Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  “Stop it, all of you,” Jessica said. “Not now, not now.” Her voice was weary, and she stumbled as she pushed herself out of the chair.

  Le Claire glanced at Dewar. There was little more for them to say at the moment. “We’ll take our leave now. Obviously, cause of death and what started the fire have yet to be identified. You’ll be informed of both in due course. Please accept our condolences.”

  ◆◆◆

  Chloe clenched her lips as she considered her sister. Jessica was slightly overacting, but she would have to save any rebuke until they were alone.

  Nils caught his stepmother before she fell, and Jessica leaned against him for support. Rudy jumped to his feet, paced the room and ran a hand through his hair.

  “I’m going to call the board. The other directors need to know about this immediately.”

  Nils looked at Chloe and said, “I better go with Rudy. Can you see to Jessica?”

  “Of course. You okay?”

  “I guess. We better call London before these guys find out from anyone else.”

  Kurt had made no secret that his sons would inherit the bulk of his fortune when he died. Chloe glanced at Jessica. The question was, would Jess get her due? It was too late for speculation. This changed everything.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Eva Englebrook stepped into the foyer of her former marital home. “I’ve always been amazed that your father didn’t change much. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Kurt was never as inclined to change his decor as often as his bed partners.”

  Rudy ignored the barb and came towards her with outstretched arms and hugged her tight. He bent close and whispered in her ear, “The doctor has been. Jessica has taken to her bed. She shouldn’t know you’re here. Let’s go into Dad’s study.”

  “And where is the little shadow?”

  “Chloe’s okay, Mum. She’s like a little sister to us. Poor kid lost her own parents young, and say what you like about Jessica, she has looked after her all these years. She’s gone out. Probably to see Riley Jones. I don’t know what she sees in him, but she’s been mooning after him for years. Weasel of a traitor that he is.”

  “I think you could call Riley Jones many things, but a weasel isn’t one of them. If I were a few years younger, Riley would have been on my hit list. And I didn’t think she was seeing him. Surely not?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, act your age and put your libido away. I don’t believe Chloe has anything going on with Riley, but she probably wishes she did. We have a situation here. And we need to manage it correctly.”

  “There is nothing to manage. I’ve waited a long time for what I’m due, and I expect to receive it.”

  She may have kept the Englebrook name, but her separation from their father was long over. “Mum, your divorce was settled a decade ago. I don’t know what expectations you could have.”

  “Your father and I had an arrangement. One that let him take the house—and most everything else. But I know what better be in his will.”

  “Dad never let me see his will. So I don’t know what the terms are. What are you talking about?”

  Eva laughed. “Darling, there is no way he could have shafted me on this. I got little enough in the divorce, but what I did get was ironclad. Don’t worry, we are going to be fine. He will have left enough to amuse his insipid wife, and perhaps a token sum to her dreary little sister, but you and Nils are his sons. And I’ve always known what I would receive when your father finally died, although I do have to say I am surprised my dreams came true quite this soon.”

  Rudy drew back. The poisonous verbal darts aimed at their father had floated over his head these last years, but surely she could show some charity. “Don’t you care that he is dead? You were married to the man for years. Does that mean nothing?”

  “Your beloved father was my life. And my love. Both of which he betrayed on many occasions. Don’t lecture me.”

  ◆◆◆

  The sun slowly set as yet another glass of wine was poured. That was the end of the bottle. Was that the first bottle or the second? Christ, the alcohol went down so quickly. The hand holding the glass shook with fear, anxiety and sheer disbelief. What had happened? How had this happened? The words beat a monotonous tune, like a train, thundering on and on and on.

  The wine wasn’t having its usual calming effect, but it was starting to numb the senses, and that would have to do. It had taken one moment. One tiny second to make the decision to back away, leave him lying there and lock the door. The brain had neatly skipped over the part about throwing the match onto the petrol-soaked figure. Now it came pushing to the fore. The silent echo of his screams joined the thundering train. A massive surge of longing overwhelmed; how wonderful it would be to turn back the clock. That wasn’t going to happen.

  There was another bottle nearby, and it was opened in a moment. By the next glass, the realisation was clear. There had been no choice, and anyway, he’d asked for it. All he’d had to do was carry on with their agreement, and none of this would have happened. Really, he brought it on himself. The telephone rang. Then it stopped. Rang again and again. Finally, the only answer mustered was a croaky, “Hello.”

  “Well, that’s a lovely welcome. Didn’t you know it was me?”

  “Of course. You’re the only one who still uses a bloody landline.”

  “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. I wanted to know if everything is on track. You sound funny. What’s wrong? Have you been drinking?”

  The laughter was spontaneous. “Yes, indeed I have, and when I tell you what happened, you’ll probably do the same.”

  “Has someone found out? Is everything still okay?” Now the voice was wary, careful.

  “Kurt’s dead. He was locked in the tower, and it caught fire.”

  The pause was long and drawn out. The breathing coming through the line was laboured and heavy. “Was it suicide? What a horrifying way to go.”

  “The police don’t seem to know anything.”

  “Oh God, will they find out what we’ve done?”

  “No, don’t panic. And don’t say anything. I’ll be in touch.”

  The call disconnected, and the silence was almost deafening. It was all going to come tumbling down unless the next few days could be successfully navigated.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Le Claire longed to be invisible as he zig-zagged through the early morning foot traffic. As luck would have it, he saw at least a dozen people he knew on the way to his destination. Some old friends, some acquaintances he hadn’t seen in forever, others were people he knew through the job. He couldn’t speak to any of them. He only had ten minutes left to deliver the package. He’d left the house at the wrong time—he knew that but had hoped he would miss the rush hour. He hadn’t.

  As he turned left past the Parade and headed for the hospital, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Dewar. Before he could answer, someone crashed into him, or perhaps he’d crashed into them.

  A harried-looking woman pulled back and moved past him, shouting over her shoulder, “Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”

  He killed the call with a flick, quickly checking the contents of his inside pocket. Everything seemed okay, but he better hurry. Within minutes, he’d navigated past hospital reception into the unit he required. He approached the desk, holding out the small vial. “Hi, I’m Jack Le Claire. I have a delivery for Dr Jameson.”

  “Thank you. Your wife’s name?”

  “Sasha.”

  “Great. I’ll get this to the lab immediately.”

  He smiled his thanks and beat a hasty retreat. Once outside the granite annexe, he returned the missed call. “Dewar, what’s up?”

  “Vanguard is waiting to talk to us. He said he found something. Something we need to see.”

  He froze. He’d only attended the scene the previous evening due to the wealth and standing of the deceased. He knew that wasn’t fair or right, but they didn’t need any publicity
around some rich guy dying unexpectedly. However, his job should have been done. If Vanguard wanted to see him, this was more than an accident.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Great. I’ll have a coffee waiting for you. Hey, you’re late today. Been up to anything interesting?”

  How should he answer that one? “I had an errand to do. Family stuff.”

  When the lab wizards worked their magic, they would know what path they could follow to hopefully start their family.

  ◆◆◆

  Vanguard’s narrow face was even more sombre than usual as he wearily lowered himself into the chair in front of Le Claire’s desk. Dewar stood by the window, and they waited for the CSI chief to speak.

  When he eventually found his voice, it croaked. “Sorry, I’m so hoarse. Damn smoke gets everywhere.” He coughed before continuing. “We’re still sifting through the debris, and I’ll get the full report to you later. But we did find something that you need to know about.”

  Le Claire was tense. From Vanguard’s voice and demeanour, he knew this wasn’t something he was going to like.

  “Go ahead.”

  “There is only one door into or out of the tower, and the windows are set high. They also have decorative iron screens fixed hard to the stone, so you can’t use them in any event. The glass in the windows blew with the build-up of pressure. The wooden door was blown off its hinges. It has been left pretty much intact.”

  Dewar pulled out the chair next to Vanguard and sat down. “And the issue is?”

  “We found an empty petrol can inside the tower. The specialist fire investigators will analyse the position, but it looks like the fire was started deliberately.”

  “Suicide? Christ, what a way to kill yourself.”

  Vanguard shook his head. “The lock was undamaged. The key was still in it. The door was locked from the outside.”

  Le Claire drew back. “Englebrook was locked in the tower?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  Dewar said, “So not a suicide. The question now is, who set the fire?”

  “And whether he was dead before or after the fire started,” Le Claire said. “In any event, this is a suspicious death, and given the profile of the deceased, we need to get this resolved and quickly. Get a list of family and connected persons.”

  ◆◆◆

  Rudy Englebrook swore, violently, before crossing the room to face Le Claire. “Is this a joke? You are saying my father was murdered?”

  “We are treating the death as suspicious and will need to have the autopsy completed before we know more. However, initial indications point to the fire being started deliberately.”

  He wasn’t going to mention the locked door, not yet.

  “Could he have killed himself?” Jessica Englebrook’s voice was hoarse, and her eyes red-rimmed. “I can’t believe that. I simply can’t.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t know the exact circumstances of Mr Englebrook’s death. However, more will become clear once the autopsy has been finalised.”

  Rudy ran a visibly shaking hand through his hair before speaking. “Suicide would be the worst possible case. Please don’t think I’m insensitive, but our fund-management business has a few key investors. If they believe my father killed himself, they are possibly going to assume that it was because of something going wrong in the business. Facts will be immaterial. It’s their perception that matters. And the share price will suffer.”

  Nils interjected, “It hasn’t sunk in yet that dad is gone. But we have to think of the business.” He gestured around the expensively appointed room. “Because that business pays for everything you see here.”

  Le Claire registered the dismissive look flicked in Jessica’s direction. Many families experienced animosity with step-relatives, so it wasn’t unusual to find that situation here. However, he’d keep it in mind.

  The door behind them banged open, crashing against the wall. A woman strode into the room. She must be in her fifties, with long, straight blond hair, high cheekbones and curves that drew attention. Her clothes were flowing and relaxed.

  She moved past Le Claire and Dewar. Stopping in front of Rudy and Nils, she pulled them into her arms. Her voice was husky. “My darling boys. I had to see you.”

  A flustered woman rushed in behind her. She was tall with an athletic build, possibly in her late twenties; her long, flowing red hair matched bright green eyes and pale skin. “I am so sorry, Rudy. I know you said you weren’t to be disturbed, but I was waiting in your office and, well . . .”

  Rudy drew back. “Don’t worry, darling. It isn’t your fault. Please stay.”

  He faced Le Claire. “This is my girlfriend, Angela Laine. Angela, this is the police.”

  The woman smiled, a brief uplift of her lips, matching the sombre circumstances.

  Rudy turned to the older woman who had been hugging him near to injury. “Mum, this is DCI Le Claire and DS Dewar of the States of Jersey Police.”

  Intelligent blue eyes fixed on Le Claire. “I am Eva Englebrook. Kurt was my husband.”

  “He was your ex-husband,” Jessica said. “I’m surprised it took you so long to get here. Vultures circling, and all that.” There was a poisonous snipe in her words.

  Eva rolled her eyes. “There is no need to be dramatic.” Her words were carefully pronounced, and there was a hint of a European accent.

  Chloe Marsden moved forward until she stood in front of Eva. “I get that you are here because the father of your sons is dead, but you divorced a long time ago. My sister has been his wife for almost a decade. The two of you have never got on, but I would please ask you to be civil and respect her grief.”

  To his surprise, Eva laughed. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it? Very well, I’ll play along.” She turned to Le Clare. “I overheard you when I arrived. You said his death was not an accident. Was the tower deliberately set on fire? I knew this would happen—or something like it. Those dreadful people knew he would never stop. He would not allow anyone who simply desired it access to his land, the tower and the beach. When we bought this property, it was to enjoy privacy and seclusion. It was not to allow day-trippers, hikers and gangs of youths free access to our land.”

  Le Claire said, “I understand that Mr Englebrook had been fighting the rights of way across the land for some time?”

  “It’s been going on for years,” Rudy said. “For at least half a decade, my father has been simply trying to protect the tower. It has been several years since anyone except him could go there.”

  “I understand there is an appeal going through court?”

  Nils said, “Yes, my father had already won the case, but an appeal was lodged.”

  “And who did that?” Eva asked. “Because it would take money to do so, and I don’t believe Riley has that kind of ready funds available.”

  “Mr Jones was leading the protest?”

  Eva said, “Yes, but if you want to know anything about Riley Jones, you better ask Chloe.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m getting bored with your childish insinuations. We all know Riley well. He and Kurt got on great for years, and it was only their differences over the land that separated them. Riley is not at all how you paint him.”

  Le Claire hadn’t missed that the family seemed more concerned about the business and the tower than the deceased. “Thank you for your time. We will have more questions later. Does anyone know where I could get in touch with Riley Jones?”

  Jessica shrugged. “Why don’t you ask his mother? Susan Jones is Kurt’s PA. I heard her car drive up earlier. She should be in the office block. I haven’t told her about Kurt yet.”

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire and Dewar followed Chloe Marsden outside towards a glass-and-chrome outbuilding. She pointed at the door. “Go straight on in. This is Kurt’s office building. It’s where Susan works. Head back to your car when you’re finished. The guard will open the gate for you.”

  Dewar’s gapin
g mouth was comical. “Guards! When did they become a must-have accessory in this island?”

  “As they say, the rich are different. Come on.”

  The door opened into a spacious office area. An elegant, dark-haired woman sat behind a wooden desk as she tapped away at the computer keyboard.

  Le Claire approached her. “Are you Susan Jones?”

  She looked up at them and smiled as her head tilted to the side. Her sleek bob suited her pixie features.

  “Yes, may I ask who you are? Who let you in?” She sounded wary.

  “I’m DCI Le Claire, and this is DS Dewar. The family said we could find you here. I understand you work for Kurt Englebrook as his PA.”

  Susan threw back her head and laughed, a deep, throaty sound that reverberated through the room. When she spoke, her voice bubbled with laughter. “Oh, that is priceless. From that comment, I must assume you were talking to Jessica. I’m Kurt’s financial advisor and CEO of his Family Office. But Jessica isn’t my biggest fan.”

  “And why is that?”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut. “Look, I’m sorry, but what exactly are you doing here?”

  “Mr Englebrook was found dead last night.”

  Before he could say anything more, Susan shook her head as if to dislodge his words. Her face was blank. “Kurt? No, I’m sorry. I don’t understand. There must be some mistake. I’d have been told earlier.”

  “I’m sorry. But there is no error.”

  Susan’s breath quickened, and her body shook as she let out huge, sobbing gasps. Dewar moved to a side table, poured from a bottle of water and handed the distraught woman a glass. “Please take a sip of this; it’ll make you feel better.”

  She did, and her laboured breathing slowly soothed. She turned disbelieving eyes to Le Claire. “What the hell happened to Kurt? He was so fit. He was so vital and in his prime.”

  For the first time, Le Claire saw what was apparently genuine grief at the death of Kurt Englebrook.