Vanguard opened the file folder and pulled out some pieces of paper. There were photographs as well. “There has definitely been movement through that area recently. We searched the surroundings and took samples on Monday. Scott Hamlyn died on Saturday night. We have to remember that it rained heavily that morning. It would have dried out a bit by the evening but still be damp. Therefore, anything before Saturday morning could have been wiped clear by the rain. We found several prints and have discounted those from you and Dewar. It was smart of you to retrace your steps back in your own footprints and to get Dewar to follow you in the same way. People often discount footprints as being too unreliable, but remember the role of CSI is to prove that someone could, or could not, have been present at a crime scene.”
He spread out his papers on the desk and pointed to five A4-sized photographs. “We took casts of these prints. They were fairly well preserved, having been laid down in mud and then dried out before we picked them up. We have two distinct sets of footwear. One is a UK size eleven. This one here.” He pointed to a smooth print. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it was some sort of man’s dress shoe.”
“Does it match Hamlyn’s shoes?”
“From what we can tell, there’s a high probability that Scott Hamlyn left that print.”
“And the other one?”
“Much smaller. Here, have a look.” He flicked through the photographs and pulled out two that displayed a distinctly different, petite shape. “These are probably some form of plimsoll or Converse shoe. See the ridges on the sole?”
Le Claire eyed the photo. “Definitely smaller and narrower.”
“Yes, probably a boy or youth.”
Le Claire considered the photo. “Or a woman?”
“Indeed, that is possible.”
“Anything else?”
“There were some other partial prints, but they were too indistinct to tell us anything, plus some random debris, which could have fallen from anyone’s pocket. But we’ve bagged and tagged what was there.” He pulled another group of photographs from the pile. They were a mishmash of items. Some sweet wrappers, what looked like a faded bus ticket, a ragged scrap from what could have been a flight boarding pass, a button and some fragments of material. “Not a lot to go on, but the boarding pass is dated the fifteenth. The month can’t be read though. Saturday was the fifteenth. To be frank, that boarding pass could be weeks or months old.”
“Okay, we’ll see what we can do and run a check on passengers who flew into the island on Saturday. At least it’s something to do. Anything else about the shoes?”
“It isn’t much, but the smaller print shows an obstruction in one of the ridges, like a small stone. If you ever find the shoe, it may still be there. People conceal their faces, they wear gloves, but, invariably, they forget that their shoes can be a powerful silent witness.”
#
The call he’d been waiting for came in the early afternoon. His stomach rolled, but he answered with a resigned air and then headed to the chief’s office with a sinking heart. Chief Officer Wilson was not in a particularly good mood. Le Claire could tell by his set features and unsmiling welcome. “Le Claire, take a seat. Blair has just arrived. I haven’t updated him as I thought it best that you report to us both. All I know is that last night was apparently a bloody debacle. Do enlighten us.”
Le Claire immediately turned to Blair. “The first thing you need to know is that your cover is intact. I interacted with only a few people on more than a superficial level, and, to be perfectly frank, most were only interested in their own pleasures. If they remember anything, it will be that the man in the plain black mask got hopelessly drunk and left early.”
Blair’s face sagged, and relief was evident in his voice. “I can’t afford to lose any ground here. Go on, what happened?”
Le Claire quickly outlined the evening’s events. The chief’s face grew stonier by the minute. “Is this how people get their kicks? Sex on tap, drugs and attacks on young girls. What is bloody going on? I hear the girl works for you?”
He felt himself bristle inside. The usual reaction whenever his family was mentioned. “Not me, my parents. Ana is my father’s PA and helps my mother as well.” That didn’t sound odd, did it? How many people had personal assistants to deal with their private affairs?
“Well, the girl is safe now. Any leads?”
“I took a few men back to the house. It was deserted but smelled like a team of cleaners had been in with industrial-strength bleach. The place was immaculate. It’s obviously not permanently occupied, and we’re trying to track down the owners.”
“Okay, I’ll get someone onto it. You’ve got enough on your plate with the Hamlyn case. Any news there?”
“No, nothing solid enough to take us in any particular direction.”
“What about Sir Hugh Mallory? Is that investigation firmly closed?”
“Yes, no note was left but all indications point to suicide.
“Damn shame. Okay, get on with it.”
Taking the dismissal as intended, Le Claire made to exit the room. The chief’s voice stopped him. “I’ve had a call. The national press are sniffing around, and apparently their take is that we’re incompetent buffoons who couldn’t manage a candy thief, let alone a murder enquiry. I don’t need any negative exposure on this. Get it cleared up, quickly.”
He said, “Yes sir,” and left. There wasn’t anything else to say. He was disgruntled and fed up and felt like baring his teeth when he found an overly buoyant Dewar waiting for him in his office.
She brandished a bundle of paper. “I’ve got the background report on Laura Brown and the airline passenger confirmations. I think we need to speak to her.”
#
Laura Brown was wearing tight workout clothes when she opened the door. The short leggings and midriff-baring top showed an expanse of lightly tanned flesh. Le Claire buried any flash of attraction. Her smile was wide and her eyes inquisitive. He didn’t know if she was a murderer. He did know she was a liar. Her voice was soft. “Come in. This is a surprise. Hold on while I turn this off.”
She aimed a remote at the huge flat-screen TV that dominated one wall; with a click, the digital yoga class was frozen in time, the instructor bent over in an impossible pose. Laura Brown sank into one of the sofas and gestured for Le Claire and Dewar to settle into its twin. “Have you any news? Have you caught the person who did this?”
In her casual attire, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, she looked young and innocent, although her eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed.
Le Claire took the lead. “Not yet, Miss Brown. We’ve come to clear up an inconsistency.”
“Please call me Laura; I hate to be formal. So what is this inconsistency?” She glanced between Le Claire and Dewar. He wanted to keep an eye on her, so he motioned for Dewar to proceed.
“There appears to be a discrepancy in your statement of your whereabouts when Scott Hamlyn was killed.”
“And what would that be?” Her voice was even, but her shoulders had tensed.
Dewar continued. “You said you arrived into the island on Sunday morning; however, the airline records show you arriving on Saturday afternoon. You were already in the island when Mr Hamlyn was killed.”
There was a long pause whilst she just stared at them, her face a cool mask.
“I’ve been debating whether to call you or not. I did arrive on Saturday and booked into a hotel. When you arrived here, I told you what I was going to tell Scott. I didn’t know he was dead then.”
“So you admit lying to us?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” She shook her head from side to side, a look of exasperation on her face. “It’s no big deal. I had to tell you that as that was exactly what I was going to say to Scott when I saw him. Of course, I never did.”
“Why were you deceiving him?”
“I occasionally come over the night before I see Scott. I just
need my space sometimes. I relax at the hotel, take a long bath, read, and have a glass of wine. It’s a simple separation from the working week to the relaxation of a few days with Scott. I didn’t tell him as he would have wanted to see me.”
Le Claire took over. “Do you have an alibi for Saturday?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not as such, I didn’t think I’d need one. I drove my hired car to the hotel, went out for a walk, came back, and had my bath and some late dinner. It was room service, and there will be a record of the order delivery.”
“What time did you get back from your walk?”
“I can’t recall. I wasn’t keeping a check on the time.”
“Okay, we’ll need exact details of your whereabouts. Now, onto another matter. How did you say you met Scott Hamlyn?”
She arched one brow. “At a party. Why is this relevant?”
He didn’t answer, smiled, let it linger. “When was this?”
She looked impatient; her eyes narrowed, and he could see the moment suspicion crept into her expression. “About six months ago. Again, I ask you, what relevance does this have?”
“Did you meet Scott Hamlyn through your profession?”
A slight twitch was her only reaction. “Not exactly, I had been working at a trade show, organising the team, and the organisers asked me to their party. Scott was there, we met and that was that.”
Dewar spoke. “I don’t think the DCI meant that profession. I think he meant the one you were arrested for five years ago. The crime was suspected prostitution, but there was insufficient evidence to charge you.”
She paled and her features tightened; when she spoke, her voice reverberated with controlled anger. “How dare you bring that up? I was in the wrong place at the decidedly wrong time, with a crowd I soon dropped. This is bullshit, complete bullshit.” Her voice had risen and her face reddened.
“So you are saying that you were no longer a prostitute when you met Mr Hamlyn?”
Her nostrils flared, and she held her arms tight across her body. “That is correct. However, I am not, and never have been a prostitute. You have insulted me and all to hide your incompetence that you cannot find who killed Scott. I would like you to leave now.”
Le Claire nodded and rose, beckoning for Dewar to follow. “Of course. However, before we go, we’d like to know if you have any trainers or Converse-type shoes with you?”
She shook her head in apparent confusion. “Yes. Look, what on earth is this about now?”
“Just a routine check regarding the crime scene to exclude you from further enquiries. If you are innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”
She shook her head in an impatient huff. “Hold on.”
Laura Brown came back into the room with a plastic bag in hand, which she handed to Le Claire. “Here you are, one pair of sneakers. I assume I get a receipt?”
Dewar pulled out her notebook and quickly scribbled something. “Here you are. We should be finished with them in a day or so, and we’ll give you a call.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Le Claire was dog-tired, and his head was buzzing. He’d left Dewar in the incident room and headed for his office. Usually, the quiet helped him think. Unfortunately, his thoughts couldn’t fight past the noise in his head.
The smell of strong coffee preceded Dewar into his office. “I nipped out to that place you like, thought you could use one of these.” She placed a brightly coloured cardboard cup in front of him. Steam and the unmistakable aroma of quality coffee wafted through the drinking hole in the plastic lid.
“Oh yes, I do indeed need this. Did you get yourself one of those teas you can stand a spoon in?”
“Of course!” She put her own cup on the desk and unhooked the handles of a paper bag from around her wrist. “I got you a choc-chip cookie as well.”
She must think he was in a bad way. “Thanks. So what do you think?” He waved his hand, which held the cookie, toward the small whiteboard affixed to the wall.
She turned and faced the board, chewing her bottom lip as she stared at the images and marker pen scribblings. Scott Hamlyn’s photo had been printed from his parents’ digital album. It wasn’t strictly necessary to have the photo on the board, but Le Claire wanted a visual reminder of what they stood for, of whom they were acting for. Yes, it was for the law, for the justice of the land, but more than that, the badge stood for the vulnerable, the disadvantaged, the injured and, of course, the dead.
“There’s David Adamson. We know he got into a fight with Hamlyn days before he died.”
“Indeed, but what was his motive? Was the argument fierce enough to take that irrevocable step, and days later at that?”
“Yeah, we don’t have a lot there.”
She moved farther back from the board, considered the other names he’d written in the thick marker. “Aidan Gillespie? Scott Hamlyn cost him land that should have rightfully been his. Add in that Hamlyn was killed at Gillespie’s estate.”
“Stupid of Gillespie to bring death to his own door, or maybe he just couldn’t help himself?”
Then, hands on hips, she shook her head. “No. The girlfriend is our best line so far. She’s inherited Hamlyn’s estate. She lied to us about not arriving in the island until Sunday morning.”
He played devil’s advocate. “I guess her explanation could ring true in that she didn’t know Scott was dead when she first spoke to us and was simply trying to tell the same story she’d spin to him.”
“Meaningless lies, perhaps, but if that was the case, why not tell us the truth later, even if it did put her in a bad light? She must have known we’d check the airline records.”
“I agree. We now know she had the opportunity, the inheritance gave her a motive and her past added another dimension. Laura Brown is our only real person of interest at the moment.”
He suddenly realised he’d hijacked the conversation. “I’m grateful for the coffee, but did you come in for anything specific?”
“Yes, sorry. Hunter called me when I was at the coffee shop. Can you give him a ring?”
Le Claire smelled a problem. So that’s why she got him a coffee. He exhaled loudly. “Okay, I’ll give him a call. Catch you later.”
She just stared at him. He sighed. “Fine, I’ll be gentle with him.”
Hunter answered immediately. He must have been clutching his mobile.
“Dewar said I was to call you. What have you found out about the owners?”
“There are two properties which back onto either side of it. I tried the one on the right first. An elderly lady lives there, and she said the couple who live in the house, the Blacks, go away a lot. She’d heard some noise the night before and figured they were back for a bit. She didn’t know much more but said that she knew they were friendly with the people at The Meadows, which is about four houses down on the left. Apparently, they all take it in turns to have drinks on Christmas morning, and they have known each other for years.”
“Did you see these people?”
“Yes, they know the Blacks very well. He was in finance, and they retired a few years ago. They have a villa in Greece and spend a lot of time there. That’s where they are at the moment. I explained that we needed to speak to them about potential trespassing, and they passed on Mr Black’s mobile number. Greece is two hours ahead, so I called them from the car. There was a recorded message saying they were on some remote island tour and wouldn’t be contactable until tomorrow.”
A black slash of disappointment darkened his mood. “Damn, the trail will be cold before we get anywhere on that bloody house.”
“Sorry, sir. The couple I spoke to said someone was looking after the house, but they didn’t know what the arrangements were.”
“Okay. Call them tomorrow and inform me as soon as you know anything.” He disconnected the call and replaced the handset with a heavy-handed thud. What now?
The man had deliberately gone after Ana, but w
hy? He had then told Ana that she had to keep her mouth shut, but she didn’t know anyone at the party. Was that right? Or had she simply not recognised them?
He checked his watch and saw it was nearly 2:00 p.m. A grumble from his stomach was a reminder that breakfast had been a long time ago, and the cookie had barely dented his appetite. He grabbed his jacket and wallet, his mouth already watering at the thought of the toasted cheese and ham panini that he invariably ordered from his usual lunch haunt. He’d have another coffee as well.
His eyes swept the room as he neared the front door, his mind firmly on his lunch. A middle-aged woman was standing by the front desk, her voice getting louder, her words clear.
“It’s a crime, a financial one, and so I want to speak to the Financial Crimes Unit. What is so difficult to understand? That lot are always bragging in the paper about how they prevent the island being used for dodgy deals and money laundering, so the least they can do is show some interest and get down here and talk to me. We’ve been defrauded out of tens of thousands of pounds, and I want someone to do something about it.”
He recognised her and mentally bade farewell to lunch. “Lady Mallory, may I help you?”
She turned, frowning for a moment as she tried to place him. Then recognition lit her eyes. “Oh, it’s you. Tell this man I need help.”
Le Claire complied. “Sergeant, I’ll take this. Is Interview One free?”
At the desk sergeant’s nod, Le Claire took Lady Mallory’s arm. “Let’s go somewhere we can speak properly.” As they walked, he slowed his pace to match hers. For all her bravado, she seemed a little bewildered and looked on the verge of tears. The interview room wasn’t the most comfortable of spaces, but it was private. Lady Mallory seemed even paler in the dismal grey of the room.
He’d filched a bottle of water and some glasses as they’d passed the refreshment stand, and he poured a glass for each of them. She gratefully took a sip. “Thank you, sorry if I was a bit loud out there. It’s all been too much recently. The funeral’s next week. We had to delay it as some important bods are away at the moment. Bloody ridiculous if you ask me, but the newly anointed Sir John Mallory doesn’t want to do anything that would draw censure. He’s a bit of toad.”
Blood Ties: Obsession, secrets, desire and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 16