Normally, she’d throw him some banter about how she wasn’t his slave. That wasn’t appropriate today. “Sure. How is your mum?”
“No change, which means not good. She’s still unconscious. Christ, she’s a mess, attached to tubes and drips and who knows what.”
“What happened? One minute she was at the bar. The next, she went down.”
“They don’t know yet. It’s nothing obvious, you know, like a heart attack or something. The doctors are running a load of tests, but they don’t seem to know anything right now.” He looked at her, fear shadowing his features. “What if she doesn’t get better? We’ve lost Dad, we can’t lose Mum as well.”
How to reassure him when the situation was so serious? “She’s alive right now, that’s all we can think about. You need to hold on to that. She is being looked after, and the doctors will find out what happened.”
“You think?”
“Yes, of course, they will.”
The telephone in front of Nils rang. He ignored it. “That’s Mum’s phone. I put a message on saying she isn’t contactable for the moment. Look, Rudy and I need a favour.”
He poked about under the table and came up with a laptop. “This is Mum’s computer. She kept everything to do with business on it. She must have been working on some commissions sourcing art for customers. Would you have a look through everything and see if we need to do anything?”
“Of course. I can either let people know the situation or finalise any paperwork or deliveries Eva had going on. I’ll come back to you with what I find. “
“Thanks. You’re a star. All her passwords are Rudyandnils/1.”
She stared for a moment. “You are kidding me.”
“Yeah, I know. She’s old-school.”
“You can say that again. How easy would that be to hack? Okay, leave it with me. I’ll head home soon and start having a look. I’m doing a few hours for Angela later—she needs some help cataloguing the next exhibition. Let me know what happens with your mum. Keep me posted.”
◆◆◆
Harry Vautier wasn’t doing too badly, as evidenced by his swanky offices on the top floor of one of the new finance centre multi-storeys.
Le Claire took a seat next to Dewar. “Thanks for your time. We have a few questions.”
“Sure, fire away.”
“You seem determined for the land deal to go ahead. Why is that?”
“That’s a piece of prime land. It’s a sweet deal and could turn out to be spectacular. I’ve made my money in mass-appeal developments, starter homes and affordable housing. I want the opportunity to make a landmark development.”
“You make it sound like you’re doing a public good deed, yet you’ve made a fortune from building rabbit hutches, and I wouldn’t necessarily call Jersey’s housing market affordable. Shall we leave it that you wanted to make even more money from a project where I imagine the sale of only a couple of apartments would cover your costs? The rest would be a profit.”
Vautier said nothing for a moment, then snickered. “You got me there, son. Nothing wrong with making money.”
“But what would you do for it? Did Kurt renege on your deal? With Susan dead, you’d have assumed Riley would inherit. What did you think he’d do? He wants the land public. That would scupper your plans.”
“I wasn’t concerned about that. Rudy told me that his dad always had a clause in his wills that if any heir died within thirty days of him, the inheritance reverted to the estate.”
“And when did you know this? Before Susan’s death, because that means you have a good motive for wanting her out the way.”
“No, damn it. It was when I discussed Susan’s death with Rudy. You can check with him.”
“We will. Rudy and Nils supported their father. It would be reasonable to think they would have wanted to be part of the development. But Susan Jones inherited. You wouldn’t have been expecting that.”
“No, but then again, I don’t believe Kurt intended that to happen. He didn’t want to sign an agreement in his personal name, so he said he was transferring the land into a company he owned. Once all the plans were approved, his company and mine would create a new agreement, one where we ended up with the appropriate investment percentages. I think he shoved the title to the land into a low-activity company he already had. He didn’t expect to die.”
Le Claire considered this. If this was true, Susan inheriting was an accident, one that had potentially taken her life. “Did you have anything to do with Susan’s death?”
“Forgive me, but you are off your rocker, son. I never killed anyone.”
“Susan is dead, but then you discover Eva inherits, not the boys. That must’ve angered you.”
“No, you can’t wind me up like that. I was sorry to hear about Susan. She was a nice woman, and we had only just started talking about the land. I’m sure she’d have come around eventually. And before you start, I never harmed Eva either.”
“I assume you’ll be happy to give us details of your whereabouts when Kurt and Susan were killed. We know you were at the manor when Eva collapsed.”
“Of course, but I didn’t kill anyone, and you’re wasting your time.”
“We’ll see about that.”
◆◆◆
Le Claire shifted back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head as he swivelled his chair from side to side. “So what the hell does all this mean?”
Dewar said, “Well, I was obviously wrong when I said it was perhaps a third party using Englebrook’s name and reputation to scam buyers. The bank statement from his assistant clearly shows money going into it that matches some of these contracts.”
“And the statement only covers the last three months. It shows two payments.” He turned to Hunter, who kept glancing at his tablet. “Anything come from the bank yet?”
“Not yet. No wait, an email has come in. I don’t know what you said to them, sir, but it’s worked. I’ll get the attached statements printed.”
Le Claire had called the senior management of the bank in question and lambasted them. Those accounts could be vital in piecing together the life of a man who had died in suspicious circumstances. The response was their compliance team would deal with the disclosure request as a matter of urgency. And they had.
Hunter came back from the printer with sheaves of paper, handing a set to each of the team. “I made enough copies for us all.”
A substantial amount of money had come into the account, starting over two years ago. It added up to a tidy sum. “Hunter, check the remitter details against the agreements for the sale of the art.”
Dewar said, “Most of the money was transferred into an account in the name of his main business. The description against the transfers says it’s for an additional loan.”
“That’s a classic money-laundering tactic,” Masters said. “He’s converting the source of the proceeds from the sale of the art to what would eventually come back to him as repayment of his loan to the business.”
“Whoa,” Hunter interjected. “What have we here? Look at statement two. There is a payment of £19,000 to the Titan Gallery. And another a few months later for £50,000. There are more of them as well.”
Le Claire said, “That’s the name of Angela Laine’s gallery.”
“She claimed she barely knew Englebrook,” Dewar said. “Why the hell would he be giving her that kind of money?”
Le Claire got to his feet. “Only one way to find out.”
He glanced at the rest of the team. “Look into everyone connected with art who was in Englebrook’s life. I bet you one of them has something to do with this or knows something about it. Also, chase up getting an art expert involved. Someone needs to have a look at that collection pronto. Masters, run with that and get it organised. And let’s not forget Susan’s letter. Did she and Kurt have a history?”
He was headed to the car park, Dewar following on his heels when his mobile rang. “Yes? Okay, we’ll be there in a second. Put him in a
room.”
He hung up. “That was the Front Desk. Richard Grainger wants a word. I think I’d like a chat with him as well.”
◆◆◆
Richard Grainger was waiting in one of the interview rooms, as expected. The man with him was a surprise. Philip Le Claire, lawyer of renown, and his father.
“Dad, what are you doing here? And with him?”
“I have known Richard for some time. Your mother is a patron of the Jersey Artists Consortium, and Richard is the president. Richard came to me today for some advice, and I suggested he speak to you ASAP.”
This was all he needed, his father sticking his nose in.
“Advice on what?”
His dad turned to Richard. “Go on.”
Richard Grainger looked like a shade of himself. “I went to see Philip earlier today because I didn’t know where to turn. It’s about Eva.”
“What about her? What do you know about what happened to her?”
“What? Nothing. But I must tell you something. I must explain because it will all come out now. Eva and I are married, you see. No one knows.”
Le Claire rarely got hit by a curveball, but this one was well-aimed. “Why the secrecy?”
“Because Kurt would have gone ballistic. Eva’s maintenance payments would have stopped. But I was concerned about what he would do to my career. When we got back from a recent trip to London, which is where we got married, I had dinner with Kurt and Jessica. Jessica made some funny comments about us being well-matched, which I laughed off. When Jessica went to the loo, Kurt made some comment about never letting go of what he termed ‘his possessions,’ and woe betides any man who tried to take his place. I swear he was talking about Eva.”
Dewar said, “But they’ve been divorced for many years. Why would it still be an issue?”
“No idea, but Kurt could be a vindictive sod. Anyway, with what has happened to Eva, I thought I should let you know our connection.”
His father said, “I told you it would be the right thing to do. Let’s go.”
“Not so fast, Dad. Mr Grainger, we do have a few more questions. You see, your marriage to Eva changes your place in all of this. I assume your wife would have let you know that on Kurt’s death she would receive the art collection. If he knew of your marriage, the alimony would stop. On the death of Susan Jones, Eva received the land that went with the house she had inherited. And if Eva were to die, I assume you, as her husband, would be in line to receive a good chunk of those assets.”
Richard’s face was grim. He almost spat his next words. “What the hell are you implying? Of course, I had nothing to do with those deaths. And I don’t have a clue what has happened to my wife. I haven’t been able to see the boys. I know she is in a coma, but not what caused it.”
He stumbled over the last words, a catch in his voice. If he was playacting, he was doing a good job.
“Are Mrs Englebrook’s sons aware of your marriage?”
“No. Eva didn’t want to burden them with lying to their father, or having to keep a secret from him.”
His father said, “That’s enough. Don’t say anything else, Richard. You need a criminal lawyer.” His father’s eyes were like chips of ice. “Is this man under arrest?”
“No, but I need to speak to him.”
“You’ve asked enough and have no reason to hold Richard. For the moment, he’s leaving with me.”
“Very well. Grainger, we’ll be in touch. Soon.”
Le Claire watched them go. He kept his face as impassive as possible but could feel a tic worrying away at the side of his mouth. What the hell was his father playing at? How dare he intervene in his work in this way? As for Grainger… “Arrogant prick.”
Dewar opened her mouth to speak, snapped it shut, then obviously grew in bravery. “Well, I take it the truce with your old man is well and truly over.” She deadpanned.
“I meant Grainger. But you’re right. It sums up my father, as well.” He’d reached what he thought was a cordial relationship with his dad over the past weeks. Ever since the miscarriage, it was as if they’d covered a good part of the distance between them. Until now, that was. “I’ll have to deal with my father later. Come on, let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Angela wasn’t at the gallery, but the ever-helpful assistant said she was at her boyfriend’s house for lunch. Did they know where that was? You bet.
They were shown into the conservatory, where Angela was curled up on the sofa with an ashen-faced Rudy. He rose and said, “Do you have any news about Mum or Dad?” His voice was low, and his gaze anxious.
“I’m afraid not. We’re actually here to speak to Miss Laine.” Rudy raised a brow and looked at Angela.
She sat up straight, her head tilted to the side. “Me? Happy to help, but I don’t think I can add anything to your enquiries.”
Le Claire said, “I’ll be the judge of that. You said that you didn’t know Kurt Englebrook particularly well.”
She smiled briefly, showing pretty white teeth. “That’s correct.”
He kept his eyes on her as Dewar spoke, as they had pre-organised.
“Can you explain why he gave you almost £200,000 this year alone?”
She didn’t speak, seemed to be processing the words. But Rudy did.
“What bloody nonsense is that? I’ll not have you talking rubbish about Angela. She didn’t get money from my father. Instead of making up stories, you need to be finding who killed my father and harmed my mother.”
Le Claire said, “Please be quiet, Mr Englebrook. I am investigating what happened to your father and need to understand anything that appears strange or suspicious.” He turned to a set-faced Angela. “Answer the question, please. We know Kurt Englebrook paid money into your gallery bank account.”
She sighed, looked at Rudy. “I wanted to tell you, but your dad wanted it kept quiet. The gallery was running into financial difficulties. Hell, I’d sunk every penny I possessed into it. I was at a low point, and your dad saw me crying in the grounds here one night.”
“I don’t understand,” Rudy said. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I couldn’t. You thought I was so together and had it all under control. But I don’t, I just don’t.” She started to cry.
Rudy said, “That’s a hell of a load of cash. Why would you need that much?”
She slowly shook her head. “I didn’t. I needed £20,000, but Kurt insisted I take more. He said it was a drop in the ocean to him, and he wanted me to be a success. The money meant I could expand into the London market.”
“Was the money a loan?” Le Claire asked.
“No, it was a gift. Kurt said he hoped I’d be family one day.” She looked at Rudy with a wobbly smile, and he returned one that seemed to show he had no objection to his late father hoping they’d take their relationship all the way.
“Do you know where he got the money from?”
She seemed taken aback. “His business, I assume.”
“What do you know about Englebrook selling his paintings?”
“The forged picture claim? Rudy mentioned it. I can’t believe it could be true. Not at all.”
“So, you don’t know who made the forgeries for him?”
Rudy snapped, “You have no proof that my father did anything wrong.”
“We know more than you are aware of, and we will get to the bottom of this. I promise you. Miss Laine, we’ll be back if we have additional questions.”
◆◆◆
All Le Claire had were loose threads that might embroider an accurate picture, while also possibly leading to any number of dead ends.
He looked up and realised he was already at the hospital entrance. He found Brian Foster in his office. “You left a message for me to pop in. Here I am. What news is there?”
“Mrs Englebrook is still unconscious, but we think we know what caused this. Her smoking.”
“She collapsed and is in a coma from having a cigarette?” He coul
d hear the disbelief in his own voice. “Cigarettes are undoubtedly proven to be harmful, but how could she have this extreme adverse reaction?”
“Because it was an e-cigarette, and the vial was filled with a concoction of Class A drugs. It’s a wonder she never had a heart attack with the amount of crap she ingested. The inside of her mouth is burnt and blistered. Christ knows what it’s done to her lungs.”
Le Claire took a moment to process this. There was only one conclusion. “Her e-cigarette was tampered with. Deliberately.”
“I can’t see how you could do it by accident.”
“So, it is attempted murder. What’s the prognosis? Will she make it?”
Foster’s face was a perfect study in inscrutableness. “I don’t know. The next twenty-four hours are vital, and most of the tests will be back from the lab soon. It depends on how much organ damage has been sustained. But if it is too extreme, and she remains in a coma, the family will need to consider their options.”
“Options?”
“Yes. If the machines are all that is keeping Eva Englebrook alive, the next of kin will need to decide, based on medical wisdom, whether to allow the machine to keep her alive—or not.”
But who was the next of kin? Grainger or her sons? Someone had tried to kill Eva Englebrook, of that there was little doubt. He considered the land; the field of suspects was narrowing.
Foster’s office door shot open, banging against the wall with a loud thud. A pale-faced nurse rushed in. “Sir, there is an incident outside ICU 4. The patient’s visitors are in the middle of a huge argument. I’m scared it’s going to get physical. They won’t listen to us. Shall I call the police?”
Le Claire said, “Don’t bother. I am the police. Let’s go.”
Foster jumped to his feet as well. “We better hurry. That’s Eva Englebrook’s room.”
The intensive care unit ran adjacent to Foster’s office. Le Claire caught the swinging doors as he followed the nurse, who didn’t need to show him where to go. Raised voices led the way.
A purple-faced Richard Grainger was being held up against the wall by a raging Nils. Rudy was shouting, “Don’t be a fool. He is a bloody liar, trying to take advantage of Mum’s condition. Of course, they aren’t bloody married. Nils, let him be.” The last was a roar, accompanied by quick hands that pulled his brother away from Grainger, the latter slumping against the wall as he massaged his throat.
Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 18