“Actually, I don’t mind which parish we live in. In an island nine miles by five, everywhere is close to town and the station. So you find the house you want. We can handle anything else.”
She smiled, her eyes crinkling in the sexy way he adored. “You really want out of this place, don’t you? You can’t kid me, you know.”
He laughed. Some people would think him mad. Sasha’s dad had bought her a trendy townhouse right by the beach, filled with the latest technology. His father-in-law must’ve been delighted when Sasha left him and filed for divorce. He shook his head. That was in the past, and he knew better than most that the past was best left alone.
He sipped his wine, then took another slug for good measure. “You mind if I collapse on the sofa for a bit?”
“Off you go.” She playfully swatted his bum with a tea towel. “Oh, before I forget. The guys are coming tomorrow to change the locks. Why do we need this done?”
“The front door jams sometimes. I thought it would be safer to get it changed. We don’t want to get locked out. I figured I may as well get the back door lock upgraded as well.”
“Mr Super-cautious.”
Her laughter followed him across the open-plan space. Best she didn’t know why he wanted the locks changed, and a security bolt added on the inside.
He’d settled himself down, TV remote control in hand, when his phone rang. It was his work mobile. He could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a notch and didn’t want to look at Sasha. He answered the call.
“Le Claire speaking.”
“Jack, it’s Ben. There’s an issue I need you to look into.”
His boss, the Chief of the States of Jersey Police, sounded tense. “What is it?”
“Karl Englebrook has been found dead.”
“The hedge-fund guy? He was in the paper last night, wasn’t he? He’s fighting some case about access to his land, I think. Something to do with a tower.”
“That’s right. Englebrook was found in the tower, burnt to death.”
“Christ, what a way to die. Suicide?”
“That’s what it looks like, but given the imminent court appeal and all the hate mail he reported to us, I’d like you to oversee matters initially.”
“Okay, I’ll get Dewar, and we’ll head straight there.”
“I had someone call the sergeant for you. She’s already on her way.”
He disconnected the call. Sasha’s rigid back was his only view as she bustled around, pointedly turning off the cooker and removing the dishes from the table.
He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I must go. There’s an emergency.”
She faced him. Her shoulders sank as she sighed. “Tell me something new. It’s fine. Honestly, Jack. Obviously, I’m disappointed, but I get it. Off you go.”
◆◆◆
The emergency services cut through the high wire fence that surrounded the meadowland, giving direct, unencumbered access to the burning tower. Fire engines and police vehicles, together with various unmarked cars, flattened the grasses and surrounded the smoking building. The immediate area was cordoned off, and protective gear-clad CSIs waited at the perimeter. Le Claire knew they’d be waiting for the all-clear to enter the tower; he figured that was some way off.
He surveyed the figures dotted across the scene, noting with displeasure that the vultures had already smelled blood. A group of people crowded behind the protective barriers, taking pictures and, to his disgust, selfies. A figure pulled away from those they were speaking to and headed to the bystanders. He suppressed a smile. He’d know that purposeful stride anywhere. Detective Sergeant Emily Dewar was immaculately turned out, as usual, her cap of dark hair neat, tidy and functional. The dark trousers and jacket concealed her gym-honed body, and many a foolish suspect or troublemaker underestimated her strength until she effortlessly restrained them. He followed behind and caught the end of her demand.
“Right, you lot, off you go. There’s nothing to see here.”
The crowd broke apart as most people slowly moved away. A belligerent teenager stuck out his spotty jaw and, crossing defiant arms, said, “We have the right of way over this meadow now. The courts said, so they did. I’m not moving. You can’t make me. There’s no such thing as trespassing in Jersey.”
Le Claire winced as the boy smirked. With an attitude like that he deserved whatever was coming his way.
Dewar smiled. “You’re right. The court did say that. However, my understanding is that temporary access was granted from tomorrow. You may not be trespassing, but this area is now a crime scene.” She moved closer, her face inches from the juvenile militant. “So sling your hook before I get one of my nice colleagues to pop you in the back of the van and give you a free ride into town.”
Her Scots accent roughened a little as she put the grit of the streets into her voice.
The kid moved back, but his cocky stare demonstrated to his friends that he was only doing so because he wanted to, not because he’d been told to. Dewar stared after him until he turned and swaggered away.
“Well done. Kids today, eh? So what have we got going on here?” He jerked a thumb at the chaotic scene behind them.
“Ah, you got here quick.” She faced him, eyes bleak. “The fire has been subdued and contained. The body of a male has been removed from the tower.”
“The chief said it was Karl Englebrook. Are we sure?”
“His face has been plastered all over the Jersey Evening Post, and his sister-in-law identified him. A Chloe Marsden. She’s in the ambulance.”
“Have you spoken to her yet?”
“No, she identified herself to the attending officers, and she was clearly in a state of shock.”
“Okay, let’s have a closer look at the scene before we speak to her.”
They reached the still smoking tower, and Le Claire headed straight for the head of the crime scene team. As he approached, John Vanguard spoke without turning around. “I saw you arrive. Nasty business, this. The firefighters have put out the blaze. They won’t give us access until the place cools down to safe levels.”
Le Claire said nothing as he took a few steps forward, narrowing his eyes as he took in what details he could. Uneven stone steps led to the tower’s open doorway, a smooth dip in the middle of each step testament to the numbers that had passed that way over the years. This tower would have been built in the eighteenth century. Once, it would have formed part of a line of fortifications that protected the island from marauders—and its previous owners, the warring French. It overlooked Lamourier bay. As a teenager, he’d crossed the meadowland on his motorbike, a pretty girl riding pillion. He hadn’t known who owned the land, only that it was open access, and no one had ever shooed him away. They’d left the bike and followed the overgrown path to the rarely used beach. He had fond memories of the place.
He coughed as the acrid smoke caught his throat—the air was clogged with it—and his eyes burned. “Where is the body?”
Vanguard touched his arm and pointed to one of the ambulances. “Over there. I arrived not long after the fire team. Masters was first on the scene and was about to have the body moved away from the fire. I managed to get some shots before they did so.”
He passed his phone across, the images horrific. The body lay across the threshold. Le Claire swallowed, hard. “Okay. I better have a look.”
They headed to the ambulance and climbed inside, standing by the side of a covered gurney. The paramedic moved forward and pulled back the top sheet, revealing the head. Le Claire closed his eyes briefly. Although the features were clearly discernible, the flesh had burned away from the skull in parts, exposing the bone. The result was a grotesque concoction.
Le Claire indicated for the cover to be dropped. “The question will be, what killed him? Was he already dead when the fire took hold or did the fire cause his death?”
“That may not be that difficult a question, at least in part.”
He turned at the voice. Dr David Vi
era was usually the on-call medical examiner. “Hi, I wondered if you’d be here. What do you mean?”
“I’ll be helping out with the post-mortem. We’ll be taking blood samples to check the COHb levels. That may give an indication as to whether smoke and fumes were inhaled by the deceased, meaning he was alive at the time the fire started.”
Le Claire sensed someone by his side. It was Dewar.
Her pale skin flushed a bright red as she said, “Hi, Viera. You on call?”
“Yes. I am.”
Now it was the young doctor’s turn to blush. Le Claire sighed. Bloody workplace romances. “Right, report back to us when you can. Dewar, with me.”
Good-byes and meaningful looks were exchanged as they headed towards the second ambulance. Le Claire stared straight ahead. “Keep your hormones in check. We’re on a job.”
She bristled but obviously knew better than to say anything. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. “It’s a bit awkward, you know. Because we’ve had a date. It’s weird having a work chat with someone you’ve kind of snogged.”
“Enough. I don’t need that image in my head. Let’s talk to Chloe Marsden.”
◆◆◆
Chloe wrapped her hands tighter around the mug of hot tea. The ambulance person had dispensed it from a flask, and she idly wondered if it was their own refreshment or if they carried it for situations such as this. An abstract thought, but she wanted to keep her mind off what had happened. Christ, what had happened? Never in a million years could she have thought it would all end this badly.
“Miss Marsden, I’m DCI Le Claire, and this is Detective Sergeant Dewar.”
The deep voice was pleasant, and the words well-articulated. Chloe glanced up. Short dark hair and a handsome face engaged her attention, but piercing eyes had her barriers shooting up. She had to be careful. His sidekick wasn’t any better. She too had short dark hair, perhaps to detract from the even prettiness of her features. She had toned curves in an athletic frame. Her artist’s eye would love to paint her.
“Miss Marsden?”
“I’m sorry. I was miles away. I can’t think straight. Christ, his face.” She shivered, her hands briefly covering her eyes, but the horrific image lingered, imprinted.
Le Claire said, “Can you talk us through what happened? Including what you were doing here?”
“Of course. I was looking for Kurt. One of the gardeners said Kurt had gone to the woods. I figured he’d be heading here. This is a special place for him. When I got to the treeline, I saw the tower burning. I called for the fire brigade, and then I saw him through the doorway . . .” Her voice trailed off.
The female sergeant’s voice was gentle, her soft burr attractive. “And you identified your brother-in-law.”
“Yes, yes. It is—was—Kurt.” Her breathing hitched, and she stifled a sob.
Le Claire asked, “Mr Englebrook was, I assume, married to your sister? Is she home now?”
“She should be soon. She was attending a charity event. Rudy and Nils are at some art gallery opening with their mother. I don’t know when they’re due back.”
“And they are?”
“Kurt’s sons from his first marriage.”
Le Claire called out to the policeman who had arrived earlier. “Masters, take Miss Marsden to the house in your car. And locate Englebrook’s sons. We’ll meet you there.”
CHAPTER THREE
Le Claire knew Jersey was an eclectic mix. It had a distinctly Continental vibe, being closer to France than England, but this British island’s main street was occupied with many retailer names that would be familiar to visitors from the UK. Yet there was something different here, something often unseen by the average person going about their business. Small-island attitudes were bolstered by big-bucks money. The island had long attracted wealthy immigrants, but the scale of their wealth was becoming unimaginable to most of the island population.
He pointed to a pair of tall wooden gates set into a high wall, behind which Italian cypress trees blocked any glimpse of what lay beyond. Dewar drove up to the entrance, and their police credentials worked their magic as the gates opened inwards. An exceptionally long tree-bordered drive lay ahead. As they drove, Dewar’s squeal made him jump.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, but I have never seen anything like that in real life before.”
“Nor have I.” Le Claire’s voice was dry. His parents were classed as wealthy, but these people belonged to a whole new level. The house in front of them oozed privilege, wealth and hard-bought taste. The glass walls, steel balconies and manicured lawns were architecturally precise.
Dewar grimaced. “Puts my police digs to shame.”
“Indeed, but let’s not forget that the owner of all this was found dead in a burning tower.”
She sobered. “Yes, I know. Let’s do this.”
◆◆◆
Bringing news of sudden death was never easy; people reacted in many ways. Le Claire surveyed the three people ranged in front of him. Jessica Englebrook and her stepsons were at home, the latter, Rudy and Nils, had been located at a bar in St Helier. The taller of the two, fair-haired and heavyset, spoke first.
“I’m Rudy Englebrook. This is my father’s wife, Jessica, and my brother, Nils. What the hell is going on? The policeman who initially phoned said you wanted to speak to all of us urgently.”
Nils was a carbon copy of his brother. Jessica Englebrook was polished, manicured and expensive, yet bland. From her tawny highlights to the beige sweater and tailored, wide-legged trousers and the shine of her polished nails, Jessica Englebrook was the epitome of a pretty, pampered younger wife.
Le Claire knew the ropes only too well. He’d done this too many times to count, mainly in his days at the London Met, but island life was no stranger to tragedy. The only way to get it over with was to be quick. “I am afraid I have to report that Mr Karl Englebrook has been found dead.”
His words hung in the air, their meaning reverberating through the silence. Rudy Englebrook jumped to his feet. “What the hell . . . There must be a mistake. My father will be home soon. This is bloody ridiculous.”
The colour drained entirely from Jessica’s face, and she clutched at her throat. As an anguished gasp escaped, Nils reached out a comforting hand to his stepmother. “No. Rudy is right. Dad will be due home soon.”
“I’m sorry. Mr Englebrook was found in the tower at the edge of this estate. I’m afraid there was a terrible fire, and he was trapped in the tower. He was identified by someone who knew him well, and I don’t believe a mistake has been made.”
Jessica said, “Who identified my husband? They must’ve got it wrong.”
“It was me, Jess.” All eyes swung towards the door as Chloe Marsden entered the room, the blanket from the ambulance still wrapped around her shoulders. “I wanted to have a chat with Kurt. One of the guys said he had left earlier and headed towards the tower. But when I got there, it was . . . What I meant to say . . . Oh God, it was burning, there were flames everywhere, the smoke almost blinded me. The door was open or missing—it may have come off its hinges. But I could see clearly into the tower. And that’s when I saw him. He was completely burnt up.”
“Dear Lord, how could this have happened?” Jessica jumped to her feet and paced around the room, her breathing heavy and laboured.
Dewar quickly crossed to her and laid a gentle arm around the widow’s shoulders, carefully directing her back to the sofa. “Please take it easy, Mrs Englebrook. Would you like us to get some medical attention for you? This must be a shock.”
“A shock? That hardly covers the situation. My husband was fit and healthy. How the hell did the tower catch on fire?”
“That is something we will be looking into,” Le Claire said. “Can any of you tell me why Mr Englebrook had gone to the tower?”
Nils sighed. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but my father has been fighting a long-running court case about access to the meadowland and, potentiall
y, the tower itself. The right of way is temporarily back in place from tomorrow for a week. Dad wasn’t happy about it, and I assume he was spending some quiet time on his own before the bloody hordes and riffraff arrive.”
Chloe’s voice was an exhausted sigh. “Don’t, Nils, please. Don’t be judgmental. Not now.”
“That’s enough, you two,” Rudy said. “Let’s not get into that today of all days.” He faced Le Claire. “Thank you for letting us know, Detective. What’s happening now? Is the tower still on fire? I mean, I guess it’s being contained. You know, the risk.” His voice broke, and he choked back an audible sob. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I think we would like to be alone now.”
Dewar stepped forward. “Of course. We can assure you that the fire service is on-site, the blaze has been dealt with, and they won’t leave until they are sure it is safe to do so.”
Le Claire asked, “Can we offer any family liaison support?”
Jessica shook her head in a polite decline, her eyes blank. “No, we have everything we need. I think I would like to lie down.”
Rudy said, “I have calls to make. People need to know.”
Nils turned to Le Claire. “May I ask that my father’s death not be made public knowledge until we advise the main investors in the business?”
“Yes, good thinking,” Rudy said. “We need to manage the situation.”
Chloe’s eyes filled with tears as she faced Nils and Rudy. “I can’t believe you’re thinking about the bloody business.”
Rudy’s voice was soft. “You know how much Dad thought of the firm. He’d want it protected, and the family.”
Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 2