under a bit of a misunderstanding. I thought I was due to receive forty percent of the business, being half of what is available after Justin’s twenty percent is taken off the top, but the wording of the will was quite precise.”
“Yes, it was. On your thirtieth birthday, you are due fifty percent of the shares I hold at that date.”
“And you hold less than eighty percent now, don’t you? You gave shares to Drew.”
“Yes, I did. It was a wedding gift.”
“I’m sure he was delighted. I mean, to be handed a share in what was a successful business is kind of cool, huh?”
“Don’t be a bitch, Sophie. I was in love with Drew and wanted him to be a partner in our relationship, not to feel like he owed everything to me.”
“Yet it’s all right for me to be defrauded by you.” The gloves were off, and Sophie let any pretence go. “I am bloody furious, and you know what? I’m even more hurt. How could yo
u do this to me?”
“I haven’t done anything to you.”
Sophie shook her head. “Yes, you have. My dad would have been horrified if he could see what you’ve done.”
Louise’s face had reddened, the polite, social mask had fallen away and, for the first time since her return, Sophie saw real emotion from her. “You don’t have a bloody clue what you’re talking about.”
Her voice was rising. Sophie had never seen this side of her. The stepmother she had known was happy and fulfilled, or at least she had been when Sophie’s dad was alive. The woman in front of her was like a shadow puppet, but at her core was this volcano of anger. Sophie knew her laugh was derisory, and she didn’t give a damn.
“He trusted you. I assume he didn’t expect to die so young and see you give the family business away to the fancy man you were shagging.”
The cruel words hung in the air, and Louise stilled. “I know you never took to Drew, and with hindsight, I can see that you’d never have been happy with anyone that I met. You’d always see them as some tawdry replacement.”
She paused, and pain clouded her eyes. “I loved your father, and when we lost him, I didn’t know how to go on. I didn’t even know if I could.” Her eyes beseeched. “You must remember how I was? Grief emotionally paralysed me. I am so grateful that you were of age to look after yourself and that Justin could run the hotel.”
Sophie took a moment to consider how the young widow must have felt. Bereaved and with her husband’s teenage daughter and business to look after.
Louise carried on, “I met him in a bar, you know.” She laughed, but it sounded a little false. “I know how that comes across, but I’d gone out with some of the girls from the hotel. We did that occasionally, you remember, to get me out of the house. He was a friend of a friend. Drew was handsome, sexy, charming and funny. Oh, how he made me laugh. I’d almost forgotten what that was like.”
“He brought you back to life?”
“Oh yes, that was it.” Her face softened, seemingly grateful for the concession. “Yes, he did.”
“So you gave him my inheritance as a thank you?”
Louise drew back, and her face stiffened. “No, damned well listen for once. Your dad and I were on the same page. You’d have forty percent of the business’s value at thirty and the rest when I passed away.”
Sophie heard the words but didn’t understand. “But what about Drew? Or any other husband?”
Louise smiled. “I’m not that much of a fool. The gift of shares came with a proviso. If Drew and I divorced or he passed away before me, the Ginelli shares would automatically revert to me.”
“And why was that?”
“Oh, Sophie, you think me such an ogre? Your father built Ginelli’s from nothing. He and your mother did that, and they hoped it would belong to you one day. I was never going to go against that. I only made one change, bearing in mind that your father left the running of Ginelli’s to me. If I died first, Drew could keep the shares. We had a cast-iron prenup, and on my death, the majority of my assets go to you, so that way he could at least have an asset and, if the business improved, income as well. But even that wouldn’t have disadvantaged you.”
“How?”
“When I married Drew, I had the business valued, and I transferred ten percent of the company’s worth into an account in your name in cash and stocks. I’d have told you at the time, but you’d run off, and you never replied to my letters.” I sent them to the university. Did you even get them?”
Shame burned in her gut. “I never opened them.”
“Well, there we go.” She shook her head, and her lips pursed tight. “I could never harm you. You were like a daughter to me.”
“I can see that now. I don’t know what to say. I’ve been wrong about a few things.”
“Never mind. With Drew’s death, I now own eighty percent of the business again, and you’ll own half of that in a few weeks’ time.”
“But you’ve already paid me for the ten percent you’ve put in the account you mention.”
“It’s immaterial. Ginelli’s was doing well for a long time. I am more than comfortable.”
This turned her beliefs upside down. “Drew must have loved you very much.”
“You mean he wasn’t marrying me for my money? You could be right. And that is what I thought initially, but Drew was inherently lazy. He wasn’t so bothered about owning anything as he was about enjoying a comfortable lifestyle. He had access to expense accounts at the best restaurants and shops in town. Drew had all the fancy toys he desired. What he didn’t have was the ability to create a nest egg. I guess it was my way of making sure he stayed with me. Much good that did.”
“Forgive me for saying this, Louise, but you seem cold and distant about Drew’s death.”
“I guess I’m numb. We had been at loggerheads for some time.”
“So, Cathy Frobisher wouldn’t have been able to sue for a share in the business on behalf of her child?”
“No, for the shares automatically came back to me on Drew’s death. I believe my lawyer has written to Drew’s explaining why the Ginelli shares won’t be part of the estate. The Portlands will be disappointed, I’m afraid.”
The smirk on Louise’s face chilled Sophie. Where had her loving and caring stepmother disappeared to?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hours ago, they had left Peter Frobisher sitting alone on the deck of his boat, a seemingly broken man. He was still sitting there when they returned, several crushed beer cans by his side. He looked dejected and drawn in on himself, shocked and grieving. He might be any or all of those things. He might not. But Le Claire knew he was a liar.
He looked up bloodshot eyes fixed on them. “What do you want now?” His voice was gravelled and rough with emotion.
Le Claire stopped short of the gangplank and kept his feet firmly on solid ground. “You said you last saw your wife at Ginelli’s, when you argued.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“A witness has confirmed you visited Mrs Frobisher’s flat a few days ago and had a bust-up.”
His shoulders sank, and he looked away, shaking his head. “She said the bloody walls were paper-thin.”
“Why did you lie to us?”
“I never harmed Cathy, but I didn’t want to say I’d gone round to hers. We argued about her being pregnant, but it was mainly about how all our names were going to get dragged through the courts with her plan to get money out of Drew’s estate. I got upset and left. It was the last I saw of her.”
“I’m sure you can appreciate my not automatically believing a word you say. Not after lying to me, which, by the way, is an offence.”
“Look I’m hotheaded, and this situation with Cathy was a nightmare. To have your wife leave you is bad enough. To know she was having an affair with your friend is a bitter pill to swallow. But I had nothing to do with Cathy being attacked.”
Dewar didn’t keep the scorn from her voice. “What about Drew Portland? Maybe you did know he and Cathy were involved? Did you poison him? That’s a coward’s way of killing someone. Maybe you wanted him out the way, but you didn’t know Cathy was pregnant with his child. She’d have run amok, wouldn’t she? Everyone would have known your wife was carrying another man’s child, and you’d be a laughing-stock.”
His body was rigid, his expression taut. “I don’t need to listen to this. My wife is dead, and so is my best friend. I’m grieving for both, no matter what they did to me.”
The grief looked genuine enough, but even a killer could mourn.
“Why would someone want to kill Cathy?”
His laugh was humourless. “Plenty I can think of. She’s pissed off Louise and all the Portlands. The way Cathy had been behaving, there was probably a load of people who’d want be rid of her. But not me.”
Dewar picked up the mantle. “Your estranged wife was sleeping with your best friend behind your back and got pregnant by him. She was also threatening to shout it to
the rooftops. Seems like a good enough reason for a husband to be pissed off.”
Frobisher shot back, “Pissed off, certainly. A killer, no. I’d have taken her back, you know. Even with the kid.”
“So you say.” Le Claire changed tack. “Do you know a Francine Bresson?”
Frobisher drew his brows together and shook his head in puzzlement. “I have no idea who that is, but what does she have to do with anything?”
“We believe she knew Drew Portland.” He indicated to Dewar, who showed a copy of the passport photograph to Frobisher.
“So you don’t recognise her?”
He glanced at the photo. “Well, as you have seen, I may have been Drew’s best friend, but he was up to plenty I didn’t know about.”
“Did Cathy have a mobile phone?”
“Christ, yes. She was always on it; texting, Facebook and Instagram.”
“What make was it? Did it have a case?”
“An iPhone. She kept it in a fancy cover with her initials on it in little jewels. Why?”
“We’re trying to locate her phone. Don’t be going too far afield in this boat of yours as I’m sure we’ll want to have another chat.”
#
Le Claire had called an urgent meeting, and the Incident Room was filled with chatter as the team drew closer together, crowding him as he stood by the whiteboard. He’d added a grainy photograph of Cathy Frobisher, taken from her Instagram account, and a blown-up copy of Francine Bresson’s passport photo to the picture of Drew Portland he had placed there over a week ago.
He raised his voice to be heard above the hum of conversation. “Thanks, everyone, can you settle down and keep it quiet?” The chatter faded, and he addressed the room.
“Many of you will know already, but Cathy Frobisher was found dead this morning. We’ll need a full autopsy and crime scene analysis, but there can be no doubt that she was brutally attacked. Her head was jammed between the car door frame and the door itself. The latter appears to have been used to batter her. For the avoidance of doubt, we are looking at murder. Cathy was having an affair with Drew Portland, who died from ingestion of toxic substances a week ago. He had been drinking wine, which had been doctored with poisonous mushrooms; death cap, in fact.
Blood On The Rock: Treachery, desire, jealousy and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 18